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acutiewithagun · 9 months

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Do better

@michan-starweaver, @oleander-nin

(tactical AU: warning- cursing, threats of violence.)

She grit her teeth as she skidded down a hallway, hands busy keeping the long skirt of her dress from tripping her. Siren looked behind her to see she was still being chased by the Foot goons. She let out a low growl from her throat as she turned a corner quickly.

The earpiece she had adorned hours previously gave a static before his dreaded voice chipped in. "Getting chased, Siren?" She ducked into a room after barely losing the goons. She reached up and pressed a button on the hidden earpiece. "Minding our own fucking business, Purple?" She heard an audible scoff as she let go of the button before pressing it twice. "And no, not anymore, just lost them in corridor Melvin."

The third voice of Michan chirped in. "Don't fight you two, you just need the coordinates of the target, take them out, then we can leave." She sounded down with the two's bickering as they had been going off on each other all night. Another voice chimed in. "Corridor Alpaca is clear, I spotted the target running into an empty lounge."

Siren gave a hum of acknowledgement as she peeked out the door. "Corridor Melvin is also clear now, heading your way. Eta, maybe five songs." "Heard, Blue out." The sound of the click from Leo's com went off. "I'm also out, don't argue you two." Michan's com also went out, leaving just the rivals.

"Alright, Purple, I'm closing in on the sailor. Prepare for the song then immediately head for the rocks." Siren walked slowly down a few halls. "Seriously what is up with your lingo? It's so cheesy." She rolled her eyes from Donnie's comment. "Would you prefer I give everything away, or hide it with my weird lingo? At least I still get my job done." He gave a laugh as the sounds of machinery cut through his microphone. "Not very well, but I suppose." She scrunched her nose in annoyance as she reached the needed door. "Shut your trap, I'm about to sing my song, I hope you're ready idiot."

"Ah, resorting to petty insults, but I shall oblige only to get this torture over with." Siren gripped the door handle as she grit her teeth. "Yeah, I'm done with your shit." She turned the knob and entered the room.

She glanced around as she put a confused expression on. All Siren had to do was find the target and distract them in one place as Donnie took the shot. The target they were after was one of the Foot's supporters. He dabbled with illegal substance selling, which gave them more than enough reason to get rid of him.

As she walked around the room, looking for the target, she thought back onto how he mission started. It was simple, breaking into a posh party and gathering information. Although Michan and Leo had to come along as Siren and Donnie's dates. Siren had refused to act as Donnie's partner if even for five minutes. And Donnie held the same sentiment.

But on the plus side, Michan was excited to wear a big frilly party dress. And Leo was looking forward to the food. So it worked out, until they lost sight of the target. Then they all went searching for the find until he was finally found.

Siren's ears perked up at hearing a slight creak. She jumped and turned around, spotting the man of the hour. Acting the lost victim, she nervously, or at least it appeared to be, twirling her fingers. "Oh, hello, apologies I didn't know anyone was in here." The man looked at the door then back at her. "Right... Well I best get going..." Siren immediately grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to a window. "Sorry, before you leave, could you help me?" She gave her signature signal, positive Donnie could see her. "I wandered from the party and ended up here. But I don't remember how to get back."

The target wavered and was about to say something when a gunshot was heard and he pooped over. Siren looked at the dead body in disgust and checked her dress. Seeing as it was clean of blood she walked around the corpse and made it out of the room.

"Alright, song was sung, sailor sunk. Let's head back to the rocks everyone." Siren was about to turn her com off when a grating voice was heard. "We would have gotten done faster if you weren't so distracted earlier." She grimaced and made her way down a hallway. "In my defense, someone kept dragging me around." Before the victim of Siren's defense could say anything, Donnie spoke in an annoyed tone. "Oh? But isn't your job distracting others, not yourself? Guess being a pretty face is all you are good for."

Everything went radio silent after his comment before Siren banged her fist into a wall. "I'll fucking kill you Purple, and I'll enjoy it. Just see what this 'pretty face' can do." She seethed as she marched down the hall. Siren ripped her earpiece out and shoved it in the secret pocket of her dress. She was pissed, planning just how much pain she'd give the softshell the next time they spar.

#a cutie with a gun writes

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eleanore-delphinium · 3 years

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Lazarus’ Pit: The Demon Lost His Head

MATURE RATING

MENTION OF VIOLENCE

Loosely related to: The Demon’s Head

When Damian Al Ghul reached the side of his beloved—Raven. She had exhaled her last breath a long time ago. All he could do now was hold her lifeless blue corpse in his hands. He did not understand and could not comprehend—no, it was simply denial—what has happened to his beloved Raven who was in his arms.

He was kneeling down on the ground, a hand resting on the back of her neck. Her head limp and eyes closed and lips so terribly blue, his other arm under her legs. She had died a long time ago, had he come a minute earlier; nothing would have changed.

Time felt awfully too slow for him at that very moment. And yet, he was so very aware of every breathing, moving thing or person around him. And it made the non-existent breathing and moving of his beloved’s chest so sickeningly deafening in his ears.

His lips opened, and his inhalation was slow. “I want them all dead.” He heard himself say, his head spinning. “No—I want their limbs pulled apart, and I want them to suffer.” He heard himself continue on.

“Yes, my lord.” An assassin in black replied.

The heat from the flames around Damian reached his skin.

For a moment, he thought that maybe the heat would warm the cold body in his arms. He pulled her closer, but she was still freezing. He looked up at the sky, imaging a life without the woman he was cradling. And soft splatters of water fall from the sky.

It was like heaven was agreeing: that a life without her, was not a life worth living.

The rain drops pick up, and it felt like pellets against his skin. The cold from the rain quickly settles against his skin, and a small part of him longed for the heat. And he pulled her tightly against him, trying to protect her from the rain.

“You’re already so cold—no more…” He whispered brokenly; his eyes closed tightly as his back arched to shield her from the rain. But her body was so stiff against his, and it just made his heart ache even more.

Behind Damian was chaos. There were orange flames licking everything, his assassins catching those who aren’t a part of the league. Dead bodies littered all around, some people trapped inside the flames. And there was a lot of screaming. And because the rain was strong, the flames were contained but not enough to put the flames out. And Damian screamed and wept. His screams mixed with the harsh sounds of the rain and the chaos behind him. His tears blending with the painful rainfall against his face.

Eventually the flames were quelled by the rain and the screaming of frightened people disappeared. And even the pellets of water weren’t as painful and strong anymore. In front of Damian, the eerily dark, empty and silent forest seemed to mock him.

He too, stopped grieving. He couldn’t even tell if his throat was hoarse from screaming, or if his eyes burned after weeping so much. All Damian knew was emptiness now.

His assassins were hidden, too afraid to even approach him in such a state. They could see very clearly how broken their lord has become. They could see that he had fully entered into the darkness. This was something they have wanted collectively, and yet they feared the day that it would come—of the change necessary—and here it was.

The day they had feared the most.

A death they feared more of happening then their master’s.

Raven was an existence to them that was almost rather vile. It wasn’t that she was a bad person, it was because she was quite the opposite that they recognized the danger. The implication.

The weakness a Demon’s Head should not be having. And yet, it was also the same reason why they would go out of their way to ensure her safety. They could see clearly the kind of man their lord can be when she is taken off the equation. And they feared that kind of man even more.

Sometimes the assassins of the league would think that there really was no right or wrong between a Damian with or without his Raven. But they are Damian Al Ghul’s underlings, so of course, they would just follow. And since they knew he wanted her safe, following that would be easier than deciding who to fear more.

Him without her, or him with her.

Her clothes were no longer white. Her robes were always so pristinely white, thus she always stood out amongst the assassins with their black garbs. Now, it had the tinge of brown, and there was blood, dirt and rips everywhere, and mud on the parts that touch the ground. The assassins felt awful seeing her in that state. It was simply unfamiliar.

And Damian suddenly stood up. The air around him grew lifeless.

What would their leader do?

“Let’s go.” He said in such an empty tone. His voice is slightly different from what his assassins were used to.

His assassins reappeared around him. “Let’s return to Nanda Parbat.”

When Damian arrived at Nanda Parbat, the assassins who were not with their lord previously, upon seeing their lady’s lifeless corpse, understood the situation quickly. And they found that they were holding back their shivers of fear. Soon, the entire place was filled with lifelessness and trepidation.

“Prepare a basin of water, a wash cloth, sponge and every kind of essential oils we have.” Damian ordered as he continued to walk through his palace. The echoes of his footsteps are very eerie.

“Prepare the best silks we have too.” He added quietly.

He brought Raven into a room. “This was supposed to be my surprise for you.” He mumbled looking at the walls and decorations in the room. “I painstakingly prepared everything for you.” He mumbled, setting her down gently on the bed. He kneels by her side, holding her hand and resting it on his forehead. And he wept silently.

Her fingers were so stiff and cold against his skin. And it made his heart ache again.

Soon his subjects placed all that he asked for in the room. They did not say a thing about their own master kneeling on the floor by the side of his dead lover. And they quietly left just like how they entered-- in complete silence.

Minutes passed before he pulled away from her lifeless body. His heart ached as he tried to remove her clothes off of her. He was so careful, he had to be. He was so afraid he’d hurt her more. And when all the dirty clothes were off her, his eyes twitched at the bruises and wounds all over her body.

He couldn’t save her.

Silent tears fell from his eyes as his shaking hands reached out for the sponge and water with some lavender oils. He gently cleaned her with the sponge and dried her skin with the washcloth. And with all the dirt and blood off of her body, he could see even more clearly all the wounds and bruises.

He was late—too late.

But as he cleaned her, he had made up his mind. He has resources.

“You might hate me for this. But I am willing to take the consequences.” He slipped in a white silk dress on her. And he picks her up, his eyes full of resolve.

The next thing Damian knew was the brown walls of the cavern illuminated by torches. And the green liquid of the pool in front of him. He was very familiar with this place. He could hear the sound of the flickering torches around him, and the sound of breathing from his own lips.

The woman in his arms, must have been dead for a few hours now. The pool looked very inviting, despite its disgusting color.

“There have been a few people that the Lazarus Pit revived—and the consequences, my beloved, I am willing to take.” He stroked her cold cheek. “Forgive me.” His apology was simply lip service. He actually didn’t care if he would hate her. He wouldn’t care if she would not be the same.

A life without her—was really—a life he was not willing to live.

As long as her heart was beating, and there was breath in her lungs, then everything was worth it.

He kissed her forehead gently and then looked at the Lazarus Pit. His eyes were cold and determined. He took a step near the pit and continued on. His hold on her was gentle, her head resting on his shoulder. Soon the water was around his waist and he lowered her. He waited for a moment, his heart aching at having to fully submerge his beloved into the green liquid, but he cannot hesitate now.

Damian kneeled and so Raven was submerged under the water, his head above the water.

He waited and waited. And it felt so long that it hurt.

She had already died because he was too late and here he was drowning her dead body. It felt like he was killing her ten times over. But he closed his eyes, his jaw clenched tightly.

And finally, he felt her twitch against him and arms wrapped around him. He quickly pulled her up by standing up. There was a lot of screaming from her, her entire eyes black.

“Raven! Raven!” He called out but she kept screaming. “It’s me!” And he felt a sting on his left shoulder. She had bit him hard, he was bleeding.

“It’s me.” He coaxed her as he patted her head. “It’s me.” He hugged her and she whimpered, teeth still on his shoulder.

“My Lord!” It was the familiar voice of a woman he had become friends with when he was twelve. The worry in her voice was so unlike her. He turned around, and for the first time, her face was not frozen in the expression that he was used to—indifference. Her facial expression matched the tone of her voice.

It was so clear on her face and in her tone, the fear and the pain she felt.

And when her eyes landed on Raven whose teeth were still on his shoulder, her body winced. She gulped down her messy thoughts. And suddenly fell to her knees.

“I should have been there!” She said her head casted down.

“Raven is perfectly fine.” Damian replied, and the woman before him, who was his shadow, his right hand—among other things, just clenched her fist silently.

“I should have been summoned back. I should have gone back.” She made her mind up. She shouldn’t have waited for a summon.

“Everything is alright. Raven is fine.” He caressed his lover's black hair. “You had a mission to complete. And my Raven-- my beloved Raven is completely safe.” Damian insisted as he continued to caress the hair of the woman in his arms who had growled at him like an animal.

“We will be alright.” Damian finally said as he walked out from the waters of the pit. The lady outside the pool silently kneeled with clenched eyes and fists.

Raven was never the same, but Damian welcomed the change with open arms. After all, she was still breathing and alive.

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cursed-jujutsu-san · 3 years

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[Prologue] My little cursed demon - Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

So this idea came to me when I was listening to some music.... that’s it to be fair... I also wanted to try my hand at writing some gore! I’ve still not thought through everything in this story so I hope you can forgive me for any mistakes

Here’s the song, I’d recommend headphones but make sure its on a low volume as its a song with loud noises + soundtrack, I think it already has English subtitles so you don’t have to worry about that!

https://youtu.be/nAeAoDizVmw

This is set when Sukuna was in his prime - or at least just this chapter

Oh! through out this series I will most likely go with pronouns most comfortable to me, which is female, however I will most likely edit it so everyone can read! This prologue I’ve purposely left being quite gender-neutral, so everyone can read ^-^

Italics = Reader’s thoughts

Bold Italics = Sukuna’s thoughts

Characters: Sukuna Ryomen, You (aka. Reader), Lady Akari - a generic maniac character

Form: Prologue - multiple chapters

Word count: 1487 words

Warnings: Gore, slight torture, character death, lots of character death Cannibalism etc.

You hadn’t known why you were taken - nor were you going to be given the pleasure of having that knowledge - hands bound tightly in rope that bit deeply into your skin, a blindfold that laid thickly and hotly bound your vision to darkness. You hadn’t known why you were taken…

A low hum of talking, an echoing laugh and low whimpers swarmed your ears.

Harshly, you were thrust to your knees and the blindfold ripped off. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, a gasp trapped itself within your throat.

You were in an open aired room, its shadows long and uninviting as the forms of monsters mingled. Low lit lanterns fluttered uselessly and didn’t bring much comfort but what scared you the most was the many broken forms of tortured humans. Their blood stained the floor. A limbless man twitched uselessly as his form was dragged past you and lifted onto a spit, you could only advert your eyes at his dry sob

Your family weren’t special; nothing more than a simple clan that dealt with clothing, a long line of tailors, so why were your family taken?

Why?

It started with one of your little sisters. Her form stripped and bound in metal and rope to a blood-soaked wooden table, the prior person’s blood still dripping and pooling.

Why? Oh gods why her...

Her sobs crushed you as the scantily clad lady arranged her tools with a hum. The monsters laughed at her struggles yet the man with four arms didn’t even turn from the woman at his side, his voice low and hands wandering.

Yet your attention was snapped back to your young sister.

“Hello there little one,” Lady cooed, a hand gripping some sort of knife as her other held your sister’s cheeks together “My name’s Akari! And you’re going to be tonight’s entertainment ok? Make sure to give me lots of pretty screams~”

Your sister whimpered

Your family cried and sobbed

You tugged at your restraints and were rewarded by a swift kick to your back, the creatures behind you sniggering at your misfortunes.

The knife was lifted, your sister trying helplessly to pull away and you did what you felt had to be done.

“WAIT!”

Everything went silent. Now all eyes were on you now, you gulped before standing tugging gently on your restraints before looking at the lady.

“I want to make a deal with you” you stated, voice only wobbling slightly as you became aware of the four-armed man’s gaze on you “My life for my family’s”

Akari Laughed. It bounced through the space before cutting off abruptly at a deep rumbling purr of a laugh. The four-armed man.

His gaze penetrated deep into you; a shiver ran up your spine as with a flick of his wrist two of those things cut your sisters bounds and you were tugged across the room towards his stair based throne. Your knees hit stone and you hissed at the coldness of it, a clawed hand tugged at your chin. You would have been mesmerised by the handsomeness of his face if he’s features hadn’t been carved from wickedness, all of his eyes stared into you as another one of his hands tugged at your clothing, amusement danced in his eyes and something else that you couldn’t quite place your finger on and your not too sure that you wanted to either

“Alright then little one,” he purred with a voice like a honeyed blade “You’ve caught my attention, amuse me and your family lives….”

And with a firm push you were winded at the bottom of his stairs. Your form already being pulled up to the table and stripped of clothing as a blades were pushed into your open palms, your breathe had hardly come back and your torture was already taking away your ability to breathe.

Cut upon cut

Your innocent blood was being spilt upon cursed floors for cursed eyes

Your flesh was pierced beyond what you’d expected to last with, but it was for your family, the more you cried and screamed the safer your family was. The more you put on a show the more entertainment you brought him…

Time lost its meaning after your fingers were cut off…

How long had you been here? You didn’t really care anymore. Hours merged into hours with no sign of the sun rising or the torture stopping.

Your hands weren’t even bound anymore, arms having been released and fallen limp at your sides, none of your body was bound.

A giggle brought you out of your haze, languidly blinking up at her you focused in on her smile, so sweet, so sickly sweet and gentle…

How Disgusting

“You poor thing,” She murmured, a perfect hand running up your bare thigh as a perfect smile graced her lips as her lords continued to watch

Revolting

Your gaze drifted, past hers to the Scarlett of the man hidden in the shadows, she turned to follow and something malicious filled her gaze before she turned back to you.

She leaned in, blood tinted locks tickling along the cuts of your cheek and her hands resting lightly on your bare shoulder, her voice now nothing more than a whisper

“..Would you like me to end this? All you have to do is go back on that deal of yours…”

Disgusting

Anger filled you gut again as her hand traced shapes into your ruined thigh, her fingers worming their way into your flesh and wiggling experimentally against ruined muscle and veins

Your revolting

The anger felt hot within you as it slowly crept up your body and laid heavily upon your tongue

Just die already

You couldn’t take anymore of her waffling. Why was she still speaking? Your blooded hand clutched tightly onto the back of her head as you smiled serenely

I curse you….

“Huh?”

Her voice wavered

I…

The scarlet eyed man smiled wickedly at you, watching your lips form words as your body continued dying.

Your torturer dragged you up into a standing position. Your arms now looked loosely around her shoulders, your lips brushed the shell of her ear, like she was your friend or worse, a lover.

You smiled.

The man leaned forward,

“…curse you”

Your smile turned into a snarl; voice turning darker as she pulled back, form swaying without the support of her

“I curse you, I curse you , I curse you, I curse you,” voice holding a psychotic quality as you raised it even more, eyes once haze now filled with disgust and hatred “I curse you….”

You forced your broken body to walk, her form quivering in what seemed to be anticipation as your soft footsteps left bloodied trails to where she sat fallen at the base of her Scarlett eyed lord, his attention now fully on you.

Softly raising a hand to her face, you enjoyed the way she flinched into your touch, you paid no mind to the fumbling of her hands, far too taken by memorising her face.

“I curse you to know the fate of cannibalism,” You murmured sweetly “You’ll continue to eat my flesh and even if you die….”

Her knife dug deeply into your stomach; blade tearing through your flesh easily as your organs slipped out seamlessly, your blood coating your skin in a hot flash of red that flowed warmly

“Even if you die… you can’t undo this demon’s curse, neither can your clan…”

You giggled as you looked up, your hazy eyes focusing and un-focusing on things that you now couldn’t tell if they were actually there or not and as you collapsed upon the cold stone and you voice slipped into something more akin to a sleepy tone you continued to giggle,

“And only through the worshipping of me will it stop your hunger….I curse you, I curse you, I curse you…”

You died with a malevolent smile on your lips.

Sukuna looked on at your corpse, taking in your ruined beauty, as your innocent blood ran rivets. Your voice and curse echoing beautifully in his ears, you amused him far longer than anticipated, his gaze swept to his entertainer Akari, her form shaking with a mixture of arousal and fear as she picked up your mutilated organs,

How amusing

As he ate your flesh, your flavour burst on his tongue, anger and hatred and a familiar malice coated your still warm meat. A slow thick boredom seeped back into him, your family sobbed quietly to the side of what once was your stage, he was a curse of his word, your family was released.

You were brilliant. Wonderful. So entertaining, a shame that you died. You entertained him for so long and filled his stomach, a twisted smile crossed his face at the thought of finding you – or at least someone like you – again.

How amusing a demon you were…

#sukuna ryoumen x reader #Sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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fusrodie · 3 years

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him.

chapter 1 - grisly reunions

SFW, canon-typical violence, blood, mention of death. 2K words.

link to ao3 (or read down below)

Nothing ever happened in this boring old village. Every day he would wake up to the same dull sky, the biting cold on his skin, the smell of blood in the air. And the chanting, for fuck’s sake, the goddamn chanting. In the silence of night, you could hear them if you listened close enough. Even cooped up in his factory, trying to focus on bringing his latest creation to life, through the humming of engines and rattling of pistons, he could hear their voices pleading forgiveness and salvation.

It paints a perfect picture in his mind: a bunch of old farts holding hands in a circle, standing over a creepy-ass painted crest of an unborn baby, pouring their heart and soul into their prayer, accepting death and giving glory to their murderer. The prayer itself never made sense to him, not really, but he had to admit it was a damn good way of justifying their atrocities. Nobody batted an eyelash when someone was taken away, went poof overnight to never return. Something about the sacrifice having been made, fate had led them to the light at the end or some shit. It used to fascinate him back in the day, when he was just a child watching everything unfold hidden behind his mother’s skirt. But he was no longer a child, and after almost a century of bullshit, it was hard not to impale every single fucker who talked about devotion and destiny.

Not that anyone would care about it, of course - sister dearest routinely kidnapped girls from the village and no one seemed to notice the Castle was a death trap. Boxes and boxes of wine would make their way into the village and out into the world, the truth right there in the label, and no one seemed to put two and two together. Dimitrescu had offered him more than a few bottles as a courtesy, an attempt to bridge the gap between them - even he had limits, however, lines that he would not cross. The very thought of bringing a goblet of blood-infused wine to his lips made his stomach turn; he had never been one to experiment much with food. He drew the line on frozen pizza and energy drinks.

It’s a wonder the village still had people in it, really; between Alcina’s obsession with maidens, the poor sods taken to Moreau for Cadou experiments and the failed vessels Miranda would discard like common garbage, he figured at this point there were more lycans than people around. More for him to experiment on, he figured, though digging up corpses in the dead of night had done a number on his back. Haulers could only do so much, and more often than not he would have to get his hands dirty. Not having a proper bed, sleeping on a bare metal cot and decades of living on borrowed time had nothing to do with it, of course.

The Castle drawbridge lowered as he approached, hammer thrown over his shoulder, one last peaceful drag of his cigar before he was thrown into yet another boring council meeting. The vineyard greeted him with the bleak vibrancy of a cemetery, scarecrows drained of color, barely recognizable but eerily preserved in chunks of ice. A waste of perfectly good specimens, really.

The halls were quiet for a change, no tormented screams and blood-curling wails, no giggling sisters running around in the hallways. It all smelled of death and old people, expensive perfume and a good dose of arrogance.

He flashed a charming smile at one of the Castle’s servants, laughing when the girl turned a bright shade of red and scrambled away from him. Heisenberg could hear the bickering as he pushed the doors open, Angie’s joints clicking incessantly as the doll moved about. Moreau’s breathing sounded as loud and disgusting as ever, yellow teeth and the smell of a polluted riverbed with a hint of fish. There they were, his beloved little family, waiting patiently for him, staring at him like he had fucked every single one of their mothers.

“You are late, Heisenberg.” Alcina began, as she always did, eyebrow raised in contempt. “As always. Mother,” she turned to Miranda, gesturing towards him with her hoity-toity, stupid cigarette.

“You are obnoxious, Dimitrescu.” He replied without sparing her a glance. “As always.”

He could practically hear her seething as she finally placed her humongous backside on her chair, having given up on chastising him when Miranda paid both of them no mind. Mother sat at the end of the golden-trimmed table, looking awkward in her great black gown and modly crow wings. Dimitrescu’s finest china was laid perfectly for their little afternoon tea party, cup handles that were too big to fit his fingers, minuscule spoons that were fit for Angie’s creepy hands. The servant that had scurried away at the sight of him had come back with a tray of hot tea, biscuits and blood - the house’s specialty. Miranda began speaking as the girl poured her drink, some small chitchat about the state of the village, the influx of foreigners and progress on her grand resuscitation project.

“Thank you darling, but I brought my own.” He started as the girl circled around the table to serve him, pointing down towards his belt buckle to the whiskey flask he always carried around. She couldn’t help but look down, and then up at his sly smile, the blush returning to her cheeks in full force. Dimitrescu’s reaction was swift, a well placed slap with the back of her hand square on the girl’s cheek. He felt sorry for her for a moment, but it was good training - if she wanted to survive the Castle, she would have to learn that it was better to be blind and deaf, and that she had much more provocation coming her way than his harmless flirting.

Heisenberg tuned out of the conversation as he poured his whiskey, pinching the teaspoon between his index and middle fingers, swirling it slowly, scraping the sides of the porcelain. Alcina’s displeasure at his use of her china for such vile beverages made it all the better. He slurped it loudly to add insult to injury, savoring the drink for a second, sloshing it around his mouth before swallowing, a satisfied “ah” escaping him when the liquor burned down his throat. If Alcina didn’t already look like a corpse, he felt like she would have turned purple. When he unceremoniously shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, crumbs falling all over the tablecloth, he thought she would vomit.

“The latest vessel, unfortunately, has been a failure.” Miranda announced with sadness in her voice, which prompted all of his other siblings to sigh collectively in sympathy. What a bunch of morons. “However, we have made some progress. It seems my theories were correct - younger subjects are far more receptive to the Cadou.” Kidnap babies, got it. There was no limit to how low Miranda would get to fuel her quest for a daughter that had been dead for longer than she was alive. “I regret to say there are no suitable infants at the moment,” she stopped to sip at her tea. “We can only hope the harvest fares better in the coming months.” Had she seen them as nothing but guinea pigs back then, too? No doubt in his mind she did. The only reason she kept them around is because she might not be able to kill all of the monsters she created - better to keep them close than risking losing it all.

“There is but one more matter I would like to discuss, Mother Miranda,” Dimitrescu began, a lilt in her voice, the telltale sign that whatever would come out of her mouth next would be positively foul. “My girls have brought me troubling news.” Troubling, he repeated to himself, but she had a smile on her face as she said it. Miranda gestured at her to continue, which she gladly did, excitement rising with every new word. “It would seem a monster prowls near our blessed haven. There is talk among the villagers of bodies being found drained of blood, organs harvested, but without a single cut left behind.” She stood up to pace the room, one of her favorite displays of grandiose that made her look like the world’s biggest buffoon. It suited her. “At first I believed this to be a mere rumor, a lycan attacking the livestock, a corpse refusing to rest. But then,” she clapped her hands, the doors to the room promptly opening to give way to Crazy, Dumb and Ugly, giggling in their flowing black dresses, dragging a corpse along like it was a treasure they had found in the forest. Angie tagged along with their excitement, pushing Moreau away to get a better look at the stinking body thrown onto the hardwood.

There was no mistaking the lycan, all teeth, claws and complexion of the finest of silver poisonings. It smelled just as bad dead than it did alive; bruises and injuries and gums that stuck out of its mouth. How, pray tell, was this thing still in one piece? Heisenberg rose to take a closer look, pushed its stringy hair away from its face to reveal glassy eyes poking weirdly out of their sockets. He tested its consistency with a slight kick, stabbed it with the butter spreader, shoved a gloved hand in the cut to pull it apart and open. It looked fresh enough, but nothing but a foul vapor oozed out of the body. Crystal dust lined its insides, shards poking out of muscles. He pushes his arm deeper, feels around the chest cavity to find nothing.

“No cuts, no holes,” he begins as he pokes and prods. “No bites, either. Heart’s missing. This your handiwork, Alcina?” Heisenberg quips, suspicion seeping through his stoic facade. For a moment, he swears he can see the lycan’s flesh pulse, the smallest contraction of a muscle. This whole situation got weirder by the second.

“The technique is truly admirable, is it not?” She offers with a gleeful smile, picks up her cigarette and places a hand on her hip. Here we go again. “I simply must have it. Besides, we must know if it poses any threat to us.” She was right, this time. After decades of experimentation, none of them had ever managed to keep an infected subject whole after death.

His shoulders slumped as she spoke, head bowing to hide his discontentment behind the brim of his hat. He knew what this meant: being sent on a stupid adventure in the ass-end of the woods, because he was the only one out of this freak show with the brain and brawn to venture out into the world in broad daylight, without dying to the cold or stopping every five seconds to infect and pet wild animals. Some of these missions he did enjoy, like being sent to nearby towns for special supplies - or special victims. He was never gone long, nor would he stray far, but those escapades never failed to serve as a reminder that he had a reason to keep going, that maybe one day he would be free and the world would be his to explore.

The four of them eyed Miranda quietly, waiting for the verdict that was certain to come. Moreau cut the silence by volunteering to investigate, the pathetic pitter-pat of his feet filling the room when Mother smiled at him.

“I would not risk you in such a way, my son,” she patted his head without a hint of affection. “Not when we are so close to answers. You must continue your research - Heisenberg will look into this… Whatever it is. You are dismissed.” Her tone was nonchalant, her confidence rock solid. This was merely an obstacle, not real danger. At least, that is what she wanted them all to see; if one looked close enough, they would notice the slight furrow in her brow through the slits of the golden mask.

“As you wish, mother.” He tipped his hat before taking his leave, chewing on his unlit cigar, feet pressing hard against the gravel underneath.

Heisenberg never thought he would come to regret having a proper spine and a functional pair of legs.

#resident evil village #re8 #karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #technically #virgil writes #blood tw #death tw

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

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Tower Tales

2: The world doesn't want them. If Scratchy was a competent therapist, he might ask "How does that make you feel?"

Or: Wakko Almost Died, and they’ve got issues about it

@asilcorner I finally learned how to write Dot lol

Also this is a sequel pls read the first here

Yakko doesn't know anger.

Not well. He doesn't lose his temper often, doesn't find himself raging over little things, but this.

This makes him furious.

It settles in his chest and burns and he wants to scream, but there's no private place to do it. Wakko and Dot would hear, and the last thing he needs is their concern. They're in the same boat, they feel the same as him, he knows they're hurting too.

The world abandoned them, left them for dead, and they're just kids. They don't know what to do here.

Yakko has managed, in the few months-3 and half, 3 and half months and it feels like an eternity- they've been trapped here, to figure out how to make things, objects, beds. Wakko makes them better, actually, and Yakko is proud, but a part of him wonders if he's even useful, then.

He has his words, he supposes. He can soothe and snark and crack jokes with ease, lifting the heavy air that seems to swallow them whole any time they look towards the bolted shut door.

Yakko already has plans. He can figure them a way out of here. They can make a door, or use heat to melt the metal, or any sort of avenue in that regard. He just needs to get the ability. And, once they're out, they can wreak havoc. He's sure a parent would have told him that Revenge isn't a worthy pursuit, but he doesn't have a parent, does he?

And any facsimile thereof was fine with getting rid of them, so who needs parents anyway?

They've made themselves a bed-at first, they'd considered a bunk, but the idea of not having each other close enough to touch makes them all more uncomfortable than they're willing to admit, so they decide on a King Size bed instead.

God, Yakko missed blankets and a mattress.

At night, he slips out from beneath the covers, ruffling Wakko's hair and planting a kiss on Dot's forehead. He heads to the farthest end of the tower from the bed and runs a hand down his face and sighs.

It's funny to cry comically loud, but Yakko doesn't want to wake up his sibs, so he learns to be quiet as hot, angry, hurt tears fall down his face. He wants to rage and scream, he wants to tear the world to pieces word by word, but that is isn't funny. So he swallows it down like a bitter pill and learns how painful it can be to be mature.

He swears, when he gets them out of here, it'll be for good. His family deserves that much, at least.

He doesn't think he deserves it, though. Not that he'll say. He let the world trap the 3 of them in here, he let this happen. Why does he deserve to see the sun again?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko doesn't feel the fear of almost dying until a few days after he almost does.

They have a food stash now. Yakko is insistent, as Wakko learns how to make food appear, that they have extra just in case. What if Wakko loses the ability, what if he's too tired, too weak. What if Yakko and Dot aren't there to help?

The last excuse is so weak that Wakko hardly acknowledges it, because there's no way Dot or Yakko wouldn't be there for him.

Unless they got tired of him. A toon that needs to eat? Pathetic right?

Wakko knows what he's doing, anyway. He can make other types of food now, instead of just pie. He doesn't need to be babied, doesn't need to be take care of like he's too young to take care of himself.

He expects Dot to temper Yakko's mother-henning, but she's uncharacteristically silent on the matter. She even starts following him around, practically dragging him to get food when she thinks he hasn’t eaten enough in a day.

Wakko feels the fear of almost dying in the night, when he's supposed to be falling asleep. He stares up at the cold metal walls and ceiling and imagines closing his eyes and never opening them. He doesn't remember a lot from that day, remembers waking up to his limbs twitching and jerking without him being able to stop them, flashes of consciousness, Dot and Yakko screaming. He doesn't have a grasp on the timeline, everything fuzzy and unclear, and it adds to the fear. He woke up to the taste of banana cream on his tongue, exhausted and somehow blessedly full, and before he could even say a word he was hugged so tight it hurt.

The explanation he was given makes him wonder. How could he be sure to be safe again? What if they hadn’t figured it out?

What would they have done with his body? Would they have moved it to a small spot towards the edge of the tower, backs turned to it day after day as they waited and tried to escape? If they had escaped, would Plotz have been delighted to know that the most physically troublesome of the trio was truly out of his hair?

At least Dot and Yakko can talk their way out of things. Wakko makes messes and has no words to clean them up. It’s kind of pathetic, how dumb and tongue tied he can be, and now he’s not even physically normal, for a toon. Dot and Yakko must think him terribly annoying to take care of.

He imagines himself, still as the grave, the first toon to die of starvation. What a legacy. Dying with only his siblings around him, in a small water tower he was imprisoned in. Imprisoned in because he was a nuisance. And he hardly even talked. He got yelled at for eating random stuff, but he was hungry. And clearly it was for a reason, considering he almost died because he couldn’t eat because they locked him in here with his siblings to rot, and-

He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until he feels Yakko shift, next to him, disturbed by his movements. Wakko hops out of bed, and heads to their kitchenette. It’s small, but it’s one of the first things they knew they’d need when turning the tower into a home. They moved the food stash in there, in a pantry that says “For Emergencies” on it. He contemplates going through it and leaving it empty, but Yakko already looks like he’s going to get gray hairs. Wakko won’t add to that. He pulls out the milk and pours it into a glass before setting it in the microwave. He starts the timer for a minute and then grabs a sandwich from the mini fridge as he puts the milk jug away.

Good food and drink are always a remedy for terror, right?

When he’s done absolutely demolishing the kitchen, picking the shelves clean of anything edible, he stumbles back to bed, content to ignore his thoughts for a night.

It seems Yakko got up too, at some time. The blanket is ruffled in a specific way.

It’s funny how, despite them getting up at similar times, they never seem to catch each other. Wakko thinks, as he falls asleep, that’s probably why they never talk about it at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot is cute. She knows this. She knew it from the moment she was drawn, that she would be adorable, the absolute most cutest toon in the world, with no contenders to take her spot.

But evidently, being cute doesn’t do much in the world she was made in, because she’s in the same spot as her brother’s, locked in a tower for forever.

She’d started doubting that the whole ‘Lock the Warner Siblings in the Water Tower’ thing was a joke far earlier than Yakko had. Yakko hadn’t wanted to believe the world could be so mean, but she’s a pretty girl actress in Hollywood. She knows exactly how disgusting the world can be, just in her first few weeks in it. She’d entertained the idea for a week or so, of it being a joke, but as a month and a half passed she gave up, just a little.

But it wasn’t enough to soften the blow of knowing that Wakko could die without anyone caring besides Yakko and herself.

Yakko had been asleep when it started, but she’d been practicing ballet dances when Wakko’s body began to twitch and jerk without reason, a startled gasp escaping from his lips before he went terrifyingly silent. She’d ran to Wakko’s side, screaming for him, and then for Yakko, because Wakko was so pale he was light gray and he looked so weak.

And she’d seen his hunger, hadn’t she? Waved it off as if he were just complaining, when he had a genuine problem. But Yakko thought of the solution, Yakko saved him, and she’d only watched.

Some sister she was.

Yakko institutes changes immediately afterwards, throwing himself into learning how to make objects that they can use to make the Tower a place to live instead of an empty room, and despite the fact that she doesn’t like being told what to do she says nothing, because she’ll do anything to keep that deep terror from gripping her again.

She doesn’t realize it, but she’s being clingy. She hovers. She follows Wakko and frowns when he doesn’t eat for too long-in her opinion. He says he’ll eat when he’s hungry, but that’s not enough. He needs to eat before he’s hungry, so that way he’ll never be hungry, and then he’ll never be that sick again.

And then she can stop waking up crying, dreaming of a world where Wakko isn’t there at all, just a still body on the metal floor, and Yakko is yelling at her for minimizing, because she made it seem less than it was, so it’s her fault, and Wakko is dead and it’s her fault and the corpse turns to dust and he’s gone and it’s her fault-

She’s dragging him to the kitchen one day, because he hadn’t eaten for four hours, and her heartbeat is a rapid fire pace in her chest, and he pulls away from her.

“I’m not hungry, Dot. I’ll eat in a bit, promise. What’s your deal?” Wakko is so rarely annoyed at her or Yakko enough to make a fuss, but he clearly is now, and the fear that tightens her chest whirls her around and makes her shout.

“I’m not watching you die again!” She shouts back, and Yakko’s head whips in her direction from the chair he’s sitting in, and Wakko looks stunned. She’s trembling, she realizes, and her vision is blurry from tears.

Wakko is so, so gentle as he comes close, reaching up to wipe her tears from her eyes.

“I-uh-sorry, Dot, I didn’t mean-,” She pushes his hands away, The last she needs is an apology from him because he almost died, as if that was his fault.

“No, no, don’t-I just,” She buries her face in her hands. “It was so scary-and-and you act like it doesn’t matter!” She shouts, fists clenched, and Wakko takes a step back.

“It does-I just-food is hard to get down when I’m not hungry-and,” Yakko places a hand on her shoulder, from behind, and the action makes her jolt and quiets Wakko. She watches him fidgets with the long sleeves of his sweater, anxious, and she hates herself for making him feel so unsure.

“When he’s hungry, it’s his body telling him he needs food, sis,” Yakko’s voice is very soft, and he kneels down to her eye level, talking to her plainly with his eyes looking into hers. “Eating before that time could make him feel sick, and he could throw up what he eats, which would at the very least be unsanitary,” He chuckles to himself a little, and she smiles at the quip, before he continues. “That’s probably why he isn’t eating 24/7 right now. Plus, he was slowly starving himself before then because we didn’t know better,” he says we, and she wonders if he knows that she blames herself solely, and is saying that to make her feel better, “so his body isn’t used to having food around. He’ll get his appetite back up. Promise,” Everything he says makes sense, but she’s still terrified.

“But-,�� What if that’s not enough? What if he eats too late? What if it happens again?

“I’ve been making sure he’s eating enough,” Yakko continues, cutting her rebuttal off. “3 meals a day at least. I make him breakfast in the morning, when you’re still asleep. I know how much he’s eating, and I’ll make sure it never gets like that again. So, if you’re still worried, just trust me with this, okay?” He smiles, and when he phrases it like that, she can do nothing but agree.

“Okay,” She manages to get out, and Yakko pulls her into a hug. She cries into his shoulder, hiding her face because crying isn’t cute, and he rubs her back, whispering comforting words into her ear.

When he lets go, Wakko pulls her in, and his sweater is very soft. She buries herself into it, and he doesn’t complain about the snot and tears she’s likely getting on it.

“Sorry for worrying you,” he says. “I’ll try to eat more.”

She feels so silly, and so very small, and so very dumb, making her brothers worry like this.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” She lets out a wet giggle, wiping her eyes as Wakko lets her go.

Yakko cooks dinner, and makes her one of her favorites. She watches Wakko eat three times the amount she does, and she feels satisfied.

That night, she doesn’t sleep for a long time. She has too many thoughts in her head. She turns, and she sees Wakko and Yakko, sleeping soundly. Wakko looks healthy, but she can’t forget how he looked then.

She can’t let herself fall apart over this. Yakko worries enough, and Wakko almost died. The last thing they need is an overemotional sister breaking down all the time.

Maybe that’s why the world let her get locked up. She’s cute, but it doesn’t matter if she’s too over the top. An emotional woman is an unattractive one. There’s nothing cute about crying, after all.

She resolves herself to be better, and the next morning she wakes up to have breakfast with her brothers, and doesn’t let her smile slip an inch.

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #kitkat1003 #yakko wakko and dot #Kitkat learns how to write Dot more at 11 #period typical sexism #women shouldn't be emotional or theyre not attractive right?#what a time lol

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justinewt · 2 years

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Twin Flames - TMR REWRITE Chapter Four

[THE MAZE RUNNER MASTERLIST]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: With Minho and Newt on their side and Teresa now very much awake, Thomas and Grace had each other’s back through the rollercoster they had been pushed on. It took a night talk by the dim light of a torch, for the two of them to open their hearts...

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: The Maze Runner 2014 spoilers (first movie), Twin Flames aren’t necessarely romantic lol, little excursion in the Maze, brief description of a crushed Griever, Grace’s nose’s still very much broken lol it’s only been a few days but no mention of it this chapter, chat with Teresa, Alby’s critical state, Gally’s a dickhead but you already knew that, fluff (non romantic), some cuteness

Behind the Map Room, Grace walked back and forth as her brother leaned against the wall of the circular construction made of branches attached to each other. He was fidgeting with his fingers, looking around somewhat nervously and when they heard footsteps coming their way, the two turned around and watched Minho, followed by Frypan, Winston and Zart, approach them.

“Will this be enough?” Minho asked, looking at Thomas and Grace. Thomas softly nodded and glanced at the three others beside the Runners’ keeper.

“Okay. Let’s go.” The small team of Gladers ready to go out into the Maze ran towards the openings in the immense stone walls surrounding the Glade. Jogging in a line, with Minho, Grace and Thomas at the head of the group, they reached the corridor where Thomas had put down one of the Grievers that attacked them the night, they were trapped in with Alby to protect. The three others running behind them had a hard time keeping up but they managed nevertheless and when Minho stopped running and walked to the Griever stuck in a wall, its legs stucking out like a nose in the middle of a face, they followed, probably happy that they could take a break from running around the Maze. Grace stared at this half machine half organic shit and was grossed out by the weird organs laying on the ground below the Griever’ crushed corpse.

“That’s disgusting.” Zart exclaimed, voicing her thought and she could only nod to this statement, wincing.

“Hey,” Thomas took a step-in front of it, observing something on it. “there’s something in there.”

“You mean besides a Griever pancake?” Frypan wondered. Grace narrowed her eyes and stepped beside Thomas after she indeed noticed something, a small flashing point of red light. Minho and Thomas exchanged a glance and the Runner walked over to it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” The garderners’ keeper freaked out, not knowing what was on Minho’s mind for getting so close all of a sudden. He stretched out his arm and reached in the wall to grab whatever was making this point of light in the dark when the Griever suddenly moved with a loud mechanic noise and the boys including Grace stepped back with a start, letting out a yell of surprise.

“I thought you said it was dead.” Frypan complained after this little scarce.

“Was it reflex?”

“You hope.” Winston retorted, glancing at Zart.

“Okay, come on, let’s try and pull it out.” Thomas then decided and he motioned to the others to help him pull one leg out of the wall. “All right, let’s go. Everyone get a hand on it. Come on.” Once everyone was around, grabbing the machine, he glanced at them. “All right, ready? On three. One, two three.” They grunted, lifting the leg up and after a second of pulling on it, they successfully ripped out of the Griever and let it fall on the ground. Grace heard a bipping sound and watched Minho walk over to the organs lying there and grabbed one, bringing it to eye level. He pulled a metal cylinder out of the flesh and stared at it.

“What the hell is that?” Thomas inquired.

“Interesting.” He mumbled, observing what was in his hands.

“Okay, whatever it is, can we take this up back at the Glade?” Frypan requested. “Because I don’t wanna meet this guy’s friends.”

“He’s right. It’s getting late.” Minho admitted. “Come on.”

***

“Yeah, we found this. It was inside a Griever.” Thomas informed Newt as he manipulated the cylinder in his hands, examining it carefully.

“These are the same letters we get on our supplies.” He stated. Grace swallowed harshly, thinking about the four letters Newt was referring to. WCKD. The same combination of letters written on the piece of paper Grace found in her pants’ pocket, along a couple name and a brief message from Thomas but of course, if she brought it up to him, he wouldn’t remember as they seemed to all have their mind and memory wiped clean before coming up to the Glade in the box. These letters were known to the Gladers and Grace had previously theorized that this could be the name of whoever sent them here and put them through all this but of course, she hadn’t told anyone, not even Thomas yet as she didn’t know what it could really be but their discovery in the Maze was only enforcing the idea that this WCKD thing was behind everything. All of it would be made up? It was an insane thought.

“Whoever put us here obviously made the Grievers.” Thomas declared. “And this is the first real clue, the first anything you’ve found in over three years, right, Minho?”

“Right.”

“Newt, we gotta go back out there.” Alby’s second lifted his head back up and looked at Thomas. “Who knows where this might lead us?” There was a silence that installed itself as Newt glanced at Gally who was obviously not a huge fan of everything that was happening, and he stared at Newt.

“You see what he’s trying to do, right? First he breaks our rules and then he tried to convince us to abandon them totally. The rules are the only thing that have ever held us together. Why now are we questioning that?” He paused for a second. “If Alby was here, you know he’d agree with me. This shank needs to be punished.”

“You’re right.” Newt handed the cylinder to Minho, slowly speaking up in turn. “Thomas broke the rules. One night in the pit and no food.”

“Oh, come on, Newt.” Gally raised his voice suddenly not content with the sentence. “One night in the pit? You think that’s gonna stop him from going into the Maze?”

“No.” He retorted. “And we can’t just have non-Runners running into the Maze whenever they feel like it. So let’s just make this official. Starting from tomorrow, you’re a Runner.”

“Wow.” Gally shook his head and stormed out of the council room.

“Thanks, Newt.” Thomas said, quietly. Grace smiled, happy to be joined by her brother and she patted him on the shoulder. Newt glanced at him but remained silent, his arms crossed over his chest and eventually they left the council room and Minho and Grace led Thomas into the forest in the Glade. Really, Grace just came along and she knew where they were going, the Map Room, as she recognized the path they took through the woods. Thomas didn’t though and he asked them multiple times where they were going, obviously and understandably curious. While Thomas looked around, Minho pulled the sheet off the replica of the Maze on the table in the center of the room and he leaned on the edge, looking down at it with a heavy sigh.

“It’s the Maze.” He told Thomas. “All of it.”

“What do you mean, “all of it”? I thought you were still mapping it.”

“There’s nothing left to map. I’ve run every inch of it myself. Every circle, every pattern.” He passed his eyes over the model. “If there was a way out, we would have it by now.”

“I saw something strange yesterday when I ran the Maze.” Minho raised his gaze up to Grace. “You’ve probably already mapped it, but there was a corridor that led me from one section to another at the opposite side of the Maze.”

“Show me.” She then proceeded to point out the section she went first, and showed all the way to the one she landed in. The boys watched the motion of her hand in silence and when she was done, Thomas spoke up, full of questions about it all.

“Why haven’t you told anyone you were done?”

“It was Alby’s call.” Minho straightened up and walked around the table. “People needed to believe we had a chance of getting out. But maybe now, we have a real chance.” He gave the metallic cylinder they found in the Griever to Thomas. “Take a look at this. About a year ago, we started exploring these outer sections. All right, we found these numbers printed on the walls. Sections 1 through 8. See, the way it works is every night when the Maze changes it opens up a new section. So today section 6 was open. Tomorrow it’ll be 4, then 8, then 3. The pattern always stays the same.”

“What’s so special about 7?” Thomas wondered, rubbing the number on the cylinder with his thumb.

“I don’t know.” Minho walked past Thomas and Grace and went to her left. “But last night, when you killed that Griever, Section 7 was open. I think it must be where it comes from. Tomorrow you and I are gonna take a closer look. Grace… I guess I can’t keep you from coming, you’re fine now.”

“Why thank you.” She nodded, touching the dressing still across her nose. It didn’t hurt much, especially if she let it alone, but she felt it was healing. She would probably have her nose bridge a little crooked after breaking it but it would be fine and the bruises around it and under the corner of her eyes would fade and it gave her such a survivor look. All three of them turned around suddenly when they heard people run to the entrance of the Map Room. It was the two Medjacks and they looked quite panicked.

“Hey, what are you guys doing? You’re not allowed in here.” Minho declared.

“Sorry, it’s just the, um…” Jeff articulated, out of breath.

“It’s the girl.” Clint said.

“What, is she awake?” Thomas inquired.

“You could say that.” They ran out of the woods and slowed down as they reached Chuck standing there, bursting in laughter.

“Chuck, what’s going on?”

“Girls are awesome.” He replied to Thomas, laughing some more, pointing at the watchtower built around the tree. The one Alby took Grace on the day she came up in the Box. Boys were gathered in front of it, protecting themselves with makeshift shields as she threw a bunch of rocks at them, yelling at them. Thomas and Grace ran to them, ducking to avoid being hit on the head by the projectiles.

“What happened?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t think she likes us very much.” Newt assumed.

“Hey, we just wanna talk.” Thomas rose his voice in the crowd.

“I’m warning you.” The girl declared, hiding on the top floor of the tree tower.

“Hey, hey, whoa, it’s Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He yelled after another wave of her throwing pebbles at them. “It’s Thomas and Grace.” There was a silence and after a moment, she peaked down to look and they saw the top of her head appear as she glared at the two before stepping back again. “Okay, we’re gonna come up, okay? Okay…” He looked at Gally when he took a step forward along them. “Just us.”

Grace gave a look at Gally as she followed her brother up the tower, telling the girl above them as they climbed the ladders. Grace was about to climb up the last one when Thomas stopped on it. She looked up and heard him trying to calm the girl down.

“Where am I? What is this place? Why can’t I remember anything?” She asked, almost angry. Once he freed the way, she climbed up after him and joined him and the new girl who stared at her, watching her every move, on the defensive and she then put her eyes back on Thomas.

“This is all normal, okay? We’ve all been through this. Okay? Your name, that’ll come back to you in a couple days. It’s like the one thing that—”

“Teresa.” Grace spoke at the same time as her and the two others looked at her. It had been as if she already knew who this girl was and in truth, she didn’t but she didn’t really think either before speaking, it just left her lips instinctively. “Why do you know my name?”

“I don’t know.” Grace shook her head, confused as well. Thomas gave her a brief look before bringing his attention back on the other girl.

“Uh, okay. All right, Teresa, I’m Thomas and she’s Grace.” He then introduced quietly. “But you already knew that, though, I guess, huh?”

“They said I kept saying your names in my sleep. Especially yours.” She told Thomas. She seemed confused as to all of this but this wasn’t so strange in the end. They were all a bit lost when they came up in the Glade. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know.” Thomas articulated for he and his sister as if they were only one. And in any case, she wasn’t sure how to answer that question either. She knew her name, but she didn’t know much about herself overall. “I— I can’t remember, okay? None of us… None of us here can remember anything. We all woke up here, just like you did. Hey, I promise, we’re…” Taking a carefull step towards her, he very slowly wrapped his fingers around the blade of the machete, his eyes going back and forth from the weapon to her, and she let go of it. “I’m gonna take this… Okay.”

“What’s going on up there?” Gally inquired from the ground. Thomas and Grace exchanged a look upon hearing his voice and they stood up and leaned on the railing, looking down at the boys.

“Is she coming down?” Newt wondered, his hands to his hips.

“Um…” Thomas glanced back at Teresa, still sitting on the floor and turned back to everyone below, fidgeting with the tip of the machete. “Hey, listen, you guys give us a second, okay?”

“All right. Come on.” Newt motioned for everyone around them to move away and with a sigh and annoyed face, Gally eventually followed.

***

“ “She’s the last one.” What does that mean?” Teresa wondered as all three of them sat along the edge, their legs hanging in the void.

“I’m not sure.” Thomas replied. “Ever since you came up, that Box hasn’t gone back down. You know, and I just think it’s got everyone a little worried. Especially Gally.” They looked toward the small body of water near the woods and there was he standing, his arms crossed, looking toward the tower. Grace waved at him with a smirk that quickly faded from her face. She looked into the void and thought of the paper on which she had seen both of Thomas and Teresa’s names and this message that had seemingly been written by Thomas himself and hidden in her jacket prior to being put into the Box. When Teresa said her name, she knew it instantly and she had hesitated to say that it was because she had seen her name before and had speculated that it was hers after seeing her in the box. She put the thought in a corner of her mind and looked at Teresa.

“He thinks it’s my fault.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?” Thomas asked her again.

“I remember water. Feeling like I was drowning. These faces staring at me. And this voice, this woman’s voice saying the same thing over and over.”

“Wicked is good.” Thomas and Grace said simultaneously. They had all shared this memory of this woman repeating these three words. Teresa slightly widened her eyes and looked at the both of them. “Ever since I’ve been here, I’ve had these dreams. Well, I thought they were dreams. You… You were there. You were there, and you told me that everything was gonna change.”

“What does it mean?” Teresa wondered. Grace observed them and listened, staying silent. She had had a bunch of dreams that weren’t so much dreams in the end but she hadn’t seen Teresa or maybe but she remembered mostly seeing Thomas everytime, and this blond woman.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I just always get pieces.”

“And the others don’t remember anything?”

“No.” He looked at Grace because despite her silence and self-erasure from the conversation, he thought of her, because in truth, he cared. The look in his eyes said it all, he wanted to know if she remembered something like him and Teresa.

“I’ve had some dreams, too.” She eventually confessed. “But I don’t remember seeing you, Teresa, only… well, mostly, Thomas and this woman saying “WCKD is good”. But, I’m sure we knew each other, before…”

“Grace.” He said her name, softly and she looked up at him. “How did you know her name before she even said it?”

“It’s true, when I said, “I don’t know” because I don’t know how I just knew it was her name, specifically but… after I came up, I found this paper in my pocket.” She pulled out the folded piece of paper from her jacket’s pocket and unfolded it before handing it to Thomas. Tereas got closer to take a look and they both saw they names and Wicked written on it. “I knew you’d come up, Thomas.”

“What do you mean?” He wondered, frowning slightly.

“It was the night of the welcome party of the day I came up. The fire showed me a message written on it. A message… from you, telling me that you were coming, that you weren’t going to let me alone or something…”

“A message from me?” He was confused and more asking this to himself than to Grace, really. He took a few seconds of silent, looking down, thinking. “Why are we different?”

“These were in my pocket when I came up.” She handed two tubes containing some sort of blue liquid to Thomas. The same letters they found on the cylinder in the Griever were on the vials. WCKD.

“Wicked is good.” He mumbled after seeing the letters.

“What if we were sent here for a reason?” Grace discreetly shook her head, thinking. Maybe Teresa and Thomas had been sent for a reason but from her dreams and what she had assumed, she sent herself up here for whatever reason.

“Alby.” Thomas exclaimed, glancing at the two girls beside him. They rushed down the tower, following Thomas to the infirmary where thy met up with Newt and the two medjacks around Alby agonizing on his bed, his veins turning black.

“We don’t even know what this is.” Newt argued, unsure about Thomas’ idea. “We don’t know who srnt it or why it came up here with you. I mean, for all we know, this thing could kill him.”

“He’s already dying.” Thomas retorted, pointing at Alby with his hand. “Look at him. How could this possibly make it any worse? Come on, it’s worth a try.”

“All right.” He then handed the vial to Thomas, and he took it. “Do it.”

“Okay.” He breathed out, leaning over Alby, the tube held tightly in his hand. The second he turned his head to Alby, the latter suddenly grabbed him, pulling him down. “Whoa!”

“You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here.” He feverishly repeated over and over again, even glancing at Grace with his eyes wide open. “No!”

“Watch out.” Newt and Grace rushed at Thomas side to help him off of Alby who was grunting, struggling against the medjacks helding his arms down.

“Get the syringe. Go.” Quickly, Thomas gave it to Teresa who stabbed it in Alby chest and released the liquid into his changing body. He suddenly stopped moving, Newt, Thomas and Grace taking a step back, staring at Alby as he went quiet.

“Well, that worked.” Jeff noted.

“Okay, from now on, someone stays here and watches him around the clock.” Newt ordered anxiously.

“Hey.” They all turned their heads to look behind when Gally’s voice rose from the doorway. He was for some reason, much less aggressive than when they discussed Thomas’ punishment from going into the Maze yesterday. “Sundown, Greenie. Time to go.”

***

Grace walked across the Glade, a torch in her hand. She was heading for the little prison cells digged directly in the dirt where her brother was right now. She wanted to talk to him since she was unable to fall asleep at the moment and as she walked there, she saw Chuck holding a lit torch as well and walking away.

“Hey.”

“Grace?” He got closer to the wooden grid as if to check it was really her and obviously it was and she sat down on the grass, hanging the torch on the jail’s door. There was a rather brief silence before Grace said something as she was thinking, gathering her words.

“Did you see me in your flashbacks?” She wondered softly and he just nodded in the dark, his face partially illuminated by the flickering orange flame of the torch. When she spoke up again, Thomas just looked at her with attention, listening to what she had to say carefully. “The first thing I remembered when I came up here was something from when I was younger. I don’t remember how long it was, honestly… I was hugging this kind woman and she… she felt so familiar, she was kneeling in the snow, and there was a little boy exactly my age, hugging her as well. It was my brother. Then, you were here and I just… I don’t know. I didn’t know what to think, it took me a moment to admit to myself, it was you. Like you said in the message, you came. You didn’t leave me…”

“I didn’t know what to think either, when I saw you…” He added. “I thought you weren’t even real for a second. Then, I saw you over and over again in my dreams. I wasn’t sure you remembered me too until you hugged me.

“When you came back from the Maze, yeah…” She bit her lips, nodding. “I waited for you all night long. I slept in front of the Maze’s doors.”

“Okay.” He smiled, amused at her dedication. “You knew I was your brother?”

“Yes, but like you thought, I didn’t know if you remembered me but when you went into the Maze and the doors closed, I was just so scared, all night and so, when you came out, I was just relieved. When I went to hug you, I don’t know, I just felt like you knew…” She told him, glancing at him anxiously, waiting for his reply.

“I think I did by then. I knew you were my sister.” Grace and him stared at each other and they held hands through the wooden grid of the cell. They didn’t have their mother anymore, and they didn’t remembered her that much but they had found each other again and it was what was important.

[To be continued…]

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Published (04/18/2022) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405 @kika64

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jezy · 3 years

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My Ben 10 Reboot/Grim Dawn OC-- Libra Renov! :D

Warning! Some of these parts have uncomfortable stuff, so if you don't like it. Might wanna either scroll down faster or endure it if you still wanna read it.

Libra has a lot of expertise with being a Sage of Illusions but she's also a healer and wild card in case missions go south. Which is about 50/50 percent most of the time.

She's also one of the smartest sages there is. But she sometimes focuses on the puzzles way too much so she doesn't notices anything going on around her.

Libra has a few friends but they're just a bunch of royal jerks. Except Hex, she liked him when they've met. Disa and Libra are friends too, but she trusts Hex more than anyone.

Before Libra died, she was a human with wavy chocolate brown hair with deep blue eyes and fair skin. Now, she's an aetherial with messy black charcoal hair with glowing green eyes and her skin's pale white.

She is an adopted royal, let me elaborate : Her real parents' kingdom got dethroned by another kingdom in ledgerdomain. The king and queen who has a tomboy daughter which they don't like, and resulting for said daughter to left them with no heir. So when they dethroned Libra's parents, they took toddler!Libra under their wings and taught her how to be a girly-girl princess.

At first, Libra loved it but when she grew older she became a rebellious child (in secret) and would often read her adopted father's books about magic without permission.

When she met Hex (when she first sneaked out for the first time), she realized she can be so much more than just be a useless princess in her kingdom. She could help people on the front instead of doing it behind the walls of the castle.

So ever since then, whenever she gets the chance to do something rebellious, she would do it using illusions as distraction then she helps the people in need with a disguise. (Like Robin Hood).

Her adopted parents didn't liked it obviously and were trying to figure out who would do such a thing. They still haven't found out it was her.

Libra & Hex are the "friends to lovers" couple. They're glue you can't easily separate and will hurt you if you hurt one of them.

When she found out that she's getting arranged marriage to Hex's younger brother, she didn't liked it. Yes, she knew about Hex's younger brother, Spellbinder, but she didn't liked him like that.

So when Libra & Hex became 18 years old, they eloped to Cairn and became Sages since then. They're not exactly married in legal standards, but they don't mind it one bit.

When Hex gets pissed at someone, its Libra's job to calm him down.

Since she's the only thing that stands between Hex and his anger to the whole multiverses. That is, when she died in the first cataclysmic war.

Libra deeply cares about Hex and is deeply hurt whenever Hex does something he regrets. Like, cursing his brother when Spellbinder forcefully kissed her lips.

Of course, Hex hid away from her for a few years because of the fear he'll hurt her too.

This made her depressed and longed for him, even to the point on not eating or sleeping because she misses him too much. Till Disa slaps her from her depression and yells at her to get a grip.

Libra was slightly thankful for her, even though it hurts like hell. She now learned a lesson that Hex would come back. Which he did, and Libra basically sprung out to crush him with her hug.

Libra cried rivers when Hex came back, as well as him.

After that, they now have more love to each other. Which is a blessing for the other sages since they now feared/despised Hex because of what he did.

They were peaceful, until the cataclysmic war....

Now, the cataclysmic war isn't just some war, it was a war between The Gods of Cairn and The Aetherial. (I'll probably make a post about the Aetherials and Gods of Cairn, since I can't explain everything in here)

It affected everyone even The Sages, half of the faction died including Libra. Who got trapped inside the spell of the Handmaiden Shield and burned alive by the aetherfire the aetherials had caused.

When she died, her soul got flung down deep into where the aetherials (now just spirits) had now reside. When they noticed her and found out she wasn't one of them, they tortured her for eons till they came back to take over the world. But she held it together for as long as she can take.

That was until... Theodin Marcell, The Master of Flesh, had began experimenting & reanimating the bodies of humans. He searched for test subjects (alive and/or dead) and found Libra's corpse in an ancient graveyard, and decided they will make her their most perfect masterpiece.

And so he did, first they forced Libra's soul to go into an aether crystal (a sort of physical form of aetherials). Then, he sliced open Libra's body's chest and planted the crystal inside her heart. Then he started reanimating her.

When she first came back to life, she was strapped naked in an electric chair. She tried to get out obviously until she saw Theodin Marcell coming down.

"Ah, so you're awake..."

"What do you want with me?!"

"The higher ups of the Aetherhold has accepted my request to test on you, Miss Libra Renov..."

"That still doesn't my question bastard!"

"The higher ups also want you to join our army. A special soldier, if you will."

"I'll never join you! Not after what your kind has done many eons ago!"

"Of course, I know you won't accept, so we'll do it the hard way instead..."

"Wha--" Then she screamed. Theodin had activated a switch that activated the electric chair. There were iron nails, nailed through her hands, and seemingly connected to the wires up to the switch. Making her feel the pain through her nerves system.

It hurts like hell, it felt like she was on fire. Her organs felt on fire, her brain-- Everything felt like on fire.

Theodin kept doing this to her till she threw up bile onto herself. Coughing up the remaining bile in her throat.

"Hmm, interesting, a human body can take so much of electricity before they perish. But you however, since you were blessed by the gods, you can take so much more..."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"That means, I have to do more experiments on you. But since you just woke up, I'll let you rest. Tomorrow, we will continue, and by then... You will sooner or later become a masterpiece....."

She only glared daggers at the possessed man as she was dragged away to a cell. They threw her and pinned her down, then they chained her up against the wall to make sure she doesn't escape.

Her hands felt numb from the electrocution, her body was shivering from the cold and shaking from the electricity. Her brain felt dizzy, if she focuses too much on an area, she would throw up.

Whatever the hell Theodin has in store for her, she'll endure it. She won't break from him. She'll get out and escape as soon as she finds a way how.

Besides, how worse can it get?....

Surely it won't be too much for her? Right? She's seen disturbing things, she has the confidence that she won't break.

Oh how wrong she was...

How very wrong she was...

The next day, when she was being escorted to the experimentation room. She tried to escape.

There were many aetherial possessed soldiers and once they saw her, they started shooting at her. Unfortunately, she was hit multiple times and died.

But that wasn't the worse part, the worse part was when she started to wake up. What she saw was scarring.

Her body's opened up like some frog in a science class, she could see her organs and everything from her perspective. Bloody equipment on a table, her beating heart, and Theodin poking and putting something inside her. It was enough to make her nauseous.

"Oh? Awake already?"

She was freaking out and started to squirm a lot.

"I suggest you don't squirm, unless you want an important organ to get cut from your recklessness."

She immediately froze from his words.

"Good pet." She growled at that nickname, she was very disgusted by him.

She tried to look around for any places where she can run, or anything nearby that she can use to break out of her confinement.

But she couldn't do anything, she knows that. She can't escape and she'll just bleed out if she somehow miraculously did. She was trapped.

She had no choice but to stare at what Theodin's doing to her for hours, mortified. And when he finished stitching up the slices he made, he did one more thing.

"Oh, and since you tried to escape. A little torture will be necessary."

And so he did, by stabbing her leg unexpectedly, in which she screamed. He kept doing this to different parts of her body until she began crying and whimpering.

Her face was covered in cuts and limbs that have stabs all over them. There were a few close calls to her neck making it look like scratches.

"Oh, you're crying? That's pathetic."

"...."

"Still not answering?"

"....."

"Whatever, because of your recklessness you got shot down by our troops. So I suggest you stop being stubborn and just accept it. You can't escape. And if you do, we'll be coming after you."

Those words slowly drilled down into her brain, she tried to ignore it but couldn't. In the next few days of those horrible electrocutions and mortifying tests that include getting her shoulders dislocated in the process, she was beginning to starve.

Theodin doesn't cares though so he just ignores Libra's whimpers of starvation and continued on the experiment. Even if it means Libra gets slammed like a bruised ragdoll.

There's more, more worse than that. When Theodin realized he couldn't do more experiments on Libra due to her lack of energy. He feeds her near-expired food, by literally shoving it down her throat till she chokes on it.

She absolutely doesn't likes it and tried to escape once after that. But she got stabbed from behind her and died once more.

Everytime she tried to escape, she keeps dying. And everytime she was brought back to life, she was punished. Either it was electrocution, beating her up, stabbing her randomly, or really painful whips in the back.

Her brown hair became darker until it was charcoal black due to getting electrocuted many times, her skin was so pale that you would barely see the cuts in her face. She has spots of burns on her skin when aetherfire was shot at her, body that has stitches everywhere, and her hands was beginning to glow bright green due to prolonged exposure to electricity.

Her head hurts, a lot and her chest feels funny every time she exhausts herself.

She cries in her sleep everytime, she can't take it anymore. She is in so much pain, so much stress. That she didn't even saw the worst part that happened to her.

"Fuck you..."

"Oh my, how dirty your mouth is."

"Screw. You. I can tell whatever I want to say."

"Oh my... Don't tell me you've forgotten one of the rules of your faction... That would be very disrespectful of you."

"Wait, the rules??"

"Yes, don't you remember the faction you joined and its rules?"

"My faction? Yes, my faction!... The err... S..So...The Sorcerers!"

"You meant 'The Sages'?"

"Wait, 'Sages'??? I thought--"

"Oh don't tell me you don't remember, The Sages of Cairn? The faction you dedicated your whole life into."

"Of course I remember! Its just err..."

"You seem to have forgotten your faction."

"N-No I don't! I do remember them!"

"Oh then please, tell me all about it."

"Its..erm, ugh! Why can't I remember?!"

"So you don't remember anything? Anything in particular. Your friends, your family, even your lover?"

"I...I don't remember....." Then laughter erupted from the man, as she tried to remember.

That was the worst part, she couldn't remember anything. Her memories full of holes, fuzzy dreams with no meaning to her, and sometimes nightmares would crawl into her mind. The only thing that she held onto was her name and the name of her lover, Hex, but memories of them being together was long gone.

And soon, Theodin had managed to succumb Libra in her weakest point. Where she was easily manipulated by the aetherial....

After a couple more years of experiments, torturing, etc. She was empty both inside and out. Her eyes were dull of life, her vision (sometimes) was such a haze but she didn't really cared.

Theodin had turned the once stubborn Sage into one of his mindless (very scarred soldier) soldiers for battle.

She couldn't feel pain no longer. After what she went through, she slowly became numb to pain. Which was good for Theodin Marcell, as they now have a perfect masterpiece, ready to go and do their bidding.

But the downside is that she became a masochist so every wounds inflicted to her, was a pleasure for her instead of pain. So she had to wear a mask, so people won't find out she loved the pain on herself.

She became a Mage Hunter, a mixture of an Inquisitor and an Arcanist. She disguised herself using illusions (that she vaguely remembers) and infiltrated the barracks of The Black Legion.

She then proceeded what Theodin tells her to do, smuggle the aetherial spirits to people who are the weakess mentally and with most negative emotions.

After Malmouth had fallen she continues hunting down humans for Theodin to "make a masterpiece" out of them. That was until Hex arrived.

One day, she received a mission to protect Warden Krieg in his home. So she used a rift to get there quickly, and when she did...

She saw none other than Hex who's fighting aetherials at the moment.

She stood there staring at him, thinking about how familiar Hex is to her. Though, she didn't know it was him. Until she decided to call out for him when he was finished with killing the aetherials.

"...Hex?"

That immediately caught Hex's attention and saw Libra standing there, shock mixed with confusion.

"How do you know my name?"

"I..I don't know, but I remember someone named Hex.... I'm not sure.... I just called out to you..."

"Well people don't know my name unless--"

"I'm Libra..."

That made Hex shut up quickly and come up to her with widened eyes before hugging Libra. Her mask was quickly swept to the side as Hex kissed her.

The hug and kiss really made her feel nice and warm. Like, they've been doing this for who knows how long.

But soon, the warm feeling disappeared when he let go, "How can I know you're Libra??? She died eons ago..." He said with sadness in his voice. That was a good choice, being skeptical was a good choice.

"I don't know either.... I can't remember anything, my memories are filled with holes..."

"Can you remember maybe a little bit?"

"Well, I've been getting nightmares more recently... My dreams were always different but I think I remember burning in one of them..."

"So it really is you... What happened?"

"I'll tell you, but first, we need to go somewhere and then we can talk."

Hex only nodded and followed her to a hidden place. That was when she told him everything she remembers so far, after the end of her talking Hex looked like he was going to rip Theodin Marcell into two. Which makes her scared.

She doesn't want to lose the only warmth that she has now, she needs to protect him. That was how she betrayed the aetherials and helped Hex with his missions.

This doesn't please Theodin though....

But she doesn't care, she's obsessed with Hex's warm feeling and she doesn't want to lose it.

Even though her memories is filled with holes, Libra felt like she belongs to Hex.

And since Hex is now together with Libra again, he can help her with those hole-filled memories.

And maybe now she can slowly remember what they used to be...

Here's the current gacha design for Reboot!Hex and Libra (Since I can't draw, lel)

Hope you enjoyed it!

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itsthestutterforme · 3 years

Text

Redeemed (Supernatural)

Redeemed Circuit 1/4

Y/N was previously tortured by Dean while he had the mark of cain. They thought she was a demon that worked for Abbadon. Turns out, she was just a human with an allergy to oil. A year later, Y/N was actually a prophet and the Winchester need her to find a way to trap Michael from the other world

Characters: Dean Winchester x POC!reader, Sam x reader, Castiel x reader

"Please, I'm telling you that truth!" Y/N begs as Dean scraped his ugly blade against her clavicle. Sharp stings littering her body and extends to every cut that he made. They speak of Abbadon and demons. At first she called them psychos and high off their asses if they wanted her to believe that demons were real. It wasn't until she saw Dean's eyes flicker black that fear struck her silent.

These cuts and oil burning have been going on for days, and at this point, she wanted to beg for death. "You're going to tell me where Abbadon is," "I don't know where or who Abbadon is, I swear."

Her throat scratches against itself of soreness from her long screams. She was barely able to keep her eyes opened. He grabs her face and pulls her inches away from his.

"You disgust me," he insults before leaving the room. She winced as he slams the door shut and tears pricked her eyes for the hundredth time. The door creaks up but she doesn't bother lifting her head.

Footsteps near her and hand touches her arm. She pulls away from his rough, calloused hands. "Wait a minute, these are- Dean!" "No, please, don't bring him back here." She pleads. "It's alright, honey, I'm so sorry I didn't catch this sooner."

"I'm starting to think she doesn't know anything, we should just kill her." Dean says, making her whimper lightly. "No, look. She's breaking out into hives. She's have an allergic reaction, she's not a demon." Sam says.

She looked up at Sam through swollen eyes as he pulls her wrists and ankles from their restraints. "I'll get the first aid kit," Dean says before leaving the room again. "I am so sorry." "No, let me.. leave me at the hospital." "At the severity of your wounds, you won't make it to the hospital," Sam explains. "I'll take my chances,"

"Listen, I'll.. how about I help you. He doesn't have to touch you." She shakes her head and pushes him away. "Take me to the hospital or let me die." That was the last thing she said before blacking out completely.

A constant beep of a monitor is the only thing she hears. Her eyes slowly peel open to see her brother, Y/B/N holding his face in his hands. He must of heard her sit up because his head shot up and met her eyes with his red, puffy ones. "Y/N? Oh my God," he stands from his chair and takes one of her hands into his.

"We've been looking for you everywhere. And everyone thought that you were.. I'm just glad you're okay." He wipes away his tears with the cuff of his sleeve. No words came to mind to say.

Ironic, really because her mind is blank but her body has plenty to say. Between the stitches, the IV and Dean's punches, getting ran over sounds like a dream right now.

Sam and Dean were tired of standing around waiting to find out when Castiel will find the new prophet that was called forth. They just came back from a hunt and settled down after taking their showers.

They need the prophet to translate the angel tablet they found in the other world.The world where Mary and Jack resided. Hopefully it will help defeat Michael who is definitely coming over here into this world. Castiel just came back from Heaven in search of the next prophet, and what do you know, it's Y/N.

Castiel sets the file down on the table in front of the Winchesters and they opened to see Y/N's picture. "Oh you've got to be kidding me," Dean says, running a hand over his face. "Wait, you know her?" "Yeah, she hates us." Sam says. "It doesn't matter, she has a duty as a prophet to provide what the Lord set out,"

"Believe me, she would rather jump off a bridge than help us." "I'll bring her here," "No!" Sam says, making Cas stop his movements. "Let me just. I'll pick her up. Just tell me where she is." "The last I sensed her, she was in Boise, Idaho," "Do you need any help?" "She won't go if you're there, Dean."

"I know, I just.." Dean trails off and his gazs falls to the floor. "Nevermind," he adds before walking off. "What happened between them?" Cas asks. Sam shakes his head and says, "You don't want to know,".

Sam packs a go bag and takes the Impala to get Y/N. He drives around bars and shops and finally found me walking out of the grocery store with brown, paper bags in my hand.

"Y/N," Sam says as he approaches her. She pulls her head out from under the car. When she sees Sam, her eyes widen and she pulls out her gun. She aims it at him and takes off the safety. "Whoa, whoa! I-I'm not here to hurt. I just need your help." She slightly lower her gun and look to the Impala for Dean.

"He's not here," he says and she puts the safety on before tucking it under her belt. "You okay?" Sam asks. She raised her index finger before reaching back into the car for a writing pad.

"Help for what?" She writes and showed him. "Did something happen to your voice?" "I made a vow," she writes. "Because of Dean?" he asks.

She didn't say anything but she pulls the writing pad closer to her chest. "Listen, there is something coming. Something bigger than all of us, an archangel. And he's coming here to lay waste to our world. We may have something to stop it but we can't read it without a prophet.

"I know. I've been having visions." She writes. He nods and she looks at him for a moment. Almost as if he read her mind, he says, "I will make sure that he leaves you alone." "He's your brother,"

"What we did was wrong, but this isn't about us. It's about the world." "I know," "So you'll help us?" She nods before writing, "I need to get my computer first,"

It's been weeks since she went to the bunker for the first time. Seeing Dean for the first time in years sent chills down her body. Everything that happened, everything that he did to her was still fresh in her mind.

She has nightmares every night and wake up. It took her months to make sure she didn't scream herself awake.

"I don't know, Dean." "Oh come on, I'm not going to do anything," Dean says. They think she plays music while have earphones on when she is translating the tablet on her computer. Well sometimes, she does.

Other times she just put it on to listen in their conversations. "You know how she acts when you even look at her too long," "We have to learn to work together, especially with Michael coming here,"

"What do you think she's doing? She didn't have to help us. She could have said screw you and left us to die. But she's pushing past things," "Sam, you're just going for a milk run. It's not that big of a deal. She'll be fine." Dean says.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoes through out the bunker. She hears Dean walks behind her and she could feel the hairs on her neck stand up.

"I know you can't hear me but, I have to say it. Words can't even begin to express how much guilt I have weighing on my chest. It's so heavy that I can't even breathe. I--" she stands up from the table and take off my earphones.

She locks eyes with him for the first time she got there. She shake her head and closed her computer before rushing into her room to lock the door behind her.

Why the hell do I feel bad for him? He's the one that made my life hell! He doesn't deserve my forgivness. She thinks to herself. She collapses on the bed and sigh when she heard her phone chiming.

She reaches over the bed and into the nightstand to look at who was it was. She clicked on her Y/B/N contact and opened a new message from him.

It was a man with glowing blue eyes mainly in the frame but in the very left top corner, she saw her brother beaten to a bloody pulp. The background seemed oddly familiar Fear shudders through her body and she could feel it starting to freeze over.

"DEAN!" She yells. That was the first time she spoke in two years. Heavy footsteps run towards her room and before she could stand to open the door, he kicks the door in.

She showed him the phone and his jaw clenches. "He has my brother," "He's already here. Did you find anything important on the tablet?" "Yeah, I'm practically finished. There's a scepter like weapon with angel grace in it. That's the only thing that kill him."

"Do you have no idea where it is?" "Not me, but your angel friend can," "Alright, pack a go bag and meet me in the garage in 10," She nods and pull open the drawers when Dean says, "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?" "We'll get him back." She doesn't say anything and continued to pack. They packed clothes and weapons before texting Sam her address to meet.

Within a couple hours, they arrived at her house and there was an eerie vibe about it. Dean wanted her to wait in the car until Sam got there but she couldn't wait while that son of a bitch was hurting her brother.

She ran inside and Dean followed her into went to the house. Blood was smeared all over the walls and windows. The house stenched of metal and rotting flesh. She found my brother with his skull cracked open in the kitchen.

She heart was barely able to take seeing him like that but when she saw her niece with bruises littering her neck, she lost it.

That son of a bitch strangled her to death. She must have been so scared. Y/N cradled her cold, limp body in her arms and smooth out her soft, curly hair. "I'm so sorry, honey." She stand up but her eyes don't leave the corpse. "I need a minute," "Whatever you need," he says before leaving the room.

Anger boils her blood and yells erupted from her chest. She rushed out of the room and kicked the couch forwards. She grabbed the lamp and throw it against the wall.

She picked up the nightstand and slamed it on the ground with a satisfying crack. She kicked the nightstand and into the corner and standing in front of the family portrait.

Her fist finds its way through the picture and she just kept punching and punching. She didn't care if the glass was piercing through the flesh of my hands.

Sam finally arrives at Y/N's house with Cas. "I'll check around the perimeter of the house," Cas says. Sam nods and asks, "Where's Y/N?" Right on cue, she yells out in anger.

"Y/N," Sam tries to walk into the house but Dean holds him back. "Give her a minute. She found the bodies of her brother and niece," Dean explains. Sam sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. "It's our fault," Sam says.

"I know. They would still be alive if she didn't help us," Dean says. "She's already been through enough," "He's gone. There's no trace of Michael." Cas says to them as he walks up the steps. "Damn it," Dean says.

Y/N is huddled in the corner with her bleeding hands. "Alright, Y/N, enough of this. There's only one thing left to do now." She stands up and walks out of the house. Their eyes fall to her hands and she noticed. "It's alright, don't worry about it." "We should at least cover it so it doesn't get infected." "I need to get this cleaned up," she says, motioning to the house.

"You don't have to do this alone, Y/N." "I'm used to it," she says, walking passed them and opening the garage. She pulls out a shovel and Sam gets in the way. "Y/N, please. Let us help," he explains.

"I know you feel guilty, but it's best if you leave. I'm not angry at you, I'm just tired of the people around me getting hurt." She looked from Sam to Dean and Dean steps closer to her.

"Well you're stuck with us. And we're all in." "Once I'm done here, I'm making sure Michael's head is on a pike. And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Like I said, all in." Dean says. "Then start digging a pit at least a foot deep. We have to burn everything in that house." She says, handing them both a shovel.

"You've done this before?" Sam asks. "My brother did, and he told me in case something happened to him.." she trails off. "I'll get your hands cleaned up," Cas says, motioning to her hands. "Fine,"

#poc!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural

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cocoalover1956 · 4 years

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I’m writing a Robert’s Rebellion AU where Elia lives and it’s really hitting me how almost nobody outside of Dorne cared about her and children’s deaths. Here’s the list of people (besides the Martells and Targaryens, of course) who are confirmed in the text to be horrified by what happened:

Ned Stark

Jaime Lannister

Barristan Selmy

Varys

Thoros of Myr

That’s it. Every other time their deaths are mentioned, it’s with a sense of complete detachment or apathy at best. Kevan mentions that no one could stand to look at Rhaenys’s and Aegon’s bodies, but he never outright condemns or questions Tywin’s actions. Jon Connington would presumably feel appalled, but he hardly ever thinks of Elia or Rhaenys.

How is this not a bigger deal in Westeros? Where is the horror, the outrage, the disgust?

Even if most people look down on the Dornish and Elia specifically for being disabled, it’s still the gruesome murder of a young mother and her two small children in the middle of the Red Keep that happened less than twenty years ago, that nobody was held accountable for. There are tons of characters who did or could have known Elia when she was still alive and should feel something regarding her death. Characters get so emotional over stuff that happened fifty, a hundred, a thousand years ago, to people they’ve never met. Why don’t Elia and her children inspire any kind of emotion in anyone but their family members and a handful of others?

And their deaths should have cast a much bigger shadow over Robert’s reign as king and his reputation as a person. He smiled over the corpses of babies and doesn’t get called bloodthirsty, heartless, or a threat to children by the general population. The only times it’s brought up is in relation to Daenerys and Cersei’s kids (and implicitly Jon), for plot reasons.

I can think of so many moments where this could have been interjected in story:

Catelyn, after learning about the stag and wolf that killed each other and seeing it as a omen, imagines Robert smiling over her kids’ bodies like he did Rhaenys’s and Aegon’s.

Sansa comparing herself to Elia while she’s trapped in the Red Keep, or one of her loved ones doing the same.

Arya thinking of how Amory Lorch killed Rhaenys after he attacks the Night’s Watch recruits.

Theon contemplating how he killed two innocent children for his own benefit, like Tywin Lannister did.

Sandor telling Sansa that his brother still reaps the benefits of being a knight, not despite but because of what he did to Elia and Aegon.

Lysa saying that she felt disgusted at Jon Arryn for going along with the murders, or that she feared her son could meet the same fate, or that she could never trust Robert or Tywin after what they did. (Or course that would require GRRM to give a damn about Lysa).

Someone sarcastically saying they can probably win Robert’s approval by showing him some dead children.

Someone bringing up the fact that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen only exist and have the lives they do because Rhaenys and Aegon were murdered, and how they grapple with that knowledge. (I mean, Joffrey wouldn’t care, but still.)

Apart from how infuriating it is that so few people care about Elia or her kids, it’s poor set-up for future plots. The Martells are putting plans in motion to avenge Elia, but the readers only learn anything substantial about her when Oberyn shows up in ASOS. Jon’s parentage is set up from AGOT, but he never thinks of Rhaegar’s family and only thinks of Rhaegar once. It’d be one thing if Elia and children’s murders were clearly the elephant in the room that everyone was afraid to talk about openly, but no, they’re just not considered important. That really undermines the impact of Aegon’s invasion and Dorne’s desire of vengeance.

I hope GRRM realizes this and forces the other characters to contend with the horror of what happened in TWOW (and if he could stop making people victim-blame Elia for getting cheated on, that’d be great), but given the way he writes about characters of colors, I’m not holding my breath.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Quarantine On Crack

Until Dawn Gang + Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Some underage drinking, A LONG-ASS READ (sorry 😅)

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Humor

Summary: The Until Dawn kids (including Hannah and Beth) decide to go through literal hell - trying to survive each other while being stuck on a mountain, in a lodge together for an undetermined amount of time. It’s really a 50/50 chance of how their relationships will be affected by this much time spent together.

Requested by my dear Until Dawn Anon. This is the first time our babies aren’t suffering yay! Hope you enjoy! Know I had a ton of fun writing. The credit for some of these amazing quotes goes out to you (keep both the requests and quotes coming, I absolutely love them!) Love you, Vy ❤

Imagine what the aftermath of a human tornado would look like. You’ve got an image? Great. Now triple it as though three tornados had ripped through the place. Cause that’s what the lodge looks like right now.

Let me backtrack just for a second so I can give you a proper idea of what’s going on and how it came to be. I’d like to mention this ain’t my first rodeo. I’m not in Blackwood nor am I staying in this lodge with this group of people for the first time. I knew what I was getting myself into when I accepted Josh’s offer to go there now with this pandemic that’s eating away at the world. I knew certain members of the group would be hell to put up with but that quarantine beat staying at home alone with my thoughts, so I gave in. This plan had its perks: since we would be the only ones on the mountains and all of us are perfectly healthy, we’d be allowed to wander the woods and breathe some fresh air. On the other hand, however, I’d have to restrain myself from committing murder. The snowy wood outweighed the possibility of becoming a murderer and that’s how I ended up here with the ten people I’ve been friends with since high school freshmen year.

We’re on day four so far. Yes DAY four, not WEEK four, and people are already scrapping with one another. Jess and Emily can barely tolerate each other. Mike and Matt likewise. I’ve been done with their shit since day two and am now watching a literal rom-com unfold in front of me. “Will They, Won’t They Squared” is the title in case you were wondering. Why squared? Well we have two pairs of love birds around here that are not official, BUT THEY SHOULD BE. Not naming any names or anything *ahem*.

I probably should’ve mentioned, while I was on the scrapping topic, that I have already managed to threaten Mike at least ten times. Emily and I are trying our hardest to remain civil with each other through passive aggression, and I must admit we’re doing well.

Another thing that has been going on is A LOT OF FUCKING FLIRTING. I swear we run on hormones and caffeine. And I’m into it.

Jess and Emily were at each other’s throats just moments ago, the argument took so many turns and kept branching out so much I forgot what they were even fighting about. Sam and Josh are sitting in front of the unlit fireplace. Sam’s giving him a hard time about his inability to light a fire. She’s basically doing what I would’ve been doing if Matt hadn’t handed me a cup of homemade cider.

“Y/N.“ He says as he settles on the other end of the couch

“Matthew.“ I reply to his greeting, clinking our cups together

“GET A ROOM YOU TWO!“ Emily yells from somewhere behind us

“We have like three empty seats between us and exchanged two words.“ Matt shakes his head, looking at the staircase over the backrest.

“Oh, sureee.“ Emily replies sarcastically

I can tell she’s about to go on and I’ve already went off on Mike twice today so my argument energy levels are low and I’m not having it. Thankfully, a single look shuts her up real quick and she goes about her way.

Suddenly, a loud scream comes from the kitchen. Everyone turns to look in that direction, but I’m unfazed. It’s Ashley’s scream so I know exactly what’s up.

“Sit tight, guys. I’ve got this.“ I put my cider on the coffee table and walk into the kitchen, grabbing the can of deodorant that I purposely left on the counter for this exact scenario. I pull the lighter out of my pocket and step between Ashley and the source of her terror which is, as I guessed, one of those mutated ass Blackwood cockroaches.

I waste no time torching it and picking it up with a paper towel before throwing it in the trash. We take the trash out every night at eleven PM as some unspoken ritual, so the corpse can chill there for now. I ain’t going out in the cold just to throw away the dead body of a cockroach.

“Sorry about that.“ Ashley says through a relieved sigh

“Don’t worry, Ash. Everyone’s afraid of something.“ I assure her, putting the can of deodorant where it previously was.

“Even you?“ she asks skeptically

“Nope.“ I respond with a smirk.

“I CAN CONFIRM!“ Josh calls out from his spot in front of the fireplace, “SHE ISN’T AFRAID OF ANYTHING!“

“And a pyromaniac on top of all.“ Chris mumbles under his breath

He’s not wrong. I did teach them the deodorant flamethrower trick.

I notice Jess has taken one of those three seats Matt mentioned were between him and I earlier. The one closest to him, to be specific. Instead of third wheeling, I grab my cup and plop myself in one of the armchairs.

“Is that another point for the ‘Y/N’s burnt cockroaches’ score board?“ Mr. Munroe struts his way into the room.

I hum affirmatively, “Piss me off some more and there will be another point on that score board.” I warn him nonchalantly, taking a sip of my now almost cold cider.

Ashley, who has safely made it out of the kitchen and is now sitting on the floor by the couch looks up at me and Mike who is now standing behind my chair, looming over me like a street lamp. “Do you two even consider each other friends?”

I give Mike a debating glance, one he returns, before looking back at Ash, “We fuck occasionally.” Mike confirms from behind me.

“That doesn’t answer the question.“ Ashley’s disappointed sigh mixes with Jess’ shocked gasp.

I give Jess an unamused look, “What? Don’t act like I haven’t slept with you too.”

Poor Matt, who’s halfway through a sip of his drink nearly chokes at my words, “Wait, WHAT?”

“OK, show hands everyone who HASN’T slept with Y/N!“ Mike declares.

Chris, Ash, Sam, Josh and Matt raise their hands in the air.

“I’m honestly offended that I haven’t.“ Sam says while raising hers.

“Offended that you haven’t what?“ Hannah asks as her and Beth come downstairs a bunch of board games and puzzles in their arms. “And why are we raising our hands?”

“People who haven’t slept with Y/N.“ Jess quickly explains, grumpily folding her arms over her chest. I can’t help but laugh, nor can I restrain the urge to fluster her even further by winking at her.

“I would raise my hand but these boxes would go everywhere.“ Hannah shakes her head.

“I won’t raise mine because....well, I just won’t.“ Beth blushes, making me laugh.

Josh whips around to glare at me, “Seriously?”

I raise my hands in surrender, “Wasn’t my idea.”

Thankfully the topic is dropped by the time Emily walks in. She sits down on the other side of Jess on the couch, more than happy to interrupt her and Matt’s flirting.

“Oh, finally!“ Sam says as the fire that’s been in the making for a while now finally lights, “I knew you could do it, Josh!“

“We could’ve done it a lot quicker if you helped, you know?“ He narrows his eyes playfully at her, taking the hand she offered to him so she could help him up.

“True, but I was your moral support. You know I like focusing on one task rather than multitasking.“ She teases him, “And now I’ll be your cider supplier. Be right back.“

I give Josh that knowing smirk when I see his ears reddening. You know something’s up when your cheeks/ears are burning hot in a room that’s around freezing - you’re either burning with a fever or a crush. No other explanation.

Hannah and Beth have set the board games they’ve brought onto the coffee table so we can decide what we’d like to play.

“UNO?“ Beth offers while Jess, Josh and Matt look at the options.

War-like flashback ensue when I shake my head, “No! Nah hah, I’ll be tempted to strangle somebody.”

“Over UNO?“ Josh gives me this look that’s between disappointed and deeply concerned

“I’ve been tempted to kill over Rock, Paper and Scissors.“ That statement tells him enough that he turns back around with this stunned look on his face.

Eventually, after a lot of convincing, the whole gang is on board with playing a round or two of truth or dare until one of us decides something more original because we really don’t feel like playing board games.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?“ Emily asks, not giving anyone else a chance.

I smirk, kicking my feet up on the table, leaning back in the chair, “Truth for the first round.”

“Who here is the best in bed?“ she sneakily narrows her eyes at me, thinking she’s intimidating. How cute.

“Dare.“ Why don’t we make things interesting?

Em doesn’t complain, “We still have that cockroach’s corpse?”

“Enough said.“ I get up from my seat only to get grabbed by Mike and pulled back down.

“Easy there, caveman.“ He says, shaking his head, “Just answer the question. This doesn’t need to be gross.”

Chris, Ash, Matt and Jess look mortified. “You were gonna do it, weren’t you?” Matt gathers the guts to ask.

I give him a sweet smile and a nod. “And to answer your question: Me. My turn! Josh, truth or dare?”

He glares at me intensely, “Dare.”

The fucker knows I’m not the type to give ‘kiss this person’ or ‘7 minutes in heaven with that person’ dares. But I do ask some risky questions. Well...the only way to get him into my trap is to use his hatred for bug against him.

“We do still have that cockroach. So...“ I give an innocent shrug of the shoulders, giving him the chance to put two and two together instead of breaking it to him.

You could pinpoint the exact moment the realization hits him, his face turning in disgust. “You know, Y/N, sometimes I really love you.” He says, very touching of him, “And sometimes I’d love to kill you.” He takes a moment, a moment filled with aggressive eye contact between us before finally giving in, growling: “Truth.”

I think I’m level with Mother Theresa for what I did next. “What’s your favorite video game?”

The relief that washes over him is priceless to see. His answer comes as a sigh that indicates that the whole world has been lifted off his chest, “Metal Gear Solid.”

“Cool.“ I say with a cheeky smile.

Being the college kids we are, we easily get bored after a few more rounds, but not before having to defuse an argument that’s basically name-calling between Jess and Emily. I’ve noticed a pattern: if one of them as much as breathes in the other’s direction - a cat fight takes place.

Thankfully, the group disperses into smaller groups or in pairs. Sam, Josh, Chris and Ash go to the theater. Mike and Jess head upstairs, and I think no one would like to go to that area of the lodge in the next two or so hours. Emily and Matt go on a stroll while Hannah and Beth somehow convince me to play Monopoly.

The round ends with Beth somehow gathering all of mine and Hannah’s territories. After a brief celebration they head on over to the theater to join the others. I turn down their offer to accompany them and go warm up the cider that’s now literally frozen.

“Grab whiskey if you want to speed up the process.“ I’m surprised to hear Munroe’s voice behind me but don’t show it as I refuse to even turn around to answer him.

“I’m saving the whiskey for when things get really fucked up.“

“Smart, I guess.“

I choose to be nice and fill up a cup for him as well. I hop up on the counter, taking a slow sip of my drink while looking Mike, who’s standing opposite me, leaning against the kitchen island, dead in the eyes.

“You know,“ he’s the one to break the tense silence that surged between us, “jealousy is a poisonous thing.“

Intriguing opening, Michael. “I’ve heard, yes.”

“Then why don’t you just drop it? You’ll be happier if you do, trust me.“ That smug look on his face makes me want to pour the hot liquid (Destery Smith, anyone?) directly onto his handsome features.

I hear a pair of footsteps approaching the kitchen. A side glance in the direction the noise is coming from confirms that there are indeed two people coming this way - Chris and Ashley.

“A bold thing to tell me while we’re around so many sharp objects.“ If the eyes are really windows to the soul, I would like to picture his with a bunch of stab-wounds from my glare-daggers. Though my gaze is intense, there is a calm smirk on my face. “I can kill you right now.“

Chris and Ashley walk into the kitchen and freeze - they clearly hadn’t noticed us until it was too late. They are looking at us like a pair of deer caught in headlights - mortified.

Mike jumps at the opportunity to ensure his safety, “You can’t! There’s witnesses.”

Unfazed, I turn to the pair who’s on the fence about what they should do, “Guys, could you please excuse us for a moment.”

They both nod hesitantly, slowly taking a step back. Mike is not about to let them go, however. He straightens up, setting the cup he’s holding aside. “No, no, no! Don’t move! Not another step!”

Their eyes land on me and I give them a reassuring and encouraging nod to exit the room. They both comply easily.

“Guys, come on!“ Mike pleads desperately, making me suppress a chuckle

“Sorry, Mike. But you won’t show up at my house in the middle of the night....“ Chris trails off with his apology when Ashley takes hold of his hand so she can lead him away from the kitchen.

“She will.” Ash finishes his sentence, giving me a subtle wink to which I reply by blowing her a kiss.

“Checkmate“ I say triumphally, turning to look at a somewhat scared and disappointed Mike.

“A FIRE IN THE THEATRE!“ Hannah’s scream startles all of us.

I look at the where I left the deodorant earlier, finding the spot vacant. Oh boy...

“Damn it, Josh! I told you not to use the flamethrower without my supervision!“

As Mike and I run out of the kitchen I hear Chris say: “I’m afraid this is the only time this getaway will be lit.”

I hope Ashley gently smacked him upside the head in response to that.

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perfect-fourth · 3 years

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𝆺𝅥 One. Two. Three. Four.

Submerged underwater, everything above him melted away into a meaningless echoed distortion. It wavered and whispered hints of a world that didn't matter in those moments, a world that for the briefest time, was disconnected from the man beneath the surface. He could hear his own heart pulsing in his ears, a steady and rhythmic percussion. A drum beat.

Five, six, seven, eight.

Khada Jhin had always had an affinity for the water, before he'd even known who Khada Jhin was. Perhaps it was in the way it made him feel; the weightlessness and comfort of being swallowed by something so amorphous and unpredictable and great. Cradled by the arms of the sea, he felt infinitesimally small, and yet he chased that sensation with all the unbridled recklessness of any youth who had yet to grasp the concept of mortality, swimming further and further away from the coast until he saw only the suggestion of land in the distance. He imagined the ocean was the sky, and he was a solitary star, a blinding flicker drifting in the reflection of the endless cosmos. It was a game for him back then, to see how far he could go, how deep before the currents pushed him back to shore. That was, until the day they didn't.

Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty.

The waters were calmer than usual, and when he'd gone out, he felt confident in his ignorance. How far could he go? He saw in the far, far distance, a small island of rock. It was a goal he set for himself every time he escaped to this patch of beach, and one that he felt in his gut he could reach that day. He was well rested, and for the first time in ages(at least, from the perspective of someone who'd only lived 11 years), father had let him skip out on his training. It was the new year, after all, and it brought with it many superstitions that the boy was happy to exploit on behalf of his Old World father. He was untouchable on that day, he could do as he wished so long as it didn't provoke any nasty spirits or bring any bad luck onto their family, as small as it was.

Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-six.

He'd begun to regret this decision when his arms grew weighty in the tepid waves. Still, he was closer to his rocky destination than he was to the shore. Perhaps if he could reach it he could rest there for a time before making the long swim back to land.

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.

The riptide caught him 30 feet or so from his objective. He’d already been close to his limit before then, but the sudden shift in the waters’ motion caught him off guard, and brought him under in the struggle to fight against it. The panic that set in ignited his tired limbs, but his efforts were fruitless against the pull of the water. He swallowed some, choked on it and warbled about until exhaustion overrode panic and he stopped battling against the flow of the current.

Sixty-nine. Seventy. Seventy-one. Seventy-two.

When his eyes opened beneath the water, he caught sight of something pale and blurry through the heaviness of his own oxygen-deprived lungs. As the waves pulled him closer, his mind recognized the outline through the sapphire haze: a hand, a human hand, slender fingers that glimmered with gold and jewels and beckoned him to breech the distance that threatened to sacrifice him to the arms of the sea for as long as time would grant. When his hands both latched hold to the one in the water, he felt no effort made to pull him up. All he felt was cold skin beneath his fingers that seemed to slip against his grasp off a mannequin-stiff limb. There was no room for shock until after he’d used the last vestiges of life left in his sore muscles to yank himself up onto the sharp rocky islet.

Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six.

It was the first time he’d seen a corpse up close; let alone touched one. He choked and vomited on the salty waters that had found their way into his belly, and on the stench of the body that fluttered beside him. She was half submerged, but anchored to the islet by a particularly jagged stone. Had he seen such a sight in his latter years, he would have been able to identify approximately how long she’d been dead for; her age, her status in life. But back then, he could only ponder the possibilities of these things while he sat with her in desolate exhaustion, still recovering the air in his lungs as best he could through fits of gagging.

Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty.

There was no choice, really. He had to stay there, at least for awhile. He couldn’t very well make the swim back to shore right away, at best one of the local fishermen would spot him and come grab him up before he had to try. It was something he lost faith in after a few hours of waiting, when the sun started to go down. The way it glimmered on her wet, marble-veined skin looked ethereal to him, in a way.

Eighty-one. Eighty-two. Eighty-three. Eighty-four.

It took him much less time than he thought it would to settle himself from the overwhelming panic. The panic of nearly drowning, the panic of finding himself subsequently stranded in the middle of the ocean with a rotting corpse, the panic of how much trouble he was going to be in when and if he got home-- it was all pretty inconsequential once the light of the first star peaked across the deep blues and purples of twilight. It would be unwise to try and swim back now, and he knew that. As much as he’d tried to gather his strength, even in the warmth of day he would have been a fool to try and risk it. He was already cold, and wet, and his hands and knees were bloodied from the stones he sat on. They looked much more comfortable from afar.

Eighty-five. Eighty-six. Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight.

Eventually he no longer felt disgust, and he’d grown accustom to the smell that lingered(though perhaps it might have been the chill of nighttime numbing his senses). Curled into himself, he watched her when he could no longer peer at the coastline without feeling his stomach tumble. There was a strange sort of beauty to it, to death; to see what his fate might be if he was to die there. He didn’t know what had killed her, but he knew what he saw. Her flesh was a glimmering array of pinks and yellows and off-whites, swollen and splitting where it could no longer keep itself from blossoming open. Deeper marks and gashes marred what was made visible beneath the tattering of her robes, fine emerald silks stained and open beneath the weight of something much more violent than the ocean, something that had intentionally torn into her flesh to showcase the tissue beneath.

Eighty-nine, ninety. Ninety-one. Ninety-two.

He remembered staring for hours at one particular wound, on her right thigh. It wasn’t as vicious as some of the others, but it had been effective enough to slice through the first few layers of flesh and reveal the fat beneath. The blood had long since washed away to reveal true color, and with the crabs and insects that had begun to try and pick away at meat beyond the constantly shifting layers of fabric, he couldn’t help but to think it resembled the hive of a bee. Wouldn’t it have been nice, if people bled honey instead? Wouldn’t it have been nice? Wouldn’t it be nice, wouldn’t it be lovely?

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine. One hundred.

The musician gasped for air as he rose gracelessly from the calm surface of his bath. Disrupted by his movements, the gently scented waters splashed across the paneling that surrounded it and put out two candles in its wake. He’d lasted longer last time, but he hadn’t anticipated where his mind would wander that night, either. It was a bit jarring, as it had been so long since he’d recalled that memory-- or, any memory from that time, really. It felt distant to him, and he liked it that way. He wasn’t that boy anymore, or that person; he wasn’t trapped, and yet inspiration was something he could still draw from him. He thanked him for that, eyes settling on one of the uncooperative candles that lay on the ledge of his bath.

When he could breath properly again, he snubbed the other 2 out with his dampened fingertips and a sigh.

#drabble #writing #tw gore #gore #graphic fucking shit #long post #baby jhin #baby jhin trauma time #like one of them #for now until they decide to do something with his lore that invalidates headcanons and such #tw self harm???#self harm #just in case #trypophobia #aquaphobia #don't read this if you're afraid of tiny masses of things or drowning #might rb this tomorrow and edit it more its like 4 am almost #appropriately #I got a wee bit carried away

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

Text

whumptober day 9: take me instead

still here, still doing this! ‘twas nice to take a break for the last 6 months but i think i’m ready to come back.

summary: set after titans s2. jericho’s spent years as a mind without a body--enough to think he’s not in real danger from the villains the titans fight on a regular basis. it isn’t until dick puts himself on the line to save him that he realises how wrong he’s been.

warnings: SPOILERS for s2. serious body horror including gore and mutilation. a whole scene of this is inspired straight from a nightmare i had, so please be cautious as the descriptions are graphic.

take me instead

Leave him alone! I can… I can give what you want, and more. I’ve seen and done things you couldn’t even imagine.

Take me instead.

It’s the last thing Jericho remembers for a while.

When Jericho is next aware, he’s sitting at a familiar workbench next to his father. Slade is taking apart and putting together guns of increasing complexity at a steady pace, not looking at Jericho once, but the silence is familiar and almost… comfortable. There’s none of the cloying dread or desperation that he felt while spending six years trapped in Slade’s head; the guns might as well be fishing rods or model airplanes to the curl of warmth in Jericho’s chest.

“I want you to be ready,” Slade says in the manner of someone already in the middle of a conversation, “for this next mission. I know that it’s on short notice, but there’s something in the next room that should help you.” He finally turns to look at Jericho, and he realises with a jolt that Slade’s actually smiling. For a long, dumbfounded moment, Jericho stares at his father, at the beaming smile, the crinkle of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Go on, then,” Slade says, tilting his head at a door that Jericho didn’t notice before. A part of Jericho is pulsing with anxiety (remembers that endlessly white prison, dead-but-not) but it’s smothered by a haze of contentment and a ready, easy trust that has him get up, open the door, and step through.

There’s a long metal table with a body on it. The reason it’s a body and not a person is because it’s covered with a long white sheet and the shapes underneath the sheet are… unnatural. The angles too sharp, the girth too thin, everything too still to be anything that’s alive. Jericho’s not sure why Slade thinks a corpse would help him with anything, but he moves ahead as though compelled, again, and lifts the sheet away.

The body is on its back, naked, limbs splayed awkwardly. It’s emaciated to a degree that the skin is worn down to the bone in some places: the fingers are literally skeletal, and so are the jutting crescents of the hips. There are enormous festering wounds on one thigh and one arm, excavated through layers of skin, fat and muscle like craters filled with… slough, and pus, and other disgusting things, and still bleeding--

--still bleeding--

Jericho’s been avoiding looking at the face until now, and there is a slow, sad sort of resignation in his chest as he lifts his gaze to see skin cleaving to the skull, eyes huge and watering in nearly abyssal sockets. The body’s lipless mouth moves.

“Jericho,” Dick says.

There’s no moment where Jericho’s jolted back to reality; just a dawning horror. There are a thousand questions crowding in his throat but the one he asks is: “Did… did Slade do this to you?”

“No, he--Jer--” Dick coughs, and Jericho watches with sick fascination as his ribs glide underneath his skin. “You have to get away from here. Now.”

“Not without--” you, I can’t leave without you “--knowing what he did to you, how could this even--”

There’s a chill in the air, so sudden and fierce that it slices through his skin and numbs his lips. The room he’s in--that he’s hardly paid any attention to so far--warps and twists, the edges where the walls meet the ceiling blackening like it’s a photograph that someone’s taken a flame to. Dick twitches on the table, trying to move, and bloodied spittle sprays his chin as he says, “Leave! Now!”

“I don’t--”

I SEE YOU.

The voice, female, is both a whisper in his ear and a roar that echoes inside the collapsing room. Dick lets out a scream that frankly Jericho would’ve never guessed he had the strength for and an invisible force pushes Jericho to the door that he just came from. Jericho tries to fight back, twist and get back to Dick, but before he knows it, he’s stumbling through the door, falling to his hands and knees. He jumps to his feet, unaccountably angry at Slade, the world, and mostly Dick--who, despite having far less experience with this slippery, in-between world than Jericho, just tossed him aside like it was nothing at all.

Overachieving bastard.

He whirls around to confront his father, but Slade has disappeared, and so has his workroom, and any semblance of a place at all. Instead, Jericho stands in the middle of ever-extending blackness that might be a cavern, given the way his footsteps echo eerily and the weak light that filters in every few metres. Dust motes float lazily in those little beams, and their presence makes the whole place somehow creepier than the complete absence of light.

“Dick?” Jericho’s voice is small, uncertain, but the word echoes nonetheless, making him flinch. Once the echoes die, however, there is only silence.

He picks a direction and keeps walking, because, honestly, what else is he going to do? It doesn’t take long for a human shape to materialise in one of the pools of watery light, and Jericho isn’t entirely surprised to see that it’s Dick. This Dick looks… whole, though, strong and broad and dressed in his Nightwing suit sans mask. He’s got his escrima sticks out as though anticipating an attack, and he’s not really looking at Jericho.

Jericho’s about to call out to him when a shape swoops in from the darkness straight to Dick. It’s moving with incredible speed, claws extended and glinting in the light, but Dick is faster. He swings his sticks around and knocks it to the ground, only to bring them up again to block the next attack.

Soon Dick is at the centre of a storm of black, punctuated by the rustle of cloth and the screams of the creatures dying as his sticks turn into swords. He’s barely finished skewering one creature before he’s lifting the sword--still dripping with gore--and plunging it into the heart of another creature. Jericho watches, open-mouthed, as Dick fights with a frightening combination of grace and force, his body twirling and leaping like he’s dancing but his thrusts sharp and brutal, driven by pure anger. Jericho can hardly countenance this… force of nature with the man who melted in his arms when he gave him an unexpected hug, or the one that came to seek absolution from his mother, half-wrecked by guilt and anguish.

He could’ve kept watching forever (Dick could’ve kept fighting forever) when he feels a bony hand like icicles rest on his shoulder and hears I’VE FOUND YOU, LITTLE ONE

“No! Jericho!” Dick stops for the second it takes him to shout Jericho’s name, and Jericho realises why Dick had been such a storm of movement: it takes only a fraction of that second for the shadow-creatures to overcome his defences and… tear at him. Blood and gore spray in a messy arc as his arm is torn clean off his body but Dick’s still standing, staring at him, shouting--

Jericho’s knees shake and his stomach’s turned to water but he shakes off the hand on his shoulder and runs--away from whatever it was that spoke to him, away from Dick, whose shouts have died and been replaced by the sickening, wet sounds of ripping flesh.

He runs, but there’s Dick again, younger now, crushed between two panes of glass like an insect in a display case--

YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER.

--turns a corner, and Dick’s on a rack, an actual rack, and at each corner there’s somebody turning the pulley and stretching his limbs until his shoulders and knees pop out of their sockets, and, and, is Batman one of them? And one of the others, his face is half-shrouded in scar tissue--

ALTHOUGH, and now there’s a hint of amused menace, THAT MIGHT BE FUN, TOO.

Jericho sets off again, heart thundering in his chest and pulsing in his neck, panic scraping his breath through his throat and nose. It’s been so long since he’s had a body to call his own, but his mind can’t forget what it feels like to be truly afraid, to look at a threat and think: that’s going to really hurt, or i’m going to die, or both.

Along the way he feels little nudges from Dick, helping him pour on the speed. When these nudges stop, and he’s run out of corners to turn and reached one where he can only huddle, he turns.

There’s a woman standing there: tall, almost statuesque. Her skin is grey and her hair hangs limp past her shoulders. But her eyes are luminescent: pools of algae on water that reflects a coal-black night. There is naked hunger in the way she looks at him, in her smile full of mossy, pointed teeth.

HE’S RIGHT IN A WAY, she says. HE BURNS SO BRIGHT, AND HIS PAIN SO EXQUISITE. BUT HE IS ALREADY BURNING OUT. YOU… she steps closer, YOU WILL LAST FOREVER.

Jericho feels frozen as she reaches a bony hand towards him. HIS SACRIFICE WILL HAVE BEEN IN VAIN--HOW DELICIOUS.

He feels a familiar ice-cold pain along his throat, razor-thin, and a deeper, hotter pain that’s boring into his stomach. If he closes his eyes he can imagine that it’s Slade on the other end of a sword, eyes wide in horror and--and betrayal--

“No.” The pain in his stomach stops, and Jericho opens his eyes to see Dick’s back in front of him, the pointed end of an icicle emerging from his middle and dripping blood on Jericho’s feet.

And Dick still--

“While I’m still here, in my head,” Dick growls, “you don’t get to touch him.”

The woman screams--it’s a horrible sound, full of rage that buries itself like needlepoints in his eardrums--but Jericho has no time to linger as he feels the hardest push he’s gotten from Dick yet, and a sensation like someone’s reached into him and pulled his stomach clear out of his body, and then--

then--

he’s out.

For a long, surreal second, he is just a mind floating without a body, threatening to vanish into the ether if he can’t ground himself in somebody else’s head. He casts frantically for the nearest person and enters--and to his relief, it’s Rose. She must know something of what’s going on, because she immediately steps back and lets Jericho take over her body.

They’re in the Titans Tower, and he can see Kory, Rachel and Gar crowded around something--well, somebody--on the floor. At his choked, “Dick,” they immediately part, and there’s Dick on the floor, curled around nothing, ashen, eyes open and unseeing. He’s shaking minutely, but besides that there’s nothing to indicate that right now, inside his head, he’s being torn apart over and over and over again--

“He won’t let me help him,” Rachel says, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face. “She wants you. He says he won’t let that happen.”

Jericho crashes to his knees next to Dick. He gathers his head onto his lap--tries to ignore how cold he feels and banishes all memories of his wasted body on that cold table--and kisses his forehead. “Please,” he says, tears spilling to land on Dick’s face and slide down to his ears. “Just--please.”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for. But he thinks Dick will find a way to give it to him anyway.

#titans #my fic #dick grayson #jericho wilson #a byronic cupcake

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neverhaveieverheardkazbrekkersay · 3 years

Text

Gloom and Glare - Chapter 1.2

𝔬𝔫𝔢

Kaz

Kaz’s breath stuttered. The wraith was the Darkling. The small Suli girl best at gathering secrets for him. The one the shadows followed like dogs. Of course, it was her.

Kaz’s thoughts were racing. Circling around how obvious it was. She could appear out of shadows, making no sounds. Whenever she had entered a room, it had seemed to go darker. It was unbelievably obvious. How could Kaz not have realized it? How could he have been this oblivious?

“Inej.” His voice was low and raspier than usual.

“Kaz,” she replied, a soft smile touching her lips. Unlike what he thought of any Darkling.

He glared at her and the friendly tuck at her lips faded quickly. Her coffee brown eyes lock on the heartrender briefly. “Is he doing alright, Cronan?”

The heartrender nodded, his curls bouncing on his head. “He’s completely fine, General Ghafa.”

Inej Ghafa. At least now Kaz knew her full name.

It felt surprisingly unusual to see her in anything other than her usual dark blue gowns. The black kefta looked too dark on her and he could not help himself to think she looked like she disappeared in it. It was as if it was swallowing her.

Kaz wondered if she had her knives on her beneath the thick cloth. He is heard the keftas are bulletproof. Tailored to be strong enough to reflect them. Make Grisha more effective against Fjerdan and Shu soldiers.

Fabricators had the only Grisha powers that impressed Kaz. They were useful. His cane had been perfected by a fabricator. Perfectly weight for smashing skulls. And it would not be too bad to wear something working against being shot.

Kaz ground his teeth. This was not something he should be thinking about. He would never wear a kefta. He would not let anyone put one on him. Never. No matter who he was.

Inej was looking at him. Softly and something Kaz could only call carefully her gaze traced every inch of his face. It sent tingles over his skin. They reminded him of touch. Touch before his brother's death.

He cringed at the thought. For a moment he was close to retching. The memory was so much worse every time it came.

Kaz leaned back. The ropes for his wrists were in his hands now. “What business,” he growled.

“You know why you’re here, Kaz.” Inej stepped forward. Kaz glared at her, and she stopped. Yes, he did, and she did too.

How had he dared to think he could hide this secret from her. Her ability to gather them without anyone knowing was why he had gotten her to work with him in the first place. Just because she was working with him did not keep her from using this gift of hers on him.

“You can’t prove to anyone I really am who you think me to be.” Inej looked at him for a while. They both knew he was right. Even though he had given himself away already. But she did not have proof and prove was everything in Ravka.

“I’m sorry,” she said and gave the heartrender a firm nod. Putting the bag aside he walked up to Kaz.

A weary feeling ran through Kaz. Then the heartrender grabbed his wrist. Kaz had not even noticed they had exposed his arms. The touch of skin on skin was unbearable. For a second Kaz froze and then he snapped.

He ripped his arm out of the heartrender’s embrace, brought his other hand to the side of his head and before the red-haired man could even think to use his powers Kaz had slammed his head into the desk. There was a crack in the impact. Kaz hoped it to have been the heartrender’s skull.

The red-haired man groaned in pain. In a sleek motion, Kaz had the heartrender’s hands on his back and forcefully bent his fingers back until he could feel them break between his.

This time the heartrender screamed. A cold smile brushed over Kaz’s lips. Only as he twisted the heartrender’s wrists in his fingers he heard Inej’s voice behind the blood rushing in his ears.

“Kaz, stop!” He did not listen. Why should he?

With more force than necessary, he spun the heartrender around and pressed his sleeved arm against his throat.

Inej spoke a second time. Again, he did not listen. And as he pressed the heartrender onto the desk the room erupted into darkness.

Years ago, Kaz had been scared of the dark. Like every little kid had been. He had hidden beneath his covers from the monsters that he thought to be lurking in the dark.

“That’s silly,” Jordie had said, “There is no such thing as monsters, Kaz. Not beneath your bed, not in your closet.”

Jordie had been somewhat right. There were no monsters underneath beds or in closets. But the monsters were there. Dressed in suits and ties. Living in mansions and merchant houses. Calling themselves businessmen. Good men.

Kaz had gotten to know these monsters. Had fallen into their traps and fought them until dawn. Had tried to escape them and their influence. He had failed. So, he became more like them. He dressed in their clothes. Crept into their houses. Then he had become worse than them. They had fallen into his traps. They had tried to fight them and had failed.

He was the thing that came to them in their nightmares. He had become their monster. The thing he had feared, and the darkness had come to be a friend by his side. It kept him away from unwanted eyes and played into his hands. He embraced it with his whole self. He did not hide from it anymore; he hid with it.

But the darkness in this tent was different. Not as loose and helpful as the one in Ketterdam. It was thick and heavy. A pressure on Kaz’s shoulders he could not get rid of. Dripping with danger and loneliness.

The heartrender jerked up, throwing Kaz back into the chair, tipping over with it. He grunted. With precision, he found the ropes around his ankles, pulled them off and rolled to the side as he felt the heartrender go down on him.

Next to his head, Kaz could hear a knee hit the floor. Noisily he crawled back. He could hear someone shift on his far right. Quickly he got up and kicked to where the sound had come from. His foot met flesh. A second later the heartrender had wrapped his arms around Kaz’s leg. Kaz jumped back and slipped. He hit the floor hard.

Quicker than he thought the heartrender would manage to the red-haired man was on top of him. He knelt on Kaz’s chest and pressed his elbow to Kaz’s throat.

Kaz choked. He grabbed the heartrender’s shoulders and was just about to push him off when the man grabbed his wrist.

First, a rush of disgust and repulsion ran through Kaz. The skin on his mixed with the faint feeling of water. Then, only a fraction of a second later Kaz could feel the warmth inside him rise. The heartrender was an amplifier.

Kaz had not noticed the call before. Now he did. It rushed through him in waves. And the thing inside him begged to answer.

Kaz held it back. But it took too much of his attention. He would not manage to both fight the heartrender and fight this thing inside him off. He would have to decide on what to do. Push the heartrender off him or keep the warmth from escaping his grasp.

He cursed himself. If he had trained more, he would not have to choose. But he had not let himself. He had not wanted to. He had ordered himself to not even think about using this power.

The only time he had allowed himself to let the thing out was once a month in the slat. When everyone else was on their jobs and he was alone. It was the amount necessary to keep him from looking like a corpse.

He had been stupid.

Kaz decided against exposing himself. He would not give Inej and Ravka the pleasure of giving up this easily.

The air in his lungs thinned. The elbow in his throat seemed to grow harder and bonier with every passing second. Kaz hoped he could find the strength to push the heartrender off without answering the call. He tried.

Out of nowhere, there was sudden pain of a knife on the inside of his arm. Kaz growled and his concentration slipped. Instantly the world was wrapped in light. The elbow disappeared and air rushed into Kaz’s lungs.

Even though he could feel himself drained he used every force he had left to shove the heartrender off him. Within seconds he was on his feet. The darkness was gone.

Kaz spotted his cane on the floor. He grabbed it and swung. The crow-head barely missed the heartrender’s red curls.

The man crawled back, away from Kaz as he prepared to bring the cane back to his head. When Kaz saw the look in the heartrender’s eyes he hesitated.

The man stared at him with a mix of awe and fear on his face. For a moment they held each other's gazes. Kaz’s full of ice and hatred. The heartrender’s made of hope, wonder, and still fear. Then the red-haired man seemed to remember his broken hands and fractured skull and fainted.

Tagging: @man-cardoor-honk-sand (If you want to join the tag list as a reminder for new chapters, tell me)

#fanfiction #six of crows #sun summoner #shadow summoner #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #chapter one #part two #gloom and glare #grab a book and run #six of crows alternative universe

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seizethecarpe · 3 years

Text

After 9 days || Dave and Rio

Timing: Currentish, end of Versipellis Plot Summary: Dave begins to feel better Content warning: Self harm, vomit mention, medical blood

Dave woke that morning in piecemeal bites, his skin clammy and cold to the touch, slime dried on in places. It was like a fever had broken, or like he’d been pushed into arctic water and was being jolted awake. He opened his eyes, head pounding as her surveyed the room. It wasn’t in the worst disarray. Two bunk beds had been tipped over in last night’s rage, the door dented and teeth marks on the wall. Rio’s book had been picked up, but in a rare miracle, hadn’t been torn up. Not that he hadn’t threatened to. Not that he hadn’t tried to trick Rio into coming down to a near certain fate more than once. Last night had been the worst, as if the sickness inside him had known it would be its last chance to win. Had he not been here, it may well have been.

Dave grimaced at the rancid taste in his mouth. Hygiene hadn’t been a priority the last few days either, he stank like a haul out, but the worst was the smell of human and seal blood still caked into all of his clothes. Nell’s, Mina’s… Dave shuddered. The human girl he’d dragged to the bottom of the river, held underwater so long her lungs had to have been fit to burst. Even once she’d chased him off… Dave wasn’t sure a human could have gotten themselves to the surface and land so safely. Nor could Nell, trapped underwater and tangled in a weighted net.

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, stumbling to the bathroom and threw up the last contents of his stomach, and slowly began to clean the last two weeks of grime off of him. In the cracked mirror (Dave must have been the one to crack it, yes, there it was, a cut over the knuckles of his fist) he looked properly at the injuries he’d developed. A deep gash in his face, running from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his mouth, warped in ways that made no sense for human skin because he’d been struck as a seal. Claw marks on his arms, deep and showing early signs of infection. Then the bite itself, having been neatly stitched on the first night and abandoned since then. Deep black bruises bloomed across his shoulders, arms and torso. Breathing hurt, and so did everything else. Cleaning himself was slow, agonising work, but it was a distraction from the much deeper horrors lurking in his mind.

At some point, Dave would have to convince Rio that he was back to himself for real this time. He just wasn’t brave enough to admit it, yet. Once he was clean, he began to slowly tidy the bedroom, grunting and wheezing as he went.

It had been a long few days. Orion hadn’t gotten much sleep, only managing to catch a couple hours of shut eye here and there when he could hear the steady beating of Dave’s heart as proof that he was sleeping too. Even then, Rio was so paranoid about all that could go wrong that every single creak of noise jolted him awake. Unfortunately in a building as old as this one, those noises weren’t uncommon. Rio felt a bit lightheaded from the exhaustion, something he was sure was represented in his face in the form of pale skin and bloodshot eyes. For his own sanity, he had avoided mirrors when possible.

For all of that, he tried to remind himself that he was hardly in the right scenario to complain. Anything he was feeling, Dave must have felt ten times over. Rio hated being on the other side of the door instead of in there helping the man. On the other side, everything felt like an intrusion. His hearing made sure that Rio wouldn’t miss a single curse, scream or outburst. Most nights, Rio would put in headphones and sit in the hallway outside of the locked door. It was never enough to block out the noise completely, but it helped. What had realistically only been a few days had felt like weeks.

Today, things had been quiet. It shifted like this often, loud bouts of angry pounding followed by begging and eventually some quiet. But it only lasted for so long. However, by Rio’s calculations they should be towards the end of their timeline. As long as that Scribe had been right, they should almost be done. Rio crawled across the hall floor and sat against the door again, as he had done that first day. Then he pulled out his phone. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

Dave froze when he caught Rio’s scent, instinctively holding his breath, bracing for the hunger to tear through him. He grabbed a nearby bed post, knuckles pale with the force of the grip. The pain helped anchor him, give him the few seconds control he’d need before Orion was gone again.

The hunger never came. It didn’t shred his control, suffocate his mind, or even make his stomach snarl. If anything, he just felt more nauseous. Knowing how much time he’d spent fantasizing about tearing off Rio’s arm and eating it like a chicken drumstick. Relief washed over him like a gentle summer tide, until his phone buzzed, and the ability to ignore the world was lost again.

“Shit.” Came the only reply, before Dave put his phone away, stooping over to pick up one of the knocked over beds, but almost immediately his back popped and his body sank to the floor with the effort. Ignoring the half dozen fights he’d been in had been fine when the hunger had been his sole master, but now his body had had enough and felt every bit the 62 years it was. But being inactive let his mind fill with other things. Carefully, he texted Rio back, aware he was the damn boy who cried wolf when it came to saying this monster had let him go. “Like I never want to eat again.”

At least so far, the anger hadn’t come. Orion waited for moments too late, not realizing he had been holding his breath. No matter how many times Dave cycled through the stages of his hunger, Rio still got surprised when the man started yelling and shoving things around. Even when he could tell it was about to start. In fact, the only thing that Rio could hear Dave say at all was a short curse word. Was this what the two had been waiting so long for? Had the moment finally come

“That’s a start.” Rio replied to the text quickly, but didn’t move. As much as he wanted to fling the door open and hug the man who probably had no interest in hugging the small, tired scribe back, Rio stayed sitting on the ground. He had received texts like this before in the past few days. Right around the time the anger would stop, a flood of texts would come in claiming to feel better. Or faking an emergency. Dave and Rio had exchanged very few messages since meeting in the woods and almost getting killed by the monster chickens. Now, there were too many to count. And if anyone saw some of the messages, they might recommend Rio seek legal action. “I don’t know if this is a real text or not.”

"Smart," Dave replied, making no effort to convince Rio otherwise. He was hardly convinced himself. Hardly believed the whole thing had happened. Dave dropped his head down against the cool metal of the upturned bed, and no amount of cleaning himself or the room up would remove the thick layer of disgust he felt right now.

“Is there any antiseptic in this room?” Dave messaged eventually. It was already bad enough that he hadn’t taken any care of his rapidly accumulating collection of injuries over the last couple weeks, he couldn’t justify not looking after them any longer, especially when he could start to smell there was something wrong with them. Couldn’t afford to let them fester. Didn’t much have the energy in him to treat everything, but he could make a start. Focus on the injuries, not on the people who might well be bloated corpses bobbing in the waves right now. Sooner or later, he’d have to start looking through the obituaries and missing person’s. Start checking for Nell and the girl with the dark hair. Start checking for Ollie.

Orion hopped onto his feet as soon as he got the text from Dave. “Not in there but I should have some in my bag.” He replied as he jogged off toward the library. He hated giving credit to Athena for just about anything, but he had to admit that it was on more than one occasion now that her emergency pack that she forced him to carry around had come in handy. This was the first time Dave seemed to show any vested interest in his injuries at all. That had to mean something.

He pulled the emergency kit from his book bag and abandoned it in the library to run back to the locked door. He slowed as he got to it, listening in again to make sure nothing had changed. From what he could tell, all seemed calm. “Ummm” Rio texted first, not sure what the best course of action was to get the supplies to him. Eventually, he settled that a small amount of trust would have to be given. “Can you go to the other side of the room? When you’re there. Knock on the wall. I’ll hear it and open the door.” It was the only plan he could think of. He figured even if Dave did lunge, he would probably be fast enough to shut the door on him. Probably.

Dave nodded to himself when Rio’s text came through, pinching the bridge of his nose, just above where the deep gash in his face started. It had been a long time since he had been precious about getting new scars on his face, at least. He did not move, even when Rio’s scent became stronger again as he returned. Dave was always feeling for the hunger, the desire in him. But it never came. His chest slumped. It never, ever came. The corner of his lips had even turned up slightly when he got Rio’s uncertain text, and then the instruction. Smart kid.

Dave huffed and grunted as he pushed himself back to his feet, wincing where his ribs protested the effort. He was reminded, suddenly, of how much power he’d surrendered here. His pelt was tucked away in a safe place, but he hadn’t looked at in days. There was no water for him to swim in here, more walls than Dave usually ever let around him, not when he was used to the wide spaces of the ocean and the thin walls of his van. But nothing was as claustrophobic as the fate Rio had described waiting for him if he had indulged in anyone’s flesh. So Dave swallowed the sudden nerves, and banged his fist against the wall furthest from the door, hoping that was loud enough for Rio to hear. Then he turned, and lowered himself down to the floor. Just like Rio, he wanted to be as far from being able to attack the scribeling as possible incase the hunger ambushed him.

Orion took a deep breath. His hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn but waiting to hear the knock. When it finally came, Rio hesitated for just another second. His hearing was still far from ideal, but Kaden’s training had helped him come a long way to controlling it. He could tell that the knock was from the other end of the room.He knew he would never know if Dave was better until he opened that door, so he finally turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Dave was on the floor, still on the opposite side of the room. And he didn’t look good. Aside from the normal ramifications of being locked in a room for three days, his cuts and wounds had only gotten worse, a bad reminder to Rio that he didn’t have the same healing process as hunters did. Unsurprisingly, he looked far worse than Rio did. “Hey” Rio signed for the first time in days, big still in hand and obstructing his ability to do it efficiently. Rio hovered behind the frame, waiting for any movement. Eventually, Rio held the first aid kit up and tossed it over towards him. “Bad question but… how are you feeling?”

As the door creaked open, Dave held his breath, just in case. His eyes set on Orion, looking exhausted and drained and even paler than he normally did, which was frankly impressive considering how pale his complexion normally was. Dave exhaled slowly, signing back a half hearted greeting, and then inhaled. Nothing. No hunger, no desire, no inexplicable rage that was just the hunger wearing a new face. Dave almost sobbed with relief, catching the medkit with a grunt.

“Like I should be dead,” Dave replied sharply, before dropping his hands back into his lap, carefully unzipping the medical bag and pulling out the bottle of antiseptic and some swabs. “Or one of those Versipellis,” he spelled out the word on his hand before opening the bottle and without even flinching doused the deep scratches on one arm with the stinging iodine. With his hands occupied, he said in English. “Think you’re one of the ones I owe for keeping me from that. Thank you.” His voice was hoarse and strained like the rest of him, and when he poured the antiseptic on the bite he did hiss.

Orion stood awkwardly in the doorway as Dave unzipped the bag and started dressing the wounds. Rio wished he could help, but he knew Dave wouldn’t take too kindly to Rio risking closing the distance for that. It was better that the two stayed at a distance. “Well luckily, you’re neither!” Rio signed and spoke, finishing off with a smile. It felt forced, mostly because the scene the two had found themselves in was incredibly sad. Even though it should be a victory. The smile was as genuine as it could be in this situation. “Of course. Anytime. You don’t owe me anything.” Rio shrugged off the compliment.

They still couldn’t be completely sure that this was over. Sure, there seemed to be light at the end of the tunnel. But neither of them knew exactly what was happening with the Versipellis. Only what they had read in Rio’s book. He supposed no matter what, they had no way to truly know that this nightmare was over. Not for a while at least. It was an unsettling thought, that Rio realized that even though he couldn’t prove Dave was over the hunger he could tempt him. If Dave didn’t react to fresh blood then it was an even greater sign that the nine days was an accurate estimate. “Don’t freak out, okay?” Rio prefaced Dave, rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie just enough to show off his wrist. Small hints of scars and burns peaked out from the edge, which Rio chose to ignore. He pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed the jagged edge of the object against the side of his wrist and forced it down. The cut was small, but he still winced at the sudden pinch and immediately caught the scent of blood before it poured from the cut and across his arm.

Dave just frowned. Without the hunger, he was only more certain that coming here had been one of the more selfish decisions he’d made in a week of horrific, selfish decisions. It took even just a cursory glance to see that even though Dave hadn’t hurt Rio by some miracle in the last few days, he’d asked far too fucking much of someone far too young and far too lonely. He wouldn’t point it out to the kid, wouldn’t express his worries, because Rio was so patently happy to help, but it was another lead weight in his gut as he shifted uncomfortably. “Pretty sure I owe you plenty,” Dave disagreed. “I’d feel better with a way to repay you, scribeling.”

Don’t freak out. Dave pursed his lips, trying to bandage one arm with the other and failing miserably, but it was the sharp smell of iron that had him pause. Dave stared at the dripping rivulet of blood running down Orion’s wrist, then looked up at Rio with a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Right up ‘til then, I figured you were the smart one.” He sighed. “Blood didn’t make me more or less hungry before. Sure as hell doesn’t make you smell any better. Points for intent ‘n’ noble risk taking, I'll give you. With a key too?” He sighed, eyeing the bloody steel. “C’mon, you need this kit too now.” He picked up one of the bandages and tossed it to Rio’s hand. Then, he signed in a quiet, throw around way, “It’s no effort at all to not eat you.” The deep, shaking breath he took as he signed it gave away just how much a relief that was.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.” Orion reiterated. He had no interest in asking anything of Dave. He had been through enough in the last nine days. Right now, the only thing that he needed to worry about was the infected wounds on his body and getting some rest. Eating some real food might go a long way too, considering the only cravings he had for over a week was flesh. “But if it make you feel better then we can just say you’ll have my back and do me a solid someday if I need it.” Despite knowing that neither were fae, he still tried to edge around using the words anymore. Promise. Swear. Owe. All of them felt dangerous now.

In hindsight, it wasn’t a very good idea. The cut didn’t hurt much, just a quick pinching pain as it pierced the skin. The blood trickled down his arm slowly. It didn’t matter. It would just heal anyways. The blood could be wiped away as it always had in the past. Orion shrugged at Dave’s comment and offered a guilty grin, “Thought it was worth a try. I never told you I was smart.” Recently, Rio was more and more convinced that he was actually getting dumber. Like all those years of actively trying to avoid danger and plan ahead had completely flown out the window. He might actively be losing brain cells throwing himself headfirst into danger. “The key was the only thing I had on me.” Rio leaned forward to catch the bandages and took another couple steps forward. He really didn’t have any desire at all to attack or eat Rio? It had actually worked. “Holy crap. Then it’s actually over isn’t it? You beat that stupid curse or disease or whatever it was! This is incredible!”

Dave’d been about to protest, when Orion offered his alternative. Didn’t feel right to get away with this without at least the idea of an I O U. “Sounds like a deal,” he agreed begrudgingly, and winced as even that agreement caused pain. Most days, he knew better than to let injuries compound with increased movement, but this hadn’t been most days.

“You’re a scribe. Kinda comes in the job description.” Dave looked skeptically at the blood trickling down Rio’s arm, twinging in concern. “Hope you heal quick. That looks nasty.” Keys weren’t known to be clean and sharp, exactly. He wouldn’t say anything else on the matter. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe it wouldn’t have, but the young scribe had meant well and… that was more than could be said about Dave’s most recent choices. Like putting Rio in danger to begin with. He breathed shakily as the reality of it all sank in with the kid.

“Yeah,” Dave said, looking down at his trembling hands. He’d always known that a bite could destroy a life. He’d nearly lost his to the jaw of a mermaid he hadn’t quite outswum. Not to mention the number of lives he’d ended with a bite to an ankle, dragging them below the surface. How many he might have ended in just the last two weeks. The memory of blood on his lips had never tasted so rancid. But he was alive to regret it. His voice was thick and heavy. “Yeah.”

Satisfied that he didn’t have to immediately think of a favor for the selkie, Orion grinned at the guy and gave a thumbs up. Despite his own exhaustion and the hopeless energy in the room, Rio was beaming. They hadn’t had any choice but to put their faith into this old scribe book. And it had actually worked. Dave, though clearly not quite over whatever he had been through the last nine days, was still here. He was alive and himself and he hadn’t eaten anybody. Thanks to this old scribe, he wouldn’t crave it anymore either. Reading through these old dusty books and scouring the abandoned library, Rio had started losing a bit of faith recently in his goal. He was starting to lose hope that the scribes had the right idea. Things hadn’t been perfect still, but their knowledge had just saved lives.

“It’s not too bad. Just a surface cut.” Rio was embarrassed that he had done it in front of Dave. He finished bandaging the cut and then kept his palm hovered above it as if that would provide any further cover from Dave’s gaze. Something as small as that seemed so inconsequential to Rio. He hated his reliance on his healing. But it was hardly the time to worry about a tiny cut. All he could do was grin at the man. “I can’t believe we did it.” His voice felt octaves too high because of the excitement. “I guess… You can get back to your life now?”

“Depends. On what that book says. I mean, that thing was some sort of lycanthrope. Is this gonna be an issue every full moon? I can’t-” Dave pressed his knuckle to his teeth, breathing sharply. Orion was getting too hard to hear as the pitch of his voice rose in enthusiasm. It was infectious, thrumming in his chest like giddiness, but for the first time in a damn while, his fear was even louder. “I can’t be that again. Ever.” Was the book only written by humans? Was it written for humans? Dave felt like maybe it needed to be some sort of common knowledge that he could be turned into something other than a seal and a ghost.

“No!” Orion answered a bit too passionately, but he couldn’t help that. Dave sounded so defeated, so… scared. He needed Dave to know that he had already won, even if it didn’t feel like it right now. “No.” He repeated himself, more calm this time around, “I’ve read every entry about that thing that I could find in this library and my-” Mom’s journals was what Rio almost said, but stopped himself just short. He didn’t know how Dave felt about hunters, and didn’t need to add any stress to the man’s life right about now, “my archive. Multiple times. The versipellis can’t change back once they turn. It’s one shot. Either you resist the cravings in the nine days or you don’t. You made it. You’re done. Seriously, you’re done.”

Dave dropped his head into his hand, staring at the floor as he shook his head. At first, he was silent, as if he hadn’t heard Orion at all. His shoulders began to shake, and then his whole body. Even Dave wasn’t sure which way he’d go until laughter broke the silence of the room, bubbling up his throat and then spilling over. Belly deep rumbles of relief, of disbelief, in the joy of survival. Every laugh hurt, shaking every bruise and battered bone, but that didn’t stop him either. Nevermind that scribes had been wrong before. Slowly, his laughter petered out, as guilt as familiar as his lungs settled back in his chest. “Thank you, Rio,” Dave said, looking back up at the boy. Man. He stood, slowly wavering. “I mean that more than you know.”

Orion sat beside Dave quietly for a long time. There was a lot that the man was processing apparently. And no way for Rio to continue to comfort him, really. The excitement that Rio felt didn’t seem appropriate, but he couldn’t exactly stop himself from it. Even as he tried to remain stoic and calm, his body was shaking with joy. Something had worked. A life had been saved because of knowledge Rio was able to pull together. He felt like a legitimate, honest to god scribe. And it had helped him keep a friend of his from turning into a cannibal. If nothing else, that had to count for something. Dave broke that silence eventually when he started laughing, a jarring change from the man’s previous mood. It didn’t last long, but it was enough. Rio grinned and watched as the man’s laughter settled. Eventually, Dave thanked Rio, a small act that made Rio’s face heat up and glow a bright red. “Yeah. Of course.” Rio nodded solemnly, too embarrassed to keep extensive eye contact with him, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

#chatzy #para #rio #thank you everyone for taking part!#wickedswriting #self harm tw #vomit tw #medical blood tw

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icyllic · 3 years

Text

Path of Destruction [Part 2] | JEON JUNGKOOK

PAIRING: Jungkook x Reader

GENRE: Drama, Angst (maybe???), Thriller

WARNINGS: Stalking, obsession, too much swearing, dirty talks, possessive Jungkook, touching (...might be too uncomfortable :c)

WORD COUNT: 1900

Darkness. Silence. And awkwardness filled the entire room. You had no idea where you were right now. All you knew was that you were already caught by your stalker, whose name you didn’t know yet.

You looked around waiting for the presence of the stalker to appear in front of you. It felt like horrible long hours. Where the hell was this person, anyway?

As you were in a deep thought of your sister, the footsteps were heard to approach you. You were so terrified. What if this person’s next plan was to kill you and had your corpse lying next to him? His obsession was too visible. He could do anything just to have you by his side forever.

You slowly backed away when he moved a little closer, but to your surprise, all he ever brought to you was a glass of water. Huh? your thought questioned. You carefully took the glass from his hand and he chuckled seeing you shaking in fear.

“Don’t be scared, twinkle toes,” he leaned forward and you quickly looked away. “I won’t bite unless... you want me to?”

His smirk disgusted you. You were about to slap him but he was damn quick to catch your hand. He guffawed while looking at you, admiring your behavior so much.

“Damn. With you being so feisty like this, who knows what you can do in bed?” He leaned forward to you again, sniffing your scent and you couldn’t help but to be in tears right now. You felt defeated since there was no one around to help you. Not even your sister who was the only person you can rely on. Michelle couldn’t hear your sobs. She couldn’t hear you cry right now. You were trapped in a very hidden place. With this creepy stalker.

As you were crying, he took the opportunity to kiss your earlobe, then slowly down to your jawline. You gasped when his sneaky little hand began to caress your thigh.

“Stop it!” you exclaimed. This was shocking even for you, since you thought he would have continued what he was doing. But instead, he quickly backed off. He suddenly ruffled his hair in frustration. He mumbled things and just like that, he walked away to avoid you.

What the fuck was that all about? You went to check whether he was gone for real and when you realized he wasn’t there anymore, you drank the water quick in one gulp.

••••••

{11.53 p.m. at Suzie’s house}

“Where’s your friend, Suz? I thought you said she’d be here. It’s almost 12.” a friend of Suzie’s asked. Suzie looked at the clock and now she was a little worried. You were supposed to be there an hour ago.

“Maybe she fell asleep. You know how her school is,” Suzie took a sip of her coffee. “so damn dreadful.” Her friends laughed hearing Suzie’s dramatic tone.

But Suzie, being the closest friend you’ve ever had, she sensed there was indeed something wrong. She felt like you were in trouble because she was now feeling uneasy. You’ve always been the type to be careful wherever you’d go, and she knew for the fact that you were the type of a person who’d sleep at 1 or 2 a.m. Never this ‘early’ at nearly 12 a.m.

••••••

You were sure as hell confused when this stalker went to his room without a word. This night just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Hearing how quiet his room was, you decided to roam around this place. Where was this place even located? Where on Earth did he bring you?

You had your eyes travelled everywhere around this living room; the worn-out sofas, the dusty table, but one that caught your attention; a framed picture of you.

You quickly picked it up and looked closely at the picture. There was a short note at the bottom right of it. “ONLY Jeon Jungkook’s girl.”

Jeon Jungkook? That’s his name? You were too focused on the picture and the note that you didn’t realize he was already standing next to you and looking at you. When you noticed him, you gasped and dropped the picture, quickly backing away from him.

“Relax, twinkle toes. It’s just me.” He chuckled and picked the picture up, placing it back neatly on the shelf.

The fear began to build itself inside you when he turned to face you, giving you a soft smile.

“You’re Jeon Jungkook?” He acted as if a love cupid just struck him, placing his hand dramatically on his chest.

“Say my name again, Y/N..” he whispered while you were giving him a confused look.

“Why should I sa-” your words were cut off when he began to walk slowly towards you and your back was now against the wall, and he now got you locked in between his arms when he rested his palms on it.

“You make it sound so magical..” he began to twirl your hair. “I’ve never liked my name until you said it.”

You shook your head. Never liking his name. Was that even for real? Or was that just a trick to get into your pants?

“Say my name again, Y/N.” His voice was now dark and with a warning tone. You were starting to feel scared with the sudden change of his voice, joined by his angry, darkened eyes as well.

“J-Jeon Jungkook.” you gulped nervously after you said his name again. His eyes were now moving down to look at your lips. As he was about to make his next move, that was to kiss you, you grabbed the chance to push him away harshly and you quickly ran to the opposite side. You looked around to find a weapon near you, and in this case, the table lamp was a good one to defend yourself from this guy.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” your voice was cracked. You were crying again while lifting the table lamp to get ready to hit him just in case he wanted to make another inappropriate move. “WHY ME?! WHY THE FUCK CAN’T IT BE SOMEONE ELSE?!!”

He was licking his lips when he turned around to you, looking at you with full of lust. Full of hunger, like he was already ready to devour you.

“Fuck having ‘someone else’. I only want you.” He was approaching you and you quickly swung the table lamp in front of his face to not let him touch you.

“Stop! Don’t fucking come near me!” you cried out. Despite many attempts of defending yourself, Jungkook was so fast at dodging and avoiding to get hit from the lamp. His patience was running low now. He aggressively grabbed it from your hands and threw it somewhere else.

“Noooo! No, fuck!” You ran around the place and he was chasing after you. You were too focused on looking back at him while running that the next thing happened was your foot tripped on something.

You were in a rush to crawl forward but Jungkook beat you into it first, pulling your leg, hovering over you and locked both of your hands, pinning them above your head. At this point, he didn’t give a damn seeing you in tears. You were already making him mad.

“Don’t fucking fight me, Y/N, or else I’ll be inside you right here. Right now.” The next thing he did was removing his pants as well as your uniform skirt.

“Noooo! No, please! Don’t do this to me!” He was taking his shirt off now.. and you widened your eyes when he began to pull your shirt up.

“Jungkook, please don’t do this to me..” you managed to say between sobs. Just like that, he stopped what he was doing.

Why did it feel like whenever you mentioned his name, it was just like an on and off switch for him? It felt like he was obeying you when you said it. Was your voice saying his name really his big weakness?

Unexpectedly, he pulled your shirt down and put your skirt back on. He also put his pants back on, but he still kept his position the same. He was still above you and now, he began to hug you so tight while locking both of your hands.

“I don’t want anyone else, Y/N,” he whispered as he hid his face on the crook of your neck. “I don’t know what fucking spell you’ve casted on me the moment I saw you. It’s been years now and I can never get over you..”

You looked up at the ceiling while paying close attention to what he was saying.

“You remember your douchebag ex-boyfriend, Trevor?” You hated that name. It stung you so much when Jungkook mentioned him to you. Trevor was the name of the asshole that cheated on you multiple times. The guy who made you believe love was never real. “I really wanted to kill him when I saw him making you cry. You cried nearly for a week. You didn’t eat when Michelle cooked you a lot of meals. You’ve got yourself trapped in your room and you were lying in bed for the whole day and night.”

What? you thought. Has he been really watching me for all of those long years?

“I could have made you happy after that fucker left,” you weren’t hearing it wrong, Jungkook was now crying as you heard his voice crack. “but my hopes were temporarily gone when I heard you told Suzie you weren’t looking for love anymore.”

You bit your lower lip as you were trying too hard not to let your tears out. You remembered that story. Suzie and Michelle were the only ones who were there for you, but you didn’t tell Michelle much about what happened between you and Trevor. You didn’t want to worry Michelle much with your sob story, so this matter was only known deeply by Suzie. ... and Jungkook as well since he was listening to every word you said to her. ‘I don’t believe in love anymore. I’ve lost hope in that shit.’ These were the flashback words that hurt Jungkook so much. He wanted to be there for you, but knowing you didn’t want to be in love with anyone anymore, he thought watching you from afar was a good idea. But never thought that watching you could lead to a dangerous obsession with you.

As previous years passed, Jungkook wanted nothing but to touch you here and there, to kiss you and to give you the love you truly deserved. He wanted to be the person who made you happy. But you didn’t trust men anymore. Not even that gentleman who had all of the girls’ in your school hearts melted, Adrian.

“I’ve never felt so much towards anyone before. You drive me the craziest, Y/N.. I tried to stop b-but,” he was sobbing. “there’s always something that pulls me back to you. It’s like something always tells me to never give up on you.”

You were having a lot of mixed feelings right now. It was a lot to take in. He softly placed a kiss on your neck and you didn’t care to defend yourself anymore. You were too weak but thankfully, Jeon didn’t take another step further.

“Just...” his next words shocked you. “let me love you, Y/N.”

#jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #*written

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