#I just don't understand how the gores are meant to work

[the-busy-ghost]

Ah yes, the dream £10 vintage Laura Ashley skirt (made in Great Britain), in good quality corduroy

The dream skirt that requires a fucking PHD in ironing

[diejager]

Hi! I'm not sure if you're still doing/taking requests for the monster!141 au anymore so feel free to just ignore this if you aren't! 😊

But if u are can I request a drabble/headcanon about venom!hunter? I'm curious about the dynamic between them (venom & hunter) and how they got along and worked together (i don't really know how to phrase it🥲) when they first met.

Also how did they first met? How does venom get along with 141? I'm not sure if u already wrote about it.

Venom!reader headcanon

Cw: blood, gore, cannibalism?, canon-typical violence, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 898

Your meeting with Venom was an accident, a coincidence culminated from horrible events, you weren’t supposed to separate from your squad and he wasn’t supposed to die in the body of an incompatible vessel. It was a moment of shame and disgrace, making the simplest mistake one could do in your positions, but everything had a reason, no? Because you found Venom and he found you, he was your way back and you were his compatible vessel.

It was… difficult at first, sharing one mind and body with someone else took some time. A lot of time. It was a struggle of push and pull, your calm waters and his violent storm. While you preferred to stray from trouble, Venom loved it, actively seeking it out whenever he had control of your body. There was a lot of fighting, internal struggles and bickering back and forth, but you eventually came to an understanding —common ground. 

If he let you live your life - a dangerous one filled with blood and violence, still a young private in the army without any achievements and with big dreams - have monopoly over your body whenever you were off the field, you’d relinquish your key on his cage whenever he was hungry while you were fighting, letting his loose to run his rampage and fill his stomach with the heads of enemies. 

It was a relationship built on mutual respect, you for his determination and him for you strength. You understood one another, so your occasional disagreement grew rarer and rarer. You didn’t fight about feeding him only chocolate because you couldn’t stomach the sight of bitten heads. You didn’t fight about wanting excitement when times were too quiet. You didn’t fight when you wanted a few moments of silence in your mind. And you didn’t fight whenever you felt him poke his head out of your sleeve.

This symbiotic relationship only meant that you;d grow closer to each other, he got to know you on a fundamental level and you got to discover more and more about his past and dreams —he had a few wild ones, but all attainable. You shared your fears, your secrets and your pains, you laughed when he stammered after your promise to protect him, his blubbering words and growls sent your way when he said that he would be the one to do the protecting. His reasoning being that he was bigger, stronger and more dangerous than you and your little explosive weapons. 

It was from then on that he called you Little One, a slip of his tongue while you laughed and kicked your legs at his flustered face, his head reaching from your shoulder to glare at you. He acted like a love sick puppy afterwards, often calling out to you when he was bored, nudging your arm while you worked, wanting pets and kisses, or would shower you with loud and boisterous affection. Though he always proclaimed it to be him providing for you, it wasn’t affection - no - it was him watching over you like a guardian —or so he mumbled. 

He would step in if he deemed a situation too dangerous for your fragile, fleshy body. He’d warn you, let you know where and who was coming for you, be it a sniper from a mile away or a group of armed soldiers sneaking around you. If you couldn’t deal with it in time, Venom would forcefully push his way out of you, covering you in a protective layer of his body, the mass of muscle and sinewy cords building a protective shell. And fortunately, it’s only happened when you were hidden away, the knowledge of Venom’s existence would bring unwanted attention to both you and him, none of which were good. 

You met Venom before your study and test for the rank of combat medic, getting his support and mind to help you through it all, his photogenic memory, his talented hands and strength. It was only after earning you new rank, did Laswell contact you for the position on the Task Force 141 since your record held no sign of hateful acts towards monsters and hybrids, and your high success score. 

You both vowed to keep Venom a secret from anyone, he was off the record in every sense, unknown and a mystery, a variant that you were adamant to keep a secret. Venom didn’t… hate the men, he might’ve had a small dislike for their attraction and affection towards you, he was a possessive and protective symbiote, but seeing how you were a permanent fixture in the TF, he was forced to tolerate them. He would let you know what he heard and sensed from them, small secrets he caught or fun, little pranks that he wanted to do, and occasionally protect them. Only because you cared for them, he’d hate to see you sad and worried, Venom preferred seeing you smile and laugh. 

And following these events, Venom could openly interact with the hybrids, unafraid since it wasn’t a secret anymore. He was a bit reluctant, but slipped from your collar whenever someone mentioned something he liked: chocolate, human meat, you or violence, grinning maniacally and flashing his big, white teeth. Despite his apprehension, Venom was a menace, to them as much as he was with you, and yet you still loved him so much. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-nooraa @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[noneorother]

By far the dumbest movie reference no one caught in Good Omens is : The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse

I'm working on a theory that requires many hours of movie watching, so here we are. Many people have already mentioned that the nazi zombies/Furfur is a The League of Gentlemen comedy troupe shoutout. But I'm taking it one step crazier. Remember the opening scene from the 1941 minisode of S2E4, the one with the london bombing and the Angel statue in the bottom right corner ?

Haha sorry my bad. That's the climax intro scene of the movie The League of Gentlemen's Apocalypse. Here's the opening scene of the 1941 minisode:

You can excuse the confusion after seeing both, with how they look pretty much identical (yes this is giving me The Tales of Hoffmann PTSD, thanks for asking) And it's not very coincidental when you know who helped write the minisode.

You know, just the fourth member of The League of Gentlemen and writer of the movie LG Apocalypse. So shall we tease out all the (I'm warning you) EXTREMELY dumb quotes and story beats this terrible movie has lent to the 1941 episode? There are quite a few. But there's also a potential story arc that isn't so dumb... (TW offensive comedy, including mild gore)

In order to understand this you probably have to know a bit of background on British show The League of Gentlemen. "[A] surreal British comedy horror sitcom... follows the lives of bizarre characters, most of whom are played by three of the show's four writers – Mark Gatiss, Steve Pemberton, and Reece Shearsmith – who, along with Jeremy Dyson, formed the League of Gentlemen comedy troupe in 1995." You don't need to know all of the characters or backstory of the show, just that it's a fictional town with many fictional characters played by the same three writers (and an invisible fourth).

(Also known as all these people right here) Want to know who they plays a stand-in for Jeremy Dyson in LG Apocalypse and gets murdered first with black marker on his face?

Say hello, baby Sheen!

So we've seen the bombing scene, what about the car driving through fire and Aziraphale's suggestive line at the beginning?

Yup.

Do the characters make a deal with a Reece Shearsmith character to enter the real world through a church?

HECK YEAH. Bonus points for the green background.

A gag about fake lips with Steve? Sure.

Steve Pemberton seen here as a nazi zombie, and also here playing "Herr Lipp" (also known in the actual script as "the worst pun in the world" in the movie. Groan). What about Mark Gatiss Stealing binoculars from Steve to spy on two important characters? But of course.

Surely not the arm falling off too?

Oh dang. It's a big plot point in LG Apocalypse you say? Then, in the climax, does someone in dark sunglasses who doesn't know how a rifle works fire it at a main character, and the other character who he misses says fuck? Now you're pulling off my arm..

Well I'll be damned. The only difference here being Steve's head exploding, naturally.

I'll admit, I have trouble seeing where a giant 3 headed chimera beast that destroys a bunch of characters fits in at the end of the 1941 miniode, but I don't think 1941 is meant to be a stand in for the whole movie, because at that point in the movie the role of the main characters shifts to become the real versions of Shearsmith and Gatiss, not the characters. But even though the end of the movie doesn't track with 1941, I think the moral at the end is interesting : "In the church, Lipp says he will kill Gatiss. The other characters try to dissuade him, saying that once all the writers are dead, Royston Vasey will cease to exist and they will die. Lipp claims that they will in fact be better off, because as long as they're controlled by someone else they have no free will and can never change for the better. Tipps tells Lipp that because he saved the day and can therefore change, Lipp need not kill Gatiss. He persuades Lipp to hand him the gun, only for Tipps to accidentally fire it and kill Gatiss.

With all the writers now apparently dead, the residents of Royston Vasey prepare for the worst. Instead, everything calms down and The Apocalypse is averted. The characters realise they now have free will. Herr Lipp adopts some orphaned children, the vet, Mr Chinnery, finds a rabbit and is able to take care of it without killing it, and Bernice and Pauline become romantically involved. Tipps leaves the church, waving goodbye to Edward, Tubbs and Papa Lazarou. It appears that Royston Vasey can continue to exist independently of its dead creators." This struggle for free will outside of the plan originally set out by their creators, especially in the context of said creators not really caring about them anymore, really starts sending red flags up for me. Crowley's existential crisis at the beginning of S2E1 seems to be mulling over similar themes. The lack of any God narrator as in season 1 might be a change in storytelling technique, but might also point the the creator being absent, or having moved on without really letting her original creation know it gets to exist on it's own now. Funnily enough, this is the second movie with shot for shot quotes throughout, that places a specific set of characters at the center of their own deeper plot that has a meta level to the storytelling. I'm starting to think there's a pattern here...

_______________________________________ Here's my series on the Tales of Hoffmann, another movie hidden within the series.

[xoxoavenger]

could you do any teen wolf character x reader where she doesn’t know she’s supernatural until the deadpool and everyone is trying to keep it from her bc maybe she’s a character’s sister?

thank you ❣️

Who's Gonna Tell Her?

pairing: Jordan Parrish x Fem!Reader

word count: 2876

warnings: canon typical gore (no detail)

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

"Have you told your sister?" Scott asked as they got ready for the game.

"I'm not really sure how. Even I don't fully understand it." Liam told him, pulling his jersey on over his pads.

"Well, she's adopted, right?" Liam nodded at Scott's question. "She could have been born a supernatural but never known. It happened to Lydia."

"The assassin is going to be out tonight. You have to tell her soon." Stiles butt in, and Liam shook his head.

"She's dating Parrish; he can protect her until I figure out what to do." Liam told them, grabbing his stick and shutting his locker. They had been having the same rendition of this conversation for at least thirty minutes, and he was tired of fighting.

"Parrish doesn't know about the deadpool. He doesn't know that she's on it. He can't protect her if he doesn't know what to protect." Stiles pointed out. Scott nodded as he look to his beta.

"We have to at least tell him." Scott agreed, shutting his locker in unison with Stiles.

"Can't we just play lacrosse?" Liam asked. Scott and Stiles shared a look, frowning. They both knew Liam would never be able to 'just play lacrosse' again. "Look, the assassin is on the lacrosse team. Y/N and Parrish have a date night tonight anyway. We just need to worry about ourselves not getting killed." He pointed out, making the older boys nod.

"Alright, but after tonight, we have to figure out a plan." Stiles said as they turned their attention toward coach. He had been talking, giving some kind of speech, but it apparently wasn't important.

"It's only one night. She won't even be here." Liam said, mostly to himself. He was trying to keep from freaking out, because not only was he at risk of dying, but now his sister was too. The worst part was that he didn't even know what his sister was, and he wasn't sure anyone else would either.

~

"I don't want to have to cancel." Jordan said from his desk. His girlfriend was sitting on top of it, frowning. She had gone all out for this date, even shaving, and of course her boyfriend was busy.

"I know you don't." She looked down, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. She knew that he wouldn't cancel if he didn't have to, and it did look like he was drowning in work, but it still made her sad.

"The Sheriff is going to the lacrosse game and with all the murders happening-"

"Hey," Y/N grabbed his chin and made him look up, and he sighed as he looked at her gorgeous face. It always grounded him. "It's okay. Maybe I'll go to the lacrosse game too." They shared a kiss, and Jordan wished he could just leave his job.

"How's Liam?" He asked, making Y/N groan.

"I know you are not asking about my brother in the few short moments we have together." He chuckled, kissing her again. He wanted to tell her about Meredith, who was in the Sheriff's office and the reason why he had to cancel, but that meant he could lose his job. He knew that weird things were happening, but he didn't know how to describe it. And part of him - the selfish part - didn't want to somehow endanger or worry her.

"Sorry." He smiled, and Y/N returned it. She got up to leave, giving him a few quick pecks before walking out. "I love you." He called making her smile wider and turn around

"I love you too."

When she got to her car, she tried to call Liam, but it just went to voicemail. She figured he was warming up, so she'd just go anyway. She let his recorded voice ring out as she turned the car on, putting it in reverse as the line beeped.

"Hey, Liam, it's me. Jordan had to cancel, so I'm gonna be coming to your game." It was silent for a second as she thought about what else to say, but ultimately came up empty. "Alright, well, see ya soon! Love you!" She hung up, throwing her phone into the passenger seat and pulling out of the station.

~

"Liam, is that your sister next to Mason?" Stiles asked the group. They all turned to look into the stands, and Liam put his hands to his head, trying not to break his helmet as emotions ran quickly through him.

"What is she doing here?" Scott turned, and Liam shook his head as he began to freak out.

"She had a date with Parrish! She isn't supposed to be here!" Liam said, the others looking at each other to figure out how to calm him down. She smiled and waved from her place in the bleachers, alone, without Parrish. She was sitting with Mason and Violet, which honestly almost made Liam feel worse. But, she didn't know Malia or Lydia - she had only heard Liam talk about the juniors at random times. As Liam scanned the crowd, he wasn't even sure they were here anyway.

"It's okay, we'll keep an eye on her. As long as she doesn't come out onto the field, we'll be good." Scott patted Liams shoulder before jogging to his position as Coach began to yell at them.

They were losing by one point, only a couple minutes in, and Y/N could tell something was wrong.

"Who are you guys playing?" She asked Mason, who looked at her as if she were crazy. The two had only been introduced once at the Dunbar house, but Y/N didn't know anyone else to sit with; her step-dad was working and her mom had some sort of club tonight.

"You don't know?" Mason asked as Liam got knocked to the ground. Y/N gasped and stood, not even noticing the other team had scored. When Liam got up and took off his helmet and began to shake off his gloves, she realized.

"Oh my God." She whispered, sitting back down. "We're playing Devenford."

"Yeah." Mason confirmed, watching Liam get held back from a fight. Y/N looked around, realizing the Sheriff had never made it. She wondered what the hold up was at the station, and what Jordan was doing.

The game passed, Kira scoring the first goal but then immediately being taken out. There was definitely some extra tension on the field, Y/N noticed, even within their own team. The game kept getting more brutal, and sure enough soon Liam was being flipped over two other players. Y/N didn't have time to think before she was running down, her brother's screams igniting her older sister instincts. She made it to the field, pushing everyone away until she got to her little brother on the ground.

"Liam! Oh my God, are you alright? What's hurt?" She asked. She went through her mental checklist, but she didn't finish before two other players were hauling him up. "Hey!" She screamed, pushing them away.

"How hard did you hit him?" Number 11 asked her bother, and Liam shook his head slightly.

"I didn't." He answered, and Y/N pushed the other boy away.

"Liam, where does it hurt? Is anything broken?" She asked, checking his arms. It wasn't long before she found the broken bone bulging out of his arm.

"Ow." Number 24 commented, but Y/N ignored him.

"Alright, let's get you to the hospital. I can try to reset it, but-"

"No," Liam breathed as Number 11 took off his gloves. He looked at Liam as he took his arm, and Y/N tried pushing him away again.

"Hey, stop! You're going to hurt him!" She yelled, but Liam shook his head.

"Y/N, let Scott fix it." He told her. She stood still, not sure what was going on. How was this high school senior going to fix a broken arm? Her heart was racing, head spinning as all she could think about was if Liam would be okay.

"Close your eyes." Scott told Liam. Y/N watched as Scott twisted the bone back in and Liam cried out, and she really pushed him that time. Scott went flying back, and she quickly began to check Liam's arm. She didn't notice the looks the others gave her at the display of unusual strength.

"I-I don't understand, how is there no discoloration? No blood?" It seemed Liam's arm was as good as new as she checked it, and Liam moved to place his hands over her's.

"Y/N, I promise I'll explain, just wait until after the game, please." Liam told her. She nodded, trusting him, but a terrible feeling began in her gut. She watched Scott and Liam both shoot their heads toward another player, Scott immediately searching his own body.

"Are you cut? Did Garret cut you?" He asked Liam. Liam looked at his arms, shaking his head.

"No, no. I'm okay." He told Scott, the two of them looking at their teammate. Y/N placed her hands over her abdomen where the pain was coming from, surprised to feel a liquid there. Apparently her gut feeling was a bit more than a feeling.

"Then he missed." Scott said, but Y/N just shook her head. She was beginning to feel faint, like her head was clouded.

"I don't think he missed." She muttered, pulling her hands away from her dark sweater to reveal the blood on them. She began to fall, and Scott and Liam moved to grab her as she fell. She grabbed Liam's jersey, pain coursing through her stomach. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes flashed purple. Scott and Stiles looked at each other.

"What does that mean?" Liam asked, holding her close.

"I don't know, but we have to get her out of here without anyone else seeing." Scott told Liam, the two of them looking around. They had no idea where to go, where someone wouldn't see them.

"We just have to go for it." Stiles said. Everyone was focused on Brett, who was still down, so the four of them slinked out, Scott holding Y/N. They made it to the jeep, where Y/N was laid in the backseat with Liam.

"Should we call Parrish?" Scott asked, and Stiles just shook his head.

"Lydia just cracked another third of the deadpool." He said, looking between his phone and the road. Scott took the phone, looking at the list.

"Am I on it?" Liam asked, scooting up.

"What the hell are you all talking about?" Y/N groaned, her eyes flashing purple once more. "And why is everything so loud?" She cried, pressing her hands to her head. The engine sounded like it was inside her brain, echoing and rattling her skull.

"Someone else is on it." Scott commented, showing Liam. He sucked in a breath as the Alpha took back the phone. Of course Parrish was on the list.

"Please someone call Jordan. I want to talk to him before I die." Y/N said, sitting up. She groaned, realizing the shirt Liam had been wearing under his uniform was pressed to her abdomen, which was still profusely bleeding.

"You aren't going to die." Stiles rolled his eyes before looking in the rearview mirror. "Probably."

"Stiles!" Scott scolded. They couldn't be telling her that she was going to die on her first supernatural experience.

"Where are we going, this isn't the way to the hospital." Y/N commented as she focused her eyes. She had never been in this part of town, only having moved with Parrish last month. Before, she had lived in the neighboring town with her family. When her mom had married Dr. Geyer and moved to Beacon Hills, Y/N had already moved out.

"Don't worry about it." Stiles winked at her through the mirror, but she wasn't looking. She was on her phone, trying to find Parrish's contact. Just as she was going to press on it, it was pulled from her.

"You can't call him." Liam said, snatching her phone out of her hand.

"Why," Y/N stopped, falling back against the wall of the car and groaning as a wave of pain hit her. She opened her mouth in pain, not even realizing her incisors had grown. Liam looked terrified as she cried out, eyes flashing purple once more. This was not the face of a werewolf.

"Guys!" Liam called. Scott turned, eyes widening when he saw what was going on. Y/N was still withering in pain, oblivious to what they were talking about. She flopped against Liam finally, who was freaking out.

"Holy shit," Scott whispered as Stiles turned into the parking lot. Her eyes closed and the incisors went back to normal, but she was barely breathing now.

"We need to get her inside!" Liam yelled, helping Scott get her out. They made it to the door and into clinic quickly, Deaton looking only mildy surprised as they burst through the door.

"She has purple eyes and fangs!" Stiles yelled, but Liam growled at him immediately.

"She was stabbed. It has to be poison." He informed the vet. Deaton nodded, then looked at them.

"I have to cut her chest open to extract the poison. See how she's foaming at the mouth?" Once Deaton pointed it out the obvious, and the other's nodded. "I need you to hold her down." He told Liam and Scott. The two move to each side, where she was seizing.

"Won't cutting her open kill her?" Liam asked as Deaton cut her clothes open. He grabbed a scalpel, pressing it to her skin.

"If she is what you say she is, and she is effected this bad by the wolfsbane, then she'll be fine." Deaton couldn't waste any more time, pressing the scalpel into her skin and cutting. Just as he had finished the incision, police sirens were heard outside.

"Did you tell your dad?" Scott turned to Stiles, able to let go of the girl now. She was laying still on the table, breathing evenly.

"No, dude, I swear." Stiles shook his head, and Parrish came running in.

"What did you do to her?" He yelled, pushing past everyone until he was right next to her.

"You cut her open? What the hell are you thinking?" Jordan held her hand, pushing her hair out of her face. He was shaking as he looked at the bloody cut, holding her hand but not sure what to do to help. He couldn't even think of a plausible reason why the boys would take her to a vet when she was clearly hurt, and he was even more baffled by the fact that the vet thought he was qualified enough to cut into her like a surgeon.

"Parrish, just-just calm down, okay?" Liam said cautiously, but Jordan looked at him with fire in his eyes.

"This is your sister we're talking about! How are you fine?" Jordan had tears falling out of his eyes, then turned to Deaton. "You! You're a veterinarian, not a human doctor! This is illegal on so many levels! As soon as I make sure she gets to the hospital, you're coming with me!" Jordan yelled, not paying attention to Y/N anymore.

"Parrish, she's okay." Scott told him, making him look at her. She no longer had the long gash going down her torso. Jordan simply stared, not sure what had just happened.

"Is this some kind of joke?" He asked, sniffling as he looked around the teens and doctor in the room. There was no actual explanation for this, he was sure of it. They had to be pranking him for some sick reason.

"There's a conversation we have to have." Scott told him, but before he could get any further, Y/N was breathing in and opening her eyes. They were purple, making Jordan even more confused.

"Y/N, what's going on?" He asked, but she just closed her eyes and groaned. When she opened her eyes again, they were normal.

"Jordan? What happened?" Y/N asked, looking around as Jordan took his jacket off and wrapped it around her, letting her zip it up. She felt her torso, realizing her stab wound was gone. "What is going on?" She looked up at Liam, who was blinking dumbly.

"I have no idea." He said, and Y/N was about ready to lose her shit.

"What do you mean?" She cried out, feeling Jordan tense next to her. She turned to see Liam looking completely fine. "Your arm was broken, like twenty minutes ago!" She saw her brother looking completely fine.

"I told you so," Stiles muttered, and Y/N wished she had something to throw at him.

"You didn't tell us shit," Liam said, instantly annoyed.

"Yes! I did!" Stiles exploded, looking very offended. "I literally said 'You need to tell her.' I believe those were the exact words that came out of my mouth."

"Tell me what?" Y/N asked, tired of watching her brother and his friend bicker.

"What?" All three teenagers asked at the same time, wide eyes looking completely guilty.

"Liam," Her big sister eyes came out, which made Liam cower slightly.

"It's a long story," He starts, turning to Scott as if he would explain everything. Y/N was staring intently at Liam, brows furrowed and eyes angered. She screamed when Scott turned to her with red eyes.

"Oh my God," She whispered, leaning back against Jordan. She closes her eyes. "What the actual fuck?"

//

taglist: @mcueveryday

[milk-ducts]

[Brief] Thoughts on Film Theory's Analysis

I was gonna post this on my priv twt.. but moots convinced me to post it here so here we are.. beware of spoilers, gore, bla bla bla ..

FIRST OFF I'm gonna start by saying, I AM ESL. I may or may not have misinterpreted some of his words, but this is mainly how I thought of his analysis. This is not meant to be ill-guided or rude ! so sorry if it comes off as this way. I will be very repetitive.

Another thing, most if not all of the information matpat gave out i alr discussed with a few mutuals on discord about a few months back so this is not new territory to me 😭😭 I thought most folks would already knew the concept of how the brain deteriorates overtime But honestly, that indisposition shouldn’t even apply to omni man??? matpat tried to compare an immortal Viltrumite's psychology to that of an aging human's, which can be misguided.

Let's start by how he compares Nolan's brain to the average aging human's brain so the audience could understand his psyche more and how empathy declines overtime. First and foremost, Nolan is not a human, second; Nolan wasn't raised with empathy or around an empathetic environment - it was an alien concept to his race. Something frowned upon. He was raised from birth to conquer and destroy without remorse. His brain never developed those neural pathways for empathy in the first place. It's not that they deteriorated over time, they were never even formed.

By the time he came to Earth, all this familial stuff was new to him. Sure, he knew he was gonna outlive them, but He didn't think he'd get attached. HE didn't process that he'd grieve over them when the time came.

Interacting with humanity for the first time ignited unfamiliar emotions in Nolan that he didn’t know how to process.

His time living amongst humans caused conflicting feelings he’d never experienced in his centuries of systematic slaughter. Loving Debbie and Mark went against everything he was taught, but he couldn't help it. For once, the lives he was manipulating to further Viltrum’s goals meant something to him. He developed a [what he presumed, NOT what he felt about them in reality, his love for them is far more profound than he assumed it to be which we later on see in the last ep of s1 and the second season] petty facsimile of love for his ersatz family.

So no, his capacity for empathy didn't decline with age as MatPat claims. His empathy was stunted from the start. An underdeveloped skill, not a deteriorated one. We had characters like Debbie to help him understand those notions, help him grow it. With Mark in the mix? it only amplified that development.

Viltrumites are societally and culturally predisposed to violence and domination. Nolan was never accustomed to forming emotional connections or grieving loss. Those were entirely new experiences for him after arriving on Earth. He was not jaded. he was grown into jamais vu in viltrum.

This is why the whole conflict in s1 happened, he was treading between double lives he wasn't sure of. He was conflicted because his past values were refuting with his new experiences. He found love on Earth, he found himself unable to accept how he'd lose Debbie. Of How jaded Mark might become. Everything he said to Mark till that point was his own self-projections, his own fears, doubts.

While the video did provide some interesting facts about neuroscience and aging, the application of those facts to Nolan's character was inaccurate. IT is educational for those who don't know, but it isn't recent news that the brain begins to deteriorate overtime so this video wasn't that informative which kinda disappointed me. Their analysis lacked alot of information about the Viltrumite race and Nolan's character. Comparing him to humans with normal life experiences just doesn't work. His immortal nature combined with a lack of empathy from birth created a psychology unlike anything seen on Earth.

SORRY FOR RANTING ALOT AND OR IF IT SEEMS LIKE I'M GIVING MATPAT SHIT ... i really liked their analysis on immortal so i'll give them that. Immortal, unlike Nolan, was born human. He has lived among humanity for over 3000 years, inhabiting different identities of public and devoted historians. Because of this, his psyche developed quite differently. Immortal knows how to form connections, experience loss, and adapt to social changes. His perpetual existence didn't harden his heart like Viltrum's brutal culture did to Nolan. Instead, Immortal's immortality allowed his empathy and compassion to blossom.

Humans are social creatures. Our brains have evolved to seek out interpersonal relationships, crave affection, and find meaning in community. For an immortal like Immortal, social interaction is vital to staving off boredom, depression and detachment from humanity.

By inhabiting mortal lives, he stays tethered to the human experience. He continues learning, growing, and developing empathy.

This is why he's devastated when the guardians die.

This is also why he goes fucking mental and tries to kill Omni-man.

If Immortal had lived in isolation all this time, unable to connect with people, his psyche would likely resemble Nolan's more closely. Without social interaction, Immortal's brain would atrophy in ways that preclude complex emotions and moral reasoning. His sense of purpose would fade, achievements would lose meaning, and life itself might feel pointless. By engaging with humanity, Immortal gives his endless existence purpose and direction. He finds value in each temporary life, so loss still impacts him deeply. Socializing keeps his emotions and cognition flexible, which prevents the apathy and hardness of heart seen in Nolan. Nolan never had these opportunities in his early years, this is why it's more difficult for him to stray away from his indoctrination. It's that he's unused to it, underdeveloped.

60 years to Nolan would've been a year and a half, so what's 20 measly years on Earth for him? Yes, he found profound connections in that little speck of time, but Immortal's emotional capacity is far more extensive.

In summary, Comparing Nolan to a human, whether mortal or immortal, is kinda inaccurate. His Viltrumite psyche rules out him from possessing JADED human qualities. You could say he's desensitized to violence sure, but no.. unfortunately.. he does not have [boomer] brain. He has [indoctrinated alien-fascist brain]

Leave your own thoughts down below or through reblogs, I'm really interested on what others may think of this! (URGHHHNN... my hcs r slipping away from my fingers cuz now people r gonna accept what matpat says as truth.. someone gun me down from the hills..)

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT V: HE IS WHAT HE HIDES ]

spider-man! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— ethan takes a photo of mindy in an ambulance, chad's screaming about webs being shot, and ethan thinks the ambulance blanket is cold.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, implication of ptsd, gore!!, blood, murder, death, reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— thank you so much for following this series so closely <3 this isn't the end yet, there's still an epilogue xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

you had learned from your years in the criminal world that to underestimate someone driven by revenge was a mistake.

you had seen countless people go to unimaginable lengths just to seek the satisfaction of victory. of finally having the upper hand over the one person they believed caused them so much turmoil. you had heard men and woman alike compare it to hero's work. and you understood them sometimes, but not when their victims didn't deserve it. not when their victims had more of a right to seek them out.

which was why, as you stood uncomfortably with chad, danny, tara, and sam, listening to tara and chad bicker with danny about how he pulled them on and split mindy and ethan up from them, your eyes were set on every person around you. everyone was dressed in costumes, as it was finally halloween day. but that meant that more people were wearing stab masks everywhere around you.

"i don't understand why we couldn't have just taken my car," you muttered, eyes set on every person wearing a stab made. beside you, tara sighed.

"too many of us. besides, roads are packed right now because of halloween." tara shifted uncomfortably next to you and chad, moving away from the strangers around her. "do you think they'll be okay?" she asked you.

"who, mindy and ethan?" you asked, trying to be nonchalant, as though you hadn't completely broken ethan's heart and your own yesterday.

you kept reminding yourself that it was for the best. but you still felt that ache in your chest just at the mention of his name.

you still had a deal to finish. after everything, it'd be over.

"they'll be okay as long as they stick together," you murmured to tara, making her nod worriedly.

"right. as long as they stick together."

the lights flickered on the subway, making you freeze and hover your hand over your side. you had brought your gun (which you had stolen, of course) with you and a knife. two things that would be incredibly incriminating if any of the group were to see you with it, but you couldn't just go into the plan empty handed. you were taught better than that.

besides, how do you think you survived this long? by following the rules and not bringing a gun around with you during your heists?

the lights flickered on again, making you and the group relax slightly. holding tightly onto the pole of the subway, your body swinging with every movement, you could only hope that you wouldn't have to use the gun too much.

you had killed before. you were willing to kill again.

halloween night was in full swing, full of traffic and busy streets. the ground was slightly damp from the unexpected rain that happened through the day, but the clouds had cleared up to reveal a starless sky. kirby led you and the others to the theatre yet again, urgently pushing all of you in and using her card to open the gate.

"i cleared the place before you all got here." the gate slammed behind kirby as she turned to all of you (except for danny, who sam had told to not join). "so this is the only way in or out. he steps in through the first door, both doors lock automatically, trapping him inside." a triumphant smirk appeared on her face. "we turn it into a kill box."

"weapons?" sam asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

"one gun, and i hold onto it," kirby said. you and sam sent her a disapproving look, and she rolled her eyes. "i'm the only one with a badge here, and that's the way it's gonna be."

if only she knew about the gun on your side. and the knife on your other side. her blissful obliviousness made you bite back a laugh. if only they knew.

"we're safe here," kirby said reassuringly, her words making you narrow your eyes out of doubt.

"i'm gonna check in with mindy. see if they're close," sam said, walking away with tara and chad trailing near her. kirby's eyes were set on you, her obvious suspicion making you raise a brow.

"what?"

"you don't like the plan?" kirby asked you with a tilt of her head.

you shook your head confidently. "no. it all seems too easy—" your phone buzzed in your hand, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes when you saw an unknown caller calling. "hello?" you asked as you held the phone to your ear.

"y/n?" ethan's panicked voice made your eyes widen, your heart dropping. "mindy's at the er— the killer stabbed her in the hand. like right through. i'm outside, can you let me in?"

you glanced at kirby, who gave you a warning look. she didn't trust him— rightfully so, from her perspective —but you nodded to the gate.

"open the door and stay here. let us both in." you told the agent, trying not to let your obvious distrust for her (you had been running from policemen for years, and she was fbi) show on your face.

the gates creaked open as you walked down the steps of the gate, unlocking and opening the door for ethan. he looked more disheveled than usual, his eyes clouded over with worry, stress, and what seemed to be hurt when he saw you. "thanks," he breathed, and you nodded, making your way back up the stairs and through the gate kirby held open for you.

"where's mindy?" kirby asked him, and ethan pulled out his phone, showing mindy on a stretcher, ready to go into the ambulance. she was flipping off the camera witt her non injured hand (typical, and you smiled a bit at the sight) but she was okay. an unreadable expression befell kirby's face, but she nodded with a sigh. "fine. you two stay here.. i'm gonna clear the area upstairs one more time."

you nodded stiffly, already tensing up just by being around the brunette next to you. but you had to work with him, you knew that. you told him yourself. coughing awkwardly, you moved away from him, walking to look around. "are your web things with you, or.."

ethan avoided your gaze, nodding his head once as he looked around the area around you. "i'll use it only if i really need to," he mumbled.

the lights were working, but old, making them flicker and fade ever so slightly. the smell of asbestos and old wood filled ethan's nose, and with every flicker of light, he could feel himself tensing up more and more. ethan found himself staying around you as a result, as though he was seeking the comfort of your presence. and you let him— because you were seeking the comfort of his presence too. "i'm guessing you have your stuff, too?"

"couldn't bring my gloves without being horribly obvious," you muttered in response. letting out a sigh, you leaned against the door. your mind had been on edge ever since you willingly entered the theatre, the possibility of something happening out of nowhere weighing heavy on your mind. sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling, you could feel his brown eyes finally look at you. picking up on all the details. all his observations.

"i'll let you know when something is happening because of the.. uh.."

"spider tingle?"

"i like to use the word sense, but sure." ethan swallowed thickly. he sighed, the exhaustion getting to him. he pinched his nose bridge. “i was able to stop the killer from doing more to mindy.. they still injured her regardless.”

you were silent for a few seconds, weighing your options and responses in your head. “i told you that you’re stupid if you blame yourself for stuff like that.”

"i know."

"don't blame yourself for something that you couldn't avoid from happening."

and before he could respond, the lights went out. "y/n?"panic settled into his bones as ethan immediately walked to where you were standing, his chest accidentally bumping into you.

"i'm fine—" the sound of a whirring overhead and what sounded like cheesy movie music began to echo from the theatre nearby, making you and ethan walk towards it, your hand hovering over your knife. ethan walked in front of you before pushing the black curtain out of your way.

you made eye contact with sam, who looked just as confused as you did as the three of you stared at the movie play out. it was a stab remake— a poor one, you noted —that looked like every other stab homemade remake on the internet.

but your focus on the movie made you fail to notice ethan's frown as he stared at it. he had seen it before, but where?

"we have to get out of here—" sam said you as you led them towards one of the exits, heart jumping into your chest when you came face to face with tara and chad.

"go back, go back now!" ethan yelled, senses going haywire as he grabbed tara and chad, pulling them through the door. he shut the door behind him, turning his back on it as you and the others rushed to the middle of the theatre, looking around you frantically.

"it's kirby! kirby is the killer—" sam rushed out, making chad groan.

"yeah, no shit!"

"the entire theatre is a kill box for us," you breathed, searching all around you for any kind of exit. ethan looked at the balcony view, eyes widening when he saw the exit doors flashing up ahead.

"up there! maybe it leads to the roof?" he sent you a look, and you nodded. you both had to get them out of here. and you were both willing to put your own lives at stake for that.

"let's go, let's go—"

ethan lunged forward right as the killer jumped from behind the theatre, pushing tara aside. she only received a cut on her arm, but another swing gave ethan one too. he groaned at the slice his arm received, the deep cut making annoyance thrum through his veins.

sam dodged the killer's swing over her head, and chad ducked under before the killer could stab him. but before the killer could swing low and slice chad, you lunged at his side, tackling him to the ground. "go!" you yelled to the others, shoving yourself off the ground.

ethan grabbed the camera behind you, swinging it towards the killer before they could get back up. he shot them with webs, unable to stop himself from wanting to slow them down. even with the mask, you could see the genuine shock the killer had on their face as they made quin work of trying to get out.

"c'mon!" grabbing his hand, you ran to the back where the others were. ethan made you run ahead of him (much to your chagrin). if anyone was going to get hurt, it might as well be him.

ghostface was hot on your heels and it was much too cramped and small of a space for you to turn around and shoot them, especially since ethan was in the way. so you could only grab his hand in yours, dragging him behind you as you ran behind chad.

you ran into the snack bar, ethan throwing down the popcorn machine behind him. but ghostface prevailed; he lunged after chad, who dodged one of the killer's swings before they forced themselves onto him, pinning him against the wall. you, tara, and sam all forced the killer off of him, before the killer send a punch towards you that you narrowly ducked under to grab your knife at your side, stabbing them in the stomach, twisting it, and pulling it out.

"what the fuck—" sam's eyes widened in fear when she saw your weapon, realization dawning over her face. you hadn't said anything to kirby about being armed.

"you?" tara asked, horror ghosting over her face.

"no! not me— why would you come to this place and not be armed?" you yelled in exasperation, ethan moving quickly past you to tackle ghost face to the ground, his advanced strength making him over power him easily. ethan turned to you and the others, eyes frantic as he yelled, "go!"

your eyes widened in horror when you saw two other killers appear from the sides, their knives flashing. one jumped on top of him, but ethan had already sensed them, grabbing their arm and throwing them off of him. but then another came up to his side, shoving him to the ground, giving the other two time to stand up.

"ethan—" you screamed, already grabbing for your gun, but chad was already grabbing you.

"y/n, let's go!" chad yelled as tara and sam ran back into the theatre.

"i have to help him—" you protested, reaching for your gun and pulling it out, shooting at one of the ghost faces. it hit their shoulder, making them turn around eerily. their blood seeped into the black fabric of their cloak, but you knew that a single bullet wouldn't stop someone determined for revenge.

ethan shot a web at their feet, stopping them from walking further towards you, his eyes panicked when he saw two of them turn their attention to you and chad.

"did he just shoot a fucking web?!" chad screamed, his movements faltering and making you escape his arms, pointing your gun at one of the ghost faces and shooting repeatedly before shooting the other.

your face fell when you saw they barely winced. they were wearing bulletproof vests.

one of the killers was still focused on ethan, and with his mind solely on your protection, he failed to stop the knife from sinking into his side. you watched in horror as the killer twisted it, the wet sound of gushing blood making anger run through your body.

you watched as the light dimmed in his eyes, ethan's face paling as his eyes stayed on yours. the killer grabbed at his wrists, feeling the web shooters and tearing them off of his body and slamming them to the ground. the two killers who were webbed cut themselves free and advanced towards you.

"ethan—" you screamed, aiming your gun and trying to get a good shot, to no avail. one of the killers swiped at your stomach, making you narrowly dodge it. chad punched them before they could try more. but as your attention was on them, you failed to miss the quick swing the other killer made towards your arm, cutting deeply along the expanse of it and making you drop your gun.

immediately, you tried to go for it, injured arm desperately reaching for the gun as one of the ghost faces did the same. you kicked them in the stomach, grabbing your gun and hiding it as they tackled you. their knife was right in front of your face, threatening to stab you right in the eye. you could see the shine of the blade right in front of you as you screamed, using all your strength to get them off.

ethan shoved off the killer with his strength, ignoring the pain as he ran up to the killer on top of you, grabbing them and throwing them against the wall. chad kicked the ghost face he was taking care of in the stomach, his hand on the new stab wound on his side before running into the theatre. "let's go!"

"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," ethan said, pushing you and chad into the theatre, slamming the door shut behind him. he felt your hand over his hand, applying more pressure to his stab wound, and he offered you a strained smile. "y/n, i'm gonna be okay."

you swallowed the worry that brewed in your throat, not giving him a response. blood seeped through your hand.

"dad! dad i fixed it, i swear i fixed it—" you sobbed, shaking your unconscious father. you could feel the blood that stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly turning cold.

ethan grabbed your hand, pulling it away from his stomach and squeezing it. his eyes immediately clouded over with worry when he saw the large gash that ran up your arm, the blood seeping from the deep cut like a faucet. it reached all the way up to your palm, making you hold your gun in your nondominant hand.

the three of you ran towards sam and tara, who were standing in the middle of the huge shrine. your back was to tara's as you held the gun up, watching as the ghostfaces came up all around you. it stank of the poignant smell of iron, the blood spilling out of all of you filling the air with its stench.

the sound of a gun ricocheting made you all duck. kirby, crazed with blood flowing from the side of her face, pointed the gun all around the theatre.

"you," you seethed, eyes narrowing as you began to raised your gun at her.

"it was you the entire time," sam breathed, making kirby shake her head quickly.

and as if it was all on cue, detective bailey walked into the theatre, his own gun pointed at kirby. he was practically vibrating in anger as he spat, "was it you? did you kill my daughter?"

"dad?" ethan asked in shock, face falling when he saw him. but something was wrong. something was horribly wrong, and he felt it more than he felt everything else. that pit in his stomach that foreshadowed what was coming.

"she killed her, ethan!" wayne snapped at his estranged son. "she killed our quinn!"

"jesus christ! whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him— he's probably the killer!" kirby hissed, making you look at detective bailey, your gun still pointed.

your eyes narrowed as it travelled down to the white webbing stuck on the side of his shoe. and right as kirby screamed that something was right behind him, you shot at his side. but it was too late; two shots already hit kirby, making her fall to the ground. and immediately, his gun was pointed to you. ethan immediately moved in front of you, his hand on his bleeding side.

looking down at the gunshot into the side of his torso, wayne grinned, pulling his shirt up to reveal his bullet proof vest. police grade— of course. "good job," wayne praised, a sadistic smirk appearing on his face. both the ghostfaces walked up next to him, their knives stained with your blood in their hands. "both of you."

"you?" tara asked, and wayne shrugged.

the cop rolled his eyes. "ah, 'course it's me. i honestly expected more from the two of you after what you did to us," wayne said with a growing smirk. "i'm sure ethan here can tell you all about it."

"what?" ethan felt everyone's eyes on him, realization on his face when he connected the dots. all the effort to get away from what is older brother did. all the effort me made to change his name, to move across the country, to leave his own family because despite how he grieved, ethan never forgave richie for what he did. all the lies his father said about wanting to escape from richie's crimes.

he lied to him.

"ethan, what is he talking about?" you asked ethan, expecting him to deny something. anything. to say that his father had just gone batshit, to say that his father was just trying to drag him into his killing game.

but ethan stayed silent, avoiding your eyes.

"ethan, what're they talking about?" chad asked again warily, backing away from his roommate, tara right behind him as he protected her.

"you didn't.." ethan breathed, and suddenly he felt like he was sitting alone at richie's funeral again, silently seething as his mother and father praised him for being such a wonderful man, for being such a wonderful son, even though they knew they were raising a future murderer. "you killed her? you killed quinn?" he asked, his voice breaking as he felt the bitter taste of pennies in his mouth.

"how 'bout you tell them your real last name, ethan?" wayne pushed further ignoring his words and pointing his gun at you aggressively. "about who you really are? tell everyone! including your fucking girlfriend here—"

"fuck you," you growled, and wayne's eyes shone bright in anger.

"you weren't part of the plan. you and that pathetic excuse of a son," wayne yelled, his gun pointing to ethan now. he was careless as he waved it around, obviously at the brink of sanity. and then, he broke into mirthless laughter, still pointing his gun towards whoever he pleased. "take off your masks."

the ghostface to his right tore off their mask, revealing a woman with dirty blond hair and an angled face. she was tall, around the same height of wayne, and her thin lips were in a sadistic smirk. her siren-like eyes stared daggers into tara and sam, and you would've crossed her off as some psychopath extra character if it weren't for the color of her eyes, which made your face fall; they were the same golden brown hue as ethan's.

"ethan," his mother crooned, voice dripping with disdain as she eyed her youngest child with contempt. "you've grown," she drawled, unimpressed eyes looking over him.

"mom," ethan breathed, his face paling. he could hear his blood roaring in his ears and his skin pricking with goosebumps as his senses went haywire. suddenly, he was hyperaware of every fiber of his clothing sticking to his skin, of how there was win rushing into the theatre from the exit doors on the roof, and how his mother was looking at him the same way she looked at weeds in her garden back home.

and to make matters worse, the other ghostface removed their mask too, revealing familiar red hair that made ethan's throat run dry and tears well in his eyes.

his sister always had eyes that he had been envious of; they were grey, like a constant storm that would brew over the ocean. he always thought they were so cool, much cooler than his brown ones, but when he looked into quinn's eyes, he saw no constant storm. he saw that sociopathic glint that richie always had when ethan did something that he hated. that glint that showed no remorse, no care, and no love.

"hey, roomies," quinn dragged out, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she stared at tara and sam as though they were her prey. and then, and then, she turned to ethan. and the way she looked at him.. it was as though he hadn't grieved for her the entire week. as though he didn't constantly blame himself for not doing more to save her, as though he wasn't the same boy she used to care for as a child.

quinn looked at him as though he was a parasite.

"quinn," ethan choked out, voice cracking as tears began to blur his vision. he wanted to bring himself to be happy, to hug his sister and scold her for ever making him go through that mental turmoil, but ethan didn't move. because he realized that quinn would easily make him go through it all again without a care in the world.

"hey, baby brother," quinn said in acknowledgement, grey eyes of steel sparking with fire as her smile turned into a grin. "nice to see you finally got some," she said, eyes flicking to you as she took a step forward.

"you better back up," you hissed, pointing your gun right at her and making quinn's face contort in anger.

"you're a fucking bitch," quinn sneered, pointing her knife at you. ethan grabbed your arm, moving his body to protect yours. quinn laughed. "of course ethan would get attached to a fucking liar just like he is."

"ethan, tell us the truth right now," sam said lowly, making you grip your gun tighter.

"yes, ethan," ethan's mother said, narrowing her eyes at her son in anger. "tell them the truth."

ethan's jaw clenched as he shook his head. "you know i was trying to get away—"

"say our last name, ethan!" wayne yelled, making ethan jump. never had he felt so much like a child again, crying as he was blamed for yet another one of richie's sadistic 'pranks' that borderlined torture.

and just like ethan did when he was a kid, he began to plead.

"dad, please—" ethan forced out through gritted teeth, only for wayne to laugh in disbelief.

"ethan kirsch." ethan's mother spat, as though the mere mention of his name on her lips brought poison to her tongue. "the name i gave him when he was born was ethan kirsch." she flashed a smile at sam, tara, and chad. "sound familiar?"

he couldn't breathe. the constant onslaught of reveals and the realization crashing over him made him unable to move. he was only vaguely aware of tara and sam's reactions as they finally connected the dots, of chad's loud questions as he desperately tried to get him to talk, and his family's demands for him to speak. it was all jumbled up for him as his breathing and heartbeat quickened.

and he could only feel you move in front of him as though you had the superpowers, not him. your gun was aimed at the three of them, shaky breaths escaping you as you put yourself between ethan and his family.

another person's history didn't dictate you own. you knew that first hand. and to hear sam and tara yell at ethan for lying, for being a traitor and for never uttering a word of his connection to richie, and to had chad stay quiet because he knew he saw ethan shoot a web moments before, that ethan was spider-man, and yet he stayed silent, only protecting tara behind him.

quinn and her mother began to walk around the theatre, slowly circling the four of you as they looked at you like wolves with their prey. quinn jumped forward, slashing tara's arm teasingly, a laugh escaping her lips as tara yelped in pain.

"i don't know what you believe," sam began, keeping an eye on ethan's mother as she circled them slowly. "but i didn't commit those murders in woodsboro—"

"they're not here for that, ethan said warily, sniffing harshly as he glared at his father. despite the sensory overload, his anger still shone through as clear as day. "they're here for richie."

wayne scowled at that, his eyes darting to ethan for a second before returning to sam again. "we know you didn't commit those murders in woodsboro— what, do you think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? who do you think started all those rumors about you in the first place?”

quinn raised a knife-wielded hand towards sam, smiling triumphantly. you could hear wayne's sadistic laugh behind you. "do you know how easy it was to turn sam from the hero of woodsboro," she said with faux dreamy eyes, "into the villian? how easy it is to convince the world to believe the worst in people, rather than the best."

"and all the best lies boil down to one truth; that you, sam," wayne said, pointing a finger towards her, "are a killer."

"she was never the killer, dad," ethan scowled, pointing a finger to him, "you and mom raised one and did nothing! nothing, because you were just as fucking insane as he was!"

quinn jumped forward and tried to slash ethan's bicep, only for his other hand (which was supposed to keep pressure to his wound) grabbed her wrist. he kicked her back against the glass case, golden brown eyes now brass as he glared at her. "you don't get to talk about him like that!" quinn hissed. "you were just jealous of him. jealous because he was the son you never could be—"

"shut up."

your eyes met sam's, her eyes set on the gun you could barely wield due to your injured. wordlessly, you nodded, backing away from ethan until your back met sam's. your gun slowly lowered and you made a quick switch into her hand. your uninjured hand grabbed your knife and held it up.

"you can ask our parents now!" quinn yelled in disbelief, eyes crazed and dilated with adrenaline. "go on, ethan, ask them! 'was i never as good as richie?' i can tell you the answer now if you want—"

your fist collided with her face before she could say another word. the sickening crack of her nose made the pain in your body all the more bearable. your injured hand grabbed ethan's as sam shot at ethan's mom's leg, making her move away from you quickly.

you all tried to make your way to the ladders, the three of them immediately running after you and stopping you yet again.

"real great parenting job, by the way," tara said with a sneer, making quinn's eyes flare in anger over her bloody nose.

"shut your whore fucking mouth," quinn screamed, making sam shoot at her before she could step closer. the bullet grazed her ear, narrowly missing her head, and the redhead grinned at ethan's avoidance in looking at her. "what, can't handle a little blood?"

ethan only ignored her.

"did i overindulge in richie's love for these little movies? yeah," wayne sighed. "maybe! for me they're just a little dark. but.. " tears welled in his eyes, making yu grip the knife tighter in your hand as he stared at ethan. "richie really loved them. didn't he, ethan?"

"don't even talk to him," you snapped, making wayne grab your injured arm, his thumb burying into the gash inside of it. the feeling of his finger inside the fresh cut made you scream in pain, the sound echoing in ethan's mind and making him see red.

he shoved his dad hard, hard enough that he nearly stumbled and his back hit the edge of the stage. above his head, the sight of a young richie made ethan's blood rush louder in his ears, the sight of his oh-so-innocent looking older brother making him almost physically sick. and wayne only laughed a maniacal laugh at ethan's face.

"your girlfriend's fiesty!" wayne laughed. "richie would have loved her." he said, watching as your face contorted in anger.

"you better shut up," ethan growled, brows furrowing as his fists clenched at his father's words.

sam was practically shaking with anger, the gun pointed right at wayne as she forced out, "what happens next? what, after you're done with us, you'll just disappear?"

"no! i gotta hurry over to the hospital to make sure mindy and gale won'e pull through— which will be harder because my dear son decided to intervene with mindy's stabbing last minute — because everybody dies, sam!" he pointed the gun right at her, ignoring the gun she had in her hand. "everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son suffers and dies."

yells of encouragement from wayne's wife and his daughter echoed in theatre. "so now," wayne said lowly, "sam, put on the mask."

sam's eyes fell, as she sighed, the indifferent look on her face making tara look at her in disbelief at what she was doing. "he was.. so pathetic."

"maybe not the best time to say that, sam!" chad said, hands gripping a brick he had found earlier.

"what? no he wasn't." wayne said, gun aimed straight at sam's chest.

"yeah, your son," sam said, finally looking up at wayne with emotionless eyes. "he was a man baby who made his girlfriend do all the killing." her eyes darted at you, your head lowering slightly in understanding. "he was a limp dick little fuck who cried before i slit his throat."

"shut the fuck up!" quinn screamed, running towards sam before chad slammed the brick against her head. sam immediately shot at ethan's mom, who ducked under her shots and tried to lunge towards her, making her dodge it quickly, groaning when she felt a cut to her stomach.

using your uninjured nondominant hand, you threw the knife at wayne, making it lodge deep inside his side before ethan kicked the hilt, making it dig deeper. his scream of pain only fueled you as you and the others took advantage of his weakness and ran. tara began climbing up the ladder with sam and chad hot on her heels.

but you and ethan stayed behind.

"go with the others! we'll take care of this!" ethan yelled at them, tara's eyes widening when she looked down at the both of you.

"are you crazy?!" tara screamed frantically, climbing into the balcony and looking down at you. "come with us!" a shot towards her made her duck, chad immediately going to cover her with his arm.

"we have to go," chad urged her, pushing her towards the exit.

you turned away from them, swallowing thickly as you looked at where wayne stood, his gun pointed right at your head. you ducked under another bullet he shot, ethan grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him as you dodged his bullets.

"just like you to run away, ethan!" wayne yelled, knife still in his side as he watched you.

ethan's mom hummed in agreement, golden eyes shining with vengeance as she walked closer and closer to you. "changing your last name," a shot from wayne, "moving across the country," another shot, "ignoring your brother's death!" she stood in front of you and ethan, knife glinting in the dim light. her eyes met ethan's. "i'd rather you have died instead."

that sentence had been circulating in ethan's head much longer than he would admit. hearing her say it only confirmed his past thoughts, but that only made him angrier. with how she treated her, he could barely call her his mother.

ethan's jaw clenched as she lunged forward with her knife, narrowly missing his stomach. he grabbed her head with his hands and kneed her in the face, making her groan but prevail. she slashed at his leg, the pain making him only wince before he was slamming a punch into her face.

a shot that grazed your arm made your head snap towards where it came from. wayne's crazed smile made you immediately duck as another shot was sent towards you, and another, all making you farther and farther away from where ethan was. "oh, y/n," wayne srawled as you hid behind a glass case, eyes darted around as you tried to look for something to defend yourself with.

"you know, we did a search on you— there never was a y/n vaughn until around 10 years ago." wayne peeked behind a glass case, disappointment flashing over his face that quickly disappeared.

the mention of your change of last name made you swallow hard, ears listening to your surroundings behind richie's homemade movie still playing on the projector. "someone went to great lengths to change your name, you know. couldn't even find anything in the department," another peek, only to find nothing behind the case. he scowled at that, his patience wearing thin. "no mention of any parents. no guardians— just child protective—"

you jumped on wayne's back, grabbing the knife from his side and using it to dig it into his shoulder, his gun firing behind him wildly as he tried to get you off of him. but you were far too agile, for as soon as you stuck and twisted the blade, you were gone again, hiding behind some souvenir with the knife in your hand.

a beat followed your attack, the sound only being your rapid heartbeat as you tried to calm yourself. you were weaker now, especially because of your wound that seemed to continuously gush blood.

another beat. another pause.

and then you heard the rapid footsteps.

it made you turn around as ethan fought his mom, and as you turned around you came face to face with quinn mid air as she jumped at you. your duck was a second too late before you found yourself pinned to the floor. your head hit the concrete ground with a sickening crack, the power of it making you dizzy as quinn raised her knife to her throat, her hand holding your wrist with your knife.

"i knew there was something off about you ever since i caught ethan staring at you," quinn seethed, her bloodied mouth and nose dropping blood onto your face. "i also knew," she began to grin bloodily, showing her missing teeth from chad's punch with the brick, "that you were just some slut who wanted to fuck a superhero."

you groaned as her knife pressed deeper against your neck, hard enough to draw blood.

"i should've known little ethan was spider-man. it makes sense you know— he's always been too much of a coward to do shit on his own—"

"you and your family talk too fucking much." you raised your injured hand to your knife, quickly grabbing the hilt before you stabbed her lower abdomen, using the knife to push her off of you and for you to get on top of her. taking your knife out, you raised your knife and stabbed it into her again, listening to her gurgles as you stabbed her again. and again. and again.

but you underestimated her thirst for revenge. quinn's hand went up to stab you in the middle of your torso, twisting it back and forth with a horrible squelch squelch sound. the pain was unimaginable, radiating out everywhere as she forced you off of her. you wanted to get up. you needed to get up, but you had lost so much blood already. consciousness kept slipping out of your fingers as you laid there on the ground, blood seeping out of your mouth.

and yet again, you were alone. you only heard water in your ears, as though you were submerged under the ocean. you knew quinn's dead body was next to you, but she had already long succumbed to her wounds.

and you would've too. it felt as though you were 16 again, sobbing after killing the first two people you had ever killed in your life, desperately needing someone to come along and hold you and comfort you. but as you stared up at the abyss of the black ceiling, you found the abyss staring back at you.

you had no one then and you had no one now. you had pushed everyone closest to you away. you had put yourself here.

and to die alone was a scary thing. to die alone would be to dying just like your father, shot dead right at the edge of freedom, right before he could go home to his little girl.

until you heard him. his frantic voice calling for you, and suddenly, the waves disappeared, and all you heard was him.

and when he saw you, he could only feel panic. ethan had felt all of his family members' deaths as they happened. first his sister, then his mother, then his father, who sam had come back to take care of on her own.

he had no one before, but he truly had no one now. no one except for you. and to see you practically choking on your own blood on the ground, he was frantic because he couldn't lose you.

ethan was too stubborn and too selfish to lose you. maybe he was more like you than he thought.

he rushed to you, lip quivering when he saw the state you were in. "hey— hey—" ethan's hand came to hold yours as he put your head on his lap.

tears pricked his eyes as he looked down at your face, so beaten up and weary, but still looking up at him.

studying him like your favorite painting. taking in the color of his cheeks, the color of his eyes, the color of his lips— everything. and weakly, your hand went up to trace his face like you always wanted to, shaking hands remembering his every angle. his every curve.

"ethan—" you choked on your own blood, tears falling from your eyes as you stared up at him. his lip was cut and he had horrible bruises all over his face, but he was here. you weren't alone. not when he was here.

"i'm here," ethan said, tears dropping onto your face. he swallowed thickly as his senses went off again and his father's anguished scream echoed through the theatre. millions of nerves in his body practically electrified him at once. and there went his father.

"it's over. it's done. it's over, y/n."

but there was no witty remark. nothing but your eyes staring up at him and blinking slowly with every passing second. still staring, still studying, still remembering.

because once you closed your eyes, you'd never be able to see your favorite painting again.

sam walked up to the both of you, face falling when she saw you in ethan's arms. he was holding you so tight to him, your head almost limp as you struggled to stay ground. "the ambulance will be here any minute," she forced out, unable to look at the deep hole in your torso.

"hurry," ethan begged, looking back down at you. his eyes widened as your head began to fall back, his heart pounding out of his chest as he struggled to keep you with him for just a little longer. "stay with me, okay? i need you to—" he choked on his own tears. "i need you to stay with me."

"i'm sorry," you breathed, hand caressing ethan's cheek softly as he cried. you wanted to punch whoever was up there playing with your fate. you wanted to curse them out for making you die now, right when you realized that you would stay as long as ethan asked you to.

"don't say that, please," ethan pleaded, brushing tears from your eyes as he sniffled harshly. "you'll make it up to me. you'll make it up to me for treating me like such shit," he reveled in the weak laugh you let out, his own tearful laugh escaping him, "and we'll be okay. the deal won't matter and we'll be okay."

ethan's lip quivered as he stared at you, your eyes half lidded as you struggled to keep yourself with him. "you just need to stay with me. that's all i want— y/n?" ethan's face fell when your eyes shut and didn't open again. he could feel cold rush through his body as he shook you.

"y/n, c'mon." ethan shook you again, tears blurring his vision as he tried to get you to wake up. he wanted you to open your eyes and smile that genuine smile of yours and call him stupid for ever thinking you'd die just like that. he wanted you to kiss him and tell him that everything was okay and that you would be oaky, and he'd take you to museums and watch you stare at your favorite pieces of art and ramble to him just like he does to you. he wanted that.

but he received nothing of the sort. nothing but the warmth that was slowly disappearing from your body.

"no, no, no, no—" a broken scream left ethan's lips as he hugged you tighter to his chest, his back heaving with repeated sobs. "don't leave me. don't leave me, please don't leave me, y/n," he begged you, pleading with a dying body for something akin to a miracle. ethan was begging something— a person or a god, it didn't matter —to keep you with him. but whoever he was begging to was cruel, because he received nothing. and ethan could only cry as he continued to beg.

the blanket was cold. ironic for its purpose, but that's all ethan could think about as he sat in the ambulance.

his family was dead. he was the last one alive, and maybe he would've felt better about if it he didn't continuously replay the image of the knife he wielded going into his mother's throat. or the sound of her drowning in her own blood before ethan heard his sister do the same.

he blamed it on the heightened senses.

they were retrieving your body now. they had to practically force ethan out first so that his wounds could be dealt with.

his emt was more than mildly surprised when she saw how his blood vessels were steadily healing. she gave him a bandage that he had to stitch up at the hospital (much to his chagrin). but ethan hadn't uttered a word ever since everything happened. his vocabulary didn't seem to stretch past just a few nods, shakes of his head, and grunts. his empty eyes couldn't even look up from the ground.

tara and sam were both getting patched up already. he guessed chad was doing the same, until he felt someone sit next to him with a sigh.

chad didn't say anything. he just sat with him, and maybe ethan appreciated that more.

"spider-man, huh?"

nevermind.

ethan could only nod once. he couldn't even manage a whole spiel on how he got bitten, or how he didn't want chad flaunting that his roommate was new york's friendliest hero. but chad understood that, because he only nodded in response. "nice."

silence enveloped the both of them as they sat next to each other in the ambulance. kirby passed by them on a stretcher, barely hanging on to her life, followed by three body bags. ethan almost turned away just at the sight of them, but he forced himself to look with angry tears slipping down his face.

he wished it was anyone but them. that whoever was behind the mask wasn't the very people ethan was trying to get away from, because it was different to have them be across the country instead of dead in a body bag. he was so full of anger towards them. for being so encompassed with revenge and vengefulness that it led to their own demise, that they hated ethan so much that they were willing to kill all his friends and him, that they resulted in your death. your lifeless body on the ground with a gruesomely made hole in your torso.

but then he saw the last stretcher come out, and his throat ran dry. it was you, attached to an oxygen mask and barely hanging on, but it was you.

EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— posting this right before finals week lol but i hope you guys enjoyed! remember, there's still an epilogue so look out for that

#TAGLIST— @ethanlvndry , @iloveneilperry , @starsfilm , @goosenoggin , @aminatic , @wenvierismycomfort , @l5byrinth , @wroetoslut , @briefwinnerpersonaturtle , @oliviapopewannabe , @wzrlds , @raggedyoldwitch , @hotweeb , @marsyay78 , @valenftcrush , @bonkyandsteeb3000 , @bubs-world , @danis-stuff-is-here , @nuhteyam , @ravenstrueluv , @taeversity , @heartipods , @gcidrvsh , @theapulidooo , @volturi-girl-imagines , @duolingofanaccount , @buorke , @grxcisxhy-wp , @strangerdangerwrites , @mrslandryy , @michaelangdonsslut , @netey6m

[wolfish-nightmares]

Skin Between the Teeth

Parings: will graham x victim!reader

Era: Season 1

Warnings: gore, violence, bad language, cannibalism, brief allusion to drug use, 18+

Category: Fluff. Angst. 

Word Count: 9k

Summary: You can take the animal out of the fight but you can’t take the fight out of the animal.

A Violent Dog Masterlist

“I have to go somewhere before we head home if you don't mind,” Will spoke kind of rushed as he led you out of the hospital.

You just nodded and followed along behind him. There were tons of cars everywhere, you were shocked at how many you saw. Seeing a car from the medical room window was a rare thing. He stopped in front of one so you stopped behind him. It beeped and you jumped at the noise. He chuckled as he went to the side and opened the door for you. Being jumpy was new for you but your entire life was spent in that place, everything is new.

“Do you know how a seat belt works,” he asked as he guided you into the car.

When you did the same head tilt from before Will knew that he had confused you. He grabbed the seat belt, pulled it out for you and clicked it in. As you tugged and messed with the belt he got in on the other side of the car. He chuckled at the expression on your face as he started it.

The ride was silent, Will spent the first few minutes messing with the noise in the car before he just shut it off. He didn't try to talk to you, which you were thankful for as you stared out the window. You liked the way the outside looked, it had been far too long since you've seen it.

“This man is a psychiatrist, his job is to help people like….us. I think he can help you too,” Will finally spoke as he parked the car.

You wondered what he meant as he got out and you pulled at the belt. You looked around to try and find how he did it but he got out so fast you didn't even see how. For a moment you wondered if he didn't want you to get out at all. You noticed the belt connected into something but the kennels taught you to never touch anything unless told to do so.

The door was ripped open and Will ducked his head into your side of the car, “Sorry, I forgot you don't really know how this works.”

You watched as he pressed the red thing and set the belt free. It was understandable that he forgot, you assumed most people knew how things worked. You gave him an apologetic look as he ducked back out the door. As you stepped out of the car you wondered if it would be easier on Will if you didn't stay. It's was beginning to look like life outside the kennels wasn't going to be easy.

A hand reached out to you but you flinched. Your body slammed against the car as you jumped back. Everything changed and you were no longer in the parking lot. The concrete of the pool was cold under your feet and Will was no longer in sight. Your body burned as every scar opened up. Bear snarled in front of your face.

This was a fight, you were back in the ring and you had to fight. Bear grabbed your shoulders and your brain froze, everything became instinct. You growled and buried your teeth into his skin, doing your best to aim as close to his throat as you can. Then it wasn't Bear and there was no blood or skin against your tongue. The taste and feeling of cotton flooded your senses.

The ring vanished and you were back by the car with your mouth latched onto Will’s shoulder. Shame and confusion flooded your body as you let him go. Will gently grabbed your shoulders and pulled you closer before you could run like you wanted to.

“I understand what just happened. Please just come inside so that you can understand too.”

Everything was still overwhelming so you stayed still for a moment. Will didn’t move his hands from your shoulders and to your surprise he wasn’t anything less than gentle. Eventually you nodded and he led you inside the building. You were still a bit scared from the moment outside so you practically stuck to Will’s back as he knocked on another door.

The door opened and a man spoke, “Hello Will, welcome back.”

“Hello Dr. Lecter,” Will stepped aside and exposed you to the man. “I brought a guest along.”

The man grinned at you as he stepped out of the doorway, “Come in.”

You waited until Will entered before you did. There were two chairs facing each other in the center of the room but Will sat on the weird long chair on the other side of the room. Dr. Lecter sat in one of the chairs and it seemed like it was expected that you would sit in the other one but you opted to stand next to where Will was sitting.

“So, who’s our new guest,” he asked.

The way he looked at you seemed like he expected you to talk. You raised your eyebrows at him and looked at Will. He just patted the spot next to him and waited until you sat down.

“Wolf doesn't speak much,” Will cleared his throat and leaned forward. “That case that I told you about, with the animal attack, well this is the…..animal.”

Hannibal nodded for a moment, he didn't look too shocked at the news.

“Can they sign?”

Will shrugged and looked at you. You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head to the side.

“They don't know what sign is.”

“Can you write?”

You shook your head.

“Read?”

Again you shook your head. The Owners preferred you knowing nothing. Before he was silenced, Dog taught you the alphabet one time but after Mrs. Owner caught him he didn't teach you anything else. Anything you learned in your time at the kennels was what the owners taught you specifically or whatever you could pick up on your own. They always told you that you'd never be anything more than a dumb animal so it was pointless wasting information on you.

“We can figure out a different way of communication but for now since you can respond yes or no that will work. What brought you to bring them here Will?”

“Well,” Will let out a deep sigh. “At first I was just coming here to get some advice on how to help them settle into a normal life but I think Wolf had a flashback in the parking lot.”

Hannibal looked back at you and you wondered what Will meant by flashback.

“Do you think PTSD?”

“There's no way it isn't, considering what they've been through,” Will couldn't help but shudder thinking about all those videos he saw. The thin CPS file he read about your childhood didn't seem like it was any better.

You noticed the way Hannibal's lips curled into a grin as he watched Will. It was hard to tell if his grin was bad or good. Reading facial expressions was how you survived in the kennels, how you learned to duck from the Owners’ path of destruction, but this man? His eyes never really matched the expression on his face, there was always something else lurking there.

“I will do some research on Wolf's history and we can figure out how to proceed but for now I suggest you settle them into living with you, assuming that they are,” he gave you another smile.

“Thank you Dr. Lecter,” Will rubbed your shoulder as he stood up. “Come on Wolf, let's go home.”

“It’s not much but this is my home,” he parked the car and this time leaned over to unbuckle you before getting out.

You stayed by the car as he walked up to the door. He had warned you about his dogs and suggested that you wait by the car. Will didn't want to run the risk of scaring you again and he also wasn't sure how'd the dogs take to you. You watched as he opened the door and corralled the dogs on the porch.

“Okay Wolf, you can come here.”

For a moment you hesitated but then you walked over to join him. There was a group of dogs waiting on the porch. You flinched when one of them barked and Will moved to grab you but you shook your head. He raised his eyebrows but you shook your head again. Everything was fine, the bark only startled you. The only time you heard dog barks other than you was whenever Dog or any other canine fought. It was different hearing that noise come from an actual dog. Will relaxed and turned back to them.

“This is the pack,” he reached down to pick up a small white dog. “This is Zoe. There's Ellie, Jack, Harley, Buster, Max and Winston.”

The dogs began to bark at the sound of their names. You barked back at them. Everything fell silent and you cocked your head to the side in confusion.

Will chuckled, “Sorry Wolf, they're not used to people talking back. Alright, inside.”

The dogs all rushed inside as Will followed behind, you of course right on his feet. You realized that the barking probably wasn't something normal people did, even if it was back at dogs. Getting used to how the normal world worked wasn't going to be easy but it was helpful that Will never seemed too fazed by your actions.

“I'm sure you're hungry,” he sat the small dog down then walked to another side of the house. “Come ‘ere Wolf.”

You followed him to another room as he began to take things out of the fridge. Everything in the room looked unfamiliar so you stayed in the doorway rather than actually stepping into the room. The only thing you did recognize was the fridge because that was where the Owners kept special medicine in the medical room. Will’s fridge didn't have any sort of medicine though.

Instead his fridge was full of food. Not the kind you ever ate, only the kind the Owners ate. In fact, the cake the Owners had given you was the only food of theirs you actually got to eat, besides whatever they'd let you lick off their fingers through the years. Your food came from a yellow can with a dog on it.

“If you don't want to be in here I can turn the TV on for you,” Will couldn't help but chuckle at the way you tilted your head again. “Here, let's go back to the living room.”

He lead you back to where you started and patted a chair. You sat down in front of a small table with what you assumed was the TV. He picked up something and pressed a button. The TV came to life, displaying two people on the screen. You realized that what you knew as “the screen” was actually called a TV. This one was much smaller than the one the kennel had.

The TV was a short lived thing in the kennel. They got it after your sixth year living there and it was taken away not even a month after having it. Maybe it would have stayed longer if Mr. Owner hadn't thrown Dog into the TV in a fit of rage but then again when it came to the Owners you doubted it.

“This is the remote,” Will held the thing he picked up in front of you. “This is how you turn it off, make it louder and quieter, and change the channel. You can watch whatever you want.”

He passed the remote to you and went back to cook. You stayed on the channel that was already on but you eventually changed it to find something more entertaining. It felt like you were pushing the button forever, nothing truly caught your eye. A bright and colorful show flashed across the screen.

It was a yellow duck and a pink pig doing something. You were absolutely shocked when the duck hit something and it suddenly fell into a pile of letters, you recognized a few of them. The show had absolutely captivated you. It was bright and everything made sense to you. All those other shows were about weird things you didn't really understand.

“Wolf, dinner is ready,” Will came back into the room many episodes later carrying the bowls you usually ate out of. He grinned at your choice of show as he passed. You stayed seated as he brought out bowl after bowl and sat them down in front of each dog. He didn't bring one out for you. “Come on, we'll eat in here.”

You followed him to the room between where he cooked and where you watched TV. There was a small table there with two chairs and plates. There however was not the bowl you usually ate out of.

“You can sit uh with me you know,” he pulled out the chair and patted it just like he had done earlier.

For a moment you stayed rooted in your spot but when he gave you a pleading look you took your seat. The plate in front of you smelled delicious. It made your mouth water but you looked around for you bowl. This food wasn't meant for you.

“Just try a bite.”

Your stomach growled as you picked up the meat and tore off a chunk. It was delicious and juicy. You couldn't stop yourself from tearing another large bite off. The taste was far too good to be true so you tried to stuff as much as you could into your mouth before it disappeared.

“Hey, slow down. There's plenty more and I'm not gonna take it from you.”

You tried to chew slower as he picked up the silver thing and began to eat his food. It seemed less efficient the way he was doing it. It didn't really matter to you though so you swallowed your bite and tore another hunk off.

“Is there a reason why you can't talk?”

The question caught you off guard. You didn't expect him to ask you something like that, he didn't instantly jump down your throat with questions at the hospital, but you guess it couldn't be helped. If he was going to let you live in his house you figured he had every right to ask things like that.

It wasn't easy to explain. Years ago when you were much younger and not used to your fangs, you had accidentally bit your tongue during a fight. The Owners neglected the wound and eventually after a few more fights it got so infected they had to cut off the bad part. You stuck your tongue out so he could see.

“There were a few others that also had their tongues cut, they called i-”

You cut him off and shook your head. This wasn't something the Owners did as punishment, although neglecting your tongue was definitely a punishment, it wasn't meant as one. It was simply a happy accident that worked out more in the Owners’ favor.

“You weren't silenced?”

Shaking your head no, you stuck your tongue out so he could see the lopsided cut across it. Silencing cuts were straight and closer to the base of the the tongue, you still had most of your tongue. Will simply nodded as you showed him.

“So there's a chance you could speak?”

That wasn't something you ever thought about. You shrugged as you ripped another bite from the meat, growling at bit as you chewed.

Will assumed that letting you live with him and helping you integrate into society would be hard but with each passing hour he could see more and more of your intelligence shine through. You didn't know basic things, stuff that most people did like it was breathing, but you knew plenty of other things. He could see it every time you paused to think about something he said or the way you'd stare at things in his house, like you were trying to make sense of it.

“Well, when we done eating I'll uh- show you the bathroom and you can take a shower.”

The bathroom was not what you were expecting. You stood confused in the doorway of a room and the only thing you could recognize was the toilet. Will’s was a lot whiter compared to the one at the kennels.

“This is the shower, the knobs are a bit of a problem but if they get stuck you can let me know. All the soap stuff…,” he turned to face you but paused when he noticed the look on your face. “Have….have you ever taken a shower?”

You nodded but the still confused look on your face told Will that it probably wasn’t like the one he had in his house. When he asked you that exact question and you shook your head, he realized what predicament he found himself in. He couldn’t leave you to try it all on your own but there was nobody he could call that could possibly help.

“What did your showers look like,” he asked against his better judgement.

The blood drained from his face as you immitatied the way the Owners used to spray you down. Shower time in the kennels meant all the fighters stripped down, got doused with soap and sprayed down in the pool. The way you positioned your hands told Will that you didn't get sprayed by a regular hose, instead it looked like you were holding something more like a power washer.

You bit your lip as you watched Will’s face change, anxiety was eating at your insides. When he didn’t speak you got scared that he was thinking about sending you away, finally realizing that you'd be more trouble than it’s worth. He sighed and dropped his face into his hands.

“I’m really sorry Wolf,” every new detail he learned about your life felt like a gut punch. “But tonight…you’re getting a proper bath. Come on.”

Still a bit anxious you carefully stepped into the room. You moved like there was going to be a boobie trap with each step you took. He didn’t move at all as you walked towards him. Will was smart enough to realize that moving in that moment would probably startle you and he didn't want to send you back to that place mentally. As you walked in front of him, he slowly moved his hands so you could see every move he made.

He could tell unfamiliar rooms made you nervous, especially smaller ones. It was obvious in the way you moved. You were terrified, too scared to make the wrong move, one that’ll piss him off and he’ll make you pay. His heart squeezed as you flinched away from his hand.

“I would never want to hurt you,” he held his hands in front of himself.

In the hours you spent with him, Will has shown more kindness to you than you ever received in all your years of life. You knew that blinding trusting anyone who showed you a shred of kindness would get you in trouble, there were plenty of marks on your body to prove that, but with Will it all felt genuine. Maybe he was just luring you in with promises to “help you” but unlike all the others he had yet to stab you in the back. Literally and figuratively.

“Can I help?”

Hesitantly you nodded.

“I have to wrap your cast first,” he gestured to a plastic bag and duct tape that was sitting on the sink. “You can’t get it wet.”

You gave him your arm and he raised your sleeve up so he could wrap it properly. When his eyes widened a bit you snatched your arm back, scared he saw something bad.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I just didn’t expect to see the track marks.”

You gave him a confused look and he held his hand out, gesturing back to your arm. Curiously you gave him your arm back. He pulled your sleeve back up and pointed to the needle marks on your arm. They were old, some of them were the oldest on your body. You shrugged, the Owners stopped doing that years ago and it was a time you desperately tried to forget.

“I just didn’t expect it that's all.”

Will didn't want to make a big deal out of it, especially since you didn't. He slipped the bag over the cast and taped it to your arm. You shrugged again as he apologized for having to use duct tape.

“Alright you can get undressed now. I’ll turn around and you can too.”

You spun around and waited until you could hear the water. When you looked back to check on him, he was facing the tub. Feeling a bit more comfortable you began pulling off your clothes. Everything the hospital gave you was uncomfortable and it felt like you could finally breathe again. When you were ready you gently tapped his shoulder.

“I’ll close my eyes, just tap me again when you’re in the tub.”

You were still nervous but did as he said. As slowly as you could, trying not to splash any water, you sat in the tub and pulled your knees to your chest before tapping Will. He turned around and you could tell he wasn't sure where to look with the way he kept turning his head. When you reached up he froze and you slowly brought your hand up, tapped his face then tapped yours to let him know he could look there.

“I'm going to run some water over your head. Just close your eyes.”

“This is the softest shirt I have and you can wear the boxers as shorts.”

You stood in his room with a towel wrapped around your body. Will had been incredibly gentle with you the entire bath. He taught you how to lather the soap and wash your body, even let you do your bottom half on your own. You were a fast learner and he wanted to make sure you knew how to care for yourself.

“You can get dressed in the bathroom,” he handed you the clothes.

When you didn't move to go to the bathroom he gave you a questioning look. Truthfully being alone in a room without Will felt disrespectful to him, this wasn’t your house or your place. Besides, never once were you ever alone in your life, at least not the parts you could remember. You looked at the bathroom and back at him before shaking your head.

“I’ll leave the room then.”

You shook your head again.

“You don't want to be alone,” he didn’t say it like a question but rather an observation. “I’ll turn around then.”

When his back was facing you, you dropped your towel and pulled on the clothes he had given you. They smelled incredible, you pulled the shirt up to your nose and took a deep breath. It was nothing you ever smelled before but you absolutely loved it. You let it go and tapped Will to let him know that you were dressed. He said you could watch TV as he took his own shower. Your eyes stayed glue to the screen until he came back to get to go to sleep.

“For tonight you can sleep in my bed until I can get something better for you,” he walked over to his bed and pulled back the blanket for you. “I’ll be sleeping in the living room with the dogs if you need me.”

You got into the bed, shocked by how soft it was and laid back against the pillows as he pulled the blanket back up. Your body didn’t really know how to relax and you laid stiff in the bed. Will said a quick goodnight and began setting up his own sleeping arraignment on the floor. You closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep when he turned out the lights.

Hours passed and no matter how you laid, your body just couldn’t accept the softness of everything. You got out of the bed and quietly crept over to where Will was. A few of the dogs perked their head up as you approached but laid back down when they saw you. After watching for a bit and ensuring Will was asleep, you found a spot near the wall that allowed you to see the whole room and laid down. The hardness of the floor felt right underneath your body. It didn’t take long for you to finally fall asleep.

“Is my bed that bad?”

You opened your eyes in confusion, not expecting to see Will in front of you. Truth be told, you really expected to wake up in your kennel, that everything was just a dream. You shook your head and sat up. Will understood why you were down there but he still hated seeing you sleeping on the floor.

“I’m going to let the dogs out then make us breakfast, you can watch TV again while I do that.”

He felt kind of bad constantly sticking you in front of the TV but he didn’t have any other ways of entertaining you and he didn't want you just staring at the walls. Although he was sure you probably did that most of your life anyways.

As he took the dogs out, you went to sit in the chair on turn on the TV. You could faintly hear him talking outside but just assumed he was speaking to the dogs. The show from last night wasn’t on the TV anymore, no matter how many channels you looked though. You eventually settled for a different cartoon, Will had briefly explained what those were to you last night. He even offered to get you more channels so you could have better options.

The door opened and you could hear two pairs of footsteps instead of one. As the dogs rushed in you turned around to see who the other person was. You expected the man from last night but a dark haired woman entered behind Will.

“Oh, I didn’t know Y/n was here,” she said and you flinched at the sound of your old name.

“Their name is Wolf,” Will corrected.

“Oh, their fighter name?”

Will didn’t say anything, instead just kept walking to the kitchen. She looked back at you and you turned around to keep watching the show. As they talked you tried not to listen to them but there were parts you couldn’t help but tune into. Especially when they mentioned murder.

“Abigail Hobbs doesn't have anyone.”

“You can’t be her everyone, especially when you’re already doing it for someone else.”

You did your best to zero in on the TV and not hear another word of their conversation after that. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to people discussing you in front of you but it felt a little different this time.

“I’m not collecting another stray,” his sentence caught your attention.

“You already have.”

Her eyes were looking right at you, and you could feel it. She didn’t say her sentence in a mean way, in fact she had been very gentle about the way she spoke. It made you feel uncomfortable to think that's what you looked like in his house. Just some homeless animal Will kindly took off the street, you frowned when you realized just how accurate that was. You subtly tried to turn up the TV again, really desperate to tune them out now. They talked for a little longer before the woman was gone. Even after she left you didn’t look away from the screen, not until Will called your name.

“I’m sorry if you heard anything…mean.”

You shrugged and shook your head. If that was mean you wondered what he might consider the things that were said in the kennels. She was kind and it wasn’t like anything she said was untrue.

“I don’t see you as a stray by the way.”

As much as you tried to keep it down you couldn’t hold back a grin. He smiled back and gently patted your shoulder.

“Let’s go eat some breakfast so I can get to my class, sound good?”

The lady at the desk kept throwing you anxious glances, like she expected you to launch yourself across the room and attack her. You knew that you looked scary, that was what the Owners had wanted, but you didn’t think that everyone would look at you like you came in covered in blood.

In prey fights the ones chained would always scream like a monster stepped out of their closet but you never considered that you did look that intimidating. You looked at your arms and legs, wondering what exactly made people feel so uneasy.

Trying to ease the tension, you smiled awkwardly at the woman at the desk. She flinched and quickly went back to typing on her computer. You sighed and slumped down in the seat as Will came back out from the room and held up something for you.

"Here Wolf, this is your special visitor pass,” he clipped something onto the pocket of his shirt that you were wearing. “Alright, let’s head to my room.”

You used Will to shield yourself as he walked to his classroom. He kept looking back at you and you tried to smile each time. Will stopped and you accidentally slammed into his back because you had gotten distracted by the way everyone was watching you.

He seemed to notice too because he had stopped to glare at a group of people who were very obviously discussing you. When they noticed him they quickly dispersed. He grabbed your hand and pulled you into his room with a disappointed sigh. Will knew bringing you would cause a stir but he didn't expect people to openly gawk at you.

“You can sit here,” he pulled the chair out from his desk and waited until you sat down. “My students are definitely going to be watching you but I don't usually bring in guests so you're special today.”

He pulled something out of his bag and sat them down in front of you. Everything was colorful and it made you happy. He opened the box and dumped all the colors out. It suddenly made you think of the the time the Owners’ used to give them to you with a piece of paper, it was an old reward they offered for winning fights.

Excited because you knew how the things worked, you grabbed the red and looked at Will. You didn't see any paper but he opened a book with pictures.

“This is where you color.”

You grinned and began to color the page. It had been forever since you had gotten to do that. He paused you and changed the way you were holding it.

“When you hold it like this you can also write things, like your name.”

He picked up another color and wrote your name. You copied his movements and tried to write your name too. It was hard and you felt clumsy. It was a bit lopsided and the f looked more like a t but Will was proud of how good it looked.

“This is incredible.”

You ducked your head at his praise and stared at your feet. He was going to continue but a student of his walked in. He cleared his throat and began to set up his slideshow as the other students began coming in as well. You kept your head down and colored the picture. Everyone stared at you, you could feel their eyes on you.

Will pulled everyone’s attention to himself as he began the class. You turned around to see the slideshow as he spoke. A shiver ran down your spine as he switched to the slide with the stag head. Something in the air changed and you turned around to see the man from the other night and another one you’d never seen before, standing in the doorway. You quickly went back to busying yourself with the colors.

When the class was over and the students began leaving, Will helped you put away all the stuff. The men approached Will’s desk, the one you never seen before shot you a disapproving glare. Dr. Lecter offered you a kind smile, you gave him a quick smile in return.

“Why was I not informed that you had Y/n with you,” the unknown man questioned.

“I took Wolf with me last night, we stopped by Dr. Lecter’s office before going home,” Will defended quickly.

The man didn’t say anything as he eyed you, “We’ll talk more about this later but for now I want you to go speak to Abigail Hobbs.”

“Alana thinks-”

“I don’t care what she thinks, I want you to talk to Abigail and find out what she knows about her father’s murders.”

“Anymore flashbacks,” Hannibal questioned Will as you all walked down the hall to where Abigail was staying.

Will had explained to you what flashbacks were and you two had spent the morning on the internet reading about ways to cope with them. He now keeps a backpack in his car, packed with anything he could possibly need if you do run into something triggering. He was on a mission to make you comfortable in any situation. Living the life you had, he figured it was the least you deserved.

Will shook his head as he flashed you a quick smile, “Nope, Wolf has been settling in very well.”

You could feel you face heating up and looked away. Praise made you feel like your skin was crawling and it was even worse coming from Will. Hannibal smiled as well and you just stared down at the floor, counting the steps as you walked. Will opened the door her room.

“He catches insane men because he can think like them,” a woman's voice came from the room. Will stopped as he entered the room. “Because he is insane.”

A red haired woman was standing in the room. You stepped back and triednot to look at her as it was becoming hard to breathe. Panic swept over you as you panted and tried to get back out of the room. You could faintly hear her words behind you but it sounded like she was miles away. Hannibal grabbed your shoulders to steady you as you swayed.

“I really must insist you leave the room,” Hannibal spoke, stepping forward a bit and slipping you behind his body. You pressed yourself against his back, using him to shield yourself from the woman.

You watched as Will snatched something from her and pressed your face against Hannibal as she left the room. When the door closed behind her you relaxed and took a deep breath. Your legs felt weak and your head was spinning. Will gently touched your arm and you moved to stand next to him.

“Are you okay?”

Quickly you nodded and tried to turn his attention back to Abigail. You didn’t really want to acknowledge what happened or think about that woman. As Will and Hannibal began to talk to Abigail, you chewed on your lips. It was a bad habit you picked up back when you still had horrible mouth pain from all the teeth filing.

“Who are they,” Abigail asked making you freeze.

“This is my friend Wolf,” Will introduced and you smiled awkwardly.

She eyed your neck, most likely staring at the scars that covered your skin. It was a messy mix of erratic lines, surgery incisions, and obvious bite marks. The area near your jugular vein contained the mass of them all.

“What do you do,” she asked you.

You shook your head and Will cleared his throat to get her attention.

“They can’t talk. I guess you could say they’re kind of like you,” he paused to look at you and you could tell what he was asking so you nodded. “Wolf was sold to and raise by an illegal fighting ring.”

Her eyebrows raised in shock and you could see the way she looked at you changing. She gave you a concerned look and you tried not to let it get to you. Pity wasn’t something you enjoyed seeing on people’s faces. It made you feel weak and it always sparked a bit of anger inside you. She opened her mouth to say something but Hannibal interjected, suggesting a walk. You sighed in relief, thankful for him.

“I’m gonna be messed up. Aren’t I?”

You stood as far away from them as you could, distracting yourself with the flowers that you could find. It was next to impossible not to listen to their conversation as the voices carried, no matter how far you walked from them. You could see the way Will looked around periodically to find you so you tried to stay in his general line of sight but it felt uncomfortable being that close to them. Especially while they were discussing something you were certain that Abigail didn’t want a viewing audience for.

“I’m worried about nightmares.”

Hannibal looked at you as your snorted and you ducked down to smell the flower in an attempt to play it off. They continued to speak and you tried your best to pay them no mind. You watched an orange butterfly land on a flower. Gently you moved your hand to scoop it up and turned around to show Will.

“So killing somebody, even if you have to do it, it feels that bad?”

You froze at her words. Did it feel bad? You tried to think about how you felt in the ring. In the beginning, the screams and looks of fear haunted you, made you sick. Fear was your only motivator, the only thing that kept you moving. Eventually it all would fade with time and you had become indifferent to it. The ring was your life and the only way to survive it was to kill.

Though, as your skills and strength grew…so did your love of the fights. There was power in the way you could take down your opponents, even ones double your size. Snapping your teeth and ripping the skin wasn’t fear, to you it became power. There, even the Owners wouldn’t touch you. In the ring, you held the control. Everything was yours, in blood and flesh.

“It’s the ugliest thing in the world.”

Will’s words left you feeling guilty and torn. He and Hannibal talked a bit as you all walked back to the car. This time you really couldn’t bring yourself to listen as the terrible thoughts swirled in your mind. You wondered how Will saw you, if he saw a monster or a helpless animal? Was what you did really that horrible?

“Special Agent Graham.”

You rolled your eyes at the sight of the same red headed woman from before. Thankfully this time the sight of her didn’t have the same reaction as before. By now you were simply annoyed and was able to properly separate her and the person in your memories. They weren’t the same, this woman was far worse.

As she spoke, Hannibal checked on you. He placed his hand on your shoulder to get your attention. You gave him a questioning look and he shook his head before turning back to the woman, who introduced herself as Freddie Lounds. The same person Will had mentioned in this class earlier, she was the writer of Tattle Crime, a site Will only had terrible things to say about.

“I can undo what I said. I can also make it a lot worse.”

You couldn’t stop the loud growl that ripped from your throat as you stepped closer. Her threat towards Will sparked that deep anger inside you. Your muscles itched to lunge at her but Will positioned his body in front of yours. You snarled and bared your teeth at her.

“Miss Lounds…it’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.”

“You cannot take them places if they’re going to threaten everyone they see!”

Another wave of guilt passed over you as the man continued yelling, he had already been upset about what Will had said but what Freddy said about you had been more damaging. In the article she had published she claimed you to be Will’s guard dog. Trained to attack any threat posed against him. She referenced your kennel life and even somehow got ahold of the videos from your Owners’ old website. It really didn't make you look good.

“They didn’t threaten anybody but Freddie Lounds because she was making threats herself,” Will loudly argued back.

“Listen I don’t think Y/n-”

“Their name is Wolf and that is what you will call them!”

“You don’t see a problem with them insisting on keeping their fighter name,” the man sounded like he was in disbelief.

“A name they’ve gone by their whole life?”

There was a long silence as nobody spoke for awhile.

“I don’t know if it’s safe to allow them to accompany you.”

“Please, I can’t leave them alone,” Will pleaded. “Abigail told me and Hannibal that she appreciated Wolf’s presence. I think it’ll be a good thing to have them around. Maybe even help her feel comfortable enough to open up.”

This was all new information to you. Abigail seemed indifferent to you being around but you were too focused on staying out of the way to notice the way her eyes followed you. The man had a scrutinizing look on his face as he stared you down. There was an beat of silence before he sighed and looked at Hannibal.

“What do you think Dr. Lecter?”

Hannibal looked at you for a moment before turning back to the man, “They’re both in similar situations, it may help Abigail to have someone she can relate to.”

“Alright I’ll allow it but no more threatening behavior or you’ll have to find somewhere else for them to go.”

Cannibal. A word that Will explained to you. A word that meant humans who ate other humans. A word that meant you.

You stared at the big black word painted onto the door. There was no bad feelings that came with seeing that word. You thought maybe it would make you feel guilty or upset in some way but staring at that word didn’t invoke anything inside you. Will passed his hand over your shoulder as he walked back inside with another box, breaking the word in half as he opened and closed the door.

“What do you feel?”

Hannibal came up behind you with a box in his hands as well, the last one you assumed. He paused beside you to look at the word as well. He had an indifferent look on his face. You just gave him a bored look in hopes that he’d understand the word meant nothing to you.

Human flesh was sometimes the only food source in the kennels. The fighters would be forced to eat their opponents to not face starvation. To you being a cannibal meant nothing more than survival. Although you couldn’t deny that you always preferred the fresh and warm flesh of a body compared to the colorless mush that came from a can.

“Let’s go inside shall we?”

You followed Hannibal back inside the house and into the room where everyone was gathered. Hannibal interjected into the conversation as you two entered. You beelined for the chair and sat down, making sure that you were out of the way.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime? You be my dad, you be my mom, you be the man on the phone, and you can be Will,” she pointed at you and you looked behind yourself to make sure that she had indeed meant you.

It felt uncomfortable and you tried to sink deeper into the chair. Will walked over and rubbed your shoulder. He seemed to sense your discomfort in the situation and he was trying to ease the tension in your body. You were thankful when Alana changed the subject.

When another person appeared in the house, Will figured it was a good time to let you out. He knew being in places you didn't know very well was hard for you anyways. As Abigail and her friend walked behind the house, Will took you to stretch your legs in the front.

“You feeling okay Wolf? I know today has been a lot already.”

You nodded and crouched down to pick up a bug before proudly presenting it to Will. He grinned at your excitement and crouched with you to help you look for more. He noticed your care towards the insects, the way you handled them so carefully, and always made sure to put them back in the spot you grabbed them from. He wished that others could see your gentleness.

A yell came from behind the house. You carefully placed the beetle back down and followed Hannibal and Will behind the house. Both the girls were facing someone as you all rounded the side of the house. The man spit and sprinted though the woods as the girls came back.

“He said he was somebody's brother,” Abigail stopped and stood next to you.

The sound of footsteps alerted you to the woman who was fast approaching the group. Before you could react she called out to her daughter, the one who had been talking to Abigail. You exchanged an odd glance with Abigail as the girls mother continued demanding she come home.

“Can you stop being such a bitch?”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from snorting at the look on Hannibal’s face. Abigail stayed next to you as Will and Hannibal began walking towards where the man had been standing. You moved to stand at the edge of the tree line and the two men briefly searched the woods.

“Do you not want people signing your cast?”

Completely lost, you gave her a questioning look. She gave you her own shocked look as well before patting her pockets like she was searching for something.

“I don’t have a pen but usually when someone gets a cast their friends and family all write their name or sweet messages on it,” she tapped the hard exterior with her finger. “I could sign yours.”

She had a smile on her face, a big one, and you felt bad turning her down so you nodded. Her face lit up and you smiled in return. You heard the crunch of leaves and look back to see Hannibal and Will coming back. The smile dropped off Abigail’s face as you two waited for them.

“He’s gone. You’ve never seen him before?”

You watched at Hannibal moved and disturbed the leaves. He had covered something up, something you didn't see. You weren’t going to try and find out what it was but you decided to keep an eye on Hannibal, you wanted to see what he was going to do.

“We should report this, yes?”

“Yes”

Hannibal stayed for a moment, glancing between you and Abigail. Abigail let out a shuddering breath and looked at Hannibal. He walked off, following Will and you touched her arm to grab her attention. She had a scared look in her eyes and you tried to give her a comforting smile but you were sure it looked more awkward than anything. She seemed to relax a bit and the both of you moved to follow the others.

“Are there any rooms with two beds available?”

The lady at the desk typed on the keyboard and clicked the mouse a couple times before giving Will an apologetic look. He sighed and asked for a room anyway. It was getting late and he didn’t want to drive to another hotel. He figured if you were uncomfortable with the idea of sharing the bed then he'd sleep on the floor. It didn't matter if there was a chance he’d wake up to find you on the floor too, he always wanted to make sure you knew that you could have a bed.

“Sorry Wolf, there’s only one bed. Are you okay with sharing?”

You nodded quicker than what he expected. He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. He was kind of shocked you had gotten as comfortable with him as quick as you did.

“Alright, well this is our room.”

He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Like usual you looked around the room before entering it. Like he said, there was indeed only one bed. He sighed and sat down, patting the spot next to him. You sat down and leaned against his shoulder, exhaustion from the days events finally began weighing on your body.

“Want to shower?”

You nodded but made no move to get up. He grinned and let you stay there. After awhile you did get up and he helped you get all the necessities set up. You both agreed to leave the door unlocked in case something happened. Will sat near the door as you showered, he wanted to make sure he could be nearby if something went wrong.

He smiled at the way you peaked your head out the door to look for him. Your face lit up when you saw him. You wrapped the towel tighter around yourself and stepped out to get dressed. He turned around to let you dress, again just another one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. You sat on the bed and messed with the TV as he took his own shower.

When Will came back out you shut the TV off and scooted over to your side of the bed. He settled into his side and shut off the light. You tossed and turned in the bed, desperately trying to find a comfortable position that could let you sleep. Will hummed and you froze, scared you disturbed him with all your movement.

“Scoot over here.”

His hand ghosted over your side, probably him trying to find where you were. You scooted over to him and he pulled you until your back was pressed against him. He tried to pull his arm back but you grabbed his wrist. He chuckled and laid his arm back over your side. With Will’s warmth against your back and his breath against your neck, you peacefully fell asleep, feeling safe in his hold.

Will gasped as your hands squeezed around his throat. His eyes snapped open as he grabbed your arms. Tears were streaming down your face and you were gasping for air as if you were the one being choked. Will tried to move your arms but you growled and squeezed tighter, digging your nails into his skin.

He didn’t want to hurt you but it was obvious you weren’t lucid, like the first time you had bitten him. He shoved your head back as far as he could. Eventually he pushed it so far back you were forced to let go. He expected you to wake up and realize where you were but instead he was flung from the bed. You lunged at him and he tried to block you.

Your teeth sunk into his arm and he gritted his teeth to keep from making any noise that would alert the others in the hotel. He didn’t want to possibility of cops being called. This wasn't a situation police would understand. He groaned and pushed you off. Before you could move again, he straddled you and held your arms down.

He knew your strength and if he didn't act on whatever sliver of weakness he could get from you, he'd probably be in bits across the entire room. You snarled and fought his hold, he could see the way your chest heaved with panic.

“Wolf, wake up! Please wake up!”

He sighed in relief as you slowly stopped struggling. You sobbed as you began to come into consciousness and Will rushed to turn a lamp on. He helped you sit up and rubbed your back as you continued to cry. It took you awhile for you to fully wake up.

When you noticed the bite on his arm you realized what you had done and cried harder, now feeling guilty that you hurt Will. He realized you saw and tried to shush your sobs.

“I’m not upset about it, I know you didn't mean to hurt me.”

You continued to cry but softened up a bit at his words. You didn't understand Will’s motive and why he seemed to have this never ending compassion for you. It confused you that he even put up with your shit.

Now that you weren't crying so hard he helped you up and guided you back to the bed. You had been efficiently reduced to sniffles and a few stray tears as he climbed into the bed after you. This time he pulled your head against his chest and held your body close to his. You almost started to cry again when you noticed the marks on his neck but he quickly quieted you down.

“I know you can't really talk about what's going on in there,” he gently tapped your forehead. “But I'll always be here to help anyway I can. I promise you that Wolf.”

[orbmanson7]

Mm, there's so many things I want to say about the new asides episode, mainly because it was so obviously based on the secret santa scenario from the patreon livestream a little while back...

The only thing Thomas really changed was Logan being the organizer instead of Janus and then Patton's gift to Remus. Most of the chat said he'd get Remus an octopus plushie or a slime stim toy, but I agree with the change because it works really well and rounds out the message at the end, too.

Something that the chat had also been insistent on was giving Logan a Perfect gift, and since Logan was the character hosting the stream, he kept insisting that while Virgil knows his interests, it probably wouldn't be something perfect (pretty sure we decided on a space-themed Lego set that was definitely not specifically my own idea I had put out there or anything 👀), so it was fantastic having that turned around into a fun little puzzle which not only got us some tasteful angst but also gave Logan an interesting and unique present that he would absolutely enjoy, which is exactly what we all wanted!

Again, all the other presents were more or less the same, with maybe less gore involved in Remus' present to Virgil, and with about the same responses, too, which was great! Patton genuinely enjoying his present even though it was meant to be a joke, Janus actually getting a second real present that benefits him, Roman not immediately on board with his gift because it's not extravagant but then realizing the freedom and flexibility that comes with it is its own reward... It was all wonderful.

It also, as with the last little asides episode, gives us a great idea of where everyone stands (I guess both literally in Thomas' mindspace as well as, you know, narratively).

It feels significant that Logan insists that Janus and Remus be included in their activities, but acknowledges that they are traveling there, implying the dark sides don't just hang around or anything, they come and go, which makes sense.

Virgil still vehemently hates Janus but isn't making barbs about his inclusion like he has in the past, and Roman still seems uncomfortable with his brother being around while Remus just seems delighted to be included at all. Roman still has animosity with Janus, understandably, but he's already kind of begrudgingly making his way towards acceptance with him.

Now for the more interesting details - first, Janus and Remus purposefully trying to egg on Logan's anger. Not the first time, but they seem more excited about it here rather than teasing him about it as they have before, which definitely implies confidence that it's not only prevalent but also definitely plot-relevant for the future, not that that was even a question at this point.

Next, it's interesting that Janus and Remus seem to be able to bounce off each other even with how very different they are, but the light sides are so full of discontent that there's a natural discourse with their gifts until there's a chance to explain... It shows that the light sides do not have natural trust in each other, which should be obvious but here it's on display in front of the dark sides, too. They are so clearly at odds (even if they can eventually come around) when the dark sides seem to have figured their shit out.

Also, it's nice to see Patton's gift did, in a way, emulate Virgil's gift from the first Christmas episode, as it also kind of implies Janus' acceptance in that way.

I was actually quite delighted to see that Logan's gift to Roman wasn't just the joke from the livestream, but that it showed Logan did genuinely put thought into the gift but realized he wasn't going to be able to meet the expectations of someone with a limitless imagination and instead played into that fact rather than try to war against it, using something not only practical but unconventional to someone like Roman, something he wouldn't expect but would be able to appreciate with time... And also something that technically takes the decision-making tension away from Logan and makes it Roman's problem instead, though Roman wouldn't be one to overthink and view it as a problem, so it works out extremely well. Finding balance and all that.

And then, of course, the end card scene being really adorable and sweet - that Thomas was thinking about gift-giving because he'd wanted to get something perfect for Nico, and I will agree that he did a great job, adding a tiny bit of (somewhat fresh) nostalgia and catering to Nico's interests...but then wanting to make what is usually perceived as a Big step in what is still a budding relationship, ooh boy... That's definitely some plot setup right there!

Overall, a fantastic episode, based on a lot of ideas from a wonderful livestream - I genuinely loved this. It makes me very hopeful for the season finale, whenever we do eventually get it!

[n0vabug]

I never meant for this to happen

So basically this story is about the reader and Sam fighting because Sam wants to leave NY, and then she says something that makes the reader really upset and the reader tells Sam to leave, then Sam feels bad and tries to call the reader but the reader doesn't answer and Sam goes back, turns out the reader was attacked by ghostface and then there is more that I don't want to spoil 👍👍

This Contains: Fights scenes, blood, gore, angst, fluff, mentions of depression and mental illnesses, and more, if any of these make you uncomfortable, I recommend that you do NOT read this!! Also if I write in bold in the story, that means ghostface is talking. Words: 1573

Y/N'S POV "PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE SAM, WE JUST MOVED HERE AND BECAME FRIENDS WITH ANIKA AND ETHAN AND QUINN, PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE ME SAM, BY LEAVING NEW YORK, YOURE LEAVING ME, TARA, CHAD, MINDY, AND EVERYONE ELSE." Tears were forming in my eyes as I spoke, I was upset, I knew that I shouldn't have yelled but I did anyways. She was trying to leave again, but this time, I didn't want to leave, I wasn't going to leave and I told her that, she promised no matter what happened, we wouldn't leave again, I can't believe her.

"I HAVE TO YOU DONT GET IT, I DONT WANT TO DEAL WITH THIS ALL OVER AGAIN, I JUST CANT Y/N, YOU COULD COME WITH ME." Sam said, I honestly felt bad for her but why couldn't she just ignore it, I honestly was mad, but sad?? Idk I just wasn't happy about this, I also hate yelling and fighting, which made me feel even worse.

"HOW DO WE EVEN KNOW THIS HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH US, WE HAVE NO IDEA, ITS HALLOWEEN, PEOPLE ARE GONNA DRESS UP AS GHOSTFACE, ESPECIALLY SERIAL KILLERS, PLEASE DONT LEAVE SAM, I CANT LIVE WITHOUT YOU." Warm tears were streaming down my face as I spoke, my voice broke mid sentence and I was trying so hard not to just completely break down.

"Y/N, YOU DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND THAT WE COULD DIE BECAUSE OF THIS, YOURE TOO BUSY BEING DEPRESSED ZONING OUT ALL THE TIME TO EVEN NOT....ice, shit i'm so sorry I swear I didn't mean it." She paused when saying notice, she realized she messed up by saying that. But did she just bring up my fucking mental illnesses, wtf. The warm tears stopped as I looked at her with betrayal and sadness in my eyes, why would she fucking bring that up. I think she quickly noticed what she said too because she looked at me with pure regret and sadness.

"Get out sam." I didn't even hesitate to say that, I truly loved her and didn't want her to leave NY, but I needed her to leave my apartment, I couldn't be around her at the moment. "No, wait, I'm sor-" "GET THE FUCK OUT SAM." I know it was wrong of me to yell, again, but it worked because she walked out as quickly as she could. The second she slammed the door, warms tears were pouring out of my eyes again and I couldn't breath, I love my girlfriend so much, but why would she say that, I know she didn't mean it, but still. I walked out of the living room, and walked into my room, trying to calm myself down.

After 5 minutes, I get a call from an unknown number, I quickly try to calm myself so I sound like I wasn't just crying, so I pick up. "Hello?" I said "Hello Y/n" The voice is a bit familiar, too familiar, and not the good type. "Who is this?" I quickly asked. "Are you a little upset Y/n, poor sam, she was only trying to protect herself from getting killed, she didn't want to deal with this a second time, but you took it the wrong way. Shut her out. Didn't even give her a chance to apologize, now poor sam, she's out on her own, what if she gets butchered all because of you, y/n." Shit. Shit. Shit.

Next thing I know I'm running out of my room, towards the door. I can't let Sam die, she's one of the few people who stayed after finding out about my past and my problems. I had to get to her.

Next thing I know, a cold metal blade was pressed into my thigh, with a guy in a black costume and white mask. I screamed as blood dripped down my thigh and bled through my jeans. I then felt the metal enter my stomach 3 times, then get twisted, I screamed as loud as I could, hoping someone would hear me. "Any last words, Y/n" "Is sam ok?" I struggled to speak but managed to get those words out, I truly needed to know if Sam was okay. I needed her to be okay. The guy in the mask then stabbed me in the shoulder one last time. My eyes felt heavy and fluttered close until all I saw was darkness...

SAM'S POV I left the apartment, tears streaming down my face. I didn't mean it. I love her more than anything, and I did not mean what I said. She is the greatest person I know, even if she did have some problems, but so did I, and we were overcoming our problems together, she didn't leave me even after she found out about Billy, I didn't even think about leaving her after finding out about her mental illnesses, so after we moved to NY, I could tell she was happier and getting better, and I know me leaving, broke her heart, I could see the sadness in her eyes and the tears streaming down her face during the argument. I had to go back.

I started walking back towards her apartment and as I did, I picked up my phone trying to call her, even after arguments that we had, she always answered my calls, she was really quick at answering because she always had her phone on her at all times, but this time, she didn't pick up. So I called again. no answer. I was starting to worry, maybe she was just really mad and still wanted to answer, but I was still worried. I started walking quicker until it turned into me running. I had the key to my girlfriend's apartment since she had a spare, and since I practically lived there. I unlocked the door. "Y/n?" I look around until I see something that I wish was a dream. Her lifeless body. In a pool of red liquid. "Y/n?" Tears formed in my eyes. "Y/N PLEASE WAKE UP!" I called 911, as I talked on the phone, I broke down, tears streaming down my face. This is all my fault.

I tried putting pressure on her wounds, but the bleeding didn't stop and the paramedics were taking to long. I picked her up, her cold lifeless body in my arms, her apartment was on the fifth floor, I had to run down the stairs with her, as I ran down the stairs I yelled for help. "HELP" "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!!" I kept saying, until I reached the ground floor, where I met with the paramedics.

They put her onto a stretcher, bandaged her wounds as much as possible, and then put her into the ambulance. I got in the ambulance with her, and held her cold but soft hand the whole way there. I felt terrible, I never meant for any of this to happen.

We arrived at the hospital and they took her in to get stitches since her wounds were deep, so I had to sit in the waiting room until they called my name. After about 45 minutes I got called to the back, "Samantha Carpenter, Y/n L/n is out of surgery, she isn't awake but if you want, you can go wait in her room until she is." "Thank you, I'll go wait with her, what's her room number." I'm glad she was alive, I still feel terrible, all I felt was guilt, if I didn't argue with her and if I just chose to stay in NY, maybe none of this would have happened. "314." Said the lady at the front desk, I walked to room 314, my footsteps grew quicker within each step I took.

I finally reached her room, I opened the door, and pulled a chair next to her bed. She was still asleep, I hated seeing her like this, I just can't help but think this is all my fault. I sat beside her bed, with my head down and one hand on the bed. After a few minutes, I felt a warm and soft touch on top of my hand, I look up, her beautiful y/e/c (your eye color), eyes were looking directly at me, while she was smiling.

"Omg, Y/n, thank god you're okay, I was so worried, I thought you weren't gonna make it, listen I'm so sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen, this is all my fault, I never wanted to leave NY, and especially leave you, I don't think I will leave NY now because I need to keep you safe, but I shouldn't have argued or even yelled, and I feel especially terrible for bringing up the mental health thing, I didn't mean it I swear, I promise you that I never meant to hurt you, I'm so sorry, ple-" I was ranting until I felt her soft lips press against mine, we kissed until we both ran out of breath. "I forgive you sam, I know you didn't mean it, I love you so much" She pulled me into a kiss again, this time a quicker one. "I love you more, I'm never leaving you again." I said, before I hugged her, I hugged her tighter than I ever have before, but also tried avoiding her injuries while hugging her, I love her to the stars and beyond.

A/N I wrote this whole thing while being half a sleep, and really distracted because my bsf was over while I wrote this and I kept pausing in the middle so we could talk to each other. I can't really tell if I like this or not, I don't 100% love the little fight scene at the beginning but idk, there are things that I could fix with both of them. Idk but let me know if you want anymore, also thank you to whoever reads these because I think these are shitty a lot of time and seeing that people actually read this makes me happy so thank you so much!! <3

UPDATE: I HATE THIS SM, THE FIGHT SCENE IS LOWKEY STUPID BC I DON'T THINK SAM WOULD SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT, BUT HERE IS ANOTHER ONE FROM WATTPAD THAT WAS MADE IN MAY😭😭

[pluralprompts]

[Had an error when trying to post an ask. This is our attempt at a work-around.]

Anonymous asked: Could you please put that your pro-endo in your bio? Considering the main difference between antis and pros is that we define "all plurals" differently, it's not very clear what you meant, and I thought you were anti-endo until I went through every single one of your side blogs mentioned in your pinned post

-an anti-endo who loves your prompts, the newest prompts tags just took me off guard <3

As you have noted, We use the term "plural" in our posts and blog name, which is inherently inclusive/pro-endo and has been since its coining decades ago, so I am not going to honor this unnecessary request. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you're using "plural" in any sort of anti-endo or generally exclusionist way, you are using it incorrectly, since it originated as an inclusive alternative to terms that had more medical associations. I'm honestly offended that you thought I was part of the same group of exclusionists that has openly and repeatedly told me they want me dead, have sent me gore in response to a positivity post, recently invaded inclusive tags to spread hate, and regularly tell me to kill myself – hell, you yourself are admitting that you are against my right to self-determination if not my very existence, alongside my religious and spiritual beliefs (I don't have to tell you how this in particular is an asshole move, do I?), and believe that you somehow know what's going on inside my head better than I or even – at the very least, if you won't listen to me and the thousands of other endogenic systems about our own lives – the doctors actually studying endogenic plurality do, considering our endogenic origins. I will not block you so that you can see this response, but you are not welcome here. Here is a document full of sources about endogenic plurality existing and being recognized as a real and valid scientific phenomenon, not to mention how it is a cultural, spiritual, and religious practice found around the world; I hope you educate yourself and grow as a person. You seem to be trying to be polite, so I can only hope that you are just someone who has been horribly misinformed about pro-endos and endogenic systems.

However, at the same time, please understand that you are asking a blog with an inherently inclusive term in the title and all their posts, and a pinned post that clarifies yes, they do mean they support all systems (and advise those who don't support all systems not to interact), to put a separate warning in their bio that yes, they actually really do mean it when they say they support all systems. The thing is, I wouldn't have a problem with this request if it wasn't under this context. You yourself have admitted that you read my pinned post; how did you take the section that says all systems/plurals are welcome (and exclusionists like you are not) and somehow think it meant we didn't actually mean all? If you're excluding anyone from your definition of "all plurals" by adding little rules like "must be traumagenic", you don't mean all. You mean some. You, as an anti-endo, as an anti- certain plurals, only support some plurals. Someone who is against part of a community does not support all of a community; they only support the part of the community they are not against, which is only some of the community. This is how quantitative words work. Just because you have decided that the part of the community you personally choose to support and give basic respect to is the only "real" or "valid" part of the community doesn't mean the part you don't support stops existing or stops using the label you claim to support fully and without any restrictions or rules (since that is what supporting all of a community means); you don't actually support all plurals, and I'm concerned that you ever thought you did. I could break out a Euler diagram if it would make it clearer that only supporting some does not mean supporting all, and that supporting all does not mean supporting only a particular group. That's like saying you support all animals while being anti mammals and, at best, believing they're all actually confused and misguided birds – or, as I'll elaborate on in a moment, saying you support all queer people while being an aphobe who, at best, thinks aspecs are all just confused and misguided gays. That is not support, and you are certainly not giving your actual respect to all plurals. I say this delicately, but I don't think you should be participating in syscourse if you have trouble with the concept that excluding people from a label means not being inclusive of all people who use that label.

If a comparison will help you understand our response, especially the passive aggressiveness that I can admit is fully leaking through – this ask is essentially the same as how aphobes, during the years of "ace discourse", would occasionally react with surprise that queer blogs supported aspecs, despite aspecs being documented parts of and contributors to the queer community for decades, and queer being an inclusive term. In essence, "I know you're using an inclusive term that both historically and in the modern day includes people I hate, but I really thought you would agree with me that said marginalized group that I hate shouldn't exist, and that this community would be better off if they were all gone!" Meanwhile, aphobes were posting gore in the aspec tags, making fun of the murder of an asexual girl, spreading lies of pedophilia about anyone who showed support for aspecs, and telling aspecs that they were lying about the discrimination they've faced, that their sexualities were just trauma responses or mental illnesses, that they were broken and needed to be "fixed", that they were "stealing terms" and "making the community look bad", that they were making it all up for attention, or just straight-up to kill themselves. None of these examples are all too dissimilar from what I regularly see anti-endos saying and doing – some of them are the exact same save some of the specific words used by these bigots swapped out for more system specific ones. Just today I saw an anti-endo claim that pro-endos are "grooming children" just by being inclusive, like how aphobes claim aspec people are "grooming children".

Yes, I am aware this is harsh to hear. No, I am not going to apologize – your community and hatred is part of the reason we have traumagenic origins (hello, the one writing this is a protector who split specifically due to the trauma you anti-endos inflicted on us!! In other words, your community is directly responsible for my traumagenic existence!! Should I be thanking you for allowing me a chance to experience the better parts of life? Hm, nah.) and are scared to interact with others who share our own damn disorder. You claim the "main difference" between us and you is that we define "all plurals" differently, but from where we're standing, the "main difference" is that pro-endos aren't regularly traumatizing, harassing, suicide baiting, mocking and insulting, spreading misinformation about, using slurs against, wishing harm on, and fakeclaiming the other side, often for merely disagreeing with them. We just came out of a harassment campaign in which anti-endos spread hate in our inclusive tags and spaces for weeks. I'm fucking sick of syscourse and being told I should kill myself for the "crime" of being inclusive of endogenic systems like the ones that helped me accept my plurality in the first place, or the pro-endos that create resources that help me manage my DID and not be a dissociative wreck all the time. To say the main difference between our communities is "how we define 'all plurals'" is a spit in the face of all the shit I and many, many others have faced from anti-endos like you over the years.

If you change your stance and learn not to hate others for their religions, cultures, traits they can't control, and personal beliefs and choices about their own body and mind, we will be happy to welcome you to our community and this blog. But until then, you need to re-evaluate your priorities and morals in life. Are you fine with being part of a community that twists others' words on the regular to make it seem like they're promoting child abuse? Are you chill with the fact that I exist as a protector to defend my system from people like you, the same way many others in my system exist to protect us from other abusers and threats to our safety and health? Are you okay with telling a living, breathing person you admire and enjoy the work of that you disagree with their identity and existence, and that you ally yourself with those who want them dead just for existing, have even personally threatened their life and well-being, as you have just done with this ask?

What took me off-guard was this ask and just how horribly you seem to be unaware of basic concepts like "plural is an inclusive term signaling someone is pro-endo" and "'all systems' does not mean 'only traumagenic systems'." But I guess in a way, it's only fair; you mistook me for one of those who hate my guts – while I can't tell even as I type this if you are a troll or not.

TLDR: No, we will not clarify in our bio that we are pro-endo, because there is no need to do so when we already use terms that signal that everywhere on our blog, and our pinned post even clarifies our stance in the rare case someone doesn't know the signal. You have been horribly misinformed; you cannot support "all plurals" while being against certain plurals, and "plural" is an inclusive term anyway even without that clarification. Again, you have misunderstood our pinned post which tells anti-endos like you to fuck off, which is almost funny considering we put that section in the post due to the horrendous amounts of harassment we and other pro-endos (not even just endogenic systems; a lot of anti-endos group all of us together as "fakers spreading misinformation") have faced from anti-endos like you. Please go think about the kind of people you're spending time with, and ask yourself if you're okay with being part of the same group of people that wants those like me dead for the crime of existing in a way that doesn't adhere to one specific medical model whose authors acknowledge isn't the only way to be more-than-one, anyway.

Have the day you deserve! <3

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 12

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N: Ya'll I'm sorry but I am exhausted so please don't think I'm ignoring the asks OIUEHIF I'M JUST GETTING THROUGH THE WORK DAYS AND GETTING THIS STORY FINISHED- hope you enjoy tho! I'm glad I was able to get it done faster this time!

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of violence, threatening language, descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of injuries and mentions of death! (Please tell me if I missed anything it's near 1:30AM IOEUFGIF- I am a little manic)

“NO!”

The words echoed through the hallway, a blood-curdling scream that bounced off the walls and dragged a stinging down into their ear canals, reverberating through the heroes' heads as the champion dived into the middle, the fingertips barely brushing before any trace of you disappeared completely, leaving behind the carpeted floor that Wild slammed right into.

“GODDESS BE DAMNED!”

Hyrule had closed the gap between him and Sky violently, slashing at a Skulltula that leapt desperately after the blonde with dripping pincers snapping dangerously. Its squeal nothing but a nuisance in his ears as he spun his sword tip down and thrust it violently into its head, eyes popping with a disgusting squelch as he pinned it to the floor.

Sky could see it, the bloodthirsty look crossing his face- teeth grinding, huffing up a violent storm with murder dancing in his eyes, an abyss of forest brown with hints of green.

He had caught a glimpse of it that day, a look of rage, the look of rage, the one that stretched over lifetimes and painted itself over the faces of the calmest of men. The Hero of Skyloft had worn it too, many moons ago, as he struck down Demise and brought peace into his era.

Hyrule had worn that exact expression at the lake, and now, after taking a small glance towards Wild, shaking and panting in a similar state, he knew that the cook had felt the exact same way.

“Champion!” Time’s voice was of urgency and authority, batting back another hissing Skulltula with a grunt. “Rejoin the circle!”

Wild’s hands dug into the fabric of the royal carpet, digging in his nails desperately as images and scenarios raced rapidly through his mind- there were so many possible things that could have been following through this. The Shadow had you in its clutches, just where they didn’t want you, and so easily too, brain jumping between two things and two things only.

A slow, painful torture as the Shadow dragged whatever information he wanted from you, he would be cruel, he would be sadistic and soon enough your anguished screams would echo through the castle or he could just kill you, simple and quick, with nothing but an uninterested shrug to his shoulders when he and Hyrule would ask what became of you.

“Their presence was simply a way to bring pain, dear Champion, and well, I did want to wait longer yetttttt- watching you pathetic heroes whimper over some even more pathetic sack of meat is simply much more entertaining.”

Death, torture, death, torture, death, torture, DEATH-

Hands settled violently onto his shoulders, fingers digging into his tunic and his skin when Twilight’s face came into view. Worried, frustrated, angry and a whole whirlwind of emotions as he hissed his name desperately.

“Now isn’t the time for this, Link! We’re surrounded- pull yourself together!”

And in a sudden rush of everything, Wild released a trapped breath in a heavy gasp.

His eyes checked over to Hyrule, noting his shaking figure as he violently hacked at the monsters, the phantom red flying as he frantically tried to kill all that barred his path. The traveller was in a panic, similar to himself, but unlike the blonde his panic hadn’t completely frozen over, he still had his fighting spirit and by the goddess, he was ready to stain the walls with monster blood if it meant that he could go chasing after you- even while having no clue on how to get to you.

“We have to go after them.” 

Twilight’s eyes reflected understanding yet the frustration was still obvious. “Yes and we will-”

“We have to go after them now.”

Of course, that was the obvious thing to do, but that wasn’t a following thought, it was a present one- fuck these monsters and fuck this pathetic excuse of an ambush, Wild needed to get you now and he was ready to risk it all to do that.

“And how do you suppose we do that!?” Legend snapped, bashing a Skulltula back with his shield. “I am not sure if you’ve noticed, Champion, but we can’t exactly waltz our way through this!”

Wild had already zoned in, his eyes watching the movement of Legend’s arm as he blocked another set of gnashing pincers, turning back to Twilight and ogling his target item hanging right off his arm.

Twilight looked curiously at his shield before the realisation dawned and he hardened. “No-”

Hyrule’s frustration was sharp enough to cut through stone as he snapped. “They could be dead by the time we get through these monsters, so shut up ranch-hand and listen to his fucking plan!!”

Wind’s cackle was like a light within the darkness. “They sure are tainting you, traveller!”

“Is this really the time, sailor!?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Enough!- Go through with your plan or be done with it!” Time’s roar was an imposing one, a whole slew of emotions dripping from his words. “I will not have infighting! Especially not now!”

The group was not a stranger to stupid or dangerous ideas, a memory of Warriors and Wild sailing over a camp upon the back of a fallen tree surfaced at the thought, or the many times one of the boys (Hyrule and Wild) had leapt onto the back of a great beast to beat it down to size, or even that time when someone had tried to outrun a Gohma with sheer determination alone after angering the monster in hopes it would stray from the downed comrade- sometimes stupidity was held over safety within them all, if it meant defeating the enemy, or saving the victim, they would go to great lengths to keep them safe.

Twilight knew that Wild considered this one of those times. There wasn’t any way to get around it, no reason, no refusal- the cook had made up his mind and this was what was going to happen.

So, with a final sigh, he caved.

“What is your plan?”

----------

"Come now, dear Guide, don't leave me in the dark- talk to me."

Dink’s voice was best described as an amalgamation, many spoke at once, an eerie echoing drip to his tone that could never just blend together adding to his disturbing supernatural aura that made him this shadow demon. You could hear them all, every single voice belonging to the Chain was mingling with his own, sometimes one would domineer the other- you could hear Time, you could hear Wind, you could hear Warriors, you could hear Four, the Shadow after all was that, a Shadow, so would it make sense for him to have something of his own when he himself wasn’t his own person?

Even now, the face that stared back at you was very clearly Hyrule’s-...or was it? Bathed in darkness, bearing a callous front the shadows that formed his body swayed with the wind. Like smoke to a dying flame, his body constantly shifted and left you dumbfounded about what you were truly looking at. It may have been Hyrule but in that very same breath, it could have been someone completely different- only adding to its demonic presence that made you back further into the wall hoping to become one with the stone and avoid this situation altogether.

Successfully tearing yourself away from his grasp at the price of Hyrule's dagger, you’d tossed it violently towards him as you twisted your leg from his hand (more like a claw from the way his nails dug into your skin) as he dodged it then scurrying back until your back made contact with stone to make as much distance between you as possible. 

It was funny to him of course, he just laughed, for you were a bug beneath his shadow boot- did you really think tossing a measly little dagger was going to do any real harm to him? Especially with that pathetic excuse of a throw?

"I must say, the townsfolk show better skill in the face of monsters, how embarrassing for the guide of the heroes."

"I-Im not the Guide." Your voice was a whimper, shaking from your very obvious fear. "You've got the wro- hm, wrong person-"

The Shadow tilted its head, smirk teasing. "Is that right?"

"...Please let me go."

People liked to joke about this kind of scenario. In the situation of kidnapping, they'd annoy the person to near insanity and get off scot-free- or in their hyped-up cloud of adrenaline, pure rage would take over and they'd simply beat their attacker back, an uno reverse card one might say to the whole scene. However that was just chit-chat, online humour for Internet points, you knew for a fact the wrong thing said at this moment would probably have your throat slashed with barely any of his strength.

And that terrified you.

You were terrified.

Back in childhood, you were that little five-year-old cowering in the corner of your room under the piles of blankets, hawk eyes trained onto the darkness creeping within your wardrobe. The crack between the open door held an opportunity for the monster within to stare right back at you without your child mind knowing a thing. Would it come for you when you finally collapsed from exhaustion or would it burst forth and gobble you up the second your focus dimmed?

The fear within you was primal then, that fear of the unknown, what lay where you could not see it and it was with you now, bubbling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach as the Shadow chattered and joked about your early demise that he would bring with his own hand.

Not even a week ago this creature was a character to you, a fairytale if you will.

And now you were about to be murdered by it.

Dink walked between the streams of light cascading through the windows of the room, the particles of his shadows faintly catching the shine at each turn he made. It made sense that he clung to the darkness, but you begged within that he would step into the beams once. Just once, so that your mind could be laid to rest- trying to comprehend what you were seeing was hurting your head. 

He looked more like Wild now- or was that just the darkness playing tricks?

The Shadow only let out a belly laugh, his voice bouncing off the walls, “Oh, you humour me so, do you really think your whimpers will change my heart, dear Guide?”

You teared up, “Please, I just want to go home-”

“Ah, home.” He said the word with a fake interest, tilting his head as he feigned consideration. “I have never had such a thing, you know, I merely passed through the times through the shadows of The Hero’s light-”

He grinned, crouching down to look at you. “-it’s why they call me the Shadow, you see, I have no other name nor a life to call my own.”

“....Is that why you need me?”

And once again, the monster burst into laughter throwing his head back and covering his mouth to muffle his hysterical laughter- creepy and bone-chilling, he already sounded inhuman enough but the laughter that caught your ears certainly wasn’t doing anything to ease your worries.

“You think I would value something so pathetic? Bah!” With a wave, he pushed off his knees back to his full height, looking you down with those crimson eyes full of malice and disdain. “I would find it an insult if you didn’t sound so sincere- idiotic, but sincere.”

Curling deeper into yourself, you shook, voice wobbly, “Then why am I here?”

A cold chill ran through the room, the shadows within the corners growing, casting great darkness over the walls and eating at the light that cascaded through the large windows. The eyes of oil paintings glaring down at you through the pitch black that only grew closer and closer, judging you with hell flames dancing in their painted pupils as the gloom tickled the points of your boots and caused you to only shrink deeper into yourself. Dink’s eyes were demonic through the shade, piercing through the surrounding tenebrosity to stare right back into your fear-struck gaze.

“Why do you think?” The bitter tone crawled over your skin like millions of bugs, the phantom feeling of many legs running over your body as he spat. “A being able to ascend through timelines, with the knowledge of all that has, is and will ever be? From another world entirely but yet you still hold influence in this one while the Goddesses stay ignorant to anything that strays from their precious creation. If you’re able to do such a thing, you must hold more power than even the Golden Three themselves-”

With each word, he seemed to melt into the gloom of the room, red eyes still following you as he paced like a predator ready to pounce. “-and with that kind of power I can finally get rid of those heroes, wipe them from history and do as I please without their pathetic little attempts to get in my way.”

The terrified tears streamed freely now, face flushed hot in fear and heart frozen in terror yet still pumping the blood through your veins to rush the adrenaline in every crevice it could find- your stomach plummeted when he turned and suddenly it seemed he had vanished, no red eyes to show his position with his shadows hiding him from your sight.

You shook; you cried.

“I’m not the Guide.” The sob caught in your throat, an anxious sickness brewing in your stomach as you searched for him frantically in the pitch black. “I don’t have any magic power, I can’t even do a coin trick, please you have to believe me-”

You couldn’t even scream- the red eyes were back and rushing towards you until they were a breath away, a hand slamming next to your head with more talons than claws digging into the stone. Roughly your chin was grabbed, the frightened yelp leaving your mouth muffled as your lips were smushed under his coarse gloves. You couldn’t escape.

Dink’s red eyes were manic, pupils straining in barely restrained venom. “Don’t lie to me- the spell brought me to you. You bear the name and its suffocating presence I’ve felt for decades, you dare try to trick me?”

“I-I’m not! I’m not, I promise I’m not-” His grip tightened and you whined at the pain, “Please- please don’t kill me-”

With a monstrous growl, he ripped his hand away, the pain still lingering in an itchy ache as he grabbed your front tunic violently and hauled you to your feet. He towered you now. An enigma of shifting shadows with a taut scowl that seemed too big for his face, inhuman in a way that was too real for you and left you a shivering mess against the wall as his words dribbled from his mouth similar to the dripping of blood from a blade- sleek but chilling.

“I’m going to kill you.” Quiet. His words were quiet because he didn’t need a reason to shout for the calm was way more terrifying than the force. “Tear out your heart, throw it at the heroes’ feet and watch them weep over it.”

His scowl stretched into a smile. “Cry now, little guide because you won’t be able to soon enough.”

The sincerity in his tone was what got you, coupled with the swirling bloodlust in those pools of crimson you could see your life flash right before your eyes. The longest second you’d ever felt, experiencing whole lifetimes in only an instant as you thought back to your own world, your friends, your family, the strangers that had come and gone, everything that had led up to this exact moment. Here. In this castle of ruins, with the real Heroes of Hyrule, with real monsters of Ganon and the actual Dark Link whose voice had muffled from the gallons of blood rushing in your ear.

That night when he first chased you was an example of the fight or flight response- your instincts choosing to fly as you sprinted away from the Shadow as it chased you through the streets.

That option was scrubbed away, with no room for fawning and the option to freeze was laid to rest by the adrenaline, you did the only thing you could do.

Raising your knee you slammed it between his legs without an ounce of hesitation, you didn’t hold back putting all your strength into the attack as it made contact with him, a small grunt of effort leaving your lips as you did. You weren’t about to play fair at the edge of Death’s door.

Silence.

Red eyes glanced down to where your knee met his crotch, the appendage hesitating before it slowly fell back, your booted foot meeting the floor just as his gaze returned to you.

“Did you really expect that to work?” His voice was a mixture of amusement and chagrin. “I’m a shadow- I share your hero’s likeness but not their weaknesses.”

You strained out a shaky breath. “...fuck.”

Then, without a single thought of your own preservation or even a single thought at all, you acted upon impulse and slammed your head right into his nose.

The following moments would have been comedic if your thoughts weren’t screaming at you to bolt. The two of you stumbled away from one another in a daze, Dink dropping back onto his arse with a string of violent curses while he held his face desperately trying to stop the stream of black ooze which resembled blood (he could bleed?) drip from his nose. You weren’t too great either, dazed and dizzy from smashing your forehead against his face, staggering about with a similar chant of swears as you tried to decipher which way was up and which was down.

“You…fucking…wretch…” Dink gasped through the pain, still crumpled over, “Just…you wait-”

Your blurred vision settled, the doubles that you were seeing finally melting back into one and you could see the doorway just a few steps ahead, leading out into the castle halls.

This was your moment.

“Get back here-”

Without a single glance back, you bolted, still a little dizzy but refusing to let that get in the way of your freedom. Shouldering through the door, you came across an unfamiliar hallway enveloped in the webbing of the Skulltula and promptly cringed at the sight of eggs sacs scattered through the natural fibres. You didn’t stop, however, powered by your fear you took to one direction and fled.

“You dare run from me!? I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD, PEST!!”

You felt violently ill from the words, the pure unyielding rage in his voice was clear, one mistake, one slip up- if Dink got his hands on you, the last thing you would be seeing were those red, demonic eyes.

You weren’t about to let that happen.

Boots slammed against the carpet, the bangs muffled by the fabric. You heaved and puffed, your lungs in an icy pain as they burned from the strain but in your mind, the words rung out like a mantra “Don’t stop, don’t stop” and you kept those words true to yourself- you weren’t about to stop, not now, not ever, not until you reached the Chain and the sounds of Dink’s footsteps chasing after you finally faded from your mind.

You skidded around a corner, finding comfort in the light that streamed through the open windows of the winding corridor, you were still quite lost, unable to piece together the exact location unsure if you had stumbled in. Was this a place which you had trekked in digital form, or another restored section of the great building?

Sounds echoed behind you, your form tensing in horror before you brushed away questions and rushed down the hallway. 

It didn't matter where you were in the castle, you didn't care, you'd do laps around the entire thing until you finally found your group. Your stamina be damned, you were getting out of here alive. You'd see the Chain again, you'd see your family again, you'd see your friends again and as long as you kept running that thought would manifest into reality.

Your boot snagged a piece of frayed carpet, eyes growing into dinner plates as you shrieked in horror. No, no this wasn't about to happen, you weren't about to fall victim to that damned Hollywood trope- you weren't. Pushing through the stagger, you didn't allow yourself to plummet straight into the floor, taking a few wobbly steps that you were quickly able to correct and mentally cheered.

I think the fuck not-

You plummeted from the force around your ankle, covering your face and letting your arms take most of the blow as you collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor

You fell.

You fucking fell.

"NO!" The scream was Oscar worthy, as were the tears and horror on your face, head snapping back to see the black murky substance that had enveloped your foot. "No- fucking- please!"

Magic no doubt, dark magic that writhed and twitched in the shadow of the hallway. In an effort to escape you kicked at it hysterically, clawed at it desperately and even tried to drag yourself closer to the light in hopes that maybe, maybe it would burn away the dark. 

Hyperventilating through choking tears, you fought. Sick threatened to decorate the floor, the anxiety and the dread a horrid mix that clashed violently as the seconds continued to tick by. This wasn’t about to happen, you were not about to die this way- like some stupid horror cliche, chased by the psychotic axe murder hellbent on gifting you with a slow, torturing death- This isn’t how you wanted it to end.

The rapid thumping of footsteps had finally reduced to an uncanny nothing as the Shadow had begun to ascend the hallway. Silence. That was all he produced. Not a footstep on the carpet, not a pant from his frantic run- you didn’t hear a peep from Dink as he slowly made his way towards you. 

It reminded you of the documentaries, that quiet walk of his, a slow but gradual stalk as the predator drew closer to it’s prey, feral eyes pinpointed on one thing and one thing only.

You really wished you could have been the cameraman in this moment, for being the prey was just as panic inducing as you had thought it would be.

“You’ve had your fun.” The venom was cold but laid on heavy, searing into your skin and burning at your very core as an icy fear. You tried to scramble faster, “I’ve let you run, for long enough, insect. Scutter along these floors but enough is enough.”

You moved to your back, still dragging yourself despite the obvious being clear- you weren’t getting out of this.

“What the fuck do you want with me!?” You screamed desperately, tears still running as you gasped for breath during your panic attack. “I don’t have anything to fucking give you!”

“Are you really that dense?”

The streams of light were your only source, watching as Dink grew closer and closer. Terrifying really, his body moulded each time he reached the sun- first you saw the shadow of Hyrule before his form returned to the black mass of the shadows only to reform into Wild, once again disappearing and he had shrunk himself into Wind. With each shift his voice would change, but not to match the hero he wore, he couldn’t even give you the kindness of that. Suffering. He just wanted you to suffer during your hysteria and leave you disarray.

He really was eldritch in a way and certainly nothing you had ever wanted to experience.

“Your power, Guide, I want your power-”

“I DON’T HAVE ANY POWER!” Your voice was shrill to you, bouncing off the walls and echoing even further down the halls. “I’M NOT FUCKING SPECIAL- LET ME GO YOU STUPID FUCK!”

He stopped just a few inches off, watching you with eagle eyes as you wailed, tears and some snot running down your face. You knew you were a pathetic sight to see, snivelling and crying in a pile of limbs on the floor- not an ounce of bravery on your face, your eyes only reflected the fear that followed the scent of death and the further unknown. How could this be the heroes’ Guide? Valued and respected amongst the masses, was something that probably fluttered around his head. Nothing but another weak and useless slab of meat, similar to the many he had cut down before.

“I have no more time for this.” Quiet, restrained. You could hear the metal slide along his sheath as he pulled his blade. “You die here, guide.”

He pounced.

You weren’t quite sure what happened in those few moments- your mind was reeling. Too much was going on for you to fully comprehend anything other than your own screaming thoughts: You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t see. Not fully anyway, you couldn’t turn away from the crimson that stared you down with a hatred so true.

You just wanted it to stop. It was all you knew as you threw your hands in front of your face, hoping in some way that it would somehow block the blow. You wanted everything to stop- your brain, time, your upcoming death- all you really wanted in that moment was for everything- to-

STOP!

…

……

………

…………ding…

……….ding…

…….ding…

A static stillness filled the air- along with grunts of effort that you knew belonged to Dink. No humanoid made such a distorted sound, nor did any monsters you knew, so horrific to your ears as his noise of struggle being the only thing you could register. You almost didn’t want to look, caught in the belief that looking would break the spell that had suddenly cast over the shadow that kept him at bay. Nevertheless, when his steady flow of forced threats and other colourful words flowed from his mouth did you finally take the chance to glance at what had befallen him.

Yellow.

Dink was yellow.

No, not yellow in colour but in tint- it covered each inch of his body from his boots to his strands of white hair. Not just yellow however, phantom chains accompanied the glow, pinning him midair and phasing off into some impossible abyss. They jangled, they swayed and they kept your almost-murderer only a few inches back, his frantic red eyes trained on each little movement you made in a moment of pure mania.

You crawled back instantly when your own eyes met them, huffing and puffing in horror.

Stasis…

Dink was in Stasis.

Who the fuck put Dink in Stasis?

A very quick answer was found when your hand flew out as you moved your weight, sight catching the electric glow beneath the leather of your vambrace glove right where you knew the Sheikah eye stared back at you.

Had you Stasised the Shadow?

It was only then did you notice the sound from earlier, growing only more rapid as the seconds ticked by and you felt your heart mimic the beat of each metallic “ding!” as the magic of the Sheikah slowly faded the longer you laid there. 

There was no time. 

The clock was ticking.

Fight or flight returning with a vengeance, you leapt to your feet. Still in panic, still covered in tears and snot, still shaking like a fearful child- you had no more time to question what or how, it was now or never- you turned.

Only for your impulsive thoughts to flare, a tactic flying at impossible speeds right into your overstimulated senses.

Without a second thought, with a raged cry you flew back around with your fist clenched and slammed it right into the demon’s nose.

Then, without a second to register the pain you bolted, not caring to look when the illusion of magic finally shattered as your timer ran out, an enraged cry catching the wind as Dink’s body flew back a few feet and skidded through the hallway.

Silence.

You had just turned into the next hallway when it happened- the scream. The scream of a lifetime, not human, not monster, just pure demonic as it exploded through the way. Like a shockwave, you felt the brush of a burning magic on your neck before you embraced the darkness of another corridor, his shriek changing in a constant cycle: low, high, near, far, human, animal, monster- decades worth of fury built into one horror movie wail.

You knew he would have been nominated for the oscar in another life.

“GEt bAcK hERe-” 

You phased him out in a desperate attempt to stay sane, something so wrong shouldn’t have ever reached your ears. You just kept running. You didn’t stop. Not when Dink’s voice finally faded and not when your lungs and legs began to burn. If any stray arachnids still lingered you wouldn’t have ever known, only focused on the way ahead and any stray obstacle that laid on your path and likely zipping past them, leaving the Skulltula to the dust. You were never one for running, you hated PE, but today you would be awarded gold and the Olympics would write you down as the fastest runner alive- Usain Bolt could never.

Your sanity dwindled on the fine line of insane and sane, dancing a sloppy strut as the world around you began to fade and all you could focus on was running.

Until you were finally running no more.

An arm had caught you, thrust forward into your person and catching your chest as your form curled into it from the force. Winded. Your breath was thrown out of you at the contact, a heave leaving your mouth and leaving you with no time to recover as you were dragged into something solid that breathed like a human and felt like a human.

It didn’t stop your blood curdling scream though, hands frantically beating at the clear appendage wrapped around your body as you tried desperately to escape. You would not die here, cold and alone, in the arms of a monster instead of being surrounded by the warmth of love. You would wail, you would fight until your last dying breath because in this moment that’s what was happening- this was your dying breath and you would not go down without knowing you tried to beat the odds.

“No! No! No! No-” Your head was tucked into something warm, spit flying from your frightened yells as the fight was bled out of you. “No! No! No! No-”

It was all you could say, it was all you could think.

No.

No.

No.

It was all you could gasp.

Even as your body finally registered safety, even as you finally collapsed against the form that most clearly belonged to the Wild, the sight of his ocean blue tunic washing over a blanket of comfort that only zapped away your remaining adrenaline. The mutters of “No.” repeated. Robotic. Desperate. Pleading.

“I have you.” He whispered into your hair, his arms protective. “Focus on me, (Name), you are safe.”

“No. No. No. No….

no….”

~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry no tags rn I can barely think straight (I will edit in tags when I can!)

[sailoryooons]

Carved | Three | jjk (m)

→ Summary: Hundreds of years after the Underworld wins the war, Vaesen - demon kind - rule the Realms. The Vanir - creatures of light and the Heavens - are hunted and enslaved by Vaesen. When the demon prince Jungkook is given one of the Carved - angels who have been stripped of their wings - he has no idea what to do with you. You, however, have plans you are determined to see through. Even if it means death in the end.

→ Pairing: demon!Jungkook x angel!female reader

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ Type: Series

→ Genre: dystopian, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, angst

→ Warnings: Graphic depiction of torture in numerous manners (cutting open, gutting, burning, use of a bug creature that goes down the mouth, breaking bones), graphic depictions of blood and gore, mental manipulation, references to past abuse and torture, explicit language, toxic family dynamics, sexual innuendos and implications, mention of scars and old injuries, unsettling descriptions of people used as inanimate objects, Taehyung being Taehyung (yes this is a warning), and non-consented touching (reader does not verbally consent to people touching her like they are at a petting zoo, it's not sexual)

♦ Main Masterlist: here

♦ Series Masterlist: here

♦ faq |taglist request |

A/N: Another fic where Hali has gone absolutely off the rails from the outline and I will now have to adjust wildly. This chapter totally did not go where I originally planned, but I think that's okay. I have to be honest with you: I have really been struggling to write and I apologize how much that shows in a lot of these scenes. It has nothing to do with the story - it's just really bad writers block where I am having trouble writing scenes and imagery and I am absolutely stumbling in my creative flow. I hope it doesn't feel as stilted to readers as it does to me. This chapter finally has some background information on why Jungkook is Mr. Cool and Calm all the time, and it really highlights readers personality aka she is not very nice. This story will not have an update until September, as all of my non-Yoongi works will be on hiatus for Hali's Happy Agust writing event! I hope you like this chapter but I understand if you don't, I'm going to find some windex to drink as soon as I post this :)

©2022 haliiimede. all rights reserved. Reposting and/or translating is not allowed, even if you credit the story. Works are only crossposted on AO3. Find my AO3 here.

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement or representation of real life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. BTS is not BTS culturally, intellectually, physically or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

/ PREVIOUS / NEXT CHAPTER /

Jungkook remembers the day he discovered what his mother looked like on the inside.

Sariel had beautiful, black hair and eyes like a burning sun. Jungkook remembers the warm gold of her skin, the dusky rose of her lips. Her eyes were round and soft like her face.

Jungkook has never asked Belial why out of all the angels he slaughtered he kept Sariel. He knows that it wasn’t love, and he knows that it wasn’t anything akin to affection. Jungkook fancies that before Sariel was Carved, she was a vicious angel who fought Belial every step of the way.

He looks at you and thinks that perhaps, history is repeating itself.

You say nothing as you’re pulled into the room by the back of the neck, Namjoon’s grip firm. You look at Jungkook once and there is a flare of violence so raw that Jungkook pushes off the wall, blinking in surprise.

Something ancient and angry slithers into the room and Namjoon pauses for a moment, grip on you loosening. It's just the three of you in the room. Jungkook feels himself hesitate, feels the way the presence presses against him as though Belial himself had entered the room. The Hellhound looks at Jungkook, who ignores him, eyes only for you.

You blink and it’s gone as quickly as the feeling arrived. You’re the listless Carved angel that you’re supposed to be.

"What the fuck was that?" Namjoon asks, looking at Jungkook.

"Never mind that, put her on the table before Belial comes down here and sees us fucking about."

But Jungkook knows – he knows something is wrong about you. You’re not what you’re supposed to be and no matter how much pain it will cause you, Jungkook needs to know. Needs to understand. And while he knows what it feels like to have someone he is connected to tortured, he thinks he can withstand it.

Withstand you.

Namjoon straps you to the table, the chains the only sound in the room. You offer your wrists freely, eyes starting up and the ceiling of the torture chamber.  

Jungkook thinks of the way his mom looked on the table, just as defeated and limp, glassy eyes staring into nothing. The Flayer – an unassuming demon by the name of Alastor – had opened her up layer by layer. Jungkook had watched, eye-wide and mouth open as the gold of her skin turned to pink skin. Then muscle and tendons. Then to stick bones.

Her stomach had spilled next. The inside of Sariel was just like everyone else, with organs made to function, though a bit differently from humans. Her blood was red with threads of gold. Jungkook had been hypnotized by the color of the ichor, watching it drip down the drain as the Flayer cracked her ribcage.

Seeing his mother turned inside out had changed Jungkook. Not only in the way one is changed after watching someone they love brutally torn apart and examined but much worse.

You will always be connected to me, Sariel had whispered to Jungkook one night when she found him crying in the wine cellar with nothing but the spiders for comfort. Do you feel that thread? That’s special – it is just for us. No one else can hear us when you call for me on this. It’s our secret.

Later, Jungkook learned that being able to connect to his mother’s mind was not something common. She was not always present – most of the time as a Carved angel, she moved throughout the house like a ghost. But there were moments of clarity when her mind flashed, sharp as a razor and Jungkook would wake up in the middle of the night feeling her rage and fury as Belial fucked her into the mattress. 

Alastor enters the room and Jungkook wonders if the demon is going to make you spill just like his mother. Alastor looks human enough at first. He’s shorter than most, with oily black hair and an unremarkable face. It’s his eyes that are different: blood red irises threaded with black.

For as long as Jungkook can remember, Alastor has been the Flayer for Belial and his family. Jungkook watches Alastor move silent through his torture chamber, found in a deep basement beneath the estate.

The room is cold. It has high ceilings despite being a basement. Metal beams run across, and a sprinkler system is hardwired to help wash the blood and gore from the ground. Some beams have pulleys affixed with chains, made for dangling victims.

White floors made of bone mixed with cement spread beneath Jungkook’s boots. It had taken Belial several attempts to find the right texture for the floor. Marble, though elegant, became too slippery and was causing accidents as the Flayer slid on a filmy piece of lung. Concrete was too porous, the blood seeping in and refusing to come out until Belial hired a witch to spell the stain from the ground.

Bone, though? Bone was a good element to mix in, giving the cement a smooth finish that doesn’t create slippage when painted with bodily fluids but isn’t so texture that the blood and bits of flesh cling to the ground.

Metal cabinets reflect the fluorescent light of the room. Jungkook can make out his distorted reflection from where he leans on the wall, arms crossed over his chest and one ankle draped over the other. You’re strapped to a medical table, steel manacles forged with brimstone locked to your wrists and ankles.

You stare at the ceiling. Namjoon comes to lean on the wall against Jungkook, a question in his eyes. Jungkook gives a barely perceptible shake of his head – they will discuss the feeling from a few minutes ago later.

Belial enters the room as Alastor slides black gloves on. Jungkook doesn’t know what kind of demon the Flayer is, he just knows that for whatever reason, some Vanir blood burns him. Jungkook recalls the sizzle of flesh as his mother dripped dripped dripped on the ground and Alastor’s wrist.

“Thank you for coming, Alastor.” Belial’s voice is reserved, but polite. Jungkook feels the weight of his father’s presence like a weighted blanket, pushing on his shoulders, his body, his mind. “I’d like to ask the seraph some questions.”

“Ah,” Alastor speaks. His voice is soft as a whisper, Jungkook’s skin tingling. “So it is one of the seraphim.” He clicks his teeth, linking his hands behind his back and leaning over you. “Exquisite. Quite beautiful, this Carved. It is yours?”

“It’s the boy’s.”

Alastor turns to look at Jungkook, a smile splitting his face. It’s rare to see such a delighted expression on the Flayer’s face. “How wonderful. Where did you get it?”

Jungkook recounts Taehyung buying you for him. He goes over the details from the purchase, having memorized your data and limited history. If you’re bothered about being spoken to like you aren’t there, you don’t show it. Gone is that ancient flickering of anger, replaced by void staring.

“Does the Carved not answer questions, Lord?” Alastor asks, slithering to a rolling medical cart with towels and an array of tools: scissors, knives, scalpels, things that look like corkscrews, pliers, and other torture devices.

“You know as well as I do that once Carved, these creatures become stupid. It will not remember anything of what it is unless we make it.” Belial looks at Alastor. “You’ll remember the answers we received the last time we did this.”

Alastor grunts. “Sariel’s recollection through trauma was most enlightening. Pity.” He leans over you. Jungkook feels a flicker – something like impatience from you. He cocks his head to the side and reaches toward the feeling, but it’s already gone. “Daughter of Michael though,” Alastor notes. “That is something.”

Jungkook cannot wrap his head around that. Daughter of Michael. Perhaps that is where you get the fire to fight the Carving. Jungkook knows you’re fighting it – can feel it in the way you lock him out of your mind, in the way that rage of yours spills over like hot liquid. He knows something is wrong with you and he doesn’t know what.

So he keeps his mouth shut as Alastor takes a small scalpel, brandishing it in the light. Belial stands next to the Flayer, hands behind his back as they look down at you. Jungkook watches with rapt attention as the blade slices through a thin layer of skin, red blood laced with gold rushing to the surface of your forearm where he makes the slice.

You don’t react. Jungkook reaches for that mental tether between the two of you, but it’s stronger than ever. He is unsure how you do that, how you lock him out. His mother was never able to do that, had never taught Jungkook how.

Blood tricks down your arm as Alastor hums. He has peeled the thinnest layer of skin off your arm. He tosses the layer of flesh behind him. Jungkook’s sensitive ears pick up on the wet slap of it on the floor just as Alastor touches the scalpel to your arm again, this time giving a deeper cut.

You still do not react. Jungkook can feel nothing behind your mental wall, no matter how he presses at it. As the Flayer works on testing your pain tolerance, you remain the empty shell you’re supposed to be.

No one speaks. The air conditioning hums and Jungkook watches as the Flayer digs his blade deeper. Your arm becomes redder. He can smell your blood – sweet and citrusy like orange blossom. Blood drips onto the floor, slowly inching toward the drain in the middle of the room. It is not much, but it makes Jungkook shift slightly.

You smell wonderful. It makes his stomach curl, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he takes a deep breath in and then out before he can lose control over something so little. Namjoon casts a glance at Jungkook, but he ignores the Hellhound in favor of watching Alastor put down the scalpel.

“She’s a glaedia,” the Flayer observes. “I believe her pain tolerance is going to be higher than most, and she is Carved. You recall Sariel’s tolerance?” Belial makes an unimpressed hum. “May I skip to more severe limit tests?”

“You may.”

Carefully, Alastor picks up a small torch affixed to a propane tank. Jungkook feels a flicker on the other side of your mental walls. He reaches out but you are still unavailable to him. He senses you there, though, on the other side of your barrier, prowling as your eyes register the blue flame as the Flayer ignites it.

“Hm,” Belial hums, leaning over you slightly. “It recognizes the danger of being burned. Carry on.”

Without hesitation, Alastor holds the flame to the flesh of your bicep. You pull in the restraints, a sound grunting out between clenched teeth. The blue flame melts at your flesh, the smell of charred skin entering the room. It smells like any other cooking meat, intensified by your orange blossom notes.

You whine behind a mouth pressed shut, pulling your arm from the flame. Jungkook can sense the rage rolling behind your mental barriers, white caps slamming against a cliff. He pushes at your thoughts again, hoping that he can find a weakness.

There are no gaps.

Alastor removes the flame from your arm and you shiver. The skin of your arm is ruined – blackened on the edges as though the skin has rotted away. Red blisters bubble immediately and Jungkook can see the fat of your arm, slick and melted. In just a few seconds, Alastor has given you third-degree burns, verging on fourth.

Belial leans over you again, imperious eyes looking down. “Are you a part of Libram?” You shake your head against the table. “Again, Alastor. New flesh, please.”

The Flayer complies. Again, Jungkook can feel your suffering. He pushes on that mental barrier again, desperate to use your pain as a distraction to sift through your thoughts and memories. Jungkook remembers the way he could look through his mother’s mind, unguarded and open for the taking. Her mind had been cluttered and unorganized after her Carving, but every once in a while, Jungkook had stumbled on something interesting. Something new.

You still don’t give. He pushes harder and you snap back at him, an electric barb zapping at Jungkook. He recoils. Namjoon puts an arm on Jungkook, checking to see if he is okay but Jungkook shakes him off, nose flaring.

A Carved should not be able to fight back. Jungkook knows this. He knows you know this. And yet you keep him out, and you manage to keep your mouth shut as Alastor flicks the flame off again and Belial asks you the question once more. Are you a part of Libram?

It’s a risk you’re taking by shutting Jungkook out. Jungkook is sure of it. By not letting him in, you expose the loopholes in your Carving and reveal that something is wrong with you.

Jungkook considers telling Belial. He looks at his father, who sighs in annoyance when you shake your head to his question again. He weighs the pros and cons of exposing you: It will likely gain favor with his father. Belial is always particularly fond when Jungkook can provide observations. He is also thousands of years old – he must know of some cases of the Carved being broken.

But for Jungkook to tell his father means that Belial will most likely take you from him. It means that you will no longer be his, no matter what Jungkook says. And worst of all, it will expose to Belial that Jungkook can communicate with the seraphim, something he has hidden for years.

For Jungkook to admit his connection to you is to sign off on his death. It doesn’t matter that Belial might find Jungkook a useful tool to hunt down other seraphim or to kill his son altogether for being more angel than he originally believed.

So Jungkook decides against it. Instead, he settles on the wall again, watching Alastor put away the torch.

“Are you a member of Libram?” Belial asks.

“I do not know what Libram is, dominus.”

The Flayer walks to a metal cabinet, pulling open one of the doors. Jungkook can see an array of glasses with things inside of them, but the door is in the way. The Flayer removes a jar and closes the door behind him with a soft click before turning around.

A creature with a thin, black body and many legs writhes in the jar. Jungkook recognizes the burrower demon, with little pinchers for mouths and no eyes to dick into a host’s body and burrow through flesh, eating and churning.  

He sets the jar on the table. The burrower demon skitters on the glass, legs tap tap tapping as it waits to be released. Your eyes settle on the jaw and your nose flares, chest rising and falling as you begin to pant. Your eyes flickered up to Belial.

“Do you know what this is, Carved?” You swallow and nod once. “Hm. How old are you?”

“I don’t know, dominus.”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken, voice ragged and laced with pain. Belial scoffs. “What is the name of this creature, Carved?”

Your eyes flicker to the black insect in the jar. “A yomi worm, dominus.”

“The very demons who were created from Izanami’s body and devour the souls in Yomi. The Flayer is going to put this demon in you, Carved, and I’m going to watch it burrow and make a nest in your stomach unless you can remember who and what you are. Do you know where Uriel lies?”

“I do not know the name Uriel.”

“Do it,” Belial orders.

Alastor unscrews the jar carefully. With a pair of tongs, he removes the yomi worm. It thrashes, seeking heat and flesh, its legs undulating. Instead of pulling at the restraints, Jungkook is surprised to see you turn your head toward the ceiling and open your mouth.

It’s a tiny moment of defiance hidden as obedience. Jungkook can see the way you stick out your pink tongue, staring straight again, brows creased as Alastor drops the creature right between your open lips. Jungkook winces as you immediately choke, the creature crawling down your throat.

You sputter on the table. Jungkook sees the bulge as the demon burros down your throat. Spit and blood leaked out the side of your lips and for the first time that day, you reward Belial and Alastor with a scream. It splits the air, deep and guttural, blood spraying as you do it.

Jungkook reaches his mind out to yours and finds that your barriers are up, but weak. He presses on them again, determined to get through. It’s more like finding a hole in the wall now as he pushes up against you. He can feel you fighting him, but you’re busy fighting the demon eating its way through your chest.

The mental wall collapses. A rush of air sweeps into Jungkook’s lungs in victory, his lips curling upward into a smirk.

Pain slams into him. He goes rigid on the wall, fingers digging into his sides to steady himself. His intake of air is sharp enough that Namjoon bends over, murmuring a question. Jungkook can’t hear him, but he pushes Namjoon away, trying to keep a hold on his composure as his father watches you scream on the table, too distracted to realize Jungkook is having a fit.

It feels like he is pulled into a vortex of color and feeling. Jungkook is trapped, trying to find his way out of your head. He sees snatches of red and gold, white wings falling from the sky, blood spraying the field, the hall of champions of a Titan Match. He hears screams and crying, hears the ring swords, hears chanting that he vaguely thinks is the seraphim legion.

Heat licks at him. Jungkook does not remember feeling anything as hot as this. White lights explode across his vision as he grits his teeth and tries to gain control.

“You wanted in,” a voice growls, divine rage behind every word. “So I let you in, Lord Jungkook. Welcome.”

Jungkook is no longer in the present. He’s standing on a killing field turned black. Ash drifts around him and settles on his face. He looks up – the sky is red, as though the sun has cracked open and spilled crimson yolk across the world.

Something else falls from the sky. He reaches out a hand and catches a white feather, singed on the edges. He realizes that the feathers belong to angel wings. He watches as it disintegrates in his hand, dust in the wind.

“What is this place?” Jungkook asks into the dead air.

“It is the after,” your voice answers. It is still a growl, hot and angry. “This is not where I want you.”

The scenery changes. Jungkook stands in the Flayer’s torture chamber. Except it is no longer you on the table – it is his mother. Something twists in his chest as Alastor cracks his mother’s chest cavity open. He feels what she feels, he sees what she sees.

His mother’s mind is broken and frantic. She reaches out to him and latches on, all claws and teeth as she sinks into his thoughts, his soul, his being and holds on for dear life. Jungkook cannot shake her off – bends over at the waist and gasps in pain. He feigns being sick, even though he knows Belial will beat him for it later.

Jungkook skitters into the hall, gasping for air and feverish. His mother’s screams paint the walls of his mind and her pain is in every corner.

“You felt her die.” Jungkook looks up as you stand above him, eyes shadowed. You’re in his mind, in his thoughts. He feels you pressing down on him. “You watched him cut her open and throw her guts on the ground, digging around for secrets.”

“How are you here?” Jungkook thinks – he demands. “What are you?”

“I am Carved.”

He glances up at you. Feels sweat on his face. “You’ve invaded my mind.”

“No,” you disagree. “You have invaded mine. Here is your first lesson on entering the mind of a seraph: the connection goes both ways. Once in, you cannot hide.” Sariel screams in the other room and Jungkook shivers. It feels as though his mother is alive again, as though her blood is slicking his boots and staining the room with her scent. “Why did he torture Sariel?”

He looks up. “How do you know my mother’s name?”

“I was legion. She was legion.”

“You told Belial you were not legion.”

“You told Belial you didn’t know I was.”

He frowns. You state at him, beautiful. Enchanting. Fierce. “You said ‘was’, not ‘is’.”

“Was,” you agree. “If there were enough seraphim to make a legion, you would know. Sariel was second in command to Uriel in the 7th.” Your eyes slide to him as Jungkook pants through searing pain that bleeds deep into him. He feels it in his stomach, his pelvis, his back – it blooms and bleeds and spreads. “Belial was looking for lilins.”

“Why would my mother know where lilin’s are?”

“Lilith kidnapped and raped Uriel for years and whelped the lilins that won you the war.” You tilt your head, eyes studying him. “Your mother led the 7th after Uriel’s capture. You do not know this?”

“No,” he grits out. “Because my mother was Carved she didn’t remember who or what she was for the most part.” A high-pitched scream interrupts him. It does belong to his mother. Jungkook turns and looks at the door that leads to the torture chamber. “Is that you screaming?”

“It is. Realistic, isn’t it?”

“How can you be here and there at once?”

“How can you?”

He grunts in annoyance. “Tell Belial what you are and he’ll stop. He'll probably kill you, but at least your suffering will be over.”

“There is nothing to tell. If you think this is suffering, you know nothing of being Carved.”

“You were Carved wrong.”

“And you are not endarkened.” Jungkook pauses. Your lip curls with satisfaction, knowing you hit a nerve. “I know an enlightened when I see one. When I first saw you, I didn’t see it. You hide it well. You parade around pretending that your demon blood is dominant so he’ll keep you, but it’s not.”

“So you’re blackmailing me?”

“I’m offering you silence for silence.”

“You are my slave.”

You move so fast that Jungkook doesn’t see what happens. All he knows is that he is on the floor, your nails digging into his throat. He can’t feel his limbs to fight you, all he can feel is something burning so hot that he screams and screams and screams.

Jungkook tastes blood. His ears begin to ring. His vision pulses red on the edges and he thinks he’s going to die. He sees his mother’s face. Empty and blank. He sees her body, ribs free of muscle and flesh, painted red and empty as Alastor walks away from her.

“You are beneath me in ways you cannot fathom,” you growl to him. Again, he feels that ancient anger roll through you.

It occurs to Jungkook that you are too calm for the situation. You have too much control. He thinks about the way you let Namjoon lead you to the room and strap you to the table. The way that you cut down the malakim with just summoning concentrated air. How now, you hold him prisoner in his own mind while being tortured?

The heat is so prominent and stifling that Jungkook struggles to string together thoughts. Words and emotions become a tangled mess. The blue flame flickers in your endless eyes and he feels like every second he spends putting the pieces together is another moment he is about to turn to ash.

“You let Belial torture you to appear innocent and you let me in your mind when the pain was enough to trap me,” Jungkook says. The words are like lava in his mouth. It isn’t a question. He can feel the satisfaction hum through you, though his vision is still pulsing. He thinks he might pass out. “What do you want from me?”

 “Do we have a deal or not? My silence for yours, seraph.”

“I am not a seraph.”

“You are seraph dominant. Do we have a deal? You will not make it out of this room without me.”

Jungkook thinks about the night on his balcony. The mist on his skin, the ebbing darkness, and the curiosity of stepping off into the shadows and letting the fall swallow him hole. He feels that same pull now, but instead of stepping off a building, Jungkook is drawn to you. Is interested in you.

So much of his life has been boring. So much of his life has been spent alone. Now you exist, a strange angel who is Carved but Not Carved, and who lures even the greatest of demons into traps to do your bidding.

He wonders what would happen if you kill him now. Surely you would make it past Alastor and Namjoon. But would you make it past Belial? The seraphim are not the only creatures who can rival the likes of the Triumvirate, but there aren’t so many of those left.

But maybe – just maybe you can help him figure out this existence of his. So against his judgment, Jungkook relaxes under your fiery grip. Comes to his conclusion.

You hum, as though you have made a decision. Heat flares, and just as Jungkook thinks he will burn to nothing, he concedes. “Deal.”

The connection severs. The searing heat threatening to melt his existence vanishes. The world swims into view and Jungkook blinks a few times to gather his bearings. He is still leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Namjoon gives Jungkook a side eye that Jungkook continues to ignore as he takes a deep breath.

He feels his hands shaking as he stares at you. You’re bloodier than he remembers you being. The yomi worm is back in its jar, slick with red fluid. Belial turns on his heel, walking over to Jungkook, who straightens.

“This Carved is useless,” Belial tells Jungkook gruffly. “Its mind is too broken. Only you could find a Carved seraph that is truly of no use to me. Regardless, bring it to the party tonight. I’m sure the others would love to see your new toy.”

Without another word, Belial leaves the room. Jungkook doesn’t know what they asked you. Doesn’t know how much time is passed. You’re barely breathing on the table, chest rising and falling rapidly. Jungkook strides forward as Alastor begins to peel his gloves off, covered in slick blood. The drain drips as the flow of fluid slowly slides down.

Your eyes are fluttering up at the ceiling. You’re covered in red stains. Some are dry and flaking, others are wet and sticky. There is a massive hole in your chest and Jungkook can see that the bleeding has already stopped. Your tissue is pulling back together as you heal yourself.

Suddenly it’s not you that Jungkook is looking at. It’s his mother. He sees the tears slide down her face as the light fades. He sees that she is not healing. Her insides are empty, scooped out like the pit of a cherry. Not once did he stop them. Not once did he ask them to spare her.

Jungkook had stood and watched the Flayer pick at his mother’s bones and insides for secrets.

Belial was looking for lilins.

Your words come back to him. How could Belial think Sariel, broken and fragile could know anything? How had Jungkook not known that his mother led a legion of heaven in the war? There are so many questions spinning in his mind as he looks down at you.

Carved, but Not Carved. Bound to him, but disobedient.

You’re the answer to questions he has always had and those he has never thought to ask.

With a grimace, Jungkook reaches for that mental tether. There is no wall, but you are wary of him. Your mind isn’t all heat and fire and pain this time – it is watery and dark, like the mist off of Jungkook’s balcony that night of his birthday.

Are you okay? He asks the question to you before he knows what he is doing – the words just appear in his mind.

Life flickers in your eyes. Your pupils shrink as you focus on him, razor-sharp and present.

 Pain is inevitable, your mind answers. Your skin is stitching together, drawing Jungkook’s gaze from your eyes to where he watching the crawling fibers of flesh writhe and twist until you are whole.

Pain is constant. You sit up, swaying a bit. Neither Namjoon nor Jungkook reaches out to help as you struggle to sit up. You grimace, but otherwise remain sitting and painting. Your eyes find his again when your mind whispers, Pain is power.

-

Jungkook doesn’t speak to you on the ride home. You watch the neon city blur by you. As the car stops in traffic, you look up at the purple and pink glow of twisted shapes and holograms. Your face is painted blue through the tinted window as a holographic nymph with lush curves bends over, puckering her lips and blowing a kiss into the rain-slicked streets outside.

The car moves again and the advertisement is gone.

Black and clear umbrellas thrumming with lights pop open and move along the street like beetles. The sidewalk is crushed with Vaesen coming and going. It’s the weekend, you realize, and there are long lines to get into glittery clubs. Vanir stand in the rain loyally next to Vaesen masters.

People and the crush of bodies fade as you’re driven to the nicer part of town. You’re wrapped in a towel to not get blood in the car. You’re thankful that you did not have to walk barefoot out of the manor district to a doctor, but you’re on edge.

Your insides churn as though you could feel the yomi worm still squirming inside of you. It had been unpleasant, feeling a living thing that was not a part of you chew its way through your insides. It had been more horrific to feel it than the pain had been.

Pain is inevitable, and little truly hurt you anymore.

Jungkook had been a good distraction. You wondered each time he pressed up against your mind if he would give up the next time. You want to see how hard he would push. What he knew. Your suspicions that he knew absolutely nothing about his seraph heritage were right.  

The moment you weakened your barrier and let him in, you saw. You had no idea that Sariel had been taken by Belial all of those years. You wanted to pick through Jungkook’s memories. To see what he knew about her, to see how she had been. The last time you had seen Sariel was before the war had been decided when she was leading the 7th in Uriel’s stead.

 Looking at Jungkook now, you see it. He has her round eyes and soft nose, her tiny beauty marks, and soft lips. But the cheekbones and structure of his face are Belial, and so is the shadow that looms over him. Though Jungkook is angel dominant, you can feel that dark thread of power he gets from his father.

Ari is nowhere to be found when you entire the apartment. Jungkook dismisses Namjoon entirely. The hellhound raises his brow, eyes flickering between you and Jungkook.

“What?” Jungkook snaps, beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Problem, Namjoon?”

“What the fuck happened?” Namjoon’s eyes are narrowed at you. “You kept fidgeting at the beginning of the questioning and then you just… it was like no one was home for the next three hours.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. You stand mutely, looking at the floor and wondering how long you’ll have to wait for Namjoon to leave. You want a shower. You want to think. You want to plan. But you can do none of those things with the keen eyes of the dog looking at you.

“Nothing happened,” Jungkook sighs, looking up at Namjoon. His shirt is open down the middle now, revealing tan, tone skin. Your eyes flicker along the muscle, smooth and flat. He either doesn’t notice you staring at him or doesn’t care. “As Belial said, I have a useless Carved.”

Namjoon grunts. “Yeah.” He jams his finger on the elevator button and steps into it when the doors open. “Useless.”

The doors shut and the elevator whirs as it takes Namjoon down to the ground floor. Without him in the room, you drop your act and look at Jungkook directly in the face. He’s already staring at you, eyes unreadable, brow pinched.

“So can I shower?”

“So you’re not going to even pretend to be submissive now?”

“I asked permission for a shower.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m just a dumb Carved, dominus. I don’t know anything.”

Jungkook growls and you grin. He’s on edge. You can feel the coiled muscles, feel the way his stress is mounting. The cool exterior he kept on the car ride to the estate had frayed after your encounter in your minds, and it was fraying more now that you weren’t pretending.

“You know your demon side is pretty close to frenzying, right?” Surprise flickers briefly in his eyes. Otherwise, he remains silent. “It’s why you were so easy to lure in. You weren’t even thinking about the consequences of invading my mind. You went head first, never considering it could have been a trap.”

“You’ve made your point. You’re smart, I’m not.”

You laugh. It’s sharp and loud, surprising you both as you snap your mouth shut. “Please,” you scoff. “Now is not the time to be humble. You’re not unintelligent. You’ve lived – how long, now? Pretending to be endarkened?”

“A long time.”

You smirk. “Your stupidity is coming from your demonic need to lose control. I suggest finding an outlet and doing just that, dominus.”

Turning on your heel, you head to your assigned room where there is an en suite bathroom. Jungkook growls and appears in front of you, quick and angry. You stop, leveling a stare at him. He glares at you and his fists are clenched. He’s probably never been defied before you. That alone sends a little thrill through you.

“We need to establish some ground rules,” he grits out. “First, you are Vanir. You will not disrespect me in my own house. I should just be fucking rid of you-“

“Then do it.” Jungkook stops short. You shrug. “You have questions. You think I have answers. I could say the same for you. But if it will make you feel better, I will treat you as an equal if you return the favor.”

Jungkook hesitates. You wait. You have all of the time in the world. You’re extending him a courtesy – at least, that’s what you tell yourself. You try to convince yourself that you let him in to use him. Because Jungkook is an asset. You know that to be true, but you also know it’s not the only reason you’re in front of him, dropping the submissive façade.

It’s a risk you calculated after being led down to be torture. Every victory must come at a loss, and though you already miss the shadow that the submissive, Carved slave provided you, something like an instinct is telling you that you need Jungkook.

So you let him in. Just a little. Just enough to know that he can’t push you around the way he thought he can. If he can’t consider you an equal, you need him to consider you a threat. You need him afraid enough of exposing his secret to keep yours.

“That won’t work,” he sighs. “You cannot be my equal.”

“Behind closed doors,” you amend. “In front of your friends and family, I will be the docile Carved you need. But here, when it’s just us, free me from the burned of this bond. Respect earned is respect given.”

“This shouldn’t even be possible.”

“Like you said. I was Carved wrong.”

His brows pinch. “How?”

“Do we have an agreement or not? My silence in exchange for yours. My respect in exchange for yours with limitations.”

“What is it you want? Why let me know that you’re not obedient at all?”

“Freedom,” you murmur. “I want freedom. And because you’re seraphim. It has to mean something.”

There’s a stretch of silence. You’re itchy, the dried blood on your skin flaking off and beginning to peel. You also feel uncomfortable, the nerve endings still healing from having been split open. The phantom feeling of the yomi worm.

“One fuck up from you and I’ll kill you,” Jungkook decides. There’s a storm in his gaze that tells you he means it. He’ll try to kill you, whether he thinks he can win or not. “But you will do what I say in public. And in private, you will answer my questions. I want to know about Sariel.”

You bow your head once. “Of course, dominus.”

Jungkook lets you pass. You strip down in the bathroom, throwing your clothes in the sink. They reek of blood and fear. Because you had been afraid, at one point. Afraid that you would lose your grip on yourself when trying to force Jungkook into submission. Afraid you would mess up the performance while you screamed into the ceiling of the torture room.

What Alastor had done hurt. You ached and as you turned the shower on, the rushing water could not drown out remembering the sound of your snapping bones. As the water burned your skin and turned the tile scarlet, you could not stop thinking about choking the yomi worm down.

It has not been easy. You had not had to split your focus like that in a long time, to be in the present and doing one thing while being in your mind and doing another. It was a skill that all seraphs learned. To retreat into the mind and be able to communicate. It was necessary during the war.

You can feel Jungkook moving around the house. Now that you know the shape of his mind, he is more familiar to you. His mind feels like perfumed smoke, the smell of cedarwood with a hint of fire and brimstone.

Overpowering him had been so easy. Even now as you squeeze the red from your hair, you can sense the edge in him. Though his mother’s blood is dominant, there is a thread of untethered rage in him. You felt it when you connected, felt it when you had pinned him down. You wonder how long he has been keeping the beast at bay, how long he has tried to control himself.

Out of the shower and in front of the fogged mirror, you wipe your hand back and forth to see yourself. Your nakedness doesn’t offend you anymore. Your body doesn’t change much with time, except how fed you appear.

Now, you look at the pink scar on your chest. While you had been struggling to paint pictures and wrestle Jungkook to submission, the yomi worm had done work on you. As an angel, you could recover from most injuries. The only exceptions were weapons made of demon stone or adamas, hellfire or heavenly fire, and occasionally being blown apart by other creatures of the world.

You’ve avoided death thus far. The Flayer hadn’t even been close.

In fresh clothes, you lurk in the kitchen in search of water. Jungkook enters, also freshly washed and looking at you warily. You slide him a glass of water tentatively. He doesn’t thank you.

Damp hair hands into his eyes. His short sleeves allow you to see the winding dragon tattoos that he has on both of his arms, the rest of the artwork vanishing in his sleeve. Jungkook is beautiful. That much is obvious. But you had the way you want to seek out and brush your thoughts against his.

Feeling someone else in the world is an old memory. You remember the last time you felt the presence of the seraphim – it had been before you were Carved. And that seraph was long turned to dust, her name forgotten. But not by you.

“You remember things from before you were Carved.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. It’s not a question. He sips his water and rounds the counter, putting it between you like a buffer. “How?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t remember everything. I am still Carved. If you order me to do something, I feel that command.”

“Set the glass of water down.”

Your hand reacts immediately. You lean to put it on the counter, but you stop the motion. You make the decision. The interaction is overridden, and you bring the glass back to do. “I can decide to not obey, but it will be my first instinct.”

“That’s… confusing. What about when you’re choked?”

“Chokes are about flow of energy and power. Does not seem to be linked.”

“You don’t know why you’re like this?”

“No,” you lie. You are the best liar. Jungkook doesn’t seem to sense it, so you continue, “I don’t know everything from before and it is often confusing. When I was Carved, it was like waking up from a dream. I don’t know what was real and what was not, but I’ve gotten better at being able to tell.”

“You met Sariel?”

“I think so.”

“You think so or you know so?”

You bristle at his tone. “I think so. I remember her face. You have the same eyes, though yours are black like Belials.”

“You’ve never met Belial before?”

“No.” He hums. You finish your water, setting the empty glass on the table. “What was growing up with Sariel like?”

“What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes. “I mean what I said. What was it like having a Carved for a mother.”

Jungkook shrugs. “She wasn’t very present. I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He looks at his phone. “Get dressed,” he sighs. “We have a party to go to tonight. It’s my brother’s birthday.”

“Why do I have to go?”

Jungkook gives you a grin like the cat who ate the canary. “I get to show you off, Reaper.”

-

“This dress is ridiculous,” you deadpan, looking at the gauzy, see-through material. You rub the fabric between your fingers. It’s softer than anything you’ve felt in a long time. You think perhaps that it’s fae spider silk, but you’re not sure. “This is what you want me to wear?”

“It was sent by Taehyung as a gift. And as I haven’t purchased a dress for you, it’s the only option I have.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“I thought we agreed with compliance?”

You give him round eyes. “No one else is around.”

Jungkook does not look amused. Ari has helped you apply a sheen of gold to your skin. When you move, it catches the light, making it look like you are glowing and divine. Ari has also made sure that none of your hair covers the twisted scars on your back, proving that you are Carved.

Dressed head-to-toe in black, Jungkook looks good enough that your stomach had flipped when he walked into the room. Tight, black slacks with polished shoes, a black button-up that is just as sheer as your dress tucked into his pants, showing off his tiny waist, paired with a black suit jacket threaded with glittering gold.

Kohl lines his eyes lightly enough that their roundness is intensified. You see a dusting of glitter on his cheeks, making him look so beautiful that you have refused to look at him since he walked into the room. Letting him in on your scheming was bad enough. Feeling that flippant attraction because he is physically appealing is worse.

“Why is Taehyung sending me gifts?”

He snorts. “I promise it’s not for you.”

“Oh? Are you meant to wear it?”

“Funny.” Jungkook’s tone suggests that he does not, in fact, find your joke funny. “Wear it or go naked. Vanir go naked all the time.”

“I’ll be naked regardless,” you grunt. It’s not the nakedness that bothers you. You’ve been put on display and posed for nudity and shoved to your hands and knees and fucked in public. Fucked any time people wanted. Groped, fondled, tongued. “It’s just a shitty dress.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches upward but he says nothing, drifting out of the room.

You slide the material over your body. It has no back, but is snug on your frame. It has long sleeves, stoned with tiny gold pieces that make you look like the night sky when you move. The material does nothing to hide your body, breasts visible and held firm by the fabric. You’re glad that at least the skirt is well-blended and doesn’t show the rest of you, though it is short and you suspect that one wrong move will show your ass.

There are two, thin straps that dandle down the back like ornaments. They’re silver, lariat-style chains that hang backward down your spine, flanking either shoulder blade. The two dangling ends are tipped with a little wing. You look in the mirror and grit your teeth, seeing the delicate jeweled wings glint in the night.

Funny.

You slide on heels before you leave the room. The stiletto is razor thin and uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to find your stride as you enter the living room where Jungkook is thanking someone at the elevator door, box in hand. He turns as you enter the room, brows shooting up to his hairline as you stand awkwardly in the living area.

Your eyes drop to the flat, square box in his hand.

“What’s that?”

Jungkook wordlessly walks over to you, shoes clicking on the title. You hold your breath as his scent wraps itself around you. You focus on his fingers as he opens the lid, trying not to think about the way his shadowy mind lingers just on the outside of yours. The thread between you is distant, but there. At a safe distance, where it hums softly, linking you.

A black, velvet collar is nestled in the box. A large, light blue diamond winks in the light of the kitchen. The exquisite squared cut is larger than a grape and looks heavy. “You have to wear it.”

“I know.” You glance up at him. “It is impersonalized, how will people know its for you?”

“Everyone will know what it is,” he affirms. “Turn around.”

You objey on instint, showing him your back. It’s silence between the two of you as Jungkook reaches his arms around you, fingers brushing your skin. His warm where he touches you, a tingle going through your skin. Your eyes flutter shut as he clasps the collar around your throat, snug and perfect.

Heat rolls off of Jungkook. He smells heady and wonderful, making your head swim. His hands leave the choker and his fingers brush near your shoulder blades, stopping before he gets to the scars.

“Nice touch with the wings,” Jungkook grunts. “Taehyung has an interesting sense of humor.”

“I am Vanir. I will always be the butt of the joke.” When Jungkook says nothing, you step away and face him, gesturing vaguely to your throat. “Why will everyone recognize this?”

“It was my mother.”

“That’s… weird.”

Jungkook shrugs. “I haven’t commissioned you one yet. Deal with it or I can find you a spare shoelace to wear instead.”

Namjoon is standing next to the car with the door open when you exit the building. He glares at you but you cast your eyes down to the floor, pulling on the persona that you promise Jungkook you would wear for the evening.

The interior of the car is cool and tense as Namjoon slides in next to Jungkook. You blink lazily, gazing out the window as the driver pulls into the road and rolls up the privacy window after Namjoon rattles off the address.

“Why is it dressed so nicely?”

You fight the urge to give him a sour expression and to tell him that jealousy is a disease. Instead, you continue to stare dully out the window, the world a kaleidoscope of colors. It seems like your torture was days ago and not hours ago.

Losing yourself in your thoughts is easy. You don’t hear Namjoon and Jungkook, although you know that they’re talking. You lose a sense of yourself as you think back to Belial’s venomous voice asking you his questions. Who are you? Are you connected to Libram? What is your association with the legion? What do you remember? Do you know where the last of the lilins are?

A waste of questions. You were not involved with Libram, which was sure to be disappointing. You had no desire to meddle in the little rebellion they were putting on.

There is no association with the legion because there is no legion – your old association is nothing. It’s bone and dust and faded from the world.

Your memories are scattered and a cacophony of noises and images that are often hard to make out, no matter how many times Belial tried to trigger some sort of trauma response from you to remember like he kept asking you.

And as for the lilins? The most worthless question of them all. The lilins were gone. Belial’s obsession with hunting them down and Lilith’s vow to never breed with the seraphim ever again had secured the creature’s fate. You hadn’t heard of someone even mentioning lilins in years.

Though Belial had not gotten what he wanted out of you, he had stirred up memories you didn’t want to remember.

Angels falling from the sky. A blue whip flaying you open. Blood spattered promises. Tears as you let go of Haniel’s hand. The knife of your first carving. Cat-like eyes leering at you in the dark. Driving the knife through your first seraph. Blue fire, hot and blinding.

You flinch when Jungkook puts his hand on you. Namjoon is standing outside of the car. You realize you’re at your destination, and Jungkook is looking at you with pursed lips and a cock to his head. “You all right?” he murmurs.

“Does it matter?”

He shrugs. “No, but I was being polite.”

The demon slides from the limo, leaving you to scramble after him. As expected, the hem of your dress slides up, the curve of your ass sneaking out. Flashing cameras are there to capture the image. You keep your eyes cast down, gritting your teeth.

Unexpectedly, Jungkook reaches down and yanks the hemline of the dress back over your ass. You don’t dare lift your eyes, but you freeze under the movement.

“Try not to flash your ass unless I ask you to.”

Your nose flares. “Yes, dominus.”

Again, you fall silent as you enter the luxurious hotel and take the elevator to the party. You’re still dizzy from the flashes of cameras, but it fades as the elevator doors open and unveils the world beyond.

So we’ll live, and pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies….

The quote comes from a memory or a dream. You’re not entirely sure of the origin or the meaning. But the words haunt your mind as you step into the room, taking one sweeping glance at the gilded crowd.

Creatures of all manners cluster together in the gold-ceiling ballroom. High ceilings painted gold with images of the war look down on you. There are ornate cages of Vanir suspended in the room, all winged and painted beautifully. They pose for the crowd who look up at them, pointing at the variety: erelim, valkyrie, pixies, drakon, and other various fae.

Round tables with living centerpieces are scattered in the room. Androgynous figures painted entirely in gold stand straight, hands held up in front of them with a display of asphodel and ghost orchids. A band of vilas plays string instruments in the corner of the room.

Collared Vanir with serving trays bow and offer flutes of champagne to Jungkook and Namjoon. Both Vaesen takes a drink, ignoring you as they step into the room. You’re unsure if it’s you or Jungkook, but as you walk down the steps, careful to keep your eyes down and close behind Jungkook, you sense the turn in the room.

Voices grow quieter. The weight of eyes and shifting magic stirs. Jungkook walks into the party, shoes clicking on the marble floor as though he doesn’t notice. You know he does, but he has that calm exterior on again. The mask that he wears.

Jungkook greets people he knows politely. Namjoon has long since parted, spotting other people he knows. Other Vaesen bow deeply and their Vanir deeper still. The first few Vaesen he greets don’t ask about you, but you feel the weight of their gazes. Jungkook ignores you, not sparing you a second glance or a command as he moves around the room.

You can hear whispers as he walks by. People who mutter insults under their breaths. People sigh in delight as he walks by them. People who are inquisitive about you. Jungkook has to hear them, but he ignores them anyway, shaking hands with a member of some board that works under his family.

“My Lord, you have got quite the collared. Is she Carved?” The oni asks.

“She is. She was a gift from Kim Taehyung.”

The next hour goes like that. Vaesen fawn over you. They ask Jungkook to touch you. He lets them. Most of the touches are shy and innocent. A brush across your cheek. Hovered hands over your arms. A prod to the shoulder. It’s rude to fondle a master’s Vaesen without permission, and no one asks Jungkook for more than that.

Still, it irks you. Every brush of contact leaves a shadow of a print. Every caress chips away at your patience.

Guiding you toward a large table at the head of the room, Jungkook’s persona changes. His shoulders are less tense and you feel a bubble of happiness slide from him at the family you’re approaching.

A woman so beautiful it makes you cease moving is sitting at the table. She isn’t looking at you, but hissing at the child next to her to behave. The woman’s hair is long and black, looking soft like silk. Her round face and almond eyes give her an innocent look, a natural blush to her lips and cheeks. She is slight, but you can feel the malevolence from her, especially as she smacks the hand of the child and says something harshly to the little girl, who cries.

The woman looks up at Jungkook’s arrival, her eyes flickering different shades of blue, silver, and grey. You realize she’s a huli jing, her fox spirit crackling inside of her gaze.

Sweeping around the table and toward the pair, Jungkook greets the little girl warmly. He gives a stiff nod to the woman briefly before he bends down to talk to the little girl, wiping the tears from her eyes. You realize that the little girl looks startling like him – same round eyes and pink pout.

The man who appears on the other side of her must be Jungkook’s brother. They look incredibly similar, though Jungkook’s brother is taller and broader. His hair is also snow white. He has the same round eyes as Jungkook, which are wholly black and fathomless like Belial.

“Don’t spoil her,” he chides. “You always spoil her.”

“She’s my only niece, Jihoon. Let me do what I wish.”

Jihoon’s lip twitches as Jungkook kisses his niece – Kita – on the forehead and stands.

You stand and watch as he interacts with his family. He completely ignores you. None of them turn to look at you either, at first. It’s the little girl, who is sneaking chocolate-covered cherries when her mother isn’t looking that asks about you.

“Is that an angel?” her voice is soft, but carries.

Jihoon looks in your direction for the first time since starting the conversation. His expression is unreadable. “It is,” he says slowly. “Keen eye, Kita.  Daiyu, take your daughter to clean the chocolate from her hands.”

The fox shifter – Daiyu – snarls at her daughter. “I told you to stop eating those!”

Daiyu grabs her daughter by the hand, yanking her from the table. They get lost in the crowd, but you can see the little chocolate handprints Kita left on the white linen tablecloths.

“Why do you have a Carved?” Jihoon’s tone is even, but you can swear there is animosity as he regards you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t like Carved.”

“Taehyung bought her for me as a gift.”

“Give her to him, then. You don’t even like owning slaves.”

Jungkook sighs. “I just came to tell you happy birthday.”

Jihoon huffs. “I’m serious. Consider giving it away. Strange things happen to those who own Carved angels.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes but gives his older brother a clap on the shoulder before he steers you to a mostly empty bar in another room of the party. The sweet scent of tobacco cloys the air. Most of the Vaesen in the room sit on leather couches, feet kicked up on their Vanir who kneel for them or who have their hand wrapped in the leash of the Vanir at their side.

“Wait here,” Jungkook orders you. You’re standing next to an empty seat in the corner of the room. You bow your head to let him know you’ve heard him, but you don’t use the honorific, irritated. His jaw flexes and he heads to the bar.

You study the intricate marble of the floor beneath your feet. Little veins of black and gold shoot through the white stone. It looks like a river delta, with offshoot rivers of gold and black threading through the world.

Hair tingles on the nape of your neck and something trickle down your spine. You glance out of the corner of your eye to see Kim Taehyung enter the room with a shorter man at his side. Taehyung is dressed in all white. His white, paneled shirt is tucked into wide-leg pants of the same material. A loose-fitted suit jacket finishes the ensemble. He looks ethereal and otherworldly, a single white feather dangles in one of his ears.

Taehyung spots you, drifting toward you. Though you don’t look at him directly, you can see that something shimmers on his skin. Making him look angelic, bringing out the tawny hues of his complexion.

“I knew that dress would be perfect for you,” Taehyung purrs as a way of greeting. He smells like lavender and something darker than you can’t pinpoint. “Such a pretty little thing. I should have kept you for myself.”

“Thank you for the dress, dominus.” You make your voice robotic.

Taehyung does not introduce the man at his elbow. You can make out his image in your peripheral: dark black hair swept back off of his forehead. Dressed in all black, though his outfit is understated. Earrings glitter in his ears, and there is a glowing aura when he moves.

Kitsune.

You know it without having to look. He feels ancient and powerful, a familiar feeling.

Instead of acknowledging the Vaesen, you’re focused on keeping your breath even as Taehyung invades your space. His breath is warm and heady against your forehead. You stare at his shows as his fingers dance up your arm, brushing goosebumps into your skin until he reaches your throat, tapping on the diamond.

“He gave you his mother’s? Really?” You say nothing. Do nothing. Something greasy and ugly twists in your stomach as Taehyung lowers his voice and his head. He’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the faint lavender, and… Japanese blossom, you think. “I’m going to have to ask Jungkookie to borrow you some time. Just need a little taste.”

“I would be honored, dominus?”

“Yeah? My other Carved loves to suck cock. Think you could take me in that cute little mouth of yours? Wanna see you drooling and choking on it.”

“I would be honored, dominus.”

Taehyung grits his teeth and his fingers grip the jewel at your throat. “You are not a fucking robot. I saw you on that killing field. Where is that personality now, hmm?”

“I apologize, dominus.”

He growls and pulls at the diamond. You growl in return, the sound so brief that you hope perhaps he doesn’t hear it. He grips your throat and you know he had. “There you are. Do I have to poke and prod you to come out and play?”

“Hello, Taehyung.” Jungkook’s voice cuts through Taehyung’s timbre. You feel the most surprising emotion at his arrival – relief. Taehyung makes your skin crawl, the oil of his words slipping down into the deepest parts of you. The kitsune is at Jungkook’s back, keen eyes pinning into you. You ignore him, though you realize he had retrieved Jungkook.

“Thank you for sending the dress. I’m incredibly grateful.”

“You should take better care of it,” Taehyung greets, but doesn’t move away. His nimble fingers are wrapped around your throat. You realize that the other Vaesen has left the room. “All my hard-earned money and she doesn’t even look like you’ve used her.”

“I can use her how I want, Tae.”

“Meh,” Taehyung sighs, letting you go with a little shove. “I want to borrow her.”

“Another time.”

“Hmm. I’ll hold you to that. What did your father think of her?”

Just like that, Taehyung’s interest in you fades. You steal a glance at the kitsune, but he isn’t looking at you. He has moved away from the three of you toward the bar, uninterested in the conversation. There is nothing for you to do but stare at your shoes and burn in the growing hatred for Kim Taehyung.

If Jungkook is bothered by Taehyung’s rugged handling of you, he shows no sign. For some reason, it bothers you more. As your master, he is supposed to take more pride in owning a Carved. But so far tonight, he has shown little interest in treating you like a prize or something to be proud of.

You almost think that he’s trying to give you space and shed as little light on you as possible, which won’t do.

“You want her to fight in a Vaesen pit?” Jungkook asks, voice skeptical. That catches your attention. “Why would I send a Carved angel to that cesspool? They won’t even let her in. She’d destroy the creatures that fight there.”

“There’s an elite Vaesen pit now. They fight outside the rules of the Titan Leagues but they’re made of better shit than the Vasen pits. And they allow synth moderated creatures to fight.”

“Sounds illegal.”

“Sounds fun.”

Jungkook hums. “Let me know when you need her.” He checks his watch. “Preferably not this weekend, please.”

Taehyung laughs and claps Jungkook on the back. You go red with rage. You agreed that you served Jungkook in the public, but fighting in the seedy, unregulated rings of Vanir and Vaesen for Taehyung was not a part of that agreement.

Jungkook glances at you. Senses the ill-managed temper. He sighs and turns to Taehyung, perhaps to take back his offer to lend you. You’re unsure, and Jungkook doesn’t get the chance to say anything.

Screams interrupt the conversation. You turn to look in the direction you’re coming from. People are running and the sound of chaos and snarls comes from somewhere in the main room. You smell blood and smoke and then it hits you.

You smell the honey-scent of the seraphim.

-

D E F I N I T I O N S

Carved – angels who have had their wings surgically removed and sold for ownership. The possession of an angel’s wings gives the owner power over the angel’s grace, thereby giving them power over the angel.

Chokes – electronic cuffs with micro-needles that send signals to the nerves and nervous system to block channeling magic – most often used on glaedia

Collared – a Vanir who is owned as a slave. They are often identifiable by the custom collars their masters put on their necks.

Dominus – term used by a slave to their male identifying master

Erelim - class of angel referenced in the book of Isaiah

Endarkened - the offspring of demons and angel unions with demon-dominant blood; considered Vaesen

Enlightened - the offspring of demons and angel unions with angel-dominant blood; considered Vanir

Huli jing - Chinese fox spirit; similar to the Kitsune

Lares - spiritual guardians in Roman mythology

Lilins - the offspring of the First Demon, Lilith, an the seraphim, most notably with the angels Uriel and Raphael. They are the perfect balance of Vanir and Vaesen and were used as spies during the war.

Malakim – refers to the angels associated with Shamayim (Judaism)

Malaikah – refers to angels associated with Jannah (Islam)

Nephilim – those who are half-angel, half-human

Seraph - a single angel, one of the seraphim

Seraphim - species of angels associated with Christian heaven, soldiers of God

Triumvirate – the three Lords who rule the Realms – figures of the Underworld

Vaesen – creatures associated with Underworld Realms such as demons, daevas, sorcerers, vampires, wraiths, and monster-like creatures

Vanir – creatures associated with Heaven Realms such as angels, faeries, witches, dragons, demigods and any heavenly-like being

Yomi Worm - came from my brain but fashioned from the story of maggots growing out of Izanami's body in the underworld Yomi after she died

-

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/ PREVIOUS / NEXT CHAPTER /

[a-pretty-nerd]

Choose Me

Viktor x afab!fem!reader

Chapter 9

Summary: You are "salvageable."

Chapter 8

Here is a link to the updated Masterlist of the series.

Warnings: VIEWER DISCRESSION IS ADVISED! Some real Frankestien shit this chapter. Descriptions of a corpse, violence, gore, reanimation. You mean science went wrong, again!? Gasp! No! You ever just wanna go apeshit?

A/N: I've been really looking forward to writing this chapter because it was very important to me. This fanfiction has been a lead up to this and the following chapters. I'm sorry it took so long, I was going through it. But I hope you guys enjoy this addition.

"Salvageable..." Viktor spoke in disgust, "you call your own child...Salvageable?" He spat at your father. He had pulled himself up to lean on his worktable, the morning paper clutched to his chest in one hand. He glared at the man who stood before. His stomach turning with the rage of a hurricane.

"I was lucky she died on my property otherwise it would have been far more difficult to pass the fake off to the authorities. The blunt-force trauma she suffered in her fall can be fixed with some simple iron work."

"I don't believe what I am hearing..."

"You are not the only man of scientific genius in Piltover. My team and I are confident that with the help of hextech we could-"

"You and your team of lunatics are mistaken!" Viktor shouted, his fingers clutching the newspaper he pressed to his chest as he supported himself with the other.

"You are speaking to an investor, son! I suggest you watch your tone with me!" He threatened. Viktor shook his head.

"I suggest you leave, immediately." He turned his back only for your father to swiftly approach him. He grabbed his shoulder and wrenched Viktor back to face him.

"I don't think you understand what I'm saying. You have a chance to make things right here." His fingers dug into Viktor's shoulders. "We could perform the ultimate miracle. Don't you see? You could bring her back to life..." Your father's voice became soft and encouraging. Viktor paused. He thought for a moment. Could it be? Did he really have what it took to bring you back from the dead? All his trials, all his failed experiments just to cure himself. Could it really work? His curiosity was getting the better of him. When Viktor didn't answer your father, he just patted him on the shoulder. "Think it over, son. I'll see you at the funeral."

Viktor did not attend the funeral. He found himself trapped amongst his work, trying to understand what your father meant. What he had done to convince himself that hextech could reanimate a dead body. As far as Viktor was concerned, it was impossible. He couldn't even begin to solve the issue of keeping his subjects from rotting. So how could it bring anyone back from the dead?

Jayce went to your funeral in Viktor's place. He mourned you the way a friend should. Standing tall in his suit with a frown and a few well-intentioned tears as "your" casket passed by him. He said a small prayer to the body that laid in your place. He found himself frustrated by the whole thing. He watched as familiar faces young and old cried for their loss. You had drawn an impressive crowd and yet amongst them Viktor was absent. By the end, Jayce received a telegram informing him that Viktor was being held by police for breaching the blockade Jayce had enforced just days prior.

Viktor sat and watched as Police forces held back an angry mob of furious Undercity residents. He coughed into a handkerchief as his mind swirled with intense emotion and fear. Guilt making his body feel heavier than usual.

"Jayce, what is this?"

"Do you have any idea how this looks? I order a blockade and my own partner violates it!?" He hissed at him as he approached.

"You, ordered this? Why?"

"There are people down there hell bent on destroying us. What were you doing down there!?"

"I was consulting someone about..." He paused, "about our quandary. I told you I knew someone."

"Well you didn't say they were from the Undercity!"

"What difference does that make?"

"What difference- They're dangerous!" Viktor's eyes narrowed at Jayce.

"I'M from the Undercity." He reminded him with a cold gaze as he got up, smacking Jayce's hand away as he tried to help him up.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I've just...had a lot on my plate and today...I...well, was your friend able to help?" Viktor considered Jayce's question for a moment.

"No. No he said nature was resistant to this sort of...tampering." Viktor lied as a vile of curated shimmer sat patiently in his pocket.

"We'll keep at it then...You uh...you missed the funeral."

"I know." Viktor nodded.

"You should have been there." Jayce told him softly as they walked back together. Viktor shuffling along side as he shook his head.

"No. No I don't think I should."

"Look, I know how close you were. You can't just ignore this. Who cares what her shitty father thinks, you had every right to be there. To...to mourn that loss." Viktor gritted his teeth as Jayce smoke. He knew Jayce had very little idea what the reality of the situation was, and his previous insult and disregard was beginning to grate on Viktor's nerves.

Behind them the crowd shouted as a flaming bottle was thrown and crashed on the path behind them. They watched for a moment before Viktor spoke.

"I have work to do." Viktor dismissed him through his teeth, trying to keep his composure. Jayce couldn't believe Viktor could be so cold and unfeeling. He watched Viktor leave as more storm clouds began to roll in from above.

What does it feel like to be dead? You might say there is a form of release. Floating in weightless nothing as consciousness slowly erodes. Perhaps that wasn't death. Merely the in-between. The darkness you wade through like when you're close to falling asleep. The voices you heard sometimes sounded familiar. Sometimes a word or two said by voices you recognized but couldn't identify. If this wasn't death, what was it? Where were you?

Sometimes there was music. Yes, music. Violin, piano, flute. A voice singing along with muddled words. Memories, perhaps.

Viktor was escorted in by your father's staff. He had doubled the security, doubled the efforts. Viktor's eyes inspected every inch of the house as he was brought up to the attic. For the first time he saw the home you grew up in. The oddly sterile and formal home your mother made and your father maintained.

Viktor's stomach tossed and turned as he followed your father's hulking and disheveled being into the attic. His breath caught in his throat. He froze at the sight of the room. The intricate machinery, the crudely made controls, the hextech inspired work. Viktor was disgusted. His first inclination was to get away, to run. But the guards behind him kept him there. His frightened golden eyes flashed over the table in the center of the room. His heart sank. Thunder and lightening crackled outside as the yellow lights cascaded down.

"The storm is upon is, sir. We are ready to begin." The mad doctor said, wearing bandages from wounds you gave him a few nights ago. Your father nods and thanks the man as they begin their preparations. The old man turns to Viktor with sad, tired eyes.

"I'm sure as a man of science you're curious to know the procedure when it comes to these things."

"These things?" Viktor asked firmly, fighting back the urge to lay into the old man. He nodded with a somber expression. He pointed towards the table in the center of the room. Draped in a cloth, the shell of yourself lay.

"Unfortunately, she's been a bit more scuffed up than other subjects." He hears your father's voice as the doctor slowly removes the cloth. Revealing your body. Viktor's heart stops for a moment as his eyes adjust to the sight. It's your body, but it's not you. You aren't there. Your head is partially shaven and metal disks have been used to patch up your broken skull. Down your middle is a massive autopsy-like cut that has been carefully sewn back together. "So we had to improvise. We repaired her broken bones with hearty metals that will continue to heal with time. We were lucky her organs were mostly unharmed. It made the removal of some easier."

"Removal?" Viktor asked curiously. Your father nodded.

"We had to remove a kidney which had be pierced by a broken bone as well as her uterus. If we let the embryo fester any longer it would have rotted her from the inside out, and then we would have nothing. Once decomposition sets in, they're lost to us." Viktor tries to process his words. He tries to process everything, but some words stick to him and suck out all his attention and energy. He blinks a few times before looking up at the old cowboy. One word stands out in particular.

"Embryo?" His voice is low and soft, as if he's afraid to say the word at all. Your father's face turns deceptively sympathetic.

"Did she not tell you?" He asks abruptly. Viktor's brows furrow as his eyes narrow at him in confusion.

"She was..."

"Yes, son. I'm afraid so." Your father straightened his posture as he walked past Viktor. He turned his attention to the machinery, checking wiring and tubing and calculations. "But the time to worry about that has passed. We can still save her."

The storm crashes above them. Switches are flipped as the air becomes electric. Viktor can feel little static shocks as he holds his crutch close. Leaning on it as the sudden pressure in the air forces him into a coughing fit. He coughs blood into his handkerchief as the machines around them vibrate to life. The roof is opened and the cold night air floods the room. Viktor looks up to watch your father approach your body. In his hands are the unmistakable hex crystals Viktor and Jayce supplied. The very thing you gave your life to stop.

He watches in frozen horror as the mournful man places the crystals in your empty eye sockets. While the doctor prepares a syringe. The purple liquid sparkles brightly. A deep purple that leans more blue than red. Viktor recognizes it. Shimmer. No doubt something that has been engineered by the great Mr.Y/L/N himself. How is he so confident that this will work? How does he know? What other subjects have there been?

The shimmer is injected into your hollow veins, intermingling with your still blood. It pushes through, forcing blood and shimmer through you as your shell lays there, waiting. The men stand back, their eyes leaving you to look up to the storm above. Your father backs away to stand firmly by a lever. He looks at Viktor.

"You might want to brace yourself, son." His voice demands. Viktor's eyes frantically dart between him and your body, until the flash of lightening from above distracts him.

"All hands stand by!" The doctor shouts formally. As if he's done this a thousand times. "Ready!" All eyes stare up at at clouds above as the wind blows through the room. Viktor rests himself against a control panel as he watches with sick curiousity. Wide, watering eyes observing every movement. He watches as several rods of metal fight against the harsh storm winds. Reaching out for a chance that lightening will strike. As if sent by the gods themselves, lightning stretches across the sky like the veins of an electric beast. They flash and then suddenly a blinding light strikes upon them. Without hesitation your father switches the lever and electricity is funneled through wires and tubes.

Sparks pop wildly into the room as they try to sheild their eyes with goggles and arms. Viktor hunches over to cover his face as the machine's vibrations turn to uneasy rattling. Your body jerks wildly as the energy is funneled into you.

You begin to shake violently. Crashing down to earth as the concept of feeling returns. Your body clattering against the metal table while your consciousness is pulled back. Pain. Nothing put pain. The nothingness gave way to feelings. Physical. Your mouth opens as air is pushed out of your lungs. Announcing your gruesome return by pushing the air out of your lungs. Your eyelids snap open as the hex crystals spark to life as if they were your own eyes. The magic and shimmer and electricity course through you. Your mouth let's out an inhumane shriek.

They duck in pain as they cover their ears to the sound. It rings on for far longer than it should have as the room trembles like there's an earthquake. The rattling of the machines turns to concerning shaking. Sparkes flying when they shouldn't be. Your father shouts something at the doctors, demanding that they stabilize you.

Viktor unshielded his eyes to watch you. There you are. Shrieking in pain as your body is wracked with tremors, a monster of your former glory. He shakes his head. Hot tears streaming down his cheeks as wide eyes burn the imagine into his skull forever. He scrambles back towards the door. He runs. The best he can, he escapes back out into the night and doesn't stop until he's home.

Leaving you to shriek again as the building shakes. The windows shatter at the frequency of your voice as you come crashing back to earth.

[daichinom]

LAST REFUGE

chap. 7

Daryl Dixon x Grimes Reader

Season 1

⚠️Warning: spoilers, blood, mentions of death and suicide, medical terms, angst, typical TWD violence and gore, vomiting, child injury, allusions to gunshot wound

You were handing out the freshly washed clothes, walking around the camp, you nodded to Carol, -"hey Y/N… I don't want to be nosy but… I found this.."- Carol said timidly, you approached with the basket in her arms, and then you saw that she showed you a grenade, -"keep it… just in case…"- Carol looked at you doubtfully, as she hesitantly kept it, -"sure?"- She asked, to which you You nodded, as you continued your journey.

When you finished you sat parallel to Lori, who was putting away Carl's clothes, she looked at you, but you just looked down, -"do you hate me?"- she asked, literally looking at your skull, -"why?"- you asked to her question, -"because of Rick"- she said, seeing it from a mature point of view, it was not her fault, what would they know that Rick would wake up from the coma or if he was even alive.

-"I don't hate you.. I just.. can understand you.."- you said, only to be silenced by the screams of Sophia and Carl, who quickly ran wildly towards the adults, the men quickly left, and then found a walker.

-"Are you hurt Carl?.. Sophia?"- you asked the children, who denied, at least they weren't bitten, everyone's muscles tensed when they heard Daryl Dixon's voice, who called the missing idiot, - "Merle! Get your ass here" - everyone stood on the sides, Carl hugged your hip as they watched the Dixon approach.

-"Daryl, calm down, there is something we need to talk about Merle"- Shane said, automatically drawing Dixon's gaze.

-"Wha´?"-

-"There was a problem in Atlanta"-

The silence meant one thing, but it became dense and almost at gunpoint.

-"Did he die?"- he asked, looking at everyone.

-"It's not easy to say so I'll say it"- Rick intervened,

-"Who are you?"-

-"Rick Grimes"- your brother said, Daryl couldn't help but look at you out of the corner of his eye.

-"Rick Grimes?.. From Y/N, Lori and the boy Grimes?"- He asked, in an attempt to verify, your brother nodded.

Nobody knows at what moment, but suddenly Daryl out of desperation wanted to lunge at your brother, who was quickly thrown to the ground by Shane, caging him in a key.

In the end, everyone organized to go look for Merle Dixon, going by the truck, apart from Merle they were going to look for some weapons, so there was a real reason to go, you didn't want Rick to go.

-"I have to go, Y/N… It's my fault that man is tied there like an animal…"-

-"And what about us?.. We just got you back.."- You said, trying to persuade him.

-"No one deserves to die like this Y/N… You know this more than anyone"- Rick said, you had nothing more to debate with.

-"Aunt Y/N.. I don't want dad to leave"- you heard Carl, who was looking at you, you knelt at his height, -"my boy… your father is going to save a man, and I hope he will serve you as a lesson, because one less life in this world is one more of those things you found this morning"- you told him, trying to get him to find something good, even if it was Merle Dixon's garbage.

It didn't take long for you to return to your tasks, -"I'm going to go wash clothes"- you told Lori who was going to collect firewood, -"do you know where Carl is?"- She asked you -"with Shane, remember that they were going to hunt frogs" - you told her, going down the rock path to go wash the clothes.

When you approached, the women welcomed you, to which you greeted, while they made a space for you to do it, you washed your clothes until the last, so sometimes you didn't have time and without realizing it there were moments in which you barely and You had a clean pair of underwear left.

You saw in the lobby how Lori took Carl away from Shane, for a moment you saw that Shane saw you watching him, so you quickly went back to your business.

-"Why do we do slave work?"- Jacqui said, making us all silently agree with her, -"because that's how it should be"- Carol responded submissively, while she handed Jacqui a pair of wet clothes. He put them to dry, suddenly he took out some reddish panties, immediately the girls started to smile, you looked up and saw that they were yours.

-"Will you ask for a passionate night Y/N?"- Jacqui asked jokingly, getting a giggle from everyone, -"God, stop that"- you said without being able to hide her smile while the others chuckled.

To finish, they began to say what they missed about the old world, Amy her computer and her cell phone, Jacqui her coffee maker with double filter, Carol her labadora, Andrea her car and navigator, -"I miss the vibrator.."- you murumated, trying to be discreet because Carol's husband was behind you smoking, everyone smiled and gave daring glances, but general laughter broke out when Carol said she missed him too.

-"What are you laughing about?" - challenged the man, taking a drag on his cigarette, -"we tell each other war stories Ed"- Andrea responded, the man gave a pathetic look at what we were doing, this only made you scrub the clothes a little faster, you hated the way the man treated Carol and the girl.

-"Any problem Ed?"- You asked looking at him, -"it's none of your business, concentrate on your work"- he said, as he stood behind Carol's crouching figure, keeping an eye on her.

Andrea made a gesture of indignation and you just shrank in place, enduring the discomfort. -"You know what Ed? If you don't like how we wash the clothes, I invite you to do it yourself"- said Andrea, handing him the garment, Ed threw it back to her, -"a college bitch doesn't tell me what to do"- she said , and then pulled Carol's arm, the girls resisted and there began to be a lack of control, drawing Shane's attention.

Suddenly, Ed slapped Carol's face hard, making you stand up, hitting him and pushing Carol away from him, Shane moved quickly, grabbing Ed and starting to slam him into the ground, smashing his face, in a way for comfort you hugged Carol, who was crying profusely.

[streaminn]

A few months pass, Enid has been released from her time in the JPD.

She gets confronted and her mind is messy, since I'm on phone Idk how to edit in the line break so beware for gore!

Or also known, wtf is up with Enid's head

Sharp claws caught Enid, grasping at her and pulling her into nothing… but Enid had to keep moving.

"I really am okay!" Enid laughs before shrugging. "I'm not saying I was okay but who wouldn't be if they went through what I did?"

The shock of Enid pulling her leg out of its socket was too much for Enid, and she kept moving.

"Shifting in such stressful conditions must’ve done something, especially since it would be considered your second time," Divina cautiously mentions. "I don’t want this to come off as me thinking you’re lying…"

Slumped onto Enid’s back, Enid dug onto Enid’s neck with her teeth, and she kept moving.

"-But even if you're okay, will that still continue?"

Enid brought the hilt back before slamming it into Enid's skull with a sickening crunch. Enid kept slamming and slamming until all that was left was a mashed pile. Then, she keeps moving.

"I feel like you’re trying to say something," Enid teased. "But I'm okay, a few screws loose but I'm sane!-" she hears sharp sardonic laughter, jeering and cold. She switches up her words immediately. "Clinically! Doc said so and everything."

With each pierce of a blade, Enid screams. Left to wheeze and bleed out on the floor, Enid dies and then she keeps moving.

Divina lets out a breath. "... I'm not really sure if that's reassuring, if I'm being honest."

Piece by piece, Enid tore Enid apart, laughing as the walls dripped with the remains of her soon to be dead body. When she was satisfied with her work, Enid left Enid on the ground to die, because she needed to keep moving.

"I have the occasional dream but what can you do?" calling them dreams feels wrong but it's the best description for people who couldn’t understand. "Sometimes it feels like they’re trying to give a sign," she hints and it is! It's not its fault that violence was the only way it knew how to talk and the only reply it knew how to give.

Enid hated it months before, but now?

She’s accepted it.

It's in the ground that Enid fought the best fight of her life. It wasn't enough, and so she left Enid’s corpse smeared across the floor as she kept moving.

It's in that cell, months left with practically all the time in word did they come with an understanding. It inched closer and closer until it practically curled up onto her as the days went by. How could she not experience kinship? 

It could be seen as twisted but Enid has long since accepted the warmth of a being similar. Sure she wasn't drowning in the stain of sin but she definitely dips her toes between the lines. 

It was nice to be hugged once again even if it wasn't from Wednesday. 

Enid strapped Enid in a silver cage of sins and grudges, but even that wasn't enough to keep her from moving.

"... Enid." 

The werewolf let out a breath. Looking at her like that wasn't fair.

Even when her blood, flesh, tendons and bones were as much a part of the walls as her captors were, Enid kept moving.

"They hurt me and my body still remembers it like it was yesterday sometimes but-" Enid shakes her head, her fingers curling into a fist. "but… pain fades."

The holy metal burned and blinded until there was nothing of Enid left, and even then, Enid kept moving.

"...okay, if you're sure. But don't forget that you can seek us out, Enid."

Suffering and suffocating in slick flesh and blood; Enid dragged along her broken body with her declawed fingers, back to the place she was meant to be. No matter how agonising it was, no matter how it threatened to drive her insane, Enid kept moving.

It was just pain. It wasn't anything new.

And when she reached her destination, then, and only then, did Enid stop moving.

If they were fine, then so was she.

-

It did not, could not understand.

Its goal was done.

They had risen from its slumber and done its duty. it had achieved its mission, and yet-

"There's more to life than this, outside of this empty walls. "

And yet they dreamed through her eyes.

It dreamed of a warm, vast sky of a colour it had never learned the name for, and of a peace that was not death.

It dreamed the strange dreams she shared and cherished every single one.

[ghost-of-a-slave]

How the antiship community held me back from healing

I don't like necessarily labeling myself in this discourse now but I suppose I would technically be considered an ex-antishipper.

In the past I was antiship because proshippers abused me, or well I thought they did. Because obviously my abusers and predators when I was a kid would be proshippers right? Because they must have liked the content about the stuff that they did to me. Even the ones who never talked about the content. Because they were never proshippers they were just cartel members, organized crime, customers of such, or child predators. Being in antiship spaces lead to people trying to convince me of that. I don't think I ever fully lied... I am both histrionic and a sociopath and when I was pre-therapy (for trauma- I had therapy as a kid for suicidality and self harm but not the other issues until adulthood), I was incredibly delusional and easily influenced. I was being pushed to believe these things by others so hard that I didn't understand where my "filler" memories for my amnesiac periods of time and terror of the unknown started or ended. My perception of reality was easy to mold and change. And with that warped perception of "these were my abusers" and "these people are the same as my abusers" my own delusion was able to be weaponized against others.

Part of why it took so long to accept this as what happened is because I wanted to believe I had gotten better. Being raised in a cult originally also tends to mean reactionary and unreasonable beliefs stick and stay deep inside of you. But I was so certain I was different. We moved away when I was 9 and when I got internet access starting at 11 I slowly got into leftism. I couldn't possibly still be affected, I was better now, safer. I had to be or that meant I deserved to die obviously. (Something antishippers also sadly seem to be the types to push as well- reform only for those who do minors ills.) Those thought patterns and delusional fears of being a monster were just the continuation of ideas from the cult. Those problems with my thought patterns and ideas never got resolved merely the targets changed and people around me convinced me I was acting justly.

I hadn't healed as much as I thought I had and everyone around me was enabling my delusions. People were actively making it harder to heal and the fact I didn't have a proper therapist yet for what had actually happened and the actual extent of my disorders certainly didn't help. Cult brainwashing doesn't go away because you educate yourself on topics, it needs deep intensive help to fully remove. My current therapist cannot even fully help me in that regard. I need a deprogrammer. But antishippers often told me otherwise, and the community in general lead me and I know so many others to holding conflicting beliefs and allowing reactionary ideology to go unchallenged.

I want to be clear here that antishipping itself is not a cult nor cultlike and as a survivor of a cult I find it repulsive to compare the two. Antishippers do not have a child trafficking operation with connections to the cartel set up in their temple's basement. They don't have preschools that work as a front for further trafficking, and they don't murder their detractors and bribe the police to cover it up or ignore the mass graves. But what many antishippers do is take advantage of people who have experienced those things and similar.

I started having my doubts as I healed more and more and I became incredibly more and more jaded against antishippers in general as time went on and I heard more horror stories and saw more antiship people going after people who held the positions I did as not being "antiship enough" or "secretly being proship". See, the idea I had in my mind of a proshipper was someone who would send gore, death threats, threaten to assault you, purposefully trigger you, bait you into self harm, and throw a tantrum over media ever being analyzed by anyone ever. Because those were the kinds of people who would go out of their way to dig through my various tiny social media accounts to harass me for the one time every 7 months I would ever talk about shipping discourse.

Normal people (meaning most proshippers) would not take time responding to a child having a mental breakdown and thinking that all proshippers are literally the people who abused them (and yes I say literally because I did believe at one point in my life that every proshipper I had interacted with had been one of my past abusers on an alt account because again I was severely mentally ill and not properly treated and my OCD has psychotic elements) but the neo-nazis and the genuine child predators would.

I think that's part of what keeps people like me in the antiship sphere for so long. I was bound to be pushed out eventually given my love for media such as Berserk, Fear and Hunger, and games by Nitro+CHiRAL. I've always loved dark media, I've loved blood and gore and death, and even before I accepted I was a necrophiliac I found corpses incredibly intriguing in a way that was obviously not normal. I had opinions in line with what I've seen people say proship is- no harassment to others, like what you like, don't want the government to get involved with things. But because the only proshippers who would interact with actively unhinged and deranged posts and meltdowns I had were bound to be bad people and/or ill equipped to handle a child in active crisis- who mind you was getting trafficked the entire duration of the time and was having constant blackout episodes- I was lead to believe that the proship community and those within it were all a genuine danger to my safety. And I never once had the courage to question if the antiship community was harming me as well. Not until I started getting into recovery at least.

Because part of recovery was having repressed memories come up, part of recovery was having those memories be a constant thing I had to sit with. Part of recovery was me desperately wanting to write about what happened to me in fiction but being terrified if I did I would be ostracized for being a proshipper even when I was planning to handle the topic "correctly" in my writing. Part of recovery was being told that the reason I found certain things so attractive was because I may have died if my brain didn't change the horrors I experienced and the sense of helplessness into a new form of control through lust and desire. Part of recovery was realizing I had been lied to by everything and everyone since the day I was born and having to question everything I knew about myself and my ideas.

And those questions lead to answers.

The main core the main thing that people had gotten to me on in order to fully convince me of the antiship position above all else- was so insignificant and stupid.

I used to be into guro and very much liked it when I was 12/13 or so and part of that was as a way of coping with what I had repressed. Part of my issues and dissociation had been not noticing the scars that litter my own body. Scars I've had since I was under the age of 10. Scars that are inseparable from the real issue that caused me to act the way I did that got blamed on my consumption of darkfics and guro. I was violent and aggressive to others in middle school and early highschool and at some point antishippers convinced me it was because the media I read had normalized it and pushed me to act in these ways. But then I broke through more of my amnesia and realized I was getting trafficked weekly multiple times a week when I had these outbursts. It was never my fault and I never was tainted by the media I read. I was scared and I was having flashbacks and hurting people on accident and nobody understood what was happening.

I feel so fucking stupid for having hated myself for so long for having been able to be convinced that reading stuff caused that when maybe just maybe I could have realized things sooner maybe someone would have saved me. But of course that's also wishful thinking.

Media was my escape and it was torn from me and deemed the source of the symptoms of my abuse that I was trying to escape from.

I may not consider myself a proshipper. But I most certainly am not an anti. Not after realizing everything. Now I'm actually allowing myself to indulge in things I've been missing and to accept my paraphilia that my trauma left me with. Because one final part of this and that coming to accept that it's okay to be a necrophile is accepting I can write and make art about it and have a character centered around it who I very much do plan to post about. I can also stop feeling guilty for my kinks and fetishes and playing games that may sexualize bad situations and actions. Because fuck it I do find slavery hot and I'm allowed to as a survivor of it and I find weird tentacle rape hentai as hot as well. I may be grossed out or scared of other media as well but that doesn't mean it's actually dangerous to me. And people cannot convince me I'm in danger and scare me as easily as they could before.

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I am anti-contact for paraphilias that would break consent or cause egregious harm to a person even with consent. Disclaimer is here because I mention my paraphilia in this post and want to be clear I have no wishes to act on it IRL. I also know not everyone who like fictophilic para content is actually attracted to the real versions- I don't get that given my attractions to fiction are identical in reality but I'm also really autistic and weird so ya do what you will. Feel free to add anything if you wish!

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