#Ordinary Corrupt Human Love

[rastronomicals]

12:34 AM EDT October 13, 2023:

Deafheaven - “Canary Yellow” From the album Ordinary Corrupt Human Love (July 13, 2018)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

–

[chronotopes]

tagged by @gideonthefirst to post nine no skip albums!!!! I did not think about this super hard just chose nine out of many with the rough guidelines 1) no repeat artists, 2) i have obsessively played the album on repeat during at least one period in my life

In order: the enduring spirit of calamity, tomb mold; transgender dysphoria blues, against me!; bronco, orville peck; all bad, nick shoulders; divers, joanna newsom; narrow line, mama’s broke; beat the champ, the mountain goats; a romance with violence, wayfarer; hesitant alien, gerard way.

It is late and I’m sleepy so I’m only gonna directly tag @bagelswithtoast but if we’re mutuals and you want to post this you should do it and tag me :)

[dnangelic]

i feel like dark has the tendency to disappoint one mun's expectations after another bc yeah he looks the way he does but then he's like. he's easy to rile up but it's difficult to actually get him to fight (because of daisuke) and he's never killed anyone + he's chaotic good and not human and his entire basis of theft operates on that so his morality turns blue and orange to some people + he's a flirt but as soon as anybody actually starts showing signs of interest in him all of his internal sirens and warning bells start going off so he starts to avoid them and push them away + a very real part of his true, legitimate personality is tsundere and awkward as hell + he's cringe + despite it all, the power of love is very real to him

[athetos]

Okay so infinite granite by deafheaven is good - do NOT get me wrong, it’s very good - but they really got rid of all the black metal influences…. Lord help me there’s CLEAN VOCALS…

[dex-starr]

I’m glad I was able to help a stranger with what they’re going through today

It made me feel some kind of useful and not like that part of me is completely broken down -- I’m going to be honest I thought I couldn’t do that anymore but it seems like I can

[godsandvillains-if]

Gods and Villains is a superhero/horror story set in a dystopian future where Earth is filled to the brim with crime and corruption—a.k.a MCU meets The Boys.

Warning! injury to major characters, gore, body horror, trauma and PTSD, amnesia, death, and sexual content. Rated +18. More specific content warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter.

You take control of a powerful metahuman, an otherwise ordinary human on the outside but who has the meta-gene, a potent mutation deep engraved in their DNA, which gives them superhuman abilities. This next step in human evolution comes with a setback, however, for the curse of madness seems to follow their every step. It lurks in the shadows, patiently waiting for the opportunity to strike—many metahumans fall prey to its alluring promises. 

With a dark and traumatic past filled with untold horrors and inhuman experiments, you are rescued from the clutches of crazy terrorists by a team of heroes that might lend you all the tools you need for redemption or complete self-annihilation. 

As the only metahuman with the ability to wield the powerful Chaos Magic, your very blood holds the answers to unlocking the secrets behind the control of time and space, but it has the drawback of being almost completely volatile. 

Who can you trust to keep you safe other than yourself? Trust no one, and maybe you can get out of this literal hell alive.

Play as male, female, or non-gender specific, along with transgender choices;

Romance one of seven characters, and if your heart is big enough fall in love with two of them. There's three possible poly routes available: Archon and Stardom, Archon and Mars, Paladin and Wildcat;

Customize your appearance, personality and powers;

Struggle against the shackles of madness trying to take hold of your psyche;

Battle a multitude of villains or become one yourself;

Uncover the secrets behind the meta-gene and your abilities;

Help the public fall in love with superheroes or forever destroy that chance;

In total there are seven romance options, each with their own personality, and dark secrets for you to uncover. You can read more about them below:

?

The villain, or anti-hero, whatever you want to call them, Mars is an enigmatic figure; the very concept of life seems to hold no value to them. A trail of bodies follows wherever they go, and on the news, they are regarded as the biggest menace of the century. They will have the unique ability to sway your loyalty. Beware, their sweet words and promises may drip with honey, but they also drip with the blood of their victims.​

Trope: Forbidden love, emotional scars, blood-play

Zev/Zena Hammer

The oldest of the bunch and not a metahuman per se. Hammer acts as the spokesperson for the team, mitigating the often tenuous relationship between humans and the so-called "mutants". As a retired police detective they've learned firsthand how rotten the world can be for the innocent, and they've vowed to protect them at any cost. Their analytical and communication skills will go hand in hand when dealing with various crimes, just as their implants.

Trope: Widow/widower, age gap, don't-call-me-daddy/mommy

Adam/Ada Armstrong

The current leader of the Alliance Team. Headstrong and dauntless, they are regarded as the strongest metahuman in modern times and the most enigmatic of them all, whose past is shrouded in mystery and unknown even to their closest friends. On the outside, they might seem apathetic and unconcerned with human suffering, but their true feelings are hidden beneath layers of deep trauma. Superhuman strength and invulnerability are their greatest assets when fighting villains.

Trope: Nobody thinks it will work, love/hate, fucking-your-boss

Edward/Evelyn Osborne

The former leader of the Alliance Team and Archon's best friend. On the surface, they are the stereotypical showboat: cocky, greedy, and egoistical. Stardom does whatever they can to gain attention, fame, and riches. For them, the best feeling in the world is an adoring fan and a beautiful person fawning over their heroics. The meta-gene gives them a genius-level intellect, which in turn is used to develop several pieces of equipment that are employed by themselves and the team during fights.​

Trope: Billionaire, belated love epiphany, good-people-have-good-sex

Johnny/Johnnie

If Archon's past is shrouded in mystery, Paladin's is drowned in it. For all you know, their name is not even Johnny/Johnnie but an alias of their choosing. They are known to be the silent loner type and are somewhat socially withdrawn from other members of the team, only speaking when called upon to do so. Behind their silver mask, they harbor more than a few inner demons, and together with their superhuman weapon and combat proficiency, they fight for the innocent.​

Trope: Secret identity, oblivious to love, weapon-fetishization

Pedro/Pilar Flores

The youngest of the team, considered by many a lighthearted jokester without any real talent beyond their obvious powers—which set them apart from every human that walks the earth. With their metahuman status so evident for everyone to see, hiding just didn't seem like an option, so they chose the next best alternative. Known to be playful, energetic, and often immature, they are responsible for balancing the team's more serious side, and when someone can take the form of any living being on Earth, the repertoire of pranks is endless.​

Trope: Beauty and the Beast, broken in some way, begging

Doctor Malik/Malika Aziz

The renowned Doctor Aziz, a famed archaeologist and considered to be the most powerful sorcerer, or magic user, in the world. They wear several enchanted artifacts that, in turn, accentuate their already tremendous knowledge of the mystical forces. With an extremely strong moral compass and kind demeanor, they will show themselves to be the best teacher you could ask for, but why do they seem to be everywhere you look?

Trope: Time travel, twin siblings or clones?, teacher-student

LINKS

DEMO ✶ PATREON ✶ KO-FI

[rcksmith]

Sun and Water - Kaz Brekker

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: A LOT OF ANGUISH. Lots of mention of post-traumatic disorder. Curse words. Mention of death. Blood. Slave market. Mention of murder. VERY EMOTIONAL. VERY SWEET.

Word count: 4k

A/N: This one was very emotional for me. I cried writing with my playlist on full blast. I hope you love it as much as I do.

💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

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

Ketterdam smelled of trickery, poison, desecration and danger. It was a dark place by birth that housed even darker people. Its soil was stained with blood and despair; of both Grisha and ordinary people. Their hiding places were for tormented souls who had long lost their humanity.

If you walked the wrong streets at night with an arrogant attitude, you would definitely not return alive. But if you turned south, and had a little money in your pocket, your feet would take you close to the huge, shiny, flashy casinos run by Pekka Rollins. You would pass clubs where the smell of beer mixed with cheating, and the laughter of drunks drowned out the screams of convicts across the boat harbor. The colors of these establishments ranged between red, orange and yellow, a vibrant explosion that, in such a funereal place, became infinitely more macabre.

If you were more adventurous, and had a little more money, you would pass by pleasure houses. With pink and purple facades, provocative titles and women perched in the windows, waving at any gentleman who smelled a fair amount of kruger, their chants insinuating and seductive. The silk pieces of these places waved like a Land in Sight flag for the lost and tormented men in that sea of stone that was called Ketterdam.

To less experienced - and novice - eyes, those places were just grotesque pieces that were part of a strange scenario. Just a bad city, without many mysteries or secrets. But Kaz Brekker, whose mother's name was Ketterdam, knew that these establishments were more profane than they first appear. Its sins were part of a long list of money laundering, human and arms trafficking, drug exports, a meeting point for commissioned murders and, deep in the corrupt heart of that city, the headquarters of the black market. He knew that Ketterdam was not just a land of trickery, poison, desecration and danger. It was the place where anyone could have absolutely everything for the right price.

And that's how he found you.

Kaz didn't like to remember that day. But it was engraved on his skin like a tattoo, like a hot iron. A damned, cursed reminder that despite his Herculean efforts to be the monster everyone whispered about, Kaz was still a man of flesh and warm blood. With a heart that writhed.

Something about that day in the past wasn't right. It was like a mysterious whisper in the breeze, an omen in the unknown eyes of the wanderers, a mistake in a painting that made his nerves itch. And Kaz Brekker always hated mysteries that he didn't know how to solve.

His cane banging against the thick, crooked stone floor in that even darker part of Ketterdam, the hem of his black coat swinging from side to side in the cold wind. He had 2,000 kruger in his pocket - the Crow Club's only money to pay employees, bribes, drinks and bills. He used and abused Ketterdam to offer everything at the right price, and now he was going to pay his debts to men who provided information, to locals who spiked the beer with water and sold it for a cheaper price, and to women who seduced targets and facilitated robberies. It was the only money he had.

He didn't have to look to the left, there was nothing for him there. He didn't have to wonder why people seemed to crowd closer to the curve of the last street. But, in a way that Brekker could never explain even in confidential whispers to his own soul, he turned that corner.

With his cane tapping on the ground, money in his pocket and responsibilities to fulfill, he approached, against all odds. Step by step, the air grew thicker, the invisible ropes tightened unjustifiably on the pulse of his neck, the ghostly sensation of the icy water approaching like the waves of the dark sea.

Those sensations were getting more confusing with each pump of blood. The physical consequences of his soul being shipwrecked at sea never came lightly, and this was a warning. A warning that Kaz Brekker should have turned around and walked away. While he still could.

The men around were euphoric. The women looked sadistic. And the racket of voices was too loud for him to be able to focus on a single line of conversation. The hands of men and women were raised and clutched money notes tightly, waving in the wind as if it were a flag, their sadistic, depravity-hungry eyes staring forward like predators in hunting season.

Perhaps in a parallel reality, Kaz would have followed every sign Ketterdam gave him to turn his back and leave. There's nothing for you here, Dirty Hands. Ketterdam needed demons and monsters to stay stand, it fed on trauma and anger to perpetuate the ‘everything for the right price’ market. People's chaos and hell were what maintained the local economy. Any possibility of redemption, peace and, worst of all, love, were severely condemned.

Go away, Bastard of the Barrel. Maybe Kaz would have exerted the steely control over his veins more tightly, maybe he would have listened to the city's singing and paid more attention to the sea that swelled its tide, and then there would have been a life in which he wouldn't have widened his eyes at the scene.. Go away.

The sea roared, the waves broke, the putrefying hands of the bodies drowned in the depths of the ocean grabbed his ankles with more ferocity, preventing, restricting, screaming that his place would forever be there with them in the dirt of the sea. But it was already too late. He looked at the reason for all the commotion. The sun fell on that girl's hair and it was as if the rays had also penetrated the deepest waters of that vast oceanic darkness, exorcising all the claws that retreated with infernal screams, letting go of his ankles as if they were burning.

It was like a ship's anchor being pulled up with extreme brutality, splashing water everywhere, pushing the dying pieces into the depths of hell, scaring birds in the air, and finally, finally, bringing his soul out into the warm air.

Kaz Brekker felt his entire body shake as if he had just died and been reincarnated, it was like an explosion in the darkest depths of his chest that made his blood warm again, his heart show that it was beating and his soul breathe.

The scene in front of him shouldn't have caused any commotion in his spirit. Ketterdam was not a good place, and it was home to even less good people. That open-air slave market was nothing new. It was repulsive, disgusting and disgusting, but not new. And it wasn't something Kaz got involved in. Everyone had problems with him, and he didn't play anyone's hero. Never.

Until now.

One of the girls was sitting on that improvised wooden stage, eyes extremely scared and that damn sun shining on her hair that shone like the heat of release that made him breathe for the first time. She was young, small as a rabbit, and her fur didn't belong on those rusty chains on her wrist. You.

That was all an lapse. A powerful lapse not only in his judgment, but in his long-tormented soul. He blinded himself for the first time since Pekka.

The deprivation of air, the burning of the claws sunk to the bottom of the cruel ocean, the ice that shook his bones and the smell of dead flesh swollen with rotten water had finally given him a respite.

A truce so portentous and so overwhelming that, for two blissful, desperate seconds, Kaz fucking Bekker felt fucking normal. He was breathing, for the love of the Saints. He felt the heat of the sun, his muscles were light, his heart was swollen and the corners of the world were as colorful as when he was 8 years old.

He felt Kaz Rietveld.

All because that girl was in his sight. As if her sight was a miracle to his torment. As if she were a curse to Ketterdam. No good feelings have a place here.

But it was already too late. That lapse made Kaz approach as if he no longer controlled his feet. It made his heart beat with blood that wasn't his. It made him take out the only money in his pocket and hold it up high as the biggest proposal. None of that insanity was coming from Brekker. But from Rietveld.

“Her.’’ he said in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own.

Yes, Kaz didn't like to remember that day. Because it was confirmation that the boy he had tried so hard to keep dead and drowned in the sea was as alive as tangil. And that beating heart was his. Fucking hell. That lapse cost a lot; all the money the Crow Club made in that month. Kaz Brekker had countless dangerous people to pay and he had no idea what would do. But what irritated and infuriated Kaz the most was that, when he looked into the eyes of that girl as fragile as a rabbit, he didn't regret it.

Not at all. Not a bit. Even when he had every reason in the world to regret it.

He didn't regret taking you out of those horrible rags you wore and buying you a dress. He didn't regret bringing you to his quarters even when still had no fucking idea what he would do to you now.

What use would such a small, fragile and beautiful girl would have? You looked like a little rabbit. He made a fucking mistake, because now this little rabbit was looking at him with those big eyes full of emotions: fear, innocence, curiosity. Brekker hated it. But his soul was smiling.

''Don't worry. I won’t touch you’’ Kaz said that day. His words dripped with venom, disgust, and self-loathing. He constantly thought that his condition was a sarcastic and cruel joke from the Saints that Inej prayed so much to; doomed to never stand a touch, to always be a broken and pathetic bastard to the point of mortal weakness. This always aroused anger, hatred, and a thirst for revenge against Pekka.

But looking into your big eyes…he felt as if something very valuable had been brutally ripped from him long before Kaz understood what he wanted.

Inej was wrong. The Saints were not merciful. They were as fucking sadistic as the demons of Ketterdam.

--------

The days passed, and Kaz still had no idea what to do with you. Or how to pay his debt to so many people or how to replenish Crow Club drinks. He hid you from the rest of the dregs because he didn't want to and didn't know how to explain the situation. What would he say? Kaz Brekker never did anything without a plan. Everyone knew that. And your presence refuted ALL the certainties and theories that Kaz always had a motive.

Until one day, what he knew would happen happened; fate than those who do not pay powerful people. If he didn't have money, then he had to pay in blood. As it always would be in Ketterdam.

--------

The moon was paler than usual that autumn, sending icy golden rays across the dark city. The breeze smelled of sea air, smoke, sand and blood.

Kaz sat down in his writing chair, gasping as the thud made his broken ribs hurt. His teeth clenched tightly and dropped the broken cane to the floor, his blood on the silver raven combined with the dried blood around his face.

“Oh My God’’ the voice that Rietveld’s soul loved so much sounded, terrified and in panic.

You.

Kaz closed his eyes tightly, cursing under his breath that you had chosen to come in at that exact moment. It had been 2 weeks since you were here, with him, but your presence still made his hate the reactions and sensations he had.

Brekker couldn't have feelings. Ketterdam didn't accept that, it didn't tolerate that. And the proof of this was the bloody state he was in. Sentimentality is a weakness. He repeated to himself. But why then did his soul not regret anything when he saw you? Damn, he'd probably do it all over again.

“Get out of here’’ his voice was hoarser and lower than usual. And, when you did the opposite and took a step forward, Kaz looked at you warningly ‘’Now’’ Brekker could handle a beating, he'd had it his whole life. He could deal with broken ribs, with a bloody face, with a broken cane, with wounded pride. But he can't deal with the feeling that, when you looked at him, what hurt and tortured him more than anything else was the fact that he was robbed of your touch. He couldn't touch. And it never sparked anything but a fire of rage and revenge. Until now.

Kaz Brekker couldn't feel you. Not even if he fell to his knees on the floor and prayed to all the Saints. Not even if he sobbed asking for just one day of mercy. Just one day. Just a memory of how your skin felt beneath his hands. It had been more than a century since Brekker had touched another skin, warm skin. His was always cold, cadaverous, wet even when it was completely dry. And that was never a reason for despair. Until now.

He wanted to touch you more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to slide his fingers across your cheek more than he wanted to slide his hands across money notes. But the sensation would send him back to the waters of Ketterdam. Back to the sickening feeling of rotten flesh and death surrounding him, making his chest tighten and his vision blacken as that traumatic memory would drag him back into.

The Saints were a fucking sadist. “Please…’’ your voice was broken and completely tearful. Please…

That single word - that single word alone had the power to bring his gaze up to you. Your pleading voice, your eyes filled with pain, not for your own, but for his, the way you whispered as if you was about to crumble.  You looked more scared than the day he took you from the slave market. Kaz fought down the tightening of his chest, his throat closing in. Please. Oh. He wanted to throw caution in the wind. Just once. Only for you. He wanted to put his gloves aside, just once. Just to hold your face. The desire to beg the Saints on one knee came back with more force. ''No" Kaz looked at you, staring into your eyes, as he saw you step closer. He watched the silk green dress flow, the fabric he bought for you, and for some reason it made him ache more. Damn dress.

He kept his eyes locked on that green silk for longer than expected. His body was completely bruised, but his thoughts were just feeling envious of that dress. That dress was on your skin. Feeling something he could never feel. Lucky dress.

Kaz heard your sobs get louder. "I beg you’’ You were about to fall apart “let me help…’’ He didn't know the extensions of his own injuries, but the look in your eyes said they were serious. Perhaps there was more blood than he expected.

Yes. his soul, Rietveld, screamed. Screaming so loud his bones shook. Yes. Touch me, make the cold go away again. Take me out of this ocean one more time. Help me. Touch me! Make the hands of the corpses leave my neck. Touch me. Saints, this is the most unbearable thing in the world. Kaz had no idea how long it had been since he had heard a person sob for him, but your voice broke something in him like nothing else. Kaz could get stabbed and beaten and shot, but this—this was the one thing he couldn't bear. "No'' Yes!

But you seemed in tune with his soul. As it has always been since he first saw you. You seemed to see beyond Brekker facade. Your footsteps reached him like desperate birds, your beautiful eyes growing wider every moment you saw the details of his injuries.

He didn't move from the chair, even when he should have, even when you fell to your knees between his feet, looking at him with so much fear and panic that he felt his heart skip a beat. Damn organ.

Yes. You looked beyond Brekker, You looked at Rietveld. And no one ever looked at Rietveld. “I promise to be quick. Just let me clean up the blood. Let me sterilize the knife cuts.’’ Your voice had so much pain that Kaz thought you were the one who suffered the beating. Which was impossible. Because Kaz Brekker would never let anyone touch you. but he can't touch you either. Yes, his fucking fate.

He wondered if you were so shaken because of guilt. Did you know that the 12 men he owed money got together to beat him? Did you know that he just hadn't paid because he used all the money to buy you? That's why you were so sentimental? Because the guilt. Out of pity. But it was impossible, Kaz never said anything about it. Maybe he was just looking for reasons to justify the magnitude of your concern with something other than feelings of the heart. “Please… I can't- I can't see you like this.” Your voice took him out of his thoughts, realizing that no matter how much he screamed inside, his expression remained as hard as a stone.

“I’m scared that something irreversible could happen.’’ you were honest, exposing your heart because you knew he wouldn’t expose his “Please, the thought of you dying makes me scared.’’ Yes, you were scared…like a cute rabbit. His body was hurting too much to know which stab wound was deeper, which were more superficial and which caused you so much panic.

Kaz swallowed around the lump in his throat, his heart beating wildly in his chest, but for a reason completely different from the wounds and bruising that plagued his body. Kaz wanted to put his guard up and push you away, but the sight of you kneeling before him, your eyes pleading for his consent as you raised your palm up to his battered and bloodied skin, that pleading tone - And that dress. The fucking dress he bought for you - was making him lose.

Kaz looked down at your face. His heart was burning. What am I doing? Your eyes, gazing up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks, you were breaking because of him, for him. And saints — he couldn't…Not when you looked that way. Not when every fiber of his being wanted you. Touch me. Make me come out of the sea. Make me breathe again Kaz closed his eyes, his breath sharp as he braced himself. A moment of hesitation before he finally speaks. "Quick."

It was another lapsus. The biggest mistake he could make. Ketterdam was again screaming in the background in the form of furious winds; that city did not allow pure emotions, redemptions and love.

You were so quick to get up and run to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel and a desperate but relieved look. Your knees dropped to the floor once again between his feet, and your breathing was faster than it had ever been before.

You were going to touch him

It was a mistake. An absurd error. A sin and a profanation of the worst kind.

The tide of the icy ocean within him changed course, beginning to churn its waters and threatening to drown Kaz Brekker once again. The sensation was as if his skin was swelling from the cold waves, like a corpse that had been discarded at sea for centuries. And that wouldn't be far from the truth. Kaz Rietveld was shipwrecked in that ocean along with Jordie. Along with all the other unfortunate people in that damned city.

So why did he also feel Rietveld now more than ever? when you were about to touch him.

Kaz's soul stirred, perhaps in desperation, perhaps begging for release. Maybe for both things. The emotions were so strong that he felt like vomiting the salty sea water stuck in his lungs. Then he focused on one point: the smooth skin of your neck.

You were so nervous and desperate that he could see your vein pulsing, a few errant droplets of sweat running from behind your ear to your slender neck, making their tempting way, mocking Kaz for not being able to follow the same path with his fingers.

Would he be able to fool his demons if he made that journey with his mouth? Could it be that his tongue also carried his traumas?

The wet towel went over one of his cuts, and Kaz swore so loudly that it scared you. His fingers locked for a second in the chair, but your fear of him changing his mind was greater than your fear of his reactions. You pressed the towel again, and again, and moved from one wound to the next. Your movements were in automatic mode to want to take advantage of his permission as much as possible, to help as much as possible in a time limit that you didn't know.

The invisible clock chimed like a premonition.

With one hand, you used your trembling fingers to move a piece of his cut shirt to the side. And your and his skins brushed

Holy Mother of Saints. Kaz grunted, letting his head fall back and pressing his fingers into the wood of the chair's arms even more. He closed his eyes tightly. The avalanche of emotions raised a tisunami in his sea and crashed over him with such brutality that Kaz felt he might die again. And revive.

Your fingers brushed against his skin once again, and this time his chest exploded on a different note; as if the heat of the sun was fighting to rescue him from the bottom of the sea. Making its way through the petrifying waters like a ray of heat. Like a chance. A hope. Or as an illusion.

Kaz Brekker never cried. He came out of that ocean swearing revenge, like a ghost, a monster, the murderer of Rietveld. Vowing to be a knight of the apocalypse. But he was none of those things. Kaz was a man of flesh and blood. With a heart that bled every day, with a soul neglected and so massacred that it bordered on unrecognizability: but not total annihilation.

Kaz Brekker never cried. But Kaz Rietveld did.

Being touched, after so many years without even human contact, made Brekker want to vomit, scream, cut his hands off, drown himself with Jordie, blow Pekker's brains out. But it made Rietveld want to cry, to cry out to the saints for salvation, to beg that he could have just one good thing in life. Please. his soul tore in prayers. Please…let me have this moment…for the love of God, have mercy on me just now. Somehow, he didn't vomit, and his skin on his became more like being caressed by the sun. He squeezed his eyes closed even more and imagined himself on the roof of the Crow Club, beneath the midday sun of the height of summer.

You were the sun. Just it.

Your hands pressed bandages into his deep cuts.

You were the sun. Just it.

Your breathing was heavy and your fingers pushed the rest of his bloody shirt away.

You were the sun. Just it.

Kaz repeated that like a mantra. A prayer. A choir. An exorcism. But his midday sun at the height of summer was beginning to be clouded, the sea on the horizon was beginning to swell, and Jordie's voice was beginning to rise from the dead in the air. The second he couldn't take it anymore, you pulled his hands away. Brekker breathed a sigh of relief. Rietveld screamed in despair.

‘’You’re going to be fine’’ your voice was as shaky as his emotions.

Kaz couldn't open his eyes yet. Not now. Not at this moment and… the absence of touch gave way to the feeling of extremely warm lips touching one of his bandages for a second.

This removed him from his disabilities. Stunned and perplexed, Kaz opened his eyes immediately and tilted his head towards you the same second his your moved away.

If your touches had been the sun, that micro kiss had been the entire fire.

“My mother one day said that kissing the wound makes it heal faster.” Maybe you were holding on tooth and nail to all the things that guaranteed you that Kaz Brekker would survive that moment.

Maybe a kiss heals wounds faster... indeed. Kaz Brekker thought before a curve of a smile painted his lips.

[icycoldninja]

Don't leave me (Sephiroth x Reader angst)

Summary: Sephiroth's abandonment issues get the better of him in the middle of the night, so he goes to you, seeking comfort.

---‐------------------------------------------------------------‐--------------Sleep was never easy for Sephiroth thanks to the shadows, voices, and eerie bits of music that often plagued his thoughts. His mind, when allowed to wander, was often like a bitter, wintery blizzard, with everything swirling around in one, massive, confusing, mental storm. In order to keep the storm from growing too large, Sephiroth often kept busy throughout the day, focusing his mind on productive, stimulating activities such as exercising, scheming in his office, or tracking down Cloud and his accomplices.

However, at nighttime, when his brain was exhausted and craved sleep, such activities were very difficult to complete, therefore, he turned to more ordinary practices of keeping his mind occupied, which, unsurprisingly, did not work. Math problems were easy for him, as were crossword puzzles, spot the difference games, hidden object puzzles, etc. Sephiroth could work through an entire high-school math textbook in under 2 hours and say it was "child's play". This level of genius was purely astonishing, and also maddening, as his troubled thoughts, of which there were plenty, were also very disruptive.

Sighing, the man rolled over in his bed and draped his heavy, fluffy wing over his face like most humans would with a pillow. Why couldn't he sleep?! What would it take for his goddamn brain to shut off and let him rest already?! He was so tired, he could feel his eyeballs ache, but he just couldn't rest. Why?

The swirling storm in Sephiroth's head raged on; he closed his eyes and gripped his pillow tightly, trying desperately to remember what falling asleep felt like so he could ascertain whether or not he was making progress.

Several more minutes passed, and Sephiroth felt his brain fog over. He relaxed completely, willing his consciousness to slip into darkness and finally, finally, allow him to rest. He expected to plunge into fuzzy nothingness, but was instead met with a cold, dark, empty void.

All around him, he could hear laughter. Deranged laughter; laughter he'd heard almost all day of every day during his childhood. How he hated that laugh. Sephiroth turned around, only to find that same man standing before him in the familiar, pristine lab coat that he knew so well.

Hojo.

He was glad he couldn't speak; to utter his name aloud would have stained and corrupted his tongue. He glared at the man with contempt, wishing he would just leave already. He'd seen enough of that cruel bastard, he didn't need to see any more. Hojo smiled at him, his thin lips twisting into a devious smirk. Looking at it made Sephiroth's blood boil. Where was Masamune? Now would be a perfect time to use it.

Hojo's smile slowly faded, his expression turning from evil glee to disgust. He was regarding Sephiroth with disgust. How dare he?! Sephiroth watched as he turned around and walked away, shaking his head. Good riddance, he thought. He never wanted to look at scum like Hojo anyway. Turning around once again, Sephiroth came face to face with a being he never expected to see in a place like this. His own, beloved mother: Jenova.

Now Sephiroth was beginning to wish he could speak. He wanted to tell his mother how glad he was to see her here, how much he loved her, how thankful he was to her for his mere existence. He tried to reach out to touch her, but she recoiled, frowning in repulsion. What was wrong? What did he do to make her feel this way? Sephiroth was at a complete loss; all he ever did was for his mother, so why wasn't she embracing him? Why....why didn't she love him?

Panicking slightly, Sephiroth extended his hands in her direction once again, but Jenova stepped back. Shaking her head at him, just as Hojo had done, the entity whom Sephiroth had dedicated nearly everything he did to turned her back on him.

Now he was scared. The darkness was more than just that; it was an all-consuming maw mace of his own twisted, fearful thoughts. He didn't want this; he hated being alone like this. Why did everyone leave? What did he do wrong?

The stormy void closed in around Sephiroth, surrounding him in a cloud of fear. He didn't like this, he didn't want to sleep anymore, he wanted to wake up!

And he did, springing upright in a cold sweat, panting heavily. His wing flapped loudly against the bed, shedding feathers everywhere. He looked around and saw he was the only person in the room, this notion terrifying him even further. In a fit of frenzied hysteria, Sephiroth flung the covers aside and stumbled out of his room, not caring that he was bashing various body parts against the door trim. He ended up in the living room, where you were still awake, working on the couch. As soon as he appeared in the darkened room, you stopped what you were doing and turned to him, confused. His legs, clad only in pajama shorts, were visibly and violently trembling; an unusual occurrence.

"Seph?" You asked, standing up and walking towards him. "Are you alright?" He shook his head, nearly collapsing into your arms. You cradled him for a while, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, waiting patiently to see if he would explain the reasons for his distress. After a few moments, he began to sob.

"Don't leave me," He croaked, clinging onto you tightly. "Don't leave me too...." You sighed softly, before taking his head into your hands and kissing him.

"I'm not leaving you, ever," You told him, running your hands through his long, silky locks. "I'm gonna be here forever. Don't be afraid." Sephiroth nodded, then sniffled and wiped his tears away. "Come on," You said, taking him by the hand and leading him back to his bedroom. "I'll stay with you tonight."

Needless to say, Sephiroth fell asleep easier than ever that night; the comfort of your presence, and the knowledge that you would never leave him lulling him into peaceful slumber.

[starlite-walker]

so fucking good

[rastronomicals]

9:31 AM EST November 16, 2022:

Deafheaven - "Honeycomb" From the album Ordinary Corrupt Human Love (July 13, 2018)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name. 

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present. 

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow. 

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows. 

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again. 

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her. 

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him. 

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him. 

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her. 

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!” 

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it. 

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women. 

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep. 

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls. 

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off. 

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

[anticidic]

The angst of a basilisk!Dazai AU where he goes to great lengths to hide his true form by shapeshifting into a human and even wears colored contacts to hide the serpent eyes he has, until catastrophe strikes when he falls in love with an actual human, and he's not sure who's in the more unfortunate situation:

Chuuya, because if Chuuya looks into Dazai's eyes, he'll become petrified and die on the spot, or Dazai because their love is near-impossible to make work, but dammit, he wants to make it work. Chuuya's one of the rare humans not corrupted by hubris and greed for the great sunken treasure beneath Tokyo Bay that Dazai guards in his true form, and Dazai is unbelievably fascinated that Chuuya is just an ordinary guy with an ordinary life with the most striking eyes he's ever seen (that he immediately likens to the crystal clear waters themselves).

The special contacts Dazai wears keeps people who look at him from dying on sight, but the one time Chuuya happens to catch him off-guard without them in, he has to beg Chuuya not to look at him. Chuuya, understandably, is confused, like, what do you mean I can't look at you, don't be silly.

But no, Dazai's deadly serious. He comes up with a stupid excuse that he looks hideous and just woke up, and Chuuya just laughs because how bad can a bedhead Dazai possibly look. They're sitting on the floor on opposite sides of a shut door, and Dazai's on the tiles of the bathroom wondering how much longer he can keep the charade going while it pains his heart to lie about such a serious thing. But it's on him, because he's the one who fell first, and fell the hardest.

[tossawary]

Thinking about a form of Role Reversal AU (more of a Canon Divergence AU with a few backstory Universe Alterations) for "Final Fantasy 7", which I frankly don't know quite enough about to work out all the details perfectly but find compelling to think about nevertheless! I like to pick a few elements to do a reversal on in these AUs, but try to keep certain backstory elements intact for characterization purposes.

I think it would be fun to make Cloud Strife the star SOLDIER of the SHINRA company, but keep his country boy origins. So, he's older than he is in canon by about 10+ years or so. SHINRA came to Nibelheim for some of their human experimentation projects (earlier days of the company, the reputation wasn't quite so bad yet) and Cloud signed up WAY too young, out of a desire to prove himself and maybe for money for his mother. He went through some HEAVY shit to be augmented (multiple teenage years in a mako tank, perhaps?), but he still had an ordinary childhood before that.

While the country boy backstory and cool General Strife persona is VERY popular (thanks to SHINRA PR), Cloud is NOT as cooperative in some of SHINRA's ventures as the company would like. Cloud has still been forced into some shit he's not proud of, he's being ground down by some of the corporate and political forces around him, but he has disagreed with and disobeyed orders before. There's serious tension in the company due to this.

Which is not helped by the fact that "General Cloud Strife, SOLDIER First Class" is backed up by two other First Class SOLDIERs: Tifa Lockhart and Aerith Gast.

(I imagined Tifa and Aerith as Angeal and Genesis and nearly swooned. There is absolutely a public love triangle debate being fueled by Midgar tabloids: "Team Tifa or Team Aerith???" Some people don't like the idea of stupid relationship drama being on the frontlines of a military campaign, but SHINRA pumps it up as a shiny distraction from their colonial capitalist bullshit. There have been fist fights over love triangle shipping by fans.)

Tifa signed on to the Nibelheim experiments in some sneaky way, without parental permission, and then it was too late to stop her. She can rip tanks apart with her bare hands and has done so. She is SO buff. SHINRA hasn't cottoned on to the fact that Tifa is the one pulling Cloud away from the company's corruption and was the first one to start actively working against SHINRA, rather than Tifa just being Cloud's follower. (Cloud is possibly having major memory issues due to various mako experiments.)

Aerith (is still an Ancient? and) was basically born into the company and never escaped. She could be an orphan or her parents could have survived, but they're hostages or they've been twisted by the company. Maybe Ilfana died and Gast (working closely with Jenova materials) became obsessed with finding the Promised Land to reunite with his wife. Either way, Aerith got shoved into the SOLDIER program. (Maybe her would-be adoptive mother is hanging around as a SHINRA employee trying to show some care for Aerith.)

Aerith is meant to lead them all to the Promised Land someday and her magic is TERRIFYING, but Cloud is the General because SHINRA has sexist views against women and Aerith's bubbly persona in charge of the army freaks people and the public the fuck out. Aerith is more than a little burnt out and jaded, after so long, but she's good at not showing it.

The point here is not necessarily to make these characters into "the bad guys" but to play with the moral mess that already exists in the game for many characters. This Role Reversal could follow Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith as the protagonists still, as they meet up with alternate versions of friends and enemies, and struggle to do good after doing bad. Alternatively, the story could follow Sephiroth as the protagonist!

Sephiroth is still Professor Hojo's experiment from birth, quite a bit younger than these other SOLDIERs First Class, and if he's a member of SHINRA, he's viewed internally as something of a lab-grown freak. Unnatural. Artificial. Other SOLDIERs don't like the idea that SHINRA is just going to grow their own replacement warriors instead of investing in "real people".

Option 1) for Sephiroth's story path here is that SHINRA wanted someone better at following orders. A teenage Sephiroth (and Genesis and Angeal?) becomes the replacement General when Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith turn against the company. If Cloud is the protagonist of this AU, Sephiroth is still an antagonist, and Cloud really doesn't want to have to kill this manipulated and abused kid created to be his replacement. If Sephiroth is the protagonist, he's struggling against the company who now wants him to kill the person he's secretly always viewed as his hero rather than a rival, even though it seems like Cloud has turned against SHINRA for good reasons.

Option 2a) is that Hojo is working for someone else who wanted their own SOLDIERs to fight SHINRA, possibly the earlier AVALANCHE. Hojo is probably a former SHINRA employee and has some sort of personal vendetta against Professor Gast for getting him kicked out of the company or something.

Option 2b) Hojo is still a former SHINRA employee, probably with some stolen fragment of Jenova (or maybe even Ilfana?), but he's working against SHINRA because the company is destroying the planet and he LIVES HERE. Hojo is a more rational scientist trying to save the world. Maybe he's working with AVALANCHE, maybe he broke away from them, maybe he's always been more or less working alone! I think he should be accompanied by Lucretia and possibly also by Vincent.

Hojo and Lucretia have gone to extreme (unethical) lengths to produce a secret, new, artificial Ancient to fight SHINRA and heal the world. A man-made "Chosen One". Sephiroth is a kid out of his depth and not good at making friends. Maybe Vincent is hanging around the place as a weird uncle figure to Sephiroth, or maybe Vincent is a relatively unknown figure who haunts their basement, because Vincent was Hojo and Lucretia's first attempt at making a super-powered hero to save the world and it did not go well. At all.

Sephiroth must gather his party and blindly venture forth! This party probably includes Angeal and Genesis in some form.

I don't know where Zack fits into this yet, but he is absolutely not growing flowers in a church, because that is way too close to making him just another version of Aerith instead of an alternate version of Zack. He could be Aerith's secret long distance country boy boyfriend. He could be a SOLDIER partially mentored by Cloud, who moved on to mentor Angeal. In canon, he has connections to many of the characters I've listed above, he's deep in the den of monsters, so maybe a funny reversal would be that Zack isn't a part of SHINRA and doesn't know any of these people. He's some random burly chocobo farmer who finds teenage Sephiroth and party in a tough spot, helps them out, and then gets dragged into a whole bunch of bullshit he DID NOT sign up for. Oh, shit, is he the ADULT in this adventure???

[dearanakin]

"Be Safe" - Anakin Skywalker x human f!Reader

Summary: You're an ordinary human fighting against the Sith alongside with Obi-Wan Kenobi. While being kept hostage by Anakin, you try to break down his armor of rage.

Notes: Crastyne is a fictional planet. I love the idea of energy and magnetic feelings 😭 Raging Anakin is so painful and making eye color transition is more painful!

Notes¹: Let me know if you all would like a part 2!!

Warning: Pretty much none, just a small fight scene, mention of injuries and a little fluff

Word count: 3.8k

next chapter

🪐🪐🪐

There is something about not being a Jedi or even any sort of galactical person that makes you fear going to wars to defend your own.

Even the slightest usage of the blaster makes you feel uncomfortable when you're around them, even if they're willing to protect you, knowing you can't protect yourself.

There's also a reason why you don't become a Jedi yourself, because they're specifically being extinct and you're not going to sacrifice yourself that way.

You were rethinking your life when you came to the realization that being amongst troopers from your group, blasting against mostly the Sith. One of them being Anakin Skywalker, who not only was once Palpatine's apprentice, but also the one who as leading the attack.

Behind Obi-Wan, you could barely see the incoming, as he made sure none of them got through you. But you were surrounded by a few Jedi's and could hardly be discovered as some ordinary woman.

You sure can use your black belt perks, because usually that's what you come up with when you're facing someone stronger. But maybe you couldn't use that to your favor if you were ever to stand in front of Anakin. It's not like Obi-Wan would ever let that happen.

You've thought this through every single day, he made sure he would stand by you all the way through. You had extra blasters if you needed to, even.

But nothing prepared you for the moment Skywalker came behind you, just in time for a few of his own took Kenobi away from you. You were face to face to the evil himself, he seemed to be seven feet tall compared to your size.

He grabbed you by the neck and raised you from the floor, not squeezing your skin just yet. His dilated pupils and red eyes were just staring intensely at you, that frown holding his gaze against you.

"Pathetic woman", he said as he was still holding you up. "How dare you come to this war against us and defend the Jedi?".

He wasn't even himself anymore, he was already been taken to the dark side. His glowing red eyes made sure you recognized that. He was still a good-looking guy, with pretty curly hair and fading blue eyes.

But corrupted. Corrupted by the man he was supposed to fight against. His fear of losing someone made him angrier. He was selfish, greedy and aggressive.

He didn't even have to see you through your helmet to know you're a woman, and he can sense your fear, which you disguised with repulse.

"You're not gonna win this fight", you held him by his wrists, knowing he was too strong to let go of. When he tried squeezing your neck, you wrapped your legs around his torso, shaking him down suddenly.

He tripped on his foot and you got rid of his grip. You blasted against him, but Anakin used his metal hand to shield himself and it ricocheted.

You ran only for a few feet and he insisted on tackling you down on the floor. He could've used his force against you, but he was willing to knock you down. Obi-wan was nowhere to be seen.

"You're such a petulant person. Your confidence is disturbing", Skywalker pulled you against his grip as he dragged you out of the fight, leading you to somewhere else.

You've realized he was taking you to Coruscant, where you learned it was the capital of the Republic. He got rid of your Trooper outfit and left you cuffed on his ship while he was piloting.

For the entire trip he didn't even say a word to you, only staring at you at some point, through his rearview.

When he arrived at the planet, he managed to still hold you hostage, mostly because that way he knew Kenobi would find you and save you from him.

It was his way of telling the Jedi their best Master got himself into a definite war against his enemy.

He dropped you in a cell, watching as you retracted yourself into a corner. It was only then you realized he was feeling confrontation with himself. He was still in an anger phase, which was slowly turning him into Vader.

His cold way of showing attitude, the dark shadow flickering against his eyes, made you see how much he was actually in pain inside.

After a while, which you had no idea how much time had passed, you could hear Anakin speak in a low tone with someone, probably Palpatine.

He would just agree and not say too many words, when you would hear his footsteps getting closer, you'd brace yourself.

But he actually never got near you anymore since he left you in the cell. You were starving, you were tense, you were tired and sleepy. There was only one sheet and a very uncomfortable pillow to lie on.

You tried contacting Kenobi using your mind and your feelings, but you only annoyed the newly Sith, who showed up not a minute later after your first try.

"If you try that one more time, I'll slice you up", he demanded. His voice was husky and held a deepness you've never heard before.

"Then do it, you'll never find him again", you responded. It actually made him become feral, trying to choke you with his force.

The advantage of him being so powerful is that he didn't need to get closer to you. He would just stand there and have you around his force.

He dropped you on the floor and you gasped for air. Your airway was almost crushed and it was harder to breathe now.

Anakin pointed his index finger at you, his red-blue eyes were so desperate for power. At the same time, it was showing off pain. Too much pain.

"Let go of that anger, Skywalker. You're in pain", you said before he could speak first. "Whatever happened to you, just let that go".

"You don't know shit about me", he retorted. You just woke the beast inside him. Anakin could be worse than he really shows when he's mad.

How was he so sure of that when more than half of the Universe has heard about him before? The once great Jedi apprentice who gave up on his good side.

You scoffed, making him wrinkle his forehead in response. "You were Obi-Wan's best apprentice, you know that? I've worked with him thousands of times before you raged. You don't know shit about me".

Anakin just examined you from head to toe. "We're bringing him. You're gonna watch him die".

You know you had to take this into consideration, but you were sure it would be impossible for Kenobi to stop it from happening.

"I don't need a lecture from an ordinary woman", his voice was bitter. He was trying to spell like he was throwing knifes, but it had a different tone for you.

"You're gonna choke on your own words, Lord Vader", you mocked him. He knew better than this that you were only doing it on purpose.

But Anakin didn't take sarcasm, or jokes. He didn't take any words that would actually involve himself. When he opened the cell and rushed to you, you flinched.

You flinched so hard he almost faltered. He punched the wall so hard it broke down entirely. The pieces of it almost falling above your head as he started to pant.

It was that moment you saw the mistake you've made, he lit up his red saber, the sword swinging in front of your face.

"Anakin, please", you begged. Your frowned face almost making a scrunch from the fear.

He still held that terrible gaze and he just stared into your soul. He could hear your heart beating fast, racing against your ears. He knew better than anyone that feeling.

He was struggling with himself, with his awful transition he couldn't get rid of. He could beat itself.

One moment of distraction and you captured it from his hand, running away while holding it. It was the stupidest idea you could've had. But it only helped you get through one of his rooms, which you had no idea where it led to.

You were thrown against the wall, feeling that excruciating pain piercing through your back. Anakin didn't seem too impressed by your action, but he made sure you would learn a lesson.

It burned differently than anything else, the saber was burning your skin until it was completely raw and the sound coming off of your mouth almost made him deaf.

He was too sensitive to sounds, as well. But it didn't shake him. You were now more tired than before, trying to collect yourself, almost begging for Obi-Wan to actually show up before you were dead.

He crouched in front of you, his eyes burning from anger. "You move again and I swear I'll kill you".

"You've said that before and did nothing", you retorted.

"I'm trying to spare you. I want Obi-Wan. I don't care about your stupid body, I want his", Skywalker was never one to explain his tactics, but you were slowing him down.

As Anakin started walking left and right, he studied you. He watched the way you would confront him even when you knew he was the most dangerous person to be around at this point.

He saw you agonizing in pain from the burn of his saber, which he was still holding while walking. He never left that frown on his face, the flickering of his eyes was distressing, you could never really know what he was possibly feeling besides anger and pain.

"You don't have to do this", you started, your voice barely coming out. "You were like a brother to him, you know that. How do you think your mother would feel if she was here?".

And then, instead of stabbing you with his saber, he just broke down on his knees, begging you to stop. It hurt him, it was the most painful thing to hear about. His mother was everything to him.

"What would she do if she knew you've become something you weren't supposed to, Anakin? Stop while you can", your voice echoed in his room and he was panting again.

"Stop", his voice failed against his mouth. "Stop!"

You couldn't be more right about that, he felt inside his guts. But he wasn't going to admit it, he was deeply involved with the Sith and now his body was only a vessel.

"You don't get to talk about my mother. Don't you ever say that again", he looked at you and you almost gasped at the sight of his eyes becoming yellow.

He was about to break down in tears, he was one step closer to feeling like Anakin again.

"Anakin, you need to remember her. You need to remember who you were before. It's going to consume you".

"Shut up!", he shouted at you. He was still on his knees, his knuckles supporting his hands on the floor. "Just.. shut up".

You saw the man becoming more fragile than he ever was. You noticed he let his guard down, surprisingly putting down his shield he used to use around himself.

The tears streaming down his cheeks were burning his skin, it tasted too salty on his lips. The lump in his chest quickly rising in his throat, making it harder for him to actually breathe.

"Please, stop", you could barely hear him pleading. He was surrendering himself.

He slipped and he fell into your trap. You managed to cross his evil shield and you made him miserable. He didn't know how he could actually be able to feel like he was Anakin again.

Everything inside him felt dark, empty. His head was void, emotionless. He had too much anger inside him, it made him blind. He was too greedy for power. The more power the better.

You carefully approched him and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, they were shuddering. You felt his body give in and shiver.

He actually felt warmth, apart from his cold hands and cold sweat, he was warm. His tears felt like waterfalls.

"Just leave before I change my mind", he said after a while, the room was so silent before that, not a single noise could be heard.

"Can you feel this?", you ask as you grip his hand tightly, firmly, crossing your fingers against his. The energy between your veins circulating, transmitting him a sensation of peace.

"This is what it feels like to be free from pain, anger. This is how you were supposed to feel like".

Skywalker was shaking, he could feel a different wave of serenity between his fingers, feeling your energy. He was almost absorving it for himself. It felt light, weightless. It tickled his inside.

He spent too much time gripping your hand, enjoying your energy. His eyes were becoming blue after a moment, the yellow almost fading.

He flinched his face and closed his eyes. He let go of your hand, getting up and held your arm, getting you up along with him.

He didn't say another word as he took you to a medical room and demanded the droids to bandage your burnt skin and give you food.

As you rested in a bed you saw him walking with a stiffened attitude, his eyes wandering across the giant window.

You would give all your money to know what he was actually thinking about, you couldn't ever know what he was going through, besides the honest pain and struggle, and anger mostly.

You ended up falling asleep while being taken care of, you were too tired and your body was giving up on the pain as well.

Only when you woke up you felt like you were being watched, and you thought one of the droids was still there taking care of you. As you slowly opened one your eyes, you saw him staring at you.

He was holding his arms crossed against his pumped chest, his face still frowned while he was leaning against the wall. His eyes were meerely blue anymore, a yellow gaze watching you.

"You should leave this place before Obi-Wan gets here", he demanded. His voice had a low husky tone. "I can't promise I won't kill him".

You were sort of dozy from the painkiller. You were trying to gather his words as you slowly sat up on the bed.

"I'll get the droids to watch over you while you get back".

Were you honestly awake or was it some kind of messed up dream you were having? That didn't sound like him at all honestly.

"Anakin, you gotta take care of yourself", you stated as you slowly got up from the bed, looking at him.

He was much taller than you, you have to raise your head to look at him. His frown was almost loose.

"Don't tell me what I should or should not do. I've made that clear before", he responded. His tone sent a shiver down your spine.

"Anakin", you raised you hand as you tried to approach his scarred face, but he was much faster and held your wrist tightly.

"Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that".

He was too hard to soften, not even Padmé would have been able to do so. You didn't know how you could manage to make him vulnerable before.

But again he had built up his walls and he was ready to use his shield against you. Other than that, he didn't break eye contact, he didn't twist your wrist.

But he still was a Sith. He still had anger inside him. Your gaze was comforting, it transmitted peace. With your other hand you cupped his jawline, you traveled your finger against his biggest scar.

Your soft, warm hand felt like shockwaves on his skin. Your heard as he let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting against his feelings.

Skywalker let go of your wrist, not touching you or getting away from your touch.

"I know there's good in you", you say as you make a trail with your fingertips on his cheek. He looked away from you, closing his eyes almost squinting them.

"No", he was too reluctant. He was feeling his blood boiling immediately. "No".

"Please, look at me", you tried to tame him. He didn't look at first.

When you locked your other fingers through his flesh hand, he almost gasped. It felt like heaven for a moment.

He gave in, and it first scared you. His eyes, as red as fire, his pupils were dilated and it was so intimidating. It was hard to look at him that way.

You must have gone mad, but when you pecked his trembling lips you felt your heart almost jump out of your throat. You felt his hand grip your waist so tight it was gonna leave a bruise.

You didn't move your lips, you didn't deepen that kiss. Hell, you didn't even move your body too scared he would back out. And it felt good like that.

He must have felt like that too, Anakin didn't push you away. He didn't flinch. When he felt your skin against his hand, he almost let out a groan, but he was holding himself off.

He was on the verge of snapping out of his mind. Skywalker felt his brain collapse and something inside him melted down. His veins were pumping his blood faster than ever.

You opened your eyes for a slight second, realizing he was looking intensively at you, his brows were furrowed. But what really shocked you was how deep blue his eyes were.

They were blue like the ocean, they were bright like the sky. They flickered with the sudden emotion washing over him. You broke from his lips and gave him an honest side smile.

He gave you nothing, because he was probably as shocked as you. He only then noticed what had happened to him when you tried to touch his face again and this time he backed out.

It pinched your heart, but it was actually expected. He moved away from you, looking tormented and stunned as he didn't even look at you when he left the medical room.

When he came back, he was holding folded clean clothes and left them at the bed. He warned the droids they were going to take you back to where you came from.

It didn't exactly make sense for you the way he reacted to your kiss, but you understood it. He was too conflicted to really know how to deal with it. And his self defense was to push you away.

"I'll let Obi-Wan know you're going back. Don't you try and make him come after me". Anakin was almost back to his normal self.

He managed to not make eye contact with you, but it slipped and he tried to look away. Your gaze at him burned his entire body.

It if keeps happening he's gonna lose it. And God, you wanted it to happen so bad.

You just nodded, getting ready to leave the building. It was making you feel so bad for leaving him alone but he wanted to be alone.

He like being by himself. He didn't want company. He didn't need company.

You didn't even have the chance to say a goodbye, because he made sure he was gone before you left. He just honestly didn't want to see you.

Inside the ship, you made sure you asked the droids to take care of him. If they obeyed and listened to him, maybe they could listen to you as well.

"Please, look after him. And if you need to, just let Obi-Wan know", your voice was almost desperate.

They seemed to agree and treated you nicely after all. Weirdly nice, to say the least. Usually their droids were built to kill people like you.

When you arrived at Crastyne, Obi-Wan was already there waiting for you and gave you the most desperate and the tightest hug. He almost crushed your bones.

It was so good to see him there, to actually feel his arms around you. He smelled like mud, but you weren't going to question.

"It's so good to see you alive, (Y/N)". He noticed your injury, and quickly changed his composure. "Are you hurt anywhere else?". You shook your head.

"He burned my skin with his saber, but that's all?", you tried to sound like it was a normal thing. But coming from Skywalker it was definitely not.

"He didn't try to kill you?". Kenobi was more confused than you were. And again you shook your head.

"He actually wanted to use me as bait, he wanted you to go there. He wanted to kill you there".

He was trying to gather your words. He wouldn't expect Anakin to actually do that, he should've seen that coming.

"But there was an overturn. I'll explain it later. I wanna take a shower, rest".

He nodded and you left with him, he was going to make sure you were safe for now. He was going to watch over you for the next few days.

But deep inside you weren't worried about yourself, you weren't worried about your safety. You were so hopelessly worried about him. You had no idea how he was going to deal with himself after that.

You weren't even sure he would be able to consider what happened between you two. You just hoped you could find him, meet him again.

Skywalker, on the other hand, couldn't make himself sleep. He was relentlessly playing your words and touch over and over in his head.

The sweat streaming down his spine was cold and harsh. His breath was out of rhythm, making it hard to come out of his throat.

What have you done to him, he thought as he couldn't wrap his mind around the mixed feelings surrounding him.

It was so hard for him to process how you reacted to his threatening, to his deep sharp gaze against you. And yet you didn't run away from him, you didn't fear him, you didn't flinch.

His metal hand crushed another wall, and he let out the most feral and loud groan. He was panting loudly, his vision was distorted.

He couldn't let you get through him like that. He couldn't let himself let you in like that. Either he keeps helping the Sith or he drops down his armor.

This energy thing is pretty intense, you think. You can't seem to sleep either, both of you connected by a feeling that keeps wandering through your veins.

It's like it's keeping you both magnetized, even through miles and miles apart.

"Be safe, Anakin", you wish while trying to calm your brain down.

Skywalker was still sitting on the corner of his bed, his arms resting against his knees while he was holding his head with both hands.

A fading voice echoing inside his brain woke him from his messed thoughts. "Be safe, Anakin".

[onpointedfeetandbrokendreams]

Day 5 - Painland Week

Day 5 of Painland Week 2024: August 5th - August 11th by @painlandweek

I wanted to post the final day in time because it was the first fic I wrote for this event, but I do have 5 and 6 as well so I guess I'll still share them even if a bit late!

Prompt: Case Fic

Tags:  Post-canon, Established Relationship

TW: None

--

For all intents and purposes, Crystal was part of London’s supernatural community. Even before meeting Edwin and Charles she had some ghosts as friends, and obviously there was the whole dating a demon business. But she was surprised to find out that there were several gathering spots that other psychics and beings in general used to exchange information, trade, or generally hang out together.

What didn’t surprise her at all was that Charles loved going there, while Edwin looked like he would rather spend the evening stabbing his own arm with an iron knife.

“I just don’t see the point, if someone has a case for us to solve, they would know where to find us, otherwise we have no reason to talk to them.”

“We don’t have to think about work all the time, do we?” replied Charles, not without a fond smile on his face. Few things had changed between the two of them since they got officially together, at least in public - she didn’t want to think about what they did after she left in the evening, and luckily they never talked about it - except that they were both more relaxed, and sometimes they got lost in each other’s eyes.

She cleared her throat. “So we are going?”

Edwin grimaced, like he had just bitten something incredibly sour. “Fine.”

They had a new client, a young witch called Noora, who said random objects had started to disappear from her shop. She believed someone or something was trying to get her to close because they didn’t trust her, even if she had stopped practising magic for that exact reason, afraid that the power would eventually corrupt her like it happened to many witches. She had seemed honest enough, someone who just wanted to do some good selling herbs and artefacts, plus she had offered an open tab to collect ingredients as payment, which was too good an opportunity to pass on. So after doing some background checks on her - which had become mandatory after the ‘Case of the Asshole Jocks’ (as Crystal called it) in Port Townsend - they decided to accept.

They arrived at what looked like an ordinary pub, with some arcade games in one corner, darts and pools in another, and a counter, with separated menus for humans, vampires, and even ghosts.

“There is food that ghosts can eat?” Crystal asked, looking around curiously.

“It is mostly potions with mild effects,” Edwin explained, “they simulate the intoxication of alcohol, or other nonsense.”

Behind his back, Charles winked at her.

When the surprise faded, she started noticing something else, the barman had greeted them politely, but everyone else seemed to keep their distance from them, it was almost like they were scared of something. She tried to ignore the odd feeling for a while, but it was clear that it was not just an impression.

“Why are people afraid of us? Did something happen?” She asked, looking between the other two to study their faces.

“It’s a very funny story,” replied Charles, laughing, while Edwin grimaced.

“Please, Charles, there is no need to talk about this. I assure you it is nothing, Crystal, let us remain focused on the case.”

She was not deterred in the slightest by his patronising tone, she kept her gaze fixed on Charles until he relented.

“They are scared of Edwin,” Charles said in a lower voice.

“What? Why?”

For how much she and Edwin bickered, she knew he would never hurt anyone.

“It is not extremely common for a soul to escape Hell,” Edwin explained matter-of-factly, “and, as you well know, I have never exactly hidden the fact. There are many who think I somehow made a deal with Lucifer herself.”

“And it’s not only that,” continued Charles, “most of the incantations and rituals he uses shouldn’t be possible for a ghost because they require too much spiritual energy, so they don’t know exactly what he is capable of.” 

He said it proudly, and of course Crystal was impressed as well, but it was also a bit sad. From what she had gathered of Edwin’s life, he had been a bit isolated from his peers back then, and it seemed he still was, even if for different reasons. It was no wonder he didn’t like to come to these places.

“Maybe you should talk to some of them, if they get to know the real you, they will know you are actually a real softie.”

If looks could kill, Crystal’s head would surely have exploded in that moment. “I am NOT a softie.”

Charles was laughing so hard tears collected at the corner of his eyes. “You kind of are, love.”

She decided to go talk to some other people after that, wanting to give them some space. She had some basic self-preservation instinct after all.

Some people knew about Noora’s shop, but none of them seemed to have heard of the random disappearances, so it was a bit of a bust. She returned to the table Charles had claimed for them to figure out their next step, and she was still recounting what she had gathered, when someone approached them. Crystal wasn’t sure what kind of creature they were, but there was something about them that made her skin crawl.

“I’ve heard you talking about the witch,” they said, pronouncing the last word like it was a slur.

“Yes, we are trying to solve a mystery that occurred in her shop,” explained Edwin.

“You shouldn’t mess with her, she is a liar. I bet she gave you the ‘I’m just a good witch who stopped practising’ speech.”

Crystal noticed that every other being in the pub had stopped what they were doing to listen to the exchange. 

She had a sudden idea:

“Do you know who he is,” she said, pointing at Edwin and ignoring Charles’ panicked look of warning, “what he could do to you if you are involved in an act of discrimination against a poor girl who just wants to run a shop?”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. Do you really think someone like him could escape Hell?” The way they snarled, almost made it seem like-

“You are a demon,” Edwin said, before she could reach that same conclusion.

The demon’s eyes glinted. “And what if I am, pretty boy?”

“Oi, leave him alone,” interjected Charles, moving in front of Edwin with his cricket bat ready.

“That witch is mine, you hear me, stay out of my way. I have great plans for her and her shop.”

Edwin started muttering something in Latin, probably a banishment spell, but he was startled by another patron binding him with a golden rope.

“Stop!” Crystal yelled at the ghost who cast the spell. “Don’t you see what this demon is doing? We are just trying to help!”

The distraction was enough to allow the demon to transform their hands in long claws and lock them around Charles’ throat.

“Charles!” Crystal and Edwin shouted at the same time, before Edwin turned to the ghost who was still binding him.

“I swear I mean no harm to any of you, but I can’t lose him, please let me go, allow me to save him.”

The tone of his voice tore Crystal’s heart in two. She knew they could handle the demon, but there were too many people there and if they started going against them, things might become dangerous. Other customers were approaching, looking between Edwin and the demon to decide which side to take.

“Edwin, I’m sorry,” she said. Then her eyes turned white and she sent a flow of images through everyone else’s minds, memories of Edwin saving her from a misery wraith, preventing her from drinking poison, she was careful to only choose moments that were not too personal, that he might feel uncomfortable sharing. “I know you’ve heard rumours, but I tell you we are just here to help!”

Charles didn’t technically need to breathe, but the claws scraping at his throat were making the skin black, grey smoke pouring from the cuts. He was desperately trying to swing his bat at them and hitting only empty space, the arms moving in every direction, disappearing and forming again without ever releasing their hold.

The moment the ghost retracted the binding spell, Edwin raised his hands and started the banishment incantation again. His eyes looked like they were on fire.

Other people recognized the type of spell he was casting and tried to help by confining the demon, until a red portal finally appeared to swallow them.

Edwin collapsed on a table from the exertion.

“Edwin!” Charles yelled in a raspy voice, moving to his side in an instant. “Love, are you okay? You shouldn’t have done that, I would have found a weakness in those stupid liquid arms and freed myself on my own.”

Edwin managed a smile. “No version of this where I didn’t protect you.”

“I hate you when you use that against me.”

“Sure you do,” Edwin replied, turning around to hug him, the relief evident in both their faces. 

While the two continued whispering reassurances and promising - again, as if it were needed - eternal devotion to one another, Crystal tried to explain what happened and apologised for using her psychic powers to the others still gathered around them.

“I am sorry for trying to stop you friend, I hope it didn’t cause too much damage,” the ghost said.

Finally, Edwin moved back, only a little flustered by the public display of affection. “What is important is that you freed me in time.”

“Still, I am sorry. I should know better than to listen to gossip like this.”

“Well, I guess the case is closed. We should still check the shop in case there is some of the demon’s magic left.” He said, more to himself than the others, but he did nod at Crystal and he looked more grateful than murderous, so she allowed a sigh of relief. She didn’t think she would get away from the scolding so easily this time.