#i need to decompose please

[automatonwithautonomy]

thinking Normal and Regular thoughts this fine afternoon

[szilverer]

on returning

was thinking about the intricacies of reisz being a [nemesis spoiler], and defined how that... works exactly. added some new rules for my playthrough too.

(TL;DR in red)

i didnt canonize my old returned one idea right away bc unfortunately my brand of autism makes me care about canon compliance with my own oc stuff-- i even decided to be extreme abt it with the ghostie's account for fun: 98% of the actions i take in-game + the descriptions given to me are canon whether i like it or not! i worried that'd clash with the possible canon about returned loved ones & being resurrected, info i do not have access to. (if there is even any tbh. from what i gathered the aftermath is pretty vague?)

...but then i realised that the FLPC, by virtue of being the FLPC, is already the most specialest blorbo ever. the canon + logic surrounding death, wounds, and healing thereof doesn't apply to the FLPC the same way it applies to NPCs.

so. technically. going by my own rules. being a returned one it's not actually that far-fetched???¿¿? it's a way one can explain why the FLPC Cannot be permakilled. all FLPCs are, by the end of the day, mechanically immortal. well then. whatever. (cracks knuckles) let's go all in.

the ghostie, none the wiser: I'm here for a good time, not a long time! me: lol

wait, but the FLPC still dies!

they do indeed! going to the boat is the very proof of that process. the FLPC is sturdy as all hell but still gets lethally hurt. here's how I'm reasoning it: the magic only kicks in when the body falls apart. (also i think the boatman simply can't row them to the far shore bc of it lmao.)

it's less of an invulnerability thing and more of a phoenix thing: you moult away your damaged shell and come back to life to a fresh healthy body regenerated anew from your own remains.

(i was uncertain whether to make it so the damaged parts get entirely rebuilt or if something is left behind. since there apparently are hijinks in which the FLPC leaves behind body parts ill cover my bases)

this was how reisz was able to carry so many scars for so long. this is how they lived for almost two years with multiple sequelae of traumatic brain injury that, although diminished with time, never went away. they survived with their normal metabolism (being buried alive ended in a boatman ex machina, so they didn't smash their head in enough for their brains to spill all out. but they were very close. in evolution it was rather unclear whether the ex machina happened as well or if we simply finally starved to death).

there was no need for the cider that remade their flesh & imbues their cells to get to work, which is only when something extreme that would permakill anyone else happens.

like being torn to pieces by a zee-monster.

(before & after status illustrated below.)

tfw you lose part of the identity you didn't even realize you had, rip.

hence my new rule! :D reisz' body gets soft-reset every time i get them killed too dead. i enjoy drawing scars on characters that lead dangerous lives, and reisz abruptly discovered they quite cherished the ones they used to have (each one was a memory after all: the trajectory of their short-lived life), so that's some low stakes Consequences for me to be mindful of. hehe.

design-wise am gonna miss their anisocoria though 😔 the mismatched slit pupils made them look so silly

aside from the whole uhhh reviving from your own gore thing, rei gets a few bonus freak vitality points that could be suspicious when you look back knowing there's something... off about them, but would raise little alarm on its own. they:

heal much faster than other people, often skipping the inflammatory response stage altogether (i.e. the FLPC being able to go from Agony and Desperation to Scratches and Bruises in a matter of a few actions, leaving no consequence whatsoever)

build tolerance stupidly fast and can't Actually get drunk (or hangover) for long. same with drugs :(

have never been sick. not a single cold. (just bc i genuinely dont remember a single mention of the FLPC getting sick? food poisoning is a whole other thing, and even that is rare)

a completely broken, mayhaps even missing, sense of fear. which in hindsight? explains a lot about the way they live their life.

these ^ are mostly from extrapolating what supercharging your white cells with immortal juice could result in, but there's an extra:

that weird fondness for bones & skeletons that makes them impulsively bring home whatever abandoned body part they come across? it stems from the fact that. well. reisz Was bones. reisz might not remember but the body always does.

[cerastes]

I saw there are a lot of forest fire in chile right now. are you gonna be okay?

Three days after the fact, yeah, I'll be fine, personally and physically, but it's dire, I'm not going to lie. I've never seen so much fire in my life. When you think about a big fire, your impression might be two or three buildings on fire with some firefighter trucks spraying water at it. This was kilometers upon kilometers of raging blazes. Kilometers. Heads up if you are sensitive to these kinds of posts, this isn't a happy one.

Entire hills on fire. Lush green hills reduced to ash and smoke.

Not to mention the urban parts that got hit badly

The official death toll keeps increasing each passing hour as they clear up the rubble and ruins and find more corpses. People I know lost everything. Some people I know lost their loved ones. Dogs are eating corpses on the street because they haven't picked them up yet, so you have neighbors warding off said dogs. Bodies get picked up too badly burned, eaten, decomposed, or a mix thereof to be identified.

It's a tragedy. It all reeks of smoke, there's ash everywhere.

It was sudden, it was brutal. Seeing elderly survivors wondering "what's next for me? I don't have enough years left among the living to rebuild all I lost, all I worked for throughout my life, gone like that" breaks my heart. The government is offering all sorts of aid, but there's also people whose documents, like ID and other identifying documentation, was lost in the fire, so they have to get re-issued an ID before they can actually start filing for aid. The SML (Servicio Médico Legal) is oversaturated with all that's suddenly on their plate and can't return the bodies of people to their families yet, and these are all people that still need food, shelter, hygiene, and so on after the fact. Seeing the logistical nightmare that becomes life after you lose everything firsthand from other people is sobering and painful. Yeah, they survived, but what comes next? It's a sense of uncertainty that is smothering and asphyxiating, it's hopelessness.

I apologize if I come across as dramatic, especially so as someone who was luckily not affected, but it really, really has been heartbreaking to witness, especially from very up close, as I was there, and it's one thing to know of a tragedy that happened elsewhere, maybe even in your own country, but elsewhere, and it's a whole other beast to have seen it directly as it unfolded.

Keep Chile in your thoughts. If you are able to, please consider donating to Desafío Levantemos Chile, to my knowledge the only drive that accepts Paypal, thus, foreign donations, to help the various efforts to rebuild and aid those affected. Desafío Levantemos Chile dates back to 2010, when Chile got hit by a devastating earthquake, and is an NGO that bases its continued existence in being able to provide aid during catastrophes such as this one.

[cloudcountry]

sorry if this prompt is too vague or angsty but what about like "I didn't wanna bother you" headcanons

SUMMARY: telling jin, sho, ritsu, subaru, and yuri that you didn't want to bother them while visibly upset.

COMMENTS: WRITING FOR A HANDFUL OF MY FRIENDS GUYS esp subaru and yuri because i havent. really written for them alot. ALSO SHO FOR VIO BC VIOSHO ON TOP!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jin Kamurai

As if anything is more important than you.

Jin is broken. His stigma doesn’t work unless it’s amplified, and he’s too tired to move much most days. He’s accepted the fact that he’s decomposing, just going through life as a walking corpse.

But you’re different. You’ve always seen him differently, too.

He looks at you and he sees life. Not necessarily a future, but he does see life in you.

And it gives him hope.

Bother him? As if you could ever. Nobody else wants him around anyway.

It’s a privilege to be leaned upon by you. To be needed by someone so strong and capable.

Please, have mercy on him. Give him your trust. Bother him for the silliest of things.

It makes his bleak life brighter.

Sho Haizono

You’re seriously worried about bothering me?

He can’t believe it. There are so many things he expected you to say, so many things he expected you to do, but hesitating to tell him what’s on your mind?

He’s upset. Sho could never be upset at you, but if you’re not telling him something, then what did he do wrong...?

It’s not like he’s busy. And you can’t use the food truck as an excuse either, because you’re nearly always around him when he’s working!

It’s enough to piss Leo off.

So why hesitate? Come to him and lean on his shoulder, cry until his shirt soaks up all your tears and his voice lulls you back to serenity.

Let him help you. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Ritsu Shinjo

That’s what he’s there for.

Ritsu sits down next to you as you curl up in bed, soft sobs filling the otherwise quiet room.

How could you even think of bearing all of this by yourself when he promised you his effort? His time?

His everything?

He sits with you after saying his piece, watching you cry with a furrowed brow. He doesn’t know what to do in this situation—he can memorize all the laws in the world and pass all the exams Darkwick throws at him, but when it comes to you, one of the most important people in his life...

He’s lost.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he repeats, softer now, as if saying it again will get it through to you that he means it.

Ritsu Shinjo doesn’t lie. He made a promise to you on the day you two became business partners, and he intends to follow through with it.

Subaru Kagami

How could you say that!?

If anything, he’s the bother! How could someone like you ever think so lowly of yourself!?

He looks heartbroken. You honestly think he might cry with you, with his shaking hands and trembling lower lip.

He looks crushed. More upset than you’ve ever seen him look.

If Subaru is being honest with himself, he wants nothing more than to grab your hands and hold them close to his chest, but he refrains.

He doesn’t want to upset you further.

“Please...anything. Anything for you,” he chokes out, hands clenched in his lap, “I’d do anything to make sure you were okay. Please let me.”

Yuri Isami

And what do you possibly mean by that!?

Yuri is huffy, but at the heart of it all, he’s concerned. He’s dedicated his entire life to helping people, and more recently, he’d dedicate everything he has to you.

So why do you hesitate? Do you doubt him? Is this an excuse so you don’t have to rely on him? Why else would you say such a thing!?

Yuri holds his feelings back and storms off to make you tea, thoughts racing a mile a minute. You take priority, you always have and always will, but he wishes so badly you would let him take care of you.

Why is it like pulling teeth for you to trust him? Is it something he’s doing wrong?

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Yuri demands once he’s back with the tea, taking the spot next to you on the couch, “I won’t ask you again.”

And even though his voice is sharp, you know him well enough to hear the tremble. He’s scared of losing you.

[bejeweledinterludes]

❝ are you in the mafia? ❞

❝ … am i in the what? ❞

「 pairing 」 : dean winchester x mafia ! reader

「 word count 」 : 1.3 k

「 content / warnings 」 : mob/mafia, incorrect mafia lore that i tweaked because i said it was okay to, canon-compliant violence, mentions of death, swearing

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

HEYYY this was a request from @hpxmcusworld! i did end up making the reader gender neutral, i hope that’s okay— and that you enjoy, because this was really fun to write! thank you so so much for requesting and your kind words! <3

my masterlist

disclaimer: reminder that these are works of fiction. i do not support the real-life mafia / mob. read more here.

𖤐 ────────────────────────

this was so cool stupid.

that was the only thing going through dean winchester’s mind as he and sam knocked on the door of a very much too-big and not at all cool as shit house— because who in god’s name needed six garages with some fuckin’ awesome vintage cars? and a damn fountain in the driveway?

rich and pompous assholes.

that’s who.

“this ‘s so stupid,” dean echoes his half-thoughts out loud in a low mutter— throwing in an eyeroll before adjusting the tie of his fed threads.

sam squinted his eyes at his brother’s sheer reluctance to get through one single day without complaining— but before he could even say anything, a maid opened the door, looking between the both of them.

“can i help you gentlemen?” she asks, standing up a little straighter when she notices the suits.

“fbi, ma’am,” dean nods matter-of-factly as he flashes his badge, sam following suit. “need to speak to the owner of this house. it’s about the murder three days ago. it’s urgent.”

damn right, it was urgent. children were dropping like flies left and right in chicago— dying with no warning and decomposing almost immediately.

they needed answers.

so sam’s extensive research and cross-referencing police records had brought them to here— to the gigantic hand-carved wood front door of one of the families that currently ran the chicago mob.

(it also helped that one of the kids that died had been from this family, too— but sam enjoys click-clacking around on the computer.)

“oh, yes, of course,” the maid immediately recognized who they were talking about— why these definitely real fbi agents were here. “come in, please. i’ll notify of your presence.”

dean fights the urge to get excited roll his eyes.

again.

. • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . 𖤐

“sorry to keep you waiting,” your voice rings out— one that sounded like you weren’t really sorry at all.

both dean and sam’s heads perk up to look at you, the supposed owner of the house entering what the maid called the ‘sitting room’.

which was actually pretty sick, because it totally felt like a mafia movie. you sat down in the matching lavish sofa across from them. you nodded once to the maid, who excused herself scurried off immediately. dean was reminded of a scene from goodfellas, one of his favorite movies that was similar.

which wasn’t cool at all.

“you look a little young to own a house this big,” dean bluntly remarks before thinking twice— and received a ‘dude’ look from sam.

they weren’t wrong. you appeared to be the same age as dean and sam, give or take a few years— and unmistakably attractive. though, you always thought the old architecture and style of the house made you look better.

“well, technically, it’s not exactly mine— yet,” you clarify, crossing a leg over the other as you eye the two men. “but it will be someday. i’m the next best thing right now. my father’s… handling business elsewhere.”

immediately you noticed the fact that they were not like any usual stick-up-the-ass dickwads that usually were oh so graciously in your presence— they seemed… pretty close to normal, actually.

“right,” sam interjects before dean could make some other comment that would end up with them back at square one. “anyways, we’re here because of—”

“my brother,” you interrupt sam, your eyes still flicking between them— and a slight smile on your face. “but, then again, you aren’t actually real agents, now are you?”

both dean and sam look at each other at that, a slight tremor of panic passing through each of them. dean speaks up this time—

“we—”

“are hunters,” you finish, titling your head a little as you look between them. “see, i do my research, too— or rather, my people do. you’re dean. that’s sam. you’re brothers, and you hunt monsters for a living.”

both dean and sam had whatever words they were going to say taken away from them when you dropped that bomb— they were used to having to tiptoe around that subject.

“well, it really is a good thing you’re here,” you continue without a beat, leaning back against the couch again, “i’m used to monsters being… y’know, people.”

dean and sam had finally relaxed a little after the initial shock wore off— and dean was starting to realize you weren’t what he expected. and maybe this wasn’t as stupid as he thought.

it was kinda like a godfather movie, if he was being honest.

and dean loved the godfather.

“you don’t seem like a complete…” dean trails off. in this line of work, it was rare to encounter someone with a good head on their shoulders, especially if they were filthy rich— but then again, he was glad he didn’t have to babysit.

“asshole?” you finish once again, raising your eyebrows, your smile ticking up higher. “yeah, it skips a generation. so, what’s the plan?”

“the plan?” sam echoes, both he and dean scoff a little, glancing between each other and you.

“yes, the plan,” you exaggerate the last word as sam did. “firstly, how many soldiers do you need?”

“soldiers?” both dean and sam echo you this time, their expressions mixed with shock and bewilderment.

“are you going to repeat everything i say?” you shake your head a little, uncrossing your legs and reaching to pour yourself a glass of whiskey with the crystal bottle. “yes, soldiers. i’m sure you’ve heard of la cosa nostra.”

oh, shit. la cosa nostra. dean’s heard the stories from the times he’s been through illinois— it was the ruthless mafia army composed soldiers from all 5 crime families that ran chicago. the mafia’s dean looked between you and his brother— and his eyes were a little less shocked. more… excited?

“you can— you have soldiers? that would help… us?” sam is the first to speak, considering dean was a little too… preoccupied about how cool this was actually was.

“well, they’ll do anything i say, so, yes,” you smoothly lean back against the couch again, re-crossing your legs. “they’ll be at your service, if you require it.”

“cool,” dean finally speaks, a slight smile turning on the corner of his mouth.

sam snaps his head to his brother, suppressing a slight eyeroll before talking to you again. “well, we don’t really know what we’re up against, but—”

“my resources will be yours,” you interrupt, placing your crystal glass of whiskey down. “anything you need, just ask.”

“really?” dean tilts his head, smile getting a little wider. “anything?”

“anything.” it was your turn to echo as you glance between them, talking a little quieter. “my brother didn’t… deserve to die the way he did. he was just a kid.”

“and we are sorry that happened,” sam attempts to revert the conversation back to the case, and not dean’s awestruck demeanor. “we can’t imagine.”

“we’re gonna figure out whatever this is, and make sure it never happens again,” dean snaps out of it for after a second— because he could imagine what it was like to lose a younger brother. he actually has before. “we’ll get the sonofabitch— y’know, make him swim with the fishes.”

that makes you smile— actually, genuinely smile. for the first time since your brother had died a week ago.

“i have no doubts,” you nod, uncrossing your legs once more, standing up and already starting deeper into the house as you talk. “now, let me show you the weapons hall. you boys might be able to use a couple things.”

“the weapons hall? dude,” dean almost jumps up from the couch, slapping sam on the shoulder— to which raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. the facade dean always put up when he was trying not to get excited was almost gone, if not completely. “c’mon, get movin’ sammy!”

okay, dean supposed, maybe working with the mafia would be cooler than he initially first thought. because this was kinda cool. you were kinda cool.

mostly the mafia part, though. not necessarily because he thought you were super awesome or anything.

at least, that’s what dean was telling himself.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please just comment / send an ask! <3

[love-belle]

i love u forever !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she's a baker and he's in love — even with a few incidents involved.

or

for when you want to spend the rest of your life laughing with them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // carlos sainz x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - hiiiii :) back in my active era mid term is OVERRRRR !!!!! will be posting max's version for how u get the girl soon <3 i love u sm thank you so much for reading :)

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, lilymhe and 785,527 others

yourusername not pictured - carlos almost dropping the cake with LIT candles on my lap

tagged carlossainz55

7,628 comments

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, landonorris, danielricciardo and 879,625 others

carlossainz55 of course she had to stop and take pictures

tagged yourusername

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram stories ꒱

*yourusername added to their instagram stories*

[ultimateloserboy]

i miss them i miss fhem so bad look at how cute red guy is i need to decompose i cant do this anymore……. PLEASE come home PLEASE

[slimybeth69]

Hungry Man

Chapter 3- I Know The End 6.7k

Chapter Summary- Close my eyes, fantasize Three clicks and I'm home When I get back I'll lay around Then I'll get up and lay back down Romanticize a quiet life There's no place like my room

warnings/tags: dark&sneaky!Joel/crazy&unhinged!reader, DDDNE (this chapter may be hard to read for some- please be mindful of the content you consume), dubious ethics, Joel being protective, slightly mean!Joel if you squint but mostly gentle!Joel, reader goes through it again in this chapter (get used to it, sorry) brief mentions of blood.

a/n: hi. I hope you like this chapter :)

The house is so quiet compared to the mall. There was always something making sound– animals or insects, the structure itself shifting and settling after years of decomposing. There wasn’t a completely silent night in the last eight months and now Joel doesn’t know how to fall asleep anymore. 

Even with you fast asleep beside him, he can’t seem to calm his racing mind. 

How’re you gonna keep her safe? 

Joel looks down at you, watching your eyes move behind the lids while you sleep. Your breathing is slow and steady. He wonders if instead of your usual nightmares that maybe tonight you’re dreaming good things. 

While he’s lost in thought, you make a soft, sleepy sighing sound and wiggle your body closer to him, snuggling against him as tightly as you can. Joel wipes a stray eyelash off your cheek carefully, and then ghosts his index finger across your forehead. 

You sigh again, but don’t wake up. 

Why doesn’t he hate you? You took from him– took his time. Took the precious, unpromised time he had with Ellie and JJ, with Tommy and his nephew Ben. 

He should hate you for that. Should hate you for the way you treated him– kept him tied up and chained like a dog. He mindlessly rubs at his neck while the thoughts race– while his feelings swirl around like a tornado inside him. 

You don’t hate her though– you understand her. 

He does. He understands you more than he would like to admit. He’s had so much time to think about the things he’s done, and the kind of man he is– and he understands why you did what you did. 

Joel has done things he wouldn’t have normally done for the sake of caring about someone. The hospital plays in his head over, and over again. The night he lost Sarah. 

He thinks about the person he helped shape Ellie into– and he wonders if it’s a good thing. Joel thinks about the things Ellie did with Tommy after the attack. Joel wonders where she would have ended up without him around. What kind of person she might have turned out to be if he hadn’t ever agreed to take her to Salt Lake. 

She’d be dead– no doubt about that. 

Ellie had been a kid– she is just barely not a kid anymore in his eyes. 

You’re grown– set in your ways and clearly traumatized. Joel wonders if he’s doing the right thing by bringing you here. 

He wrinkles his nose at the scent of you– he hadn’t noticed it much before with everything going on, all the emotions. Now that everything is settled, and he has a little time to think, let things register, the smell of his brother and his brother's house and the soap his family uses wafts through his nostrils and it makes him angry.

Joel wants you to smell like you. 

No, you want her to smell like you. 

Something wicked grows inside Joel because that voice inside him is right; he does want you to smell like him. He wants everyone who comes close to you to recognize you as his because you are– he meant what he said and he hopes you know that. 

There is too much thinking happening. Too much noise inside his head and too much silence around him for his body and mind to relax. He wants to get up and go look for something to drink, something to settle the storm and ease him into rest. 

He knows that if he leaves and you wake up to an empty bed, all hell is going to break loose, so he stays next to you and lets you sleep. Lets you get your much needed rest because he knows that you’re capable of going an ungodly amount of time without sleep. It used to scare him how long you would be awake before crashing out for eighteen to twenty hours at a time. 

This next week is for you– getting you used to being in a house and a schedule. Getting you used to being around people. Then he’s going to get you working– he’s already thought about how you’ll like working in the barn. You like animals, seem to be good with them and know more about them than he does– and there is a whole building full of them. 

Silently, he boasts about how smart he is for thinking about it. He isn’t going to stick you in the kitchen where he knows you’ll be miserable. And he isn’t going to get you on patrol duty until he knows you won’t run away. 

She’s gonna try. 

Yeah, you will try. You’re scared now– won’t admit it– but you’re scared. The second you get an ounce of courage– which you will– you’ll try and take off. Joel will come look for you, and he will find you– and you will not like how he makes sure you don’t run off again. 

He might never let you leave. He hasn’t really decided yet, but he’s thinking about it. 

Joel settles down beside you again, and this time you stir, sleep clinging to your panicked voice as you ask where he’s going. He nuzzles his nose into the side of your face and splays one of his hands across your stomach, resting it there innocently. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he reassures with his lips pressing softly against the corner of your mouth. 

You hum quietly with your eyes still closed and place your hand on top of Joel’s and hold him there– lightly encourage him to keep touching you. “Good,” you yawn quietly and melt back into the bed. 

With his eyes closed, he thinks maybe getting you acclimated won’t be as hard as he thought it was going to be. You’re here in his bed, sleeping like you have no worries in the world while he sits up awake, fearful and anxious of the future. 

----

“Mister!”

Joel’s eyes shoot open, heart already racing because he can hear the fear in your voice. He doesn’t have time to ask you what’s wrong when a loud, heavy pounding on the front door makes you flinch. 

Joel sighs loudly. He shouldn’t be annoyed at people coming to visit, but it feels like it’s too early in the morning for company. The thudding doesn’t cease, and Joel looks at you regretfully, “Gotta go see who–” 

Your hand darts to his, gripping it tightly. “Please don’t let’em take me,” you plead with him, eyes wet with tears before he has time to ease your worry. “I’ll be good! I promise! I’ll be g-good, just don’t make me go with’em.” 

The bangning on the front door wont stop– that paired with the sound of your begging and the fact that Joel only three, maybe fours of sleep is making his head spin. 

Joel shakes your hand off of his and climbs out of the bed, waving your worries away with a flick of his wrist as he heads to his dresser. “No one's gonna take you,” he has much less patience for all of this today than he did yesterday. 

You’re out of bed, following close behind to the dresser with your fingers worrying at the hem of his t-shirt. “Like I ain’t heard that before,” you tug desperately at the fabric as he pulls on a pair of jeans. 

Joel swats your hand away, the annoyance seeping in while the front door nearly gets knocked off its hinges downstairs. “Would you cut it out,” Joel swats at your hand once again and tucks his shirt into his jeans. 

“Who is knockin’ like that this early!?” You exclaim, holding your right hand towards the bedroom door. “Someone who sounds like they want somethin’!” 

Joel shakes his head at you and combs his fingers through his hair to look somewhat presentable. “You comin’ down like that or do you wanna get dressed?” He looks you up and down, still wearing all of his boxers and t-shirt from last night. 

Your eyes go wider than Joel thought possible and now he has to hold back a smirk. “Comin’ down!?” 

“Could stay here…’n wait for me–” Joel reaches out to run his index finger between your slit, to tease you for a moment through his boxers, but you’re pushing his hand away, closing the distance between you and grasping at his shirt again in desperation. 

“Joel!” The muffled, female voice coming from out front sounds angry. “I know you’re in there! Open the fucking door!” 

Your head whips around and you look at the door that leads out into the hallway. “Who is that?” You ask, the fear replaced with new piqued curiosity. “That don’t sound like Maria– who is that lady?” You turn to look at him again, brows pinched together tight. 

Joel can’t hide the smirk, he can barely hold back the chuckle you force out of him. “‘Cause it ain’t Maria,” he gently grabs you by the scruff of your neck and places a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Who is that woman tryin’ to barge in here so early in the–” 

Joel grips the back of your neck a little tighter and you scowl up at him but go silent. “Sounds like y’might be a little jealous–” 

With your right hand, you ball your fist into Joel’s shirt and pull yourself closer to him. “Don’t like other ladies knockin’ on your door like that,” you growl at him, the fear from your voice and plastered all over your face is gone. 

There she is.

Joel snorts softly to himself, shaking his head from side to side. “You’re somethin’ else,” he massages the side of your neck with his index finger and thumb gently. You soften slightly against him and he kisses your forehead again and lingers. “Go shower– you smell like my brother's house,” he grumbles against your skin. 

“Who is–”

“It’s just Ellie,” Joel lets his hand slide down your spine and over the curve of your ass. “No one you need t’be jealous of,” he teases as he palms and squeezes your ass playfully. 

You look him up and down suspiciously, eyebrows still furrowed, lips in a tight line, “You sayin’ there are ones I should be jealous of?” 

Joel laughs and gives your ass a good smack, pushing past you gently. “Take a shower ‘n you can come down after. There is stuff for you in the dresser,” he points to his dresser and then leaves the room to attend to the constant knocking downstairs. 

----

“The fuck have you been?” Ellie pushes the door open before Joel can even greet her. “Been knocking for almost ten minutes.” 

“I’m fully aware how long you been makin’ that racket,” Joel shuts the door behind her as she barges into the house like she still lives here. “S’nice to see you too, I guess.” Joel scoffs softly and shakes his head. 

He hadn’t expected a welcome back party, Joel hadn’t even received one smile since he’s been back. Not from Tommy– he never expected one from Maria– and now Ellie. 

“What the fuck do you expect me to say, Joel?” Ellie’s headed into the kitchen and Joel follows close behind. “Been gone for eight months and then you come back and don’t even bother coming to see me?” 

Joel grabs the glass jar of coffee beans he put in the cupboard after Tommy left last night. “Got in pretty late– didn’t wanna wake you and Dina and J.J.” 

Joel goes about making coffee while Ellie softens, changing her tone quickly. “You okay? Look like you been through some shit.” 

Joel nods his head, staying quiet. He’s listening for the shower upstairs but he doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t hear any noise and he wonders what you’re doing. 

“Thought you were done gettin’ yourself into shit,” Ellie chuckles but Joel doesn’t really hear her. He’s too busy thinking about how there is a pistol tucked into the pocket of a jacket he has hanging up in his closet. He wonders if you’re looking for something like that to use on him. Come down here blasting– taking everyone in the room out so you and Puddin’ can make your great escape. 

“Joel?” 

His train of thought is derailed, and so he turns to look at Ellie, “Sorry kiddo.” He’s greeted with a look of worry- like something bad could happen to him at any minute. Like he’s fragile and could break. He doesn’t like that. “I’m fine,” he sighs. “Just did a lot of walkin’ yesterday and didn’t get a lot of sleep.” 

Ellie sighs loudly and leans back in the chair she had taken a seat in. “Shit, and I come over banging your door down first thing in the morning,” she’s shaking her head. “I’m sorry– Tommy came over this morning and told me that you were back–”

“What else did Tommy tell you?”

Joel’s bathroom is different from Maria’s. Less welcoming– more plain and sterile looking– but your soaps are here. The little bottles and bars of the things that make you clean and smell good. Some of them make you feel soft after you use them. 

You’re warm from the inside and the tips of fingers tingle as you run them along the worn and water damaged label of one of the bottles. You notice that he brought his soap from the mall- the one you found for him shortly after he came to stay with you. 

You don’t shower. You choose to stay in his clothes instead and inspect what he has for you in his dresser. You start at the bottom drawer, but it’s only his things. The next drawer is the same– only Mister’s clothes. 

The next drawer, the one second from the top has significantly less clothes in it– but they’re yours. The ones you had at the mall, folded and tucked away neatly under the cash register in the mattress store– they’re here in Mister-man’s dresser, in a drawer just for you. 

The tingles creep up your hands and wrists and into your forearms as you shut the drawer and turn around, taking in the bedroom that you slept in last night. 

Felt good to sleep– it’s been a while. 

Miss out on things when you sleep and you’re at risk– it’s dangerous. 

It did feel good though. It felt good to sleep with a door between you and the outside world, and to have a roof over your head that didn’t have holes in it. There was something nice about being in a house again– but it still made you feel so uneasy, and your stomach was tied so tightly into a knot that it made you feel like you could be sick. 

A pink snout peeks out from under Mister’s bed, and sniffs rapidly. Then a gray and white furry face follows and his beady little eyes stare up at you. 

It shouldn’t be as dramatic as it is, but you drop to your knees with a thud and Puddin’ runs out from his hiding place and jumps into your lap. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you press your face into his fur as his little scratchy nails dig into your shoulder and cheek. “Mister took real good care of you?” 

The small marsupial doesn’t respond, he just continues trying to burrow into the neck of your shirt so he can curl up and go to sleep. You bring him into Mister-man’s bed and curl up with him under your shirt. 

Safe. He’s downstairs with his daughter, probably making his horrible coffee. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

He’s tellin’ her what you did– he’s gonna tell everyone what you did. They’re all gonna hate you. Gonna talk ‘bout you ‘n laugh at you. Judge you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had to worry about what anyone thought about you. You didn’t worry about doing things the normal way, or being normal, or anything other than what made you happy and feel good. 

Last night you had no time to think about anything before sleep overcame you. There were no worries when Mister and his endless, perfect body heat kept you warm and comfortable. 

Now you’re alone because he’s downstairs with his daughter. You think about how lucky Ellie is that she gets her dad and didn’t lose him. A different kind of jealousy pangs deep inside you. Another reason being alone was so easy was because you weren’t constantly reminded that everyone you had once known is dead. The one person from your past had turned on you, treated you like a tradeable form of currency that he could pass around to keep the people who fueled his addictions happy. 

You miss your dad and your mom. You miss the home you knew and the room you had with your books and things in it. You miss life the way it used to be. 

Wouldn’t have Mister-Joel though. 

Meeting that liar is the worst thing that ever happened to you. 

That’s not true. There had been worse things to happen to you– worse people like Christoper and Theo. The worst of them all had been Elias. 

With every ounce of mental strength you have left, you pull yourself out of your head and settle back into Mister-man’s warm, safe bed. You press your face into his pillow and inhale deeply, taking in the intoxicating smell of his sleepy, musky scent. 

The image of your clothes in his dresser flashes into your head again. Your face gets warm, and your insides feel like they’re vibrating. 

He didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to make space for you in his life like this. You wonder what the plan is, or if he even has a plan to begin with. 

He just wanted you here. Just wanted you close to him. 

He’s going to chew you up until there ain’t nothin’ left.

The voices go back and forth with each other for a while; you stay quiet and listen to them bicker about knowing what Mister wants. How they know best. 

You think you might not know anything anymore. You had been so smart and so independent out in the woods because there had been no one else around to tell you that how you did things was wrong, or stupid, or that you could do it better this way or that way. Now– thinking about doing anything without Mister-man around makes you want to cry. 

----

“S’just me,” he whispers into your ear as he slips into bed beside you. His voice calms you before you have time to panic. “Y’never showered,” he rubs his hand up and down your upper arm. “Still smell like Tommy and Maria’s house.” 

“I found someone,” you yawn, lifting your shift a smidge to expose Puddin’, who makes his own sleepy sound, peers around the room with tired eyes, and then curls himself into a ball, wrapping his paws around his tail. 

Joel groans quietly in displeasure, “Not in my bed– critters don’t sleep in my bed.” He doesn’t force Puddin’ out, or make you put him on the floor. He wraps his arm around you, careful of the opossum, and settles in, sighing contently. 

You smirk, eyes still closed and sass him playfully. “Ya’ didn’t have a problem with it when it was my bed.” 

Mister snorts softly against the side of your face and pulls you closer. “Shut up and go back t’sleep. We ain’t doin’ this again tomorrow.” 

“Doin’ what?” 

Bein’ free.

“Bein’ lazy,” Mister-man yawns tiredly. “We’re all gettin’ up early ‘n doin’ chores,” he very gently and playfully jostles the sleeping animal under your shirt. “You too.” 

Puddin’ lets out a squeak, and shifts away from Mister to continue snoozing under the dark fabric. 

The next time you wake up you’re cold, and alone. Even Puddin’ is gone. 

The room looks different. It’s the same room but everything looks… gray and dull. 

Maybe it isn’t the same room. 

How terrible would it be if it had all been a dream? All of it– the mall, the Mister-man, Puddin’! What if none of it was real, and you’re back in the bad house, with the bad men who hurt you. 

Hide. 

The door in the corner of the room looks like it leads to a bathroom– it feels familiar. There is a lock on the door you can see from here, and there might be a small window that you should be able to squeeze out of if you try hard enough. 

Smart girl. 

Joel will be right back! He’s coming back! Don’t panic! 

The dark voice is too late– the anxiety has set in and now you need to move, need to be somewhere where no one can get you, because Joel isn’t here. He’s probably not even real!

Your brain and body aren’t in sync yet, and your legs move swiftly, but nowhere near gracefully. You fall out of bed and land on your chest. Pain shoots through your shoulder and up your neck, down your spine. You whimper, and start to crawl towards the door only a few feet away. 

There is a sound downstairs, a clattering, and then footsteps. Fast, heavy footsteps that you can follow by their thudding through the house until they’re racing up the stairs, possibly taking them two at a time. 

Comin’ to get you. Gonna take everything from you. 

It's as if you get to the bathroom at the same time the footsteps enter the bedroom. You slam the door shut, and turn the lock.

The door begins rattling violently in its frame. The voice on the other side sounds angry, but you can’t even make out what it’s saying over your own hysterics. 

“Go away, go away, go away,” you sob softly, covering your ears with your hands despite the searing pain in your shoulder. “Please go away.” 

The banging on the door doesn’t stop, it doesn’t soften or slow. It gets louder, and faster. More demanding. The door handle turns from left to right uselessly.

You close your eyes, and press your palms against your ears as hard as you can, trying to drown out the overwhelming loudness. This room is going to close in on you, the walls get closer and the space itself gets smaller and smaller. 

Whoever is on the other side of the door is mad at you. The tone of their voice tells you that they’re angry but you still aren’t listening to what they’re saying. 

“I’m sorry!” You wail loudly, hoping the person trying to get you can hear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, but you must have done something wrong for the person to be so upset. 

The door stops rattling, and for a moment you think your apologies worked, the angry entity on the other side of the door must have gone away. For a moment, you think you can breathe. 

Then there is one, loud thud against the door. The frame shifts slightly. 

“No! No! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You scream and shuffle backwards on the floor, jumping when your back touches the outside of the tub. 

The person either kicks, or slams their shoulder into the door once again, and you can see the wooden door bow inwards towards you ever-so slightly. 

This time the frame around the door splinters. 

Wonder what they’re gonna do to you when they get in here. 

You’re whimpering, praying, hoping that something will intervene, that something will save you. As you climb into the tub, trying to hide, wondering if the drain would open you up and swallow you whole if you wished hard enough– the wooden frame that keeps the door shut finally gives out as the person forces themselves into the bathroom, and pieces of wood go flying through the air. 

You scream in terror, the debris landing in your hair, and on your back. You grip the shower curtain in your right hand and tear it down off the bar above you accidentally as you pull yourself further away from whoever is behind you. 

The curtain falls down on top of you, cloaking you in darkness. This makes everything worse. The dark makes it all too familiar. 

You try to rip the fabric off of you, try and get yourself free but now there is another set of hands on you, groping at you– touching you. Getting ready to take things from you and hurt you. 

Gonna take all you got to offer, Sug.

You shriek loudly and kick out with your feet at your attacker. “Get off me!” 

A strong, calloused hand wraps around the entirety of your ankle and squeezes. Skin on skin, you can feel how hot and alive the other person is, and it makes you want to implode on yourself. 

“Pl-Plea–Please don’t,” you sob, already feeling defeated, already knowing what’s about to happen to you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

The hand slides up your shin and thigh, under the shower curtain, closer to your core– but it bypasses it completely and continues traveling up your torso. Fingertips graze your chin, then your lips and before you can stop yourself, you open your mouth. The thick digits slide between your lips, and then across your tongue. 

They start to pull away, but you bite down hard before they leave your mouth completely. 

Good fuckin’ girl, Sug!

The person howls in pain and you try to push yourself backwards, away from the sound but there isn’t anywhere to go. You’re in the tub, in a giant bowl and your back is pressed against the side of it. 

“Go away, go away, go away, go away,” You plug your ears with your index fingers, close your eyes. 

Honey, it’s okay. It’s alright. You just forgot where you were. You’re safe. 

It doesn’t matter. You’re nowhere, now. 

It’s just light. It’s just white, and bright light surrounds you. It feels warm, it feels comfortable and safe, and it feels like home. It also feels entirely like nothing at all. There is a voice repeating the same phrase over and over. It’s a soft, sweet voice that reminds you of good and love. It reminds you of hugs, and sweet things, and the feeling of your chest being full. 

You can’t make out the words, they’re all jumbled together, or sound like they’re being said backwards. It doesn’t matter, the voice is what feels good. The consolation of the voice alone is enough for some reason. 

In your heart, the one that’s beating so fast in your chest it feels like it could explode or give out at any second, longs to tell the voice you miss it. You wish you could hear it more. 

Then real light, not bright, warm, white light, but the soft yellow glow of the lightbulbs encompasses you, and someone tall and broad is standing above you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You shake your head, and hold your hands up to protect your face and neck. “I’m sorry!” 

You need to breathe, honey.

Don’t. Pass out. It’ll make it easier. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you can’t stop. You want to, you want to stop and take a breath, gather your thoughts– but why think when bad things are about to happen?

There is a sputtering, wet sound from above you and then you are being soaked with ice cold water. 

You gasp loudly– a long, deep breath in– and your lungs expand and your head stops spinning. Water gets in your mouth and you spit it out. It’s washing over your face and down your neck and chest. It’s already seeping into your clothes. 

A large mass is in front of you, and then kneeling– pinning your legs between theirs. A hand, calloused and strong, grabs your face, pinching your cheeks together. 

“Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, look’it me!” It’s Mister-man’s voice, it’s his hand on your face, it’s his knees on either side of yours. 

You open your eyes, and he’s glaring at you, his brows stitched together angrily. All you can do is whimper. 

“What th’fuck is wrong with you!?” He releases your face, but mashes his fingers against your lips and then holds them up for you to see. “Fuckin’ bit me!”

They’re red, stained with blood. His middle and ring finger are bleeding. Now you can taste the metallic tang of it still lingering on your tongue.

“I- I d-didn’t mean to,” your eyes flash between his bloody fingers, and angry eyes. “I didn’t mean t’bite you. I really didn’t,” you can feel your sinuses starting to tingle, and your eyes burn. “I jus’ woke up all alone and– and it looked different,” you try to explain, but the words don’t make sense, not even to you. “I got scared.” 

Mister’s face softens and his shoulders slump forward slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. This time, when he reaches for your lips, he wipes them gently, cleaning off any blood that still remains. “Didn’t think you’d wake up ‘fore I got back,” he murmurs softly. 

The water cascades through his hair, soaking it and matting it to his forehead. There is a steady stream dripping off the tip of his nose, and his clothes are completely wet now, too. You pulse at the sight of him, wet and hovering over you this way. You feel guilty for hurting him, for biting him so hard he bled. 

“Where did ya’ go?” You ask mindlessly, not even really thinking before the words come out. Your brain feels like mush, like it’s been chewed up and spit out and then stepped on. 

Joel turns at the waist, and adjusts the knob for the water, and then turns back to face you. “Was gonna go get us somethin’ to eat,” he explains cooly.

Now the water is warm and getting hotter, and feels good on your skin. “You was gonna leave me here all alone?” You whisper in disbelief, mouthing hanging open slightly.

Mister-man helps you undress silently, and discards all your wet clothes outside of the tub; then follows suit. He stands behind you, pressing himself against you so you can feel the slight swell of his belly against your back. His hands snake around your midsection, and pull you close to him. 

“Ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of here, babydoll.” He whispers into your ear. “S’only scary up here,” he punctuates the last word with a gentle kiss to your temple. “Gotta stay outta there.” 

He’s right.

You lean back against him, try and relax your tense body. “I dunno how,” you sigh, and with that confession it feels like weight has been taken off of you. Like Mister-man is lifting you off of your feet, but he isn’t. He’s still just holding you, swaying you discreetly; it’s so soothing. You are small in his arms, he makes you feel tiny and fragile even though that isn’t always the case– you love it. 

Mister lets out a low hum from deep in his chest, “Have ya’ ever tried?” 

The honest answer is no, you’ve never really tried. These things don’t normally happen, you don’t normally get stuck in your head like this. That’s not what you tell Mister though. “It’s hard. Just get caught up in it all– sometimes so fast I don’t even know it’s happenin’.” 

Mister nods like he understands, and sighs. “S’long as I’m around, you’re safe. Remember what we talked ‘bout in the woods?” 

“But you weren’t around,” you snap at him, frustrated with his useless words. “You weren’t here.” 

“I was just downstairs,” he explains gently as he starts to work his fingers into your hair. The faint smell of your soap wafts through the air, and it makes things seem less scary. Just a little. He scratches at your scalp with his nails and doesn’t miss a spot. 

“Feels good,” you moan softly, leaning against him again for support while he massages all your fears and worries away. 

He turns you around slowly so you’re facing him. “I ain’t always gonna be right by your side,” he whispers, and keeps his index finger under your chin, shielding your eyes with his other hand while the water washes the shampoo away. “But if I’m breathin’...” he pauses to make sure you’re listening. “You’re safe. Promise you that.” 

You wrinkle your nose at his words. “How’re you gon’ keep me safe if you aren’t right here?” You hold your right hand out at your side. 

Joel raises one eyebrow as he continues to rinse the soap out of your hair. “Same way you did,” he shrugs his shoulders. He’s satisfied that all the shampoo is gone, and he reaches for the bar of his soap sitting on the side of the tub. 

You watch, expecting him to start washing himself, but instead he drags the soap across your skin, washing away all the sweat and sleep from the last several hours. It smells unmistakably like Mister. You’re perplexed, studying the lines in his face as he concentrates on making sure he doesn’t miss an inch of you. 

“I have my own,” you motion to your other bottles and containers of soaps and shampoos. 

Joel glances in their direction and shrugs, sliding the bar of soap along your lower stomach, and then down between your legs. He’s thorough, but gentle. His touch is innocent, moving from your core, down your thighs. He kneels in front of you, washing your shins and calves, then finally your feet. He holds your ankle, lifting each one a couple of inches, cleaning the soles and between your toes. 

When he goes to stand, he’s slow, and winces, sucking air between his teeth harshly. 

“You hurtin’?” You reach for him with your right arm, and let him use you to stand up fully.

Joel grimaces the entire way to his feet, and begins to wash himself with the same bar of soap, ignoring your question completely. “I know gettin’ used to this place ain’t gonna be easy for you,” he starts to explain again. 

For some reason, what says embarasses you. You want to crawl inside your own skin and hide from the rest of his words. 

Mister-man doesn’t seem to notice as you pull your chin into your chest, and stare at the bottom of the tub, watching the suds and water race down the drain. “M’ gonna help ya’ as much as I can, but we can’t be together every second of every day– we weren’t together like that at the mall.” 

You roll your eyes, thankful that he can’t see. “Wasn’t no one else ‘round at the mall,” you grumble quietly. 

Joel snatches your chin in his hand and tilts your head to look up at him. “What’d you say?” He growls, eyes narrowed directly onto yours. 

The muscles in your jaw tense, and you tear your chin from between his fingers. “I said there wasn’t no one else around at the mall.” 

Mister snorts, and shakes his head from side to side. He smirks as he goes back to washing under his arms, and then his shoulders and chest. “Think I’d let someone do something to you?” 

“How are you gonna stop’em if you ain’t around, huh?” 

Joel leans in so his face is only an inch from yours. “Ain’t nobody even gonna try,” he’s still smirking. “Wanna know how I know?” 

You don’t respond, you just continue to stare at him.

“‘Cause everyone here knows that I’d hunt’em down and fucking kill them if they did,” he continues, just barely a whisper. “You forget what I did for you in the mall?” He adds, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he stands upright. 

Part of you had forgotten in the tangled mess that was coming to Jackson. You don’t really remember what he had said– not exactly. 

Little scenes from the trip to Jackson play over and over again in your head, being shocked to the point of tears, Mister-man having to put the choke collar back on you when you wouldn’t stop trying to run. 

Finally, once you had exhausted yourself to the point of falling over, Joel told you the truth. Told you that it was a larger settlement, and that you would be expected to work, and have to talk to people. 

You do remember him whispering in your ear when he slipped his cock into you out in the woods, “Nobody’s gonna hurt my crazy lil puppy. Ain’t that right, baby?” 

You sobbed into his neck, “I ain’t crazy.” Clinging to him like you could be sucked into the center of the earth. You remember your clothes and hair being soaked, and clinging to your skin with a fresh layer of still wet mud; Mister’s hands were dirty with it when he tried to wipe your tears away. 

You remember that it suddenly sounded like thunder, and the ground was vibrating under your back. You remember the snorting of horses, and the authoritarian voice that shouted at Mister-man to get off of you. 

You remember that he didn’t get off of you, he actually thrust a couple more times until someone pulled and cocked a gun. Only then did he leave you with a sickeningly wet squelch, keeping you pinned underneath him while he situated himself back into his jeans.

You don't remember much else after that, really, not until you got to Maria's house.

Mister-man rinses his body and then reaches around you to shut the water off, and then he carefully dries you. He tuts quietly when he reaches your shoulder, bruised and swollen, but doesn’t say anything. 

Mister wraps the towel around you, and then wraps one around his waist and guides you into his bedroom. He goes into your one drawer, barely half-filled with your things, and picks out a shirt. He pulls it over your head, and is smirking down at you when you reemerge. 

“You up for a walk to the mess hall?” He asks, wiping a stray drop of water that is running down the side of your face. 

You blink up at him, wrinkling your nose slightly. 

He cups your face and rubs his thumb across your cheek, “S’where we can get somethin’ to eat.”

As if on cue, your stomach lets out a deep, loud rumbling sound. You are hungry– possibly starving. You can’t remember the last time you had anything besides a handful of raspberries and crackers. It’s been a while since you sat down and ate with Mister. 

He helps you into a pair of jeans, and then puts a clean pair of socks on for you, and helps you into one of his long-sleeve flannels. He rolls up the sleeves so they don’t overhang your hands. 

“Are there gonna be other people there?” You try to sound nonchalant, like you don’t care if other people were there. Inside, your heart feels like it isn’t moving at all, and your mouth is fuzzy and dry. 

Mister-man is tucking his shirt into his jeans when he looks at you, one eyebrow raised slightly. “Does it matter?” He sees right through you, and shakes his head as he zips and buttons his jeans. 

You shrug and sit down on the edge of his bed. “I was just askin’,” you mumble under your breath. 

He doesn’t hear, or chooses to ignore you as he finishes getting dressed. He walks back into the bathroom, and when he returns, his hair is combed back, away from his face. Mister-man’s face looks endlessly tired, like it’s been etched into his being. 

He stands in front of you with his hands on his hips, furrowing his brow at you. “What’s the matter? Y’still worried ‘bout them?” He tips head towards the door. 

You shrug again, looking everywhere but his eyes as he takes a step closer. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to avoid it, he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and makes you look up at him. You force a closed lip smile at him, and shake your head from side to side. “Nah…” You blink up at him, the small, strained grin still on your face. “I know you’ll take care of me.” 

tag list- @probablyreadinsmut @lilac-boo @pedrospookie @ghoulettesinspace @itwasntimethatdidit40 @itsokbbygrlbutworsethistime @baronessvonglitter @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @joelmillerisapunk @pastelpinkflowerlife @tateypots @toxicrecs @the-orange-tabby-cat @gothcsz @almostempty @cubiclehoe @codenamekitten @shivispunk @shortandderanged @oliveksmoked @evolnoomym

(if you didn't want to be tagged tell me to fuck right off, but if you'd like to be added, let me know <3 )

[jezior0]

This fundraiser is vetted by 90-ghost and was reblogged by bilal-salah0

@aya0599924578 had contacted me a few days ago and shared the story of her and her children's suffering. Please, spare a few minutes of your time to learn a little about what they're experiencing daily.

When I told Aya that she can share whatever information she feels comfortable with me to talk with you about, she mentioned:

- the hunger that is widespread across the Gaza Strip. There is a lack of nutricious food. Aya told me that she and her children miss eating chicken and vegetables, as they haven't tasted them for ten months now.

- the fear. The agression and bombing that kills people, leaving their massacred bodies laying on the street and decomposing.

- the significant deterioration of Aya's and her family's mental health, caused by such inhumane conditions.

- the bombardment of their beautiful house, which Aya described as the most beautiful of all houses. It was full of memories. Now, the family is forced to live in a small tent that they made of wood and torn cloth, that does not provide any comfort or sense of security whatsoever. It doesn't protect them from the heat, cold or insects.

Aya's young daughter is also in need of eye surgery, as she was hurt by bombing and there is no treatment for her in the Gaza Strip.

Besides all those horrendous circumstances, Aya's children remain innocent and resilient, fighting for their right to childhood by playing and recreation.

In this video, you can see that her son came up with a new game to entertaing himself. He created it using simple tools and items, making something out of nothing.

As I've mentioned before, those children and their caretakers are fighting for their right to dignified and good life everyday. We should stand up and fight for them too.

Aya has messaged me yesterday and told that she most likely won't be able to be very active on social media in the coming days. That is caused by another displacement ordered by the israeli offence forces.

In those next days, we can make something good for her and her family. Something that would help her and her family afford a bigger tent, new clothes and shoes, mattresses for comfortable sleeping and food.

The current amount raised on Aya's Gofundme is €2,706. We should try and at least double it in the upcoming week. The final goal set on the fundraiser is only €15,000. That really isn't much. We can do it.

Please, make sure to spare what you can and donate to Aya's fundraiser. If you can't donate, share this post and Aya's campaign with someone who is able to do so. We need all the help we can get now. We cannot let Aya down.

Remember to also head to her blog, reblog the posts and encourage your mutuals to interact with them as well. I will update this post with how the fundraiser is moving forward.

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin iv x Time!Traveller!reader

chapter 3

chapter 2 | chapter 4

As the carriage comes to a stop the guards of the castle help you come out, to which you were ost thankful for. This castle was a mere building for military defense so it didn't feel as luxurious as a palace. Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful.

The odd thing was no one in the castle treated you like a criminal. Every guard and maid on the way bowed to you in respect, confusing you to the core. “Uhm sir.” You call for the guard escorting you. “Why is everyone…doing that?” another maid walking across bows towards you. “Well madame you cured many of their relatives that’s why.” He comes to a stop.

“Your (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes and (s/c) skin are distinguishing characteristics making you easily recognisable.” You gulp at his intense gaze. “And among the thankful people, I am one of them” He bows “Thank you for saving my niece.”

“O-Oh your welcome no need to mention it” an awkward aura surrounds the both. Well at least you have the support of the common folk. But this confirms that the nobles do not plan on doing the same. They always tend to walk on a league of their own.

The guard walked you through a verandah-like open area. The ivory walls were decorated with patterns of red triangle and blue squares, leaving your mouth agape the entire time, which clearly annoyed screen

‘How are you admiring walls when you’re clearly about to die!? You didn’t even panic during the carriage ride!’  Screen’s brightness fluctuated rapidly showing it’s anger. The guard moves slightly away.  “A calm mind is essential to win a battle.” You cockily reply. “Besides the adrenaline is kinda keeping me in line. The common folk believe in me anyways!” It rolls it’s kaomoji eyes at your reply.

Truth to be told you did panic. During the carriage ride you squeezed your hand so hard, your nails pierced through the skin causing slight amounts of blood to be released. The wound dried up fine but the pain was still there.

“We’re here” He says. Two other guards are stationed near a door and they instantly bow at your arrival. “This is his majesty’s bed chamber. When you enter you ought to curtsy in front of him…I don’t know why your presence is required but nevertheless, best of luck.” The other two men nod at you in reassurance. You only have the time to take a deep breath until they open the door, so you did, hoping the oxygen would wake you up.

The two dragged open the heavy doors. The sunlight from the window momentarily blinded you, but the men wasted no time in gently dragging you forward. Around the bed three men were seated. You move a little forward and the guard announces your presence. “Your Majesty, I've brought madame Y/n.”

Your eyes immediately lock with the leaper king. His blue eyes are glow even if his eyelids were gnawed and decomposed like. Something about those eyes made you snap back into reality. As instructed you do a quick but deep curtsy. “Your majesty.”

King baldwin wasted no time and nods, signaling you to relax. He acted on instinct and didn’t even know the reason for why he nodded before seeing you again. The leper tried to hide the awkwardness by adjusting his silver mask, looking at the man who is not standing. He clears his throat “His majesty is very pleased with your efforts on curing the sick. He wishes to reward you.”

Wait what

The man claps and a servant comes in holding a tray with jewels, threatening to fall off due to the huge amount. You stare at the shine of them and hesitantly take the tray. “T-Thank you your majesty.” He nods again, still not looking at you.

Hands shake from the frenzy of the situation. Your breathing rate has significant changed from the calm demeanour of before. ‘Aren't they supposed to like, kill you?’ You think.

“You seem perplexed.” The one standing points out. “Why? Speak you mind” The other man reassures.

“I just thought…The crusaders……..” You clutched your skirt tightly, looking down in embarrassment. 

The crusaders said nothing about you being a witch, it was you who assumed everything. When the king heard the you mentioning his men, he turned around immediately. “What did they do?”

“If i'm correct, there was a rumour circulating that your majesty  would hang her for being a witch”

“Heavens no!” His pupils retract back in shock. “Why would i convict you of that, you saved the my people.” The blue eyes still  linger on you and if you had looked up, you could see he was almost pouting.

“Apparently the crusaders weren’t the most kind to her either.” He replies again. The king is now definitely gobsmacked. “I am so sorry for that, it’s not their fault they’re trained for war so they don’t seem hospitable at a first glance.” While he rushes with the apology, you say "Okay" right away.

“We have called you here for another reason as well.” Baldwin looks at the man standing to explain further. The state of the room changes drastically. “You have cured a mass amount of people in the span of two months. This was something the kingdom has been trying to do for years.”

‘Years?? Seriously all I did was feed them oranges’

“And since you were able to do that… we figured you might be able to cure the king.”

‘Damm plot twist!’  Screen ate virtual popcorn as it saw the drama unfold.

You gaze shifted to the king, who refused to look up at anyone, gazing straightforward at the blanket he is covered in.

“Gentlemen… I’m not—”

“The pay is quite handsome”

“And we’ll grant you the status of a noble”

Okay, that was not—

The screen immediately duplicated itself, showcasing a quest.

‘Cure the Leper king (Main quest)’ The three men stare at you while the screen leaves you no choice, showing the options ‘|Yes| or |Yes|’ 

“Hah…Fine I’ll do it” You roll your eyes, annoyed at the circumstance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry for the late update! I had to rewrite the whole chapter since i didn't like the narrative it was going in. Also please make me aware of any typo, i just got a new keyboard and i didn't spellcheck anything 😚

[a-shade-of-blue]

Please continue to support Palestinian fundraisers! As a result of the genocide, a lot of them still have nowhere to live and no means to support themselves, like Abood here. After the ceasefire deal, Abood Al-Qudra (@aboodgaza100) returned to the place his home once stood to find only rubble and dust. Bodies are still buried under the rubble, and he and his family were told to evacuate by the rescue crew because of the decomposing bodies! Imagine going home after 15 months of genocide only to find it completely destroyed and have to evacuate again!

Abood is a a 24-year-old business administration student. He has been working since he was 15 to support his family. Because of his hard-work and talent, he opened his own business and it was so successful that he had 22 employees! At the age of 24! However, he has now lost everything: his home, his business, and many family members. Imagine the devastation he must feel, to lose not only people he loves, but also everything he has worked so hard for!

Vetted! vetted and promoted by @/gaza-evacuation-funds!

€10,036 raised of €25K goal!

Tagging for reach~ Please dm me if you want of the mailing list! Thank you!

@elyserie @timeunraveller @small-spark-of-light @fanscheme @eeby

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@kiirodora @mavigator @lacecap @vakarians-babe @socalgal

@mustikkaotso @valid-wof-weapons @hametsukaishi @slashermilf @zigcarnivorous

@moonssugar @sundung @sunclownsblog @fiqrr @irhabiya

@sharingresourcesforpalestine @genusniebla @thetrickyjokester @dirhwangdaseul @shadowinthetrees @fleshdyk3

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@aboodgaza100, @aboodalqedra18, @aboodalqedra13, @aboodalqedra5, @aboodalqedra10, @aboodalqedra-9, @aboodalqedra-8, @aboodalqedra-6, @aboodalqedra-4, @aboodalqedra-3, @aboodalqedra-2, @aboodalqedra-5

[bumblehoneybee]

I just wish to see peanuts and Dogday getting along for once please-

Interloper: Sleeping Dogs Lie

Peanuts was a very squishy toy.

Understandably so, Dogday thought, since the little thing was made to resemble a plush toy, meant to be hugged and squished.

Squished like Peanuts was currently being. The pup laid across Dogday's chest, face free to carefully pinch and squash between his fingers. Peanuts merely snoozed as Dogday pulled and poked, uncaring of the way his head stretched.

If anything, he enjoyed the attention, judging by the lazy thump of his little tail.

Something about Peanuts irked Dogday. The way the toy acted, begging for your attention, blocking Dogday himself from getting any, it was infuriating. But there was a distinct. . . youthfulness to the pup. He was young, very young, in need of care and love.

Dogday despised the miniature critters, back when he lived within the factory. Before the Hour of Joy, they were more annoying, little pests that the kids liked to chase and hug and that enjoyed stealing food or getting underfoot. After the hour, they were starved and crazed, feasting on whatever decomposing husk they could find, regardless of whether the damned soul was still alive.

Peanuts was the first you found that was actually different. Whatever the reason, Peanuts was more affectionate than his fellow little critters. He willingly followed you around, ate from your hand, snuggled into your chest to sleep.

Following Peanuts came Biscuits, and then Cubby. A trio of little mischief makers that Dogday never expected to come to care for.

But here he was, petting Peanuts as the pup snoozed on his chest.

Was this a family? Dogday couldn't remember the last time he felt like he truly belonged someplace like this. Before he was. . . him, there wasn't much. Not that he could remember, at least. And while the other Smiling Critters were all trauma bonded, they all had their own issues that kept them from truly feeling like friends, much less family.

This. . . this was different. This was freedom, as Dogday chose to stay with you, his angel, and all the others did too. They could leave, technically, could go find what the world was about. But they didn't want to. They wanted to live here, with little rascals and your loving touch.

Speaking of, Dogday sighed as he felt your lips press to the top of his head. You moved to kiss Peanuts too, chuckling as the pup whined happily.

"Sweet dreams, boys."

Sweet dreams indeed.

[morbidology]

Born in El Segundo, California, Christopher McCandless was described as his teachers as “marching to the beat of a different drummer.” After earning a bachelor’s degree in history and anthropology, he donated the majority of his belongings and savings to charity and decided to live a nomadic lifestyle.

By 1992, he had travelled all the way to Alaska. Once there, he lived off the land, or at least attempted to. He discovered an abandoned bust approximately 28 miles west of Healy - this is where he set up camp.

He documented his experience in a journal and through self-portrait photography. He foraged for edible plants and hunted animals, including squirrels, birds, and geese. His journal detailed 133 days out in the wilderness. Becoming weak, he decided he would return to civilization. However, the trail was blocked by an overflowing river.

He returned to the bus where he wrote an S.O.S. note which read:

“Attention Possible Visitors. S.O.S. I need your help. I am injured, near death, and too weak to hike out. I am all alone, this is no joke. In the name of God, please remain to save me. I am out collecting berries close by and shall return this evening. Thank you, Chris McCandless. August?”

On 6 September, 1992, a hunter discovered McCandless’ decomposing body, wrapped up tight in his sleeping bag on the abandoned bus. He had died of starvation the prior month. His final journal entry that included words read: “Day 107. Beautiful Berries.” Entries 108 through to 113 were marked only with a singular slash.

The abandoned bus where he took refuge, known as the "Magic Bus" or the "Into the Wild" bus, became a pilgrimage site for adventurers seeking to follow in his footsteps. However, the remote location of the bus and the dangers posed by the harsh wilderness environment led to several rescue missions and fatalities over the years.

In June 2020, following a series of high-profile rescues and the increasing number of visitors to the site, Alaska's Department of Natural Resources made the decision to remove the bus from its remote location near the Teklanika River.

[julieverne]

Jane knew Maura had been watching her. Waiting for her to fall apart. Maura had scheduled a time to cry; she was so organised that she probably assumed Jane had too.

Jane hadn't. She hadn't been expecting a post card from Frost. His optimism. That he'd been alive when he'd sent it. That he'd expected to be alive when Jane received it.

It hit her almost as hard as that car had hit him.

She'd never liked attending automobile accidents; too often they smelled of burning human flesh.

It was messed up how hungry it had started to make her feel.

But also the blunt force trauma, the scattered limbs, the crushing weight. Often there were survivors, their voices getting weaker as the firefighters worked the jaws of life often a little too late for those little survivors. Jane had supervised Tommy and Lydia installing TJ's car seats; it was why he'd survived having a building fall on him.

Frost had too, once. But not this time.

Not this time.

Even through her tears she found her phone. She had wanted to be alone, but now that she was she found herself desperately upset by her solitude. Jo whined frantically at her feet and Jane grasped her tight, letting the little dog lick her face in an effort to comfort her.

"You're okay, Jo. You're a good girl. It's not about you. You've done nothing wrong."

Jo licked Jane's nose and stopped whining but Jane held her until she wriggled away.

She called Maura. She couldn't speak; she was crying too hard. Maura didn't need Jane to speak; she understood. It was why Jane loved her.

"I'll be right there. I can stay on the line."

Jane nodded even though Maura couldn't see her.

"Please," she managed, and she heard Maura scoop up her car keys and heels and lock the door behind her.

She almost panicked at the sound of the Prius; Frost had died in a car and now Maura was in a car. She couldn't lose Maura. She'd already lost Frost. She wanted to take it back, to hang up, to have never called.

She wanted to go back a week and tell Frost to stay in Boston. She wanted to hug him and say goodbye. She wanted to say so many things to him. He'd been such a good partner. He'd been accommodating for her weird family. He'd never made fun of her in a mean-spirited way. He'd never been racist or sexist in front of her. He'd just been, quite simply, a lovely man, an excellent partner and a good friend.

Maura knocked, but Jane couldn't get up. Maura used her key and saw Jane huddled on the floor. She locked the door and slid the deadbolt on behind herself, then took a cushion from Jane's couch before kneeling beside Jane and scooping her into her arms.

Jane held herself because the hurt was too much to let anyone else in, because she was ashamed of crying, ashamed of needing too much.

Maura held her anyway. She was warm and smelled good; she always did, unless she'd been in close proximity to a decomposing corpse for too long. No, tonight she smelled fresh and clean and she was so soft. Her hands held Jane close. Her face rested against the top of Jane's head and she kissed Jane's temple once; twice. Three times. Maura didn't say it was okay because it wasn't okay. They'd promised each other back when they'd met that they wouldn't, and they never did.

"I know," Maura murmured. "Come on."

She helped Jane to her feet and pulled her over to the couch. She settled down with Jane in her arms, holding her even closer than before. Jane wanted to curl up in her lap. Jane wanted to live here.

"I loved him," Jane said, realising it was true. Not in a romantic sense, but he'd been family to her. Family but better because he was a detective. It was the same way she loved Korsak. It wasn't the same way she loved Maura.

"I know. I loved him too."

It struck Jane that she'd never said it out loud, that Frost had never known.

"I never told him." The sobbing started again. "I should have told him."

"Jane. He knew. He knew how much you valued him as a partner and as a friend. He loved you too. It was just something you couldn't say. You worked together."

"I love you," Jane said, the sobs still wracking her body. "Maura, you have to know."

"I know, Jane. I love you too."

"You told me once. I didn't say it back. I was worried you would think it was romantic."

"Well, this is hardly romantic, is it? So you chose your timing well."

"It is romantic," Jane whispered. "I mean, the way I love you is. Maybe this moment isn't, but there's things you need to know. You were driving over here and I thought 'what if she doesn't make it? What if she never knows?'"

Jane pulled away and found a tissue, cleaning herself up as best she could.

"I used to think the worst thing that could happen was you finding out. Now I think the worst thing is you never knowing. So you can hate me if you want, but you have to know. I didn't say yes to Casey because he doesn't make me feel anywhere near as much as you do. I see you smile and it lights up my heart. You're like a beacon and I'm just a stupid moth."

"You're not a stupid moth, Jane, and moths aren't stupid. They actually have incredibly advanced positioning systems based on light, and human technology has evolved faster than they have."

Jane smiled at Maura; she was such a nerd. She was so adorable when she had a fun fact to share. Jane loved her.

"I love you," Jane said again. "You don't have to do anything or feel any way, I just can't risk the best thing in my life not knowing that she is any more."

"Any more what?"

"Not knowing any more that you're the best thing in my life."

"Oh, Jane." There it was. The softening around the eyes. The pity. Jane braced herself. "I know I am. The way you smile when you see me every morning, the way you're always in my house even though Angela drives you crazy, the way you do anything I ask even if it's a major inconvenience to you. I know you love me. I've always known you loved me. Even when we were fighting you loved me. But you were raised to find that scary and evil. I know, Jane. I'm glad you got there, but I wish it hadn't cost us a dear friend for you to get there on your own."

Frost. It stung. It burned. There were hundreds of scumbags Jane saw every day who'd actually deserved death, yet it had come for sweet, gentle Frost instead. Tears slipped from her eyes and Jane was helpless to stop them.

Usually she hated anyone seeing her cry, but Maura was her exception to every rule she had in life.

"You don't mind?" Jane whispered.

Maura's hand took hers. She squeezed Jane's hand gently, careful of the foreshortened tendons. She brought Jane's hand to her mouth.

And then she kissed it. Her lips were soft and pressed gently, then she turned Jane's hand in hers and kissed the palm too. She released Jane's hand, and Jane found it drawn to Maura's cheek, cupping it. Her thumb brushed over Maura's lips and they parted for her.

Jane pulled her hand away slowly, trying to process what had just happened.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Maura nodded. Her eyes were dark and her lips were still parted. The uncertainty that often plagued her had left.

"Romantically, yes. I dated Dennis because I knew you hated him. I thought you'd stop me. I thought you'd say something."

"I'm an idiot."

"But you're not a moth."

Jane felt like a moth, drawn by the light shining through Maura's hair, buffeted by the wind, conveyed on battered wings. Broken but still moving forward. Maura's mouth met hers and it was twice as wonderful as Jane had ever imagined because she'd never managed to get this far in her imagination.

Maura drew back first. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"You're grieving. I'm grieving. It's not a good idea to progress any further at the moment."

"But you're staying, right?" Jane's voice got higher in panic at the idea of Maura driving away from her through the night. She closed the space between them and held Maura to her. "I can sleep on the couch."

"You can't," Maura said frankly. "You're too tall. You can sleep in your bed with me. And I'll hold you when you cry, and you can hold me when I cry, and we can talk about Frost all night if you want, or we don't have to talk at all."

"I miss him. I really, really miss him."

"Come on. Get out of that dress and into bed." Maura blushed. "I mean, get into something you can sleep in. So we can sleep."

"Thank you," Jane said. "For coming over. For not minding. For being so kind to me when I don't always deserve it."

"Jane. Of course." Maura helped Jane to her feet, then to the bedroom. She helped Jane with her dress too, keeping her eyes modestly averted for once. Then she undressed and borrowed some of Jane's clothes, sliding into bed beside Jane.

Casey in her bed had always felt wrong. Maura in her bed was like heaven.

She knew Maura liked sex; liked a lot of sex. Maybe it wouldn't be good, maybe Jane would feel that same pressure she had with Casey.

Or maybe it would be like this, with Maura's heartbeat next to Jane's and lazy murmurs into the night until they both fell asleep.

Either way, Jane felt somehow that she'd gained almost as much as she'd lost.

[astraystayyh]

this headline was so chilling that i had to scroll, pause then come back to it to fully realize what it means. they found decomposed premature babies in a hospital that was forcibly evacuated by idf. they were left alone to die. infants. do you guys even realize how horrible this is? there aren't even enough words to describe the pure evil of this ONE act alone.

the horrors during the "ceasefire", the one that stopped this morning and the bombings that resumed, the children killed, the civilians murdered in cold blood targeted by IDF forces. a one week truce isn't enough, was never enough and will never be enough. a permanent ceasefire is needed to save the people of Palestine, please don't stop speaking up about this, Palestinians don't get to pause their genocide.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 9: Envy

Lucanis stared into the fire. “Spite is…quiet. Angry. It scares me.” “Oh.” Rook sat forward in bed, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. In the dim light, she could see the muscles in his back tensing as he faced away from her. He tucked his thumb under his waistband and hesitated, staring at the rug as he spoke. “It should scare you too, Rook.” “Oh, please. I’m not afraid of you. And you even said, Spite likes me...” “Rook…” Lucanis warned. Choosing to keep his trousers on, he ran his fingers through his hair. She swallowed hard, her cheeks turning bright pink. “We need to talk about Illario.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Lucanis confronts Zara Renata. A little hurt/comfort. Also...sexual tension. Shirtless Lucanis. Shared bed. Tattoos. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! violence violence violence! Decomposition, flies, and graphic detail of really gross stuff. Vomiting. Blood. Stomach churning gore. Drowning, historical parental abuse, stitches. I'm hoping that covers it. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“I can’t believe they’re hiding in the chantry.” Rook said, pulling her mage knife from a Venatori’s chest. They collapsed to the floor behind her as she walked through a row of pews, looking around. “I used to come here as a girl, for prayers…my mother’s funeral-”

Davrin snapped his fingers at Assan. “I didn’t take you for a religious woman, Rook.”

The griffin raised its head curiously from the body it was sniffing, its feathers rustling as it romped after them.

“I’m not. But there’s peace in ritual.” Rook crouched next to a bookshelf, looking for signs of a hidden passage. “And religion has a lot of it.” 

Lucanis had been uncharacteristically quiet - far more than usual - the closer they got to Zara. Rook turned her head, watching him search the bodies they’d left in their wake. He rolled one over with his boot in disgust before giving up and using their vest to wipe his blade clean. 

As Rook hesitated over a book with a suspiciously dust-free spine, a faint creaking sound filled the enclave. The shelf rattled and slid to the side with a mechanical click, revealing a narrow platform.

“Well, well. Where does this go?”

“Good work,” Lucanis muttered, throwing himself over the top rung of a ladder with ease, seemingly unconcerned with what awaited below. Davrin and Rook exchanged a worried glance before descending after him. 

The three wove through a maze of hallways to a courtyard where they eliminated Faustus, Zara’s lapdog, and both of her bodyguards, before entering an underground chamber. An aqueduct or faucet dripped slowly in the distance as Rook examined the tiled walls, her brow furrowing. 

“What does Zara need a bathhouse for?”

“Nothing good. Someone’s using blood magic.” Lucanis said, “A lot of it.”

“He can sense that?” Davrin asked Rook in a low voice.

“It makes the back of his eyes hurt.” 

“Something with Spite?”

“He had this before.” She said, pushing through another door. As it swung open, she covered her mouth with her arm, gagging.

Piles of decomposing bodies lined the floor, their rotting forms piled atop one another, each indistinguishable from the next. The air was so thick with flies that she had to shield her face as they walked through.

“We should have Emmrich give them funeral rites after this,” Rook said, her voice strained as she held her breath.

Entering the bathhouse, a sea of blood greeted them. In its center, a woman turned around and casually, wading in their direction.

“Lucanis. It’s terribly uncivilized to drop in on a lady unannounced.” She chastised with a pout. “Now the evening’s ruined.” 

“Zara.” Lucanis and Spite growled in unison. 

“You brought me a Warden to play with!" Zara rose from her pool of blood, a bodice of carrion just barely concealing her, and crooked a finger, beckoning Rook closer. “And is that a mage? Come here, girl, let me show you how to kneel before your betters.” 

“MINE! Do not. TOUCH. ROOK! ” Lucanis and Spite snarled.

“Temper, temper…” Zara examined her nails. “Whatever shall we do with you?”

Two doors swung open on the far end of the hall and more Venatori poured in. Zara took advantage of the distraction and seized her weapons, springing forward and swiping at Lucanis. 

Rook, immediately engaged by a nearby mage, could hear the clash of steel behind her as she parried against an incoming blade. She drove her sword through her opponent’s throat, the warm spray misting her face, and ducked just in time to avoid the desperate grab of another from behind. Meanwhile, Assan launched himself into the air, remaining just out of reach as he dive-bombed Zara from above. Davrin charged through a pair of guards, elbowing one in the face and kicking the other into a pillar with a resounding thud. He cleaved his blade across their middle before they could get back up.

Suddenly, something struck Rook from behind, the force driving her head against the pool’s edge. Sharp pain seared through her skull as she was dragging beneath the crimson water. Disoriented, she reared back, gasping for air as Zara’s long nails dug into her scalp, clutching a fistful of her hair. 

“I know exactly who you are, Little Flame,” she said in her ear. “I want your blood next.”

Rook’s head was forced back under, and she held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. As a teenager, her father had done the same to her during training. She recalled the chill of the Treviso canals as he repeatedly dunked her head below.

“If someone is drowning you, don’t struggle. You’ll expend all your energy.” Dante’s voice echoed in her head. “Be still. Be patient.”

“Uncle! What are you doing?” Viago had screamed, running to Fiamma’s rescue, mortified by her father’s methods. 

“Stay out of this, boy! She has to learn just like everyone else. Do you want her to be weak? Do you want her to die?”

The weight suddenly disappeared from Rook’s back, and she propelled herself to the surface, choking and retching violently. Blood dripped from her hair and into her eyes as she wiped her vision clear just in time to see Lucanis throwing Zara across the room into a pillar. He hauled Rook out of the depths, setting her down on the pool's ledge.

“You okay?” His eyes glimmered with a purple fog as he bent down to brush away the blood from her temple. Rook winced but nodded, pulling his hand away as she fought back tears, refusing to show weakness. Lucanis gritted his teeth, looking back over his shoulder at Zara, who was dragging herself across the ground past her dead guards. 

“I’ve got her. Go show us why they call you the mage-killer, Dellamorte.” Davrin said, kneeling beside Rook. 

Lucanis nodded, leaped into the air, and landed in front of Zara, blades drawn. As her blood magic waned, her youthful illusion vanished, leaving her to desperately claw her way towards the pool. He dug the heel of his boot into her hand and she cried out in pain. 

“So serious, Lucanis. Why don’t we talk?” Zara’s voice trembled as she groveled at his feet. “I can tell you much about Venatori. And your Crows.” 

He cocked his head, hesitating.

“No!” Spite roared. “I want her heart quivering . On OUR knife.”

“You want to know who betrayed you, don’t you? Who sent you to the Ossuary?”

Lucanis regained control, but given the flash of violet in his eyes, Spite wasn’t surrendering easily. 

“Talk.” He said in a strained voice. 

Zara smiled, showing her bloodstained teeth. “I knew you were-”

A blur plummeted from the rafters between them. Illario seized Zara by the throat, holding Lucanis’ gaze with a confident grin.

“Amatu-” she began, before he snapped her neck without hesitation.

“No! MINE!”

Spite tackled and pinned Illario to the ground, dagger raised high above his head. Rook and Davrin exchanged panicked glances before sprinting forward.

“Lucanis, stop!”

“Rook, I can’t!” Panic filled his voice as he battled Spite for control. The demon lowered the blade while he desperately fought back. “Get..Illario…out! ”

“That’s enough!” Illario’s arm crossed his chest, and Rook sensed something that made her skin prick as Lucanis fell back, Spite’s presence evaporating like smoke. 

“Relax.” Illario said, holding out his hand and staggering to his feet. Rook acted swiftly, seizing him by the collar and slamming him into a pillar. 

“What did you just do?” 

“Nothing.” Illario sneered. “I don’t know what happened any better than you do.” 

“That was blood magic.” Rook hissed. “You think I don’t know? I’m a mage, Illario. You’re not. How the fuck-”

“It seems you hit your head.” His thumb dug into the side of her temple. “Maybe you’re seeing things.” 

Rook recoiled and reached for her face as he shoved her off of him. Davrin caught her as she nearly toppled over the side of the pool, and a flash of remorse crossed Illario’s features for a moment before he steeled himself.

“Keep him away. From Treviso. From the Crows. He’s a danger to the family.” He said, pointing at Lucanis, unconscious on the tile. “If you were smart, you’d keep away from him, too. But we both know you’re unwilling to do that.”

“You expect me to just abandon him because of Spite?” Rook stepped out of Davrin’s grasp and fell to her knees beside Lucanis. “This isn’t his fault!”

“I don’t expect you to abandon him at all. We both know he’s more than a soldier in your army, Rook.” He spoke her nickname with disgust, spitting into the water after he said it. She pulled Lucanis’ head into her lap as Illario turned away. Blood matted his hair, and she brushed it from his face, angry tears brimming in her eyes.

“How does it feel, Illario?” She called after him. “With your cousin out of the way, you can finally be First Talon. You finally have everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

“Not everything, Fiammetta.” He said, meeting her gaze with the most believable look of remorse she’d ever seen. “Not everything.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“I thought Spite took over when he slept?” Davrin asked as they entered Viago’s apartment, an unconscious Lucanis slung over his shoulder. The downpour outside had soaked through their armor, but at least it washed the blood away.

“Well, ever since Illario put him in a coma, he doesn’t seem to respond, so can you just help me?” She asked, leading him through the apartment to her room. “Fuck, I wish Viago were here. He whines less.” 

Davrin unceremoniously dumped Lucanis on her bed. “Where is he?”

“The casino, most likely. He’d never leave work this early in the evening.” She knelt down and tugged off Lucanis’ boots, setting them by the door. “Sorry for snapping. I appreciate your help.” 

“It’s alright. However I felt before…I get it now.” He said, “Lucanis doesn’t deserve this, I know that. No one does.”

“Crow drama is a lot…even for Crows.” She said, taking off her cloak and throwing it on the floor. 

“So you and the cousin were a thing?” 

“Hardly. He, Teia, and I were inseparable once Viago and Lucanis started getting busy with contracts. Illario always felt something for me but…” she unlaced her own boots, kicking them aside. “Every time we got close, he’d do something to ruin it.” 

“What about you and Lucanis?”

“What about us? We’re colleagues.” She crouched in front of the small wood-burning stove in the corner of her room and ignited it with a slight wave of her hand. 

“Sure…”

Rook walked to where Lucanis lay unconscious, the sheets damp underneath him. She unbuckled his daggers from the sheathes in his armor, setting them on the nightstand before beginning to unfasten the crow-shaped buttons of his leathers. 

“Whoa-” Davrin held up his palms in protest, “I know I said we’re cool, but I don’t need to see any more of Lucanis than-”

“You can go. I’ll do the rest. There’s a spare bath at the end of the hallway. But here…” she grabbed a bottle of soap from the rim of her tub, “It’s impossible to tell what’s poison and what’s not in this house. And don’t go in Viago’s room. It’s full of traps.” 

“Great…” Davrin stared at the bottle in his hand. He clicked his tongue and nodded in the direction of the den.

“Assan, fireplace.” 

The griffin rose from where it was watching in the doorway and hung its head, padding off down the hall.

“Just…keep it professional in here while I’m gone, alright?”

When Rook threw a shoe at him, Davrin smirked and ducked out of the room.

Once he was gone, she finished undressing Lucanis down to the knitted sweater and trousers he wore underneath his armor. She did her best to give him a modicum of privacy, but it wasn’t a simple task when he was dead weight. With his overclothes piled in a soaking wet heap on the floor, she eased him onto the pillows and brushed damp strands of hair out of his face. He looked peaceful, and she hoped whatever comatose state Illario had forced him into was at least a restorative one. 

She took off her bloodied clothes and drew herself a bath, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, praying he or Spite wouldn't wake until after she was done. One hand pressed to the cast iron tub, tiny flames peeked out from under her fingertips as she warmed the water before stepping in.

Rook scrubbed hard against her skin, trying to shake the image of the bodies in the hall outside the bathhouse. Unsure she’d ever feel clean after all the blood she choked on, she sunk underwater, combing her fingers through her hair, but soon emerged with a gasp as the image of being nearly drowned by Zara overwhelmed her.

With a shudder, she wrapped her arms around herself and hastily drained the tub, wringing out her hair and climbing out. She toweled off near the stove and dressed in the most modest nightgown she could find in her wardrobe, pulling a thick, fur-lined robe around herself for good measure. 

Facing her vanity mirror, she lit a few candles and peered at her reflection. The darkness cast harsh shadows over her bruised face, but the cut on her temple wasn’t terribly deep. She reached into a drawer, retrieving a med kit and carefully began sewing her injury shut, wincing and biting her lip. She was lucky she still had an eye. 

“Need some help with that?” Davrin asked from the doorway.

Rook grimaced. “If you don’t mind.”

He knelt down, taking the needle and thread from her hands.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as he worked, “For everything.” 

He grinned. “Of course. We’re all a team, right?” 

“Right.”

Davrin looped off the last stitch and setting the kit on the vanity, checking his work. 

“Definitely gonna scar, but you should survive.”

Rook groaned and checked herself in the mirror again, arranging her hair to cover half her face.

“Looks like you’re full up here. I’ll take the couch.” Davrin gave her a casual salute with two fingers, casting a final glance between her and Lucanis.

“Colleagues my ass..” he grumbled, disappearing into the hall.  

Rook smiled to herself and shut the door, draping her robe over a chair and crawling under the sheets with a shiver. Lucanis’ brow furrowed in his sleep, and she rolled on her side, propping herself up on an elbow as she brushed her knuckles along his cheek. His lashes fluttered in response to her touch, and she flinched, pulling her arm back as he opened his eyes.

“You’re awake!”

Lucanis sat up in bed, his gaze sweeping across the room.

“You brought me to Viago’s? ”

“You were unconscious. It was too much work to get you on a zipline back to the eluvian. If it’s any consolation, he’s not home yet.”

He grunted and looked down at himself, raising an eyebrow.

“You were getting my sheets wet.” She explained.

Lucanis pressed a palm to his damp sweater. “Still am.”

“There’s a drying rack by the fire. I was waiting for you or Spite to wake up and handle the…rest.”

He nodded appreciatively and crossed the room, pulling his sweater off over his head and arranging it over a wooden rung.

“Spite is…quiet. Angry. It scares me.”

“Oh.” Rook sat forward in bed, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. In the dim light, she could see the muscles in his back tensing as he faced away from her. He tucked his thumb under his waistband and hesitated, staring at the rug as he spoke.

“It should scare you too, Rook.”

“Oh, please, Lucanis. I’m not afraid of you. And you even said, Spite likes me...”

“Rook…” Lucanis warned. Choosing to keep his trousers on, he ran his fingers through his hair.

She swallowed hard, her cheeks turning bright pink.

“We need to talk about Illario.” She said, changing the subject. “He wants you to stay away from the Crows. He thinks you’re a danger to your family.”

Lucanis turned around. “He’s not wrong. If I lose control…” 

“He used blood magic to control Spite.”

“I know. I felt it.” His jaw tightened. “Spite did too.” 

Rook took a slow, deep breath.

“The night you were captured, did Illario know you were boarding that ship?”

“Yes.” 

“I know he’s your cousin, Lucanis, but I won’t pretend I haven’t seen Illario at his…worst. When he doesn’t get his way, he loses it. If he’s jealous of you, if you stand in the way of what he wants…I can’t put it past him to betray you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured in the air. “I never wanted First Talon! He knows that.”

“But you’re still a threat to his claim. Caterina’s groomed you for her role since you were a child, Lucanis. And Illario knows everyone thinks you’re better suited for it!”

“Maker help my idiot cousin...” Lucanis wrapped his fingers around one of Rook’s bedposts, glaring out the window. Her eyes darted away, trying desperately to avoid staring at the way the leather of his pants hugged his hips.

“It should have been my knife to finish Zara. Not Illario’s. After everything she did to me…”

He sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

“Is there anything I can do?” Rook asked quietly.

He crawled towards her and reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing her stitches. “I never should have brought you into my mess.”

“Lucanis-I’m here because I want to be. For you.” 

“And look what happened.” His thumb ghosted over her temple and he frowned. “Not to mention Illario throwing a tantrum and implying…”

His voice trailed off, and he rose to his feet.

“You’ve done more than enough, Rook,” a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Get some rest.”

Her fingers caught his wrist, pulling him back.

“Davrin took the couch.”

“I’ll make coffee. I shouldn’t sleep anyway, not with Spite like this.”

She tugged him down. “Stay.”

“This isn’t a good idea, Rook…”

“It’s just sleep.” She said, pleading through her gaze.

Lucanis scrubbed his face with his hand and cursed under his breath before relenting. Stretching out beside her, he stared at the ceiling, one arm propped under his head.

“You’re killing me, Fiammetta.” he said hoarsely. 

“I know.” She rolled in the opposite direction, drawing the duvet closer around her body. Both of them remained still, unmoving, until she drifted off to sleep.

At some point in the night, Rook stirred as Lucanis shifted beside her. His fingertips, cool and deliberate, moved her hair aside before slowly tracing the outline of the tattoo on her back, just below the base of her neck. Nearly all crows had one to identify them by house. A show of loyalty, or a means of identification, should they fail a contract. Known for their snake-derived poisons, the De Rivas' depicted a crow mid-flight, clutching a serpent in its talons. 

Rook didn’t dare speak or breathe. Lucanis’ touch lacked any sense of violation or impropriety. Instead, it was tentative. Restrained. Curious.

With a heavy sigh, he eventually rolled out of bed, retrieving his sweater by the fire, and slowly closed the door behind him as he slipped into the hall.