#also inky why get so rough I could murder you

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Ann Bradstreet, you old puritan of the people of changing seasons like expose and encouragement to go ahead and view this 7:200 page pine again

Nice pomes

[sashakielman]

Between Justice and Mercy

My very belated short story for this year's @inklings-challenge! Thank you so much to the mods for a lovely event and the opportunity to get my brain back in gear for writing!

The Imperator’s dungeons were mostly emptied ahead of his attempt at war. Though a cruel man, he was also practical. Selenara’s population was small, and most had never left its borders, by the Imperator’s decree. Political prisoners and the few who had actually committed crimes would serve for his war effort as another form of punishment. 

One prisoner yet remained, however, with whom Kazmera needed to discuss her grandfather’s twisted governance. This prisoner was too old to fight, and even if he were in the prime of his life, the Imperator would not have allowed him to go free. 

And so Selenara’s newly crowned queen made her way into the depths of the dungeons, where no trace of the weak sunlight penetrated. It was cold as winter, damp, and rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of those who died there. Kazmera repressed a shudder and walked quickly, grateful for her heavy, fur lined cloak.

It was not hard to find the prisoner she sought; he was the only one remaining on that level. It was so quiet Kazmera could hear her own heart beating as she approached his cell. 

“My lord?” she asked as she stepped forward. Her torch cast shadows into the small cell, with only enough room for a rough cot, table for eating and a candle, and a toilet in the corner. The lord sat on his cot, hunched over, the shadows making his profile appear even more aged. She placed the torch into a holder next to the cell. 

“My queen,” he said, looking up at her. “The guards warned me you might pay me a visit.”

“I am glad they did,” she replied. “So you know why I have come?”

“I can imagine,” he answered. “You want to know the truth of my crimes against your grandfather.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, and waited for him to go on. 

“It is true, my lady. I was a leader in your father’s rebellion against him.”

“That, I did not doubt,” she replied. “Did you plan to assassinate my grandfather in the midst of the coup?”

“Would your opinion of the rebellion change if I had?” For a moment, there was fire in his eyes, and Kazmera could understand why her grandfather feared this man even from his prison cell, feared his leadership skills and passion for his cause.

She paused for a moment to say a prayer for her parents’ memory. “My opinion of my father’s rebellion would not change, no. I am still grateful he tried to give us all a better life, even if my parents were murdered as a result.”  

She swallowed. “But my opinion of you would change, my lord. My father did not intend to kill his own father, of that I am certain.” She took a breath before asking her next question. “And is it true we are blood relations, my lord?” 

He did not look back up at her, his earlier defiance lost to the shadows of the past. He merely held up his left arm, and a cloud of inky black darkness appeared in his hand, contrasted even with the cell’s gloom. “Is my magic enough answer for you, dear cousin?”

“It is,” she replied. “I would honor that relationship, lord cousin, and welcome you back to my family’s table.”

“Would you?” he replied, looking back up at her this time. “I never answered your question, Queen Kazmera.”

She met his gaze. “I was merely curious. The answer, I find, matters not to my heart. My grandfather slaughtered most of our family, including my parents. I grew up alone with him. I knew his heart, and there was no kindness within it.”

She attempted to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “I think there is still kindness left in your heart, my lord. My grandfather and his enablers may have tried to destroy it, and you with it, but I do not believe they succeeded.”

He nodded stiffly. “Your father was a good man, despite your grandfather. He would have been a good king. And if you’re half the good person he was, Selenara is in good hands for the future.”

“Thank you,” she replied. 

“Don’t thank me,” he answered. “Have you shown mercy to your grandfather’s other prisoners?”

“Yes,” she answered. “As I will show mercy to you.” 

She drew a set of keys out of her pocket--a set of keys which had been difficult to obtain, and caused more bloodshed in the palace. She unlocked the door, and gestured for him to come forward.    

“What may I call you?” she asked, offering him her arm as they began their journey back upward into the light.

“Your father called me Uncle Feliks,” he replied, still gruffly but a measure less than before. 

“It suits you, Uncle,” Kazmera replied with a small smile. “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms, and we can become acquainted after you have a hot meal.” 

“Very well,” he replied. “I hope the food’s better, at least.”

She laughed. 

Each cell they passed on their way back to the palace was empty.

[inkyquince]

Inky, Inky, Inky - consider jock Whitney and PC who is also into sports wearing either the jock outfit or cheerleading outfits you can buy at the mall. Im not even into sports and id do it, just so at Whitney's games pc can be on the side cheering him on, and then getting railed on the team bench or in the middle of the field after a game/practice

Okay, I have two thought nuggets coming off this idea.

content warning real quick, for rough sex, cheating/cucking, exhibitionism, bullying, anal, and generally Whitney.

One, is that cheerleader x jock troupe, we love it, stunning, what yall talk about as pillow talk? Protein powder? Right.

But YES.

Also, cmon, amabs can be cheerleaders too, yall missing out. Honestly become beloved by people on the cheer team.

So, yes, being the It couple, you cheering him on as Whitney absolutely fucks the other team up.

And because I played Basketball and was a huge fan of KNB, lemme just say... Basketball player Whitney. Uniforms hotter than American Football OR actual Football. Football just funny to me. So, Rugby (yes, its because im south african and I WEAR A SPRINGBOK HOODIE AS I WRITE THIS) is a very hot pick for Whitney, also... Yknow, its played by posh boys in schools, and I like Whitney as a rich kid acting out by pretending he's not Danube Street Rich. Anyway, in both games, Whitney would be absolutely murdering the other team. Elbowing and stomping on feet in basketball and fully just... Tryna break knees in Rugby.

Will come up to you after both games, sweaty and gross and wants to make a big kissing scene with you. Bonus if he just played Rugby in shit weather and he's all muddy and his hair is sticking up stupid.

Wants you to wear his letterman jacket, wants you to stay after practice since his run a bit later than yours. That dude who wants you to slip into the changing room while his team mates are still there, watching him get clean and changed, eyes only on him despite all the embarrassed lads surrounding yall. Does lag behind and everyone knows why. Likes fucking you on the bench.

In playful moments, will try to make you try out the sport just to laugh at you. Rugby, he fully just tackles you and wrestles you to the ground, ball forgotten. In basketball, does station you properly, proper ball holding technique that he giggles at saying, snickers as you miss the hoop completely and then grab your hand to properly hold his balls.

If you miss one of his games, he's taking that as a sign you are gonna let him do rough anal or throat fucking as an apology. Not that he doesn't usually do that, but he's gonna have an audience this time. If he wins that game, he says its a reward from his negligent little cheerleader. If they loose, he needs a pick me up, and he can't really help how rough he is, Whitney's obviously a million miles away, mind still on the game.

Has once dared you to try to hold his cum in you without underwear to your cheerleading routine. All that movement ain't helping.

Second nugget of thought?

Outcast PC with Jock Whitney.

Bullies you to tears, harasses you, makes fun of you in front of his friends, just as normal. Now, he does spit on you and says he'd rather fuck a corpse while his friends cackle, but that doesn't negate the way he cups the back of your head in the bathroom, groaning as you suck him off, clinging to his thighs.

His popularity would tank if you even so much as groped you, but he can't help himself. While his pretty girlfriend coos over him in maths, his hand is massaging your thigh, digging his nails into your skin.

Forces you to come to his games, despite all the jeers, and he'd be furious if you don't hang around after the game, until all of his peers leave and drags you into the showers, mouthing at your neck and calling you a filthy slut as you both get wet under the shower spray.

He can't help it. It started as a dare, ask you out as a joke and try to make you send him a nude, pressuring you into it, just so the group could pass it around and make fun of you. Except, that dreadful night, he lies to his friends, calling you a prude, but still spends that time with his hand slowly bobbing under his covers as he grips his phone in his other hand. Legit, the conversation goes like this.

Whitney: lmao u would never go out with such a cow. Was a dare, you fucking moron.

Whitney: Now send more, want to see you finger that slutty hole.

Does have a secret folder on his phone, put under something like... Train times, club schedule, who knows. Has to be realistic so it won't be something like Maths Homework. Hoards all photos of you, but doesn't get much use out of them, not when he has you up against the wall around the back of the school, rutting into you like an animal.

There will be a few times where he will publicly humiliate you, esp in front of his girlfriend, reduce you to tears but will be waiting outside for you at the end of the day when the crowds have dispersed and will be irritated if you won't put out or even let him cop a feel or a kiss.

Doesn't see why he can't both have the image of the cool jock AND keep his slut close by. Don't make him choose, he'll just get angry and treat you worse.

Though, maybe just wait till after graduation. The public meltdown of his girlfriend, turned fiancé, catching him bouncing you on his cock while she was at a fitting, will be monumental. It does result in her moving away and Whitney mouthing at your chest in the mornings, wanting a little something something before you leave to start your day. You might regret all of it, depending on how sweet his girlfriend was, but Whitney apparently didn't really care. Any questions on an explanation on why he let the façade crumble would just be met with a snort and a lie, that you were slutty enough to let him into your ass, that you had the best fuck me eyes, that you were so openly horny for him it would have been a waste not to take advantage. Does finally gift you his sport jersey, Whitney himself having washed the scent of his old girlfriend's perfume off carefully.

[mysticgoblinwriter]

Driving In A Cold Sweat; There Is No One On This Highway

Warnings- Murder, infidelity, swearing, food imagery, shitty parents, i made Steve the villain who’s in the HOA and a politician, adult content, dark!reader, cheating, a bit of flirting, mental health joke (mental health is NOT a joke, y’all), religion symbolism, dark!steve, peggy x bucky,

Word Count- 1.9k

kudos to @blackberrybucky for being my soundboard, and @fandomsandxfiles for being my beta reader. Love y'all

a/n- This is inspired by Hypothermic by Goodnight Texas.  Its really dark, and I surprised myself writing this but I like it. I also changed the landscape to desert. Leave comments if you want! As many as you like, I fangirl over my work too. All writers should, its selfcare.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING FLUFFY AND SOFT TURN AWAY NOW; MINORS DNI

DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE. A REBLOG IS APPRECIATED. A REPOST IS NOT.

Bucky looks you up and down, taking you in like you are the gods own ambrosia.  “So, doll.  What brings you to this shit hole?”

You laugh to yourself.  “I murdered somebody.”- was the sentence that also inspired this but its not in the actual story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The radio gave out miles ago.  It was emitting nothing except for crackling and static.  Every now and then it would cut back to a sermon, funnily enough it’d been the same one that was on when you started your trip.  Sunset was a little ways off.  If you looked hard enough you could see coyotes just off the asphalt.  Alive, yes.  But just how long had their souls been gone?  Someone was screaming.

A man.  You’d heard that scream before.  Seared into you memory like that steak you had for your 15th birthday. It was right next to you.  Oozing blood and raw-red.  You could hear the clink of the knife as it scraped against the plate.  Shaking your head to clear it, you notice an exit with a gas station.  “Now’s a time as good as any to stop.”  Gravel crunches as you slide up next to the pump. The neon beer lights from the bar across the road are calling.  But you can’t answer. The gas handle is slick and grimy, you’ve felt something like that before, but you can’t remember what.  A fuzzy noise in the back of your ears gets your attention.  Another truck has pulled in.  Right in the spot next to yours, never mind the dozen others that are free.  A bulky man steps down, his face hidden by a rangers hat.

You could tell he worked out though.  And had hair in need of a washing.  Clunk.  The tank was full.  You thought it best to leave before anyone could place you, but your stomach needed something other than greasy two-bit fast food.  You glance around, looking for any sign that promised a hot meal.

“Looking for something, doll?” You let out a small gasp.  He was staring straight at you now.

“Does this shithole have a place to eat?  I might have to start eating the cactus.”

He lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, there’s a diner about half mile down the road.”

His face brightens like he just thought of something.  “You wanna meet me there?  I’ll buy dinner?”  You weigh the options.  You can’t have anybody recognize you; but your cash is getting low and however you can stretch it, you must.  You nod once.  “Sure.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The diner is every trope you’d seen in the movies your pops watched when he got off work.  Flies buzzing, neon sign flickering, checkered tile.  It even had the shiny red leather booths.  What a dream.  “Getcha a seat anywhere, honey.  I’ll be right over,” came a perky voice from the back.  Presumably a waitress. You choose the booth near the back exit.  Its always good to have a backup plan.

The man said he needed to get something at the mini-mart, that you could go ahead and he’d catch up.  Somebody screamed right next to you, causing you to jump out of your seat.  You whip your head around.  No one was even in the dining area.  It sounded so real.  Like you could reach out and grasp the shattering inky blackness.  You take a couple of deep breaths.  Try to remember your happy place.  Tahiti, its a magical place.  Or so you’ve been told  You just picked it from a magazine that was open on the coffee table the night your mother set fire to the curtains in the living room.  The flames had licked up the page, burning the island resort into ash.  Boots thudded as they made way to where you were.  He slides in across from you.

“Um, the waitress’ll be right out,” you said softly.  He barely heard it over the rickety air conditioning.  He nods to show he heard.  He’s sitting close.  Closer than you’d thought another human would ever sit next to you again.  His hands are rough and calloused.  The sleeve cuffs of his hoodie are frayed; as if someone clawed at them.  Eyes traveling up his body, you take in more details.  The hoodie isn’t faded, its brand new.  He wears a bracelet of leather on his right hand, with a charm you can’t quite see.  His necklace is corded hemp, plain and understated.

A light stubble that’s maybe three days old covers his jaw.  His eyes... are piercing right through you. You take in a quick breath, not being able to look away.  You’d never seen that shade of blue before.   He’d been watching you watching him.  Quirking an eyebrow, ”See anything ya like, doll?” You start to sputter an answer but the waitress comes over.  “Sorry about the wait.  Here’s your-”  Blue eyes interrupts her, “We don’t need those.  I’ll have the special and she’ll have the ‘Its Impossible To Go Away Hungry’ plate”  “Okay, then.  I’ll get that right out to ya folks.”

You glare at him, he mirrors it with dicky nonchalance. “Why did you order for me?”  He leans forward, tilts his head the right the tiniest fraction.  “You’re starved.  I really don’t give a damn what kept you from eating but I ain’t gonna let you go without giving you a meal.  The steak plate is the biggest meal they have.  You can take a to go box, that is if you don’t eat the whole thing.”

“Oh.”  You cast out a huff, “Well, thank you.”  He flashes a killer smile. Pearly white teeth in a straight line.  Not an imperfection to be found anywhere.  A silence falls between the two of you.  You can’t decide whether its comfortable of not.

“My name is Bucky.  I thought you wouldn’t like eating with a stranger.  I like to doodle in the margins of my books sometimes.”  “Please tell me not library books.”  He scoffs as if you suggested the impossible, “Never.  Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Jury’s out on that, Bucky.”  He looks at you more intently now.  “Really?  Same could be said about you.  When I first spoke to you it was like a deer in headlights.  Ya running from something, sugar?”  He’d said it jokingly but you didn’t laugh.

“No.  Nothing like that.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Shirley came back with your plates, and two root beers.  She left the check at the end of the table and Bucky swooped it up.  The meal passed by in the comfortable sounds of silverware clinking and ice clacking in the cups.  You both ate in record time.

You were careful to save enough for a second meal. That went into the to go container.  Now both cups were drained and plates scraped clean.  You start to slide out of your seat, mumbling a thanks but Bucky stops you.  “Wait, won’t you sit here a while longer?  I’d be kinda sad sitting here alone.”  After a moments hesitation, you resume your position.  “What do you wanna talk about?  It can’t be the weather.  Its been dry as bones for weeks.”   He ponders for a moment, “You.”  He shifts a little, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

“I want to know what you’re running from, and see if I can offer...a distraction.”  That shocks you.  “Life?  Aren’t we all running away in some form or another?  I just happened to take the mobile route.”  You shrug, “What do you want me to say?  It was all shitty so I left it behind.  And as for the distraction part, I got a whore last night, so don’t bother.”  He is silent.  Just sits there and gazes at you.  You cock your head, getting impatient.  “Am I allowed to leave now?  Or do you want to talk about our feelings?”

“I slept with my best friends wife.”

“I-I’m sorry you what??”

“I slept with my best friends wife.  He owns half the town, what with him being mayor and all.  I couldn’t take it anymore, he’s always been the golden boy.  Always been the beacon of light.  I just wanted a slice of what he had.”  He looks up, his eyes are dead.  “She was willing, and I just... took her.  There on his desk.  He’d been out for lunch with some bigwig, and I made her cum twice on my cock.”  He chuckles darkly.  “That’d been the first time.  All the other times don’t matter, he doesn’t know about those.  But he does know about the time in the craft shed.  Peggy did pottery.

Had a nice little workshop, it was connected to the mansion they had.  I wanted to bring her pleasure in the place where she gets frustrated often, so she’d have something else to think about.  Steve caught us on the floor.  A big bunch of daffodils in hand.  Stupid, those weren’t even her favorites.”  He was gone now, lost in memories, not even knowing he was talking.  “Said he had come by to take her to lunch.  That was always like Steve.  Expected her to clear her schedule at the drop of a hat but never doing the same for anybody. He didn’t even get mad.  He just walked away, muttering something about his office.

Peggy said she could talk some sense into him.  The next day I found her in the garbage when I took out my trash.”  Your sharp inhale and big eyes do nothing to catch his attention.  “Steve comes strolling out of nowhere, said that she was a threat to his image.  Said that I need to leave or face the same.  I asked why he left me alive and he said ‘So you can remember the pain until you lay down in the ground and the mice and carrion drag your body up from its silk cocoon to feast.”

But that’s not all.”  He said the last bit so quietly, it was as if he said nothing.

“What?”  He’s crying now, tears are forming rivers in his eyes.  “She knew.  She knew  he was going to be there and that’s how she wanted to go out.”  Your puzzled expression makes him laugh.  “Don’t know many politicians, do you?  Good.  Keep it that way.  That day when the mail came I got a letter.  From her.  It said how she wanted to divorce Steve ever since he became the HOA president.  But she couldn’t.  He had threatened her once, just once and what he said was so blisteringly awful.  And he did it.  He is a man of his word, after all.  He kept his damn word.”

“So...she used you as an out?”  He winces.  You hadn’t meant to sound like that.

“Yes.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Out in the diners parking lot you say goodbye to James.  Wait.  No, no.  His name is Bucky.  He’s got a green  Chevy and blue eyes.  Or was it red?  It doesn’t matter anyway.  You back out and head for the next state, ignoring the blood leaking from the tarp in your trunk.  The screams have stopped.  And the moon is bright.

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 35- The Storm

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

The plan, both that of the reunion squad and that of the pro heroes, goes to shit almost immediately. Your father is a smart man and the compound reflects that. Almost immediately upon breaching the entrance, the pros realized that the information they had on the building’s floor plan was incorrect. They were also wrong about the compound solely being occupied by you, Dabi, and your father. Several lower level villains have been kept on retainer precisely in case of a situation like this. Not only had Shoto and the others not been able to sneak past the pros to try and find you but the pros had actively requested their help as things rapidly devolved.

Then your father finally made his appearance in dramatic fashion, and that’s when things really went downhill. Literally half the compound was blown sky high as your father released a massive flurry of shadows racing out to push back the heroes. Several of the pros on scene are immediately knocked out of commission, leaving the smaller villains to run into the city and cause trouble. Tamaki is one of the first to recover, quickly organizing some of the remaining heroes and sidekicks into squads to track down the villains now racing towards the more densely populated commercial area nearby. “I’m trusting you to handle Black Storm,” he tells Endeavor. The older man only gives him a nod before Tamaki is off to try and minimize the damage being done.

Shoto starts to worry as he realizes he still hasn’t seen you but before he can begin searching properly a familiar voice stops him in his tracks. “There you are little brother, I was worried you might not show,” Touya grins. Shoto’s eyes narrow at his brother, his quirk itching to be released as he stares him down. “Where’s (y/n)?” Shoto all but growls. “You sure she even wants you to find her?” Dabi teases, his amusement at the situation palpable. “Absolutely,” Shoto replies without even a hint of hesitation or doubt. “Tell you what, prove you really are dad’s perfect little experiment and beat me. If you can do that much I’ll lead you right to her. I’d hurry if I were you too, her daddy dearest didn’t take too kindly to finding heroes at our door and poor (y/n) is his favorite punching bag,” Dabi grins. “With pleasure,” Shoto growls before lunging forward.

This is a disaster. You’ve managed to only bump into one sidekick who’d made it deeper into the remains of the compound but even that small fight had been enough to aggravate your injuries. Your vision swims as you rush towards the sound of the fighting. You know your dad’s been using quirk enhancing drugs lately and the pros aren’t prepared for that kind of firepower. You want nothing more than to just sit down, close your eyes, and try to heal yourself, maybe even take a nap, but there’s no time. You’re the only one who can stop your dad now. You know it in your gut. So you push through the pain and the slight dizziness to keep moving. You’re nearly knocked off your feet as a series of explosions shakes the compound, followed by an all too familiar battle cry of “DIE!” Fear surges through your veins like ice. You’d recognize Bakugo’s voice anywhere and even if you couldn’t there’s not exactly a ton of explosive heroes who threaten to murder villains out there. Bakugo would never come alone, which means more of your friends are surely in the fray and in danger. You grit your teeth, focusing on them and your determination to save them, and start running towards the commotion glowing only faintly but enough to hold you together.

Shoto has never fought this hard his entire life. He lands hard on his side but quickly rolls to recover and get back on his feet. He throws up a wall of ice, partly to slow Dabi’s progress as he comes surging towards him, but partially to stave off the after effects from using his left side so much. Sweat pours off his forehead as he desperately tries to hold off from overheating. As Dabi burns through his ice, Shoto launches himself forward to meet his brother halfway. He’ll be damned if he loses this fight. He has to get to you, especially if what Dabi said about your condition is the truth. For a single moment Shoto manages to pin Touya down but before he can do anything more he notices Dabi’s gaze is focused not on him but something off to the side. “Your girlfriend finally joined the fray,” Dabi grins, causing Shoto to immediately snap his head that direction to find you. Relief floods him at seeing you alive but he’s snapped back into the moment as Dabi suddenly engulfs the two of them in flames, causing Shoto to rear back with a curse. “Don’t get distracted baby brother, this fight isn’t over,” Dabi taunts as he uses Shoto’s momentary distraction to get the upper hand. Fire and ice both emerge as Shoto is filled with another wave of determination. He’s so close to getting you back, he won’t let you slip through his fingers again.

The chaos is even worse than you thought when you finally get to where all the fighting is. All around you your friends and various pros are battling villains. Buildings further down the street are burning where Tamaki is trying to keep the villains contained to a smaller area. To your right Shoto is locked in combat with Dabi and frankly it takes your breath away. Shoto is magnificent. You’ve never seen him look so resolute before and you distantly wonder if that’s the real reason Dabi exposed your location: to see this side of his younger brother. You probably could have stood there just watching the two of them forever but a loud crashing noise to your left jerks your attention away as you watch Endeavor hit the ground hard after your father had thrown him. Your stomach sinks when you notice what rough shape he’s in. You knew this would happen the moment you found out your father was using quirk enhancers but it’s still unnerving to see the number one hero struggle so much. You look up to see your father grinning like a mad man, clearly delighting in the pain of a man he once claimed to love like family. More importantly, however, you also can see the characteristic black veins crawling up the side of his neck. Steroids or not, your quirk still comes with a price. Your father is just about to deal what looks suspiciously like a fatal blow as he gathers a large mass of shadows into both hands but before they can reach Endeavor you jump in front of the fallen hero and unleash your own blast of shadows to dissipate your father’s.

You think you hear Endeavor say something behind you but the words fall on deaf ears as you watch your father’s face twist into a grimace of betrayal and rage. “I should’ve known you’d choose them,” he spits before unleashing another torrent of inky blackness shooting towards you. You widen your stance to brace yourself and then unleash your own torrent back with your right hand, using your free hand to brace it. “After all I did for you, this is how you repay me? You traitorous bitch,” he accuses, his voice roaring over the sounds of battle around you. Rage burns through you at his words and you embrace it wholeheartedly as you continue to push back against him. “All you did was abuse and traumatize me,” you bite out. Your head is throbbing but you can’t let up, not now, not when you’re so close to ridding yourself of your father for good. “I did it to make you stronger! You could’ve been the most powerful person in all of Japan, we could’ve built an empire together!” he responds, as if somehow that justifies how he’s treated you; as if that empire wouldn’t be built atop the corpses of innocents. “I am strong. Stronger than you. In spite of you, not because of you,” you shout.

After that final declaration, you’re done talking. Instead you close your eyes, grit your teeth, and you think of every single time your father abused you, every time you lashed out at those you loved because of the trauma he ingrained in you, every time you suffered because of his crimes. You think of your poor mother who works double and triple shifts so she can provide for you. You think of that fateful day your father brought you into work and traumatized you out of his own selfish desire to mold you into what he wanted you to be. You think of all of the pain and hurt and anger and you pour it into your quirk even as black veins start to crawl up on your own skin, even as they climb up your forearm, then your shoulder, then your neck, and onto the right side of your face. Your entire right side feels like it’s on fire but you push and push through until you finally start to feel the resistance from your father giving way as his quirk overwhelms him. You hear yelling and it takes a minute to realize that the raw, pained sound is coming from you as you push and push and push until finally you feel the resistance fade completely and the shadows you’d sent out connect with your father. You gasp as you finally release your quirk although you notice the right side of your body is still on fire. Your head feels fuzzy and your vision is definitely swimming but you push through it. You have to make sure it’s over. Your father sways on his feet, eyes empty and black veins completely marring his face. After a moment his body collapses to the ground completely limp and relief floods through you.

It’s over.

It’s finally fucking over.

As the adrenaline slowly starts to drain out of you, you hear someone call out your name. They sound panicked. Why do they sound panicked? You turn to the source of the voice slowly as the world starts to spin around you. You vaguely recognize Shoto’s alarmed face as he sprints towards you before everything goes black and you collapse.

A/N: This took me literally all of yesterday to write and was difficult to start but holy shit am I happy with how it turned out. We’re entering the home stretch ladies and gentlemen.

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @shot0stea @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly @immah0e4fictionalmen @cinnamonruts

(Bold means I couldn’t tag you)

[yanderes-stuff]

pspsps....firebrand yandera

Mmmm yes lonely fire God goes mental just 

to have you in his arms again I love it

Words:1,841

TW: Cussing, murder, kidnapping and also yandere stuff and LOTS of grammar errors

P.S this is probably the last fanfic I'll do that includes Noah Maxwell

Also, I got a head cannon that Firebrand can have inky tentacles out his back at will 

"Hey, hothead wanna hear something fucking infuriating," HABIT questioned the man towering in front of him which already seemed infuriated from the man's presence.

"Piss off and go bother someone else for the love of God." the shadow-man spat back glaring daggers at the shorter man, which just made HABIT cackle in amusement to him

"It's about your weird-ass obsession with your long-lost best friend," HABIT informed him in a ridiculing tone to capture his attention which was a success by the way Firebrand perked up at this.

A long time ago before Noah became a God he recalled kidnapping you in a snowy winter from your house before that Noah was planning to ask you to come over for dinner Which you gladly accepted following that he came over and you made pleasant conversation with him

discussing childhood memories on the sofa about how you, him, and Milo being the best of buddies but when you brought up how you were sad for drifting away from Milo he seemed miserable when you asked him what's wrong he admitted that Milo overdosed

To say you were horrified was an understatement you apologized for bringing up such a traumatic event to Noah which he excused and changed the subject

But your conversation was interrupted by the beeping of the oven signaling the dinner was ready and so you got up and started preparing the dinner which gave Noah the perfect time slot to slip a drug into the beverage you set on the table 

You clutched your glass and told him dinner was ready so you both seated yourselves and continued your conversation whilst eating some steak, and potatoes but suddenly you were more and more drowsy as the conversation progressed

 With your head hanging low in exhaustion until finally with a small thud your upper body hit the dining surface giving a sign to Noah that it's time to flee the area and go home

He cheerfully settled you in his bed in the house surrounded by the snowy woods he selected winter to abduct you since you wouldn't bother escaping the logic being

 You would surely freeze to death if you even attempted, giving you enough time to start your Stockholm syndrome for him, and also a chance to enjoy the winter holiday with each other.

But alas 3 weeks into late January long since the snow settled you managed to find a paperclip that was disguised burrowed in the carpet floor and successfully utilized it to pick the lock Noah put on your window and my God once you were running you never stopped out of fear until you knew your safe

Much to Noah's dismay, but despite that he swore to one day find you, and this time he'll be sure you won't have a chance to leave but once he hunted out for you, the collective found him once again making him their victim to torment...which leads him to now 

"This better be good." Firebrand was trying to hide his interest in what HABIT was about to say hoping you weren't dead by his hands but the shorter man just gave him a sly smirk and composed himself 

"Wellllllll...I remember how you said you knew where she used to live." HABIT said with great confidence

"I threatened the landlord to kill him and his entire family if he didn't give me her moving notice and if he told [Name.] So he gave me the new address."  He sounded so pleased with himself the fucker might've just proven to be useful 

"But that's not all, once I found her neighborhood I googled it and found the neighborhood's social media, in which pictures of her were posted…but not just her." He emphasized the word not. while explaining his efforts to him still with that sick smile

"She had a wedding ring in her posts and mentions some guy's name...what was it again." He was teasing him at this point stroking his chin while doing it

"Spit his name the fuck out." Firebrand demanded already weaving a plan in his mind on what he was going to do when he kidnapped you.

"It's Connor I'll cut you a deal, you let me kill him with free creative means while you kidnap [Name.] Deal?" Not even taking a moment to consider the man already made up his mind

"It's a deal." Firebrand approved now his objective has been set and he was trying to hold back his excitement to see you again.

The day following after that 

"Hey, Connor I'm out to do errands sweetheart I'll be back later tonight." You proclaimed to Connor who was relaxing on the couch watching T.V 

"Okay got it," Connor replied to focused on the T.V to pay attention to your words little did he know of the two men that broke in and are lurking in the living room closet 

As soon as they were sure you drove off they both stepped out of the space and HABIT set foot in Connors direction with purple duct tape in hand while Firebrand waited patiently for him  

As soon as HABIT was behind him he snaked his hand over Connors's hands pinning him while grabbed his tape with the other hand as Connor wiggled to get free HABIT was wrapping both his arms in tape

Firebrand finally stepped out while walking towards the scene in front of him flashing a malicious grin on his face he needed to know why his life would be coming to a bitter painful end 

"Look asshole this is for the best, I'm only doing this because she's mine and mine alone." Completely ignoring Connors's fearful look "All I want is her. All I ever wanted was her and I can't lose her to your dumbass. So here we are." Firebrand continues a cold look plastered on his face 

"I told him he could kill you any way he wants while I take [Name.] Back home where she belongs." Firebrand was visibly eager despite his cold look he just couldn't wait to see you

HABIT smirked at Firebrands words and carried the screaming restrained man to the basement to proceed with his work while Firebrand watched him descend the basement stairs 

When he was out of his sight he started to prepare his confrontation with you, readying a tea kettle on the stove and heating it till it made that easily recognized whistle

 While the echo of Connors screams was slowly drowned out by both the kettle and his painfully slow demise coming to an end as HABIT was most likely cleaning up the body now as Firebrand waited in the corner of the kitchen next to the door frame

As you finally walked in carrying the days work on your shoulders the house was oddly silent besides the whistle of a kettle Connor must've made tea for you and him while you were gone 

You shouted his name in hopes of some kind of response back only to be met with the same hissing...maybe he didn't hear you but when you got closer to the kitchen the sizzle came to a sudden halt

You waltzed into the kitchen only to be tackled by a bizarre-looking individual who had pinned your arms down on the floor and was straddled on top of your body you immediately started struggling to break free but upon your closer inspection of the man

He seemed to be completely jet black with inky tendrils coming out of his back to add to that his expression with pinpoint eyes and a demented smirk that seems to be getting wider by the second and a gold chain adorning his neck, he seemed oddly familiar 

"Who are you? What are you? stay away from me!" You shouted squirming in his grip you were trying to kick him off but he was easily overpowering you without breaking a sweat despite your best efforts 

"You really don't fucking remember me?" He seemed pained by your words his smile now turning into a light frown while his eyes bore into yours 

Regardless of your trembling, you examined his figure, and then you instantly recognized him "N-Noah?"

His face lit up at the sound of his name being said. so you do remember him! "Of course you remember! how could I have ever doubted you." He muttered enthusiastically "But the name's Firebrand now." He added

"Please...I don't want anything to do with you, not after the things you did to me." You told him trying not to waver your voice 

His face immediately transformed from enthusiasm to an upset expression as the words processed in his mind as the room became dreadful and uneasy. It was already getting hard for you to breathe especially when you were trying not to have a mental breakdown in front of him then he begins to chuckle which grabs your attention 

"Your pleads are so cute like anything could get you out of this." He confesses casually as he continued "I didn't think you would say that so quickly." The brunet was starting to laugh maniacally now which disturbed you further 

"You're probably still shocked and scared but luckily for you, I have just the thing for that." He whispered the last part to himself while smiling whilst you on the other hand had your heart was beating faster than ever before 

He arranged both your arms together over your head and wrapped his humid sticky tendril around your wrist while he pulled a syringe with a unique liquid from his pocket and put a hand over your mouth to smother your commotions

He searched for the best place to insert it feeling around your neck with his warm rough fingers and in a matter of seconds you felt the prick of your skin and your world succumbed to darkness 

You woke up in an unfamiliar room tied up with duct tape your mind was foggy and you couldn't think straight you tried to move but to no avail just then you saw a figure move in the corner of your eye which only made your movements more frantic 

The figure shifted to be closer to the bed you were in until he was at the foot of the bed you felt a smooth tentacle wrap around your neck 

"Hey, sweetheart did you miss me cause I really missed you." He couldn't believe you were all his again but my God was glad about it but one thing is for certain

This time he was going to be sure you would accept his demented affection

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part three

summary: while mother nature isn’t very kind to the obx, jj’s dad is even worse to him. sailor sees the aftermath, relives a day that changed her life forever, and realizes she’d be down with murder if she could get away with it. between nutella sandwiches, story time, and a shared bed, an unspoken thing slowly starts to become a little more real.

word count: 6.9k+ (oops 😅)

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: abuse/neglect, blood, mentions of parental abandonment/gambling addiction, swearing, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, blatant references to hocus pocus, the little mermaid, percy jackson and the olympians, and mean girls (and a teeny, subtle reference to stranger things, see if y’all can catch it! 😉)

a/n: i was so excited to write this part, not gonna lie (if you couldn’t tell, just look at that word count). hurt/comfort is my shittt and i’m a pretty big slut for physical comfort/touches so i kinda went ham with it lol. i’m also very happy to finally introduce everyone to peyton, who’s a character i really love and enjoy writing, especially her relationship with her gf alison. both of them will get some time to shine in this part, peyton in the present and alison in the past! as usual, this is unbetaed so all mistakes belong to me. enjoy!

gif credit to @sci-fi​

~Masterlist~

part one | part two | part four | playlist 

part three: storm surge

It rains the entire week. Scratch that -it storms: the whole island buffeted by howling winds and blanketed by a thick layer of dark and angry clouds that make life just shy of miserable. For someone who spends 99% of her time outside like Sailor, miserable doesn’t begin to cover it. And to think, it’s only the beginning of hurricane season.

The redhead props her chin in one tan hand as she leans against the cool marble counter of The Butterscotch Bonnet Ice Cream Parlor, watching the rain pound against the shop’s bay windows. Across the street she can just make out the rough, gray surf of the Atlantic through a tiny gap in between two buildings and she sighs wistfully, thinking about all the beautiful shells getting tossed onto the beach by the waves. She’s half tempted to just throw off her apron, hop the counter, and make a break for the sand, storm be damned.

She’s almost positive she wouldn’t even be missed. There isn’t a customer in sight and there hasn’t been one since she started her shift three hours ago. Peyton was still in the back kitchen, messing around with whatever convoluted ice cream flavor she thought up for this week; her boss definitely has a knack for concocting weird combinations that somehow work together, at least most of the time. Sailor thinks back to a few weeks ago when they debuted that delicious blackberry balsamic that sold out every day without fail, then followed it with a cilantro lime that was hit-or-miss (a definite miss in her opinion, as cilantro just tastes like soap to her; Peyton had just smiled her infectious smile, shrugged her tiny shoulders, and said, “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”) This week’s flavor involves mascarpone and peaches and she can’t wait to steal a sample because if the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen is any indication, it’s gonna be bomb, even though it probably won’t upset the shop’s namesake flavor from the top of her list.

Thinking about ice cream makes her kind of hungry, on top of the fact that she has a terrible habit of eating when she’s bored, so she dishes out a small scoop of Butterscotch Bonnet and grabs a spoon before leaning back against the counter, digging through the cup to find the best part: salted caramel-filled chocolate sea shells, made in house. The days Sailor gets to help make them are her favorite days to come to work, when she and Peyton commandeer the kitchen and have the time of their lives, blasting music and dancing as they slave away. Of course, the little bag of chocolates she gets to take home is a pretty big plus, too.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, Sail.”

Spoon halfway to her mouth, she sheepishly glances up from her snack as Peyton emerges from the kitchen, fondly shaking her head and sending her inky black braids dancing across her shoulders.

“What am I gonna do with you?” She continues with a wink before starting to make herself a milkshake, dropping two scoops of their tiramisu flavor into a malt cup.

“Sorry, you know I can’t help myself!” Sailor knows the other girl was joking but she apologizes anyway and opens the cabinet to grab a cup and straw for her, setting them on the counter beside the old-fashioned milkshake machine. As far as bosses go, Peyton is one of the all-around best to have and the redhead loves working at her shop. While the Buckleys are rich as shit and total kooks, the family’s youngest daughter is down to earth, kind, and prefers to work hard for what she wants instead of flaunting her parents’ wealth and The Butterscotch Bonnet is proof that, despite her last name and penchant for the finer things, she’s a pogue at heart. It’s no wonder Alison’s head over heels for her.

“I also know you’re bored as shit.” Peyton calls over the sound of the blender, sending a knowing smirk toward the younger girl, who rolls her eyes and shovels another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth as she replies, “Obviously. This weather fucking sucks.”

A loud clap of thunder seems to shake the very glass in the windows and she gestures toward the storm outside, her point proven. Peyton glances around the deserted shop, still bright and cheery despite its lack of movement and life, then back to the relentless downpour, before shrugging and turning back to finish blending her milkshake. “Wanna go home early?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? You’ve already cleaned this whole place from top to bottom and I don’t think we’re gonna be getting customers any time soon.” Ignoring the paper cup, she plops the straw straight into her drink and takes a big sip, then nods in satisfaction before adding a huge swirl of whipped cream on top.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best?” Sailor asks, smiling excitedly as she grabs her bag from under the counter and tosses her empty cup into the trash.

“Only every day,” the older girl replies cheekily, smiling as she’s pulled into a one-armed hug of thanks by her employee.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again: you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peyton pats the redhead’s shoulder with one deep brown hand and then gently pushes her toward the kitchen. “Now get out of here, brat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sailor throws a peace sign over her shoulder as she heads out the door, cackling at her boss’s offended call of “don’t call me ma’am!” After clocking out, she fishes her keys out of her bag and dashes through the downpour to her beat-up clunker of a truck. A hand-me-down from Alison, Flounder’s nothing to look at with all the dents and chips in his blue paint, but he gets her where she needs to go and has room for surfboards in the back and two other pogues up front on the bench seat -and the other two unlucky ones riding in the bed, hiding under the boards- so she’s not complaining, even though she wishes his radio worked more than half the time.

(Two reasons why John B’s almost always the group chauffeur: the fact that he can legally drive all five of them around without breaking the law -not that they’ve ever gotten caught in Sailor’s truck but anyone with a brain knows that where one pogue goes, the other four aren’t far behind- and good music flowing from a perfectly working stereo.)

Unfortunately, it’s on the fritz today so her drive home is spent listening to the sounds of Flounder’s windshield wipers and the pounding of rain against his roof. She heads inland from the beach, away from Peyton’s shop in the outskirts of affluent Figure 8 and its kook mansions to the more homey, laid-back Cut, passing by the turnoff to the Chateau and through the woods before pulling into the empty driveway of her tiny house. The fact that her mother’s car is no where to be found doesn’t surprise her in the slightest. Waiting for her on the porch is Binx, the stray black cat she’s taken to feeding and more or less adopted, stretching on the blanket she left out for him.

“Hey, handsome,” The redhead says, kneeling down to give him a loving scratch behind the ears; he meows in response and rubs his fuzzy face against her ankles, weaving between her legs as she slides her key into the lock. “Come on in.”

The front door closes behind them with a hollow bang that echoes through the empty house like the thunder outside. Sailor hangs up her keys and follows Binx down the hall toward her room, ignoring the closed door that leads to her mom’s room and a bed that she assumes hasn’t been slept in in months. Not that she would know: she’s made it a habit to spend as few nights as possible alone in the house, instead crashing at the Chateau or Kiara’s place and hoping her mom’s comfortable in her makeshift room at The Sandbar where Carmen doesn’t have to deal with the teenager she’s supposed to be caring for (Sailor’s always been an independent girl and has no trouble getting by alone but fuck, that doesn’t mean she wants to.).

Her father’s green eyes, the same color as her own, stare back at her from a picture hanging on the wall of a better time, when everything was alright and her family wasn’t so broken; the three of them on the beach with a twelve year old Sailor in the middle and surfboards in hand. Carmen looks like the mother she remembers and misses so bad it hurts, and while Ryan wasn’t always the most caring of fathers and only acted like a dad when it was convenient, she’d still do anything to have him back, terrible parenting skills and all. She turns away from the picture and the complicated mess her heart becomes when she thinks about him, continuing down the hall to her room.

Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover her feelings about her dad, though. She’s always believed she was an afterthought to him, never first on his list but still good enough to tag along for company when he was doing something he wanted to do. He was a man who liked the idea of having a kid but never wanted to actually step up and parent when things weren’t all fun and games, instead deciding to take off to Atlantic City for a month or two at a time to gamble away whatever money they earned at the surf shop.

She wants to hate him. She should loathe him and in a way, she does. She hates the way he still makes her feel like everything’s her fault, even when he’s not around. She hates the person her mother becomes when he disappears, someone distant and cold and so unlike the good, caring mother Sailor remembers. She hates that home doesn’t feel like home anymore and it’s all his fault, and she hates that despite everything he’s put her through, all the hurt he’s caused, she still can’t find it in her big, bleeding heart to truly detest her father. After all, he could’ve been worse. So, so much worse.

The only place she can get away from everything is her room, her own little sanctuary from the cold emptiness of the rest of the house and constant reminders of Ryan’s absence. It’s warm and bright, the walls painted a sunny yellow that reminds her of lazy days relaxing on the beach. Her first surfboard hangs on the wall above her bed, tucked away in a corner, doubling as a shelf for her massive shell collection while pictures of her and her friends dangle underneath, pinned to a long piece of twine. Her current boards stand propped in another corner, leaning against a wall plastered with all types of movie and music posters. Through the windows covered with curtains as light as sea foam, the rain steadily pours but in here, she’s safe. In here, she can breathe.

Sailor strips off her uniform, tossing it along with her bag onto the chair by the door and slips out of her worn red high-tops before pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and the first long-sleeve shirt her fingers find in the closet, then flops onto her bed and pulls the soft blue blanket around her shoulders, reading glasses and well-loved copy of The Lightning Thief in hand while Binx curls up at her feet. Every summer without fail she rereads the series (why, she’s not exactly sure: maybe its nostalgia, maybe its because she lowkey relates to water-loving, steadfastly loyal Percy) and she’s fallen behind this year, so she fully intends on reading as much as she can tonight before bed. The storm provides perfect background noise and soon she’s five chapters in before a sudden loud knock on her window causes her head to snap up in alarm.

Oh no. Without bothering to save her place, she tosses the book and her glasses aside and scrambles from the bed to the window, tearing open the curtains to reveal a sight she always dreads seeing. Her best friend stands outside in the rain, soaked to the bone, hand pressed against his side, and the sight of bright red blood trailing down his face and staining the collar of his gray shirt makes her heart drop to her stomach. Wordlessly, she opens the window and helps him climb inside before closing it firmly and drawing the curtains, once again blocking the world from her -now their- sanctuary, then grabs her blanket from the bed and wraps it tightly around JJ’s shaking shoulders after he kicks off his sodden boots.

Her hand slowly moves to cup his face and her heart breaks a little more when he tenses, blue eyes carefully tracking its movement until he seems to remember who it belongs to and lets himself lean into her touch, cheek resting against her palm. Sailor runs her thumb under his split lip and and wipes at the crimson staining his tan skin, her mouth curving into a small frown when she only succeeds in smearing it further.

“Come on,” She breaks the silence with her gentle voice, barely above a whisper, and reaches her other hand out to take his, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

His fingers hold so, so tight as she leads him down the hall to the bathroom and she’s so laser-focused on the way they tremble against hers that she doesn’t notice the blood left behind on the handle when she opens the door. After flicking on the light she turns to face him and gently pushes the blanket from his shoulders with her free hand, letting it fall to the floor in a damp heap, then blindly reaches behind her to turn on the shower, cranking the heat as high as it’ll go.

“Sorry about your blanket.” JJ says at last, his voice quiet, and Sailor shakes her head, running her thumb in circles on the back of his cold hand.

“I don’t care about that, J.” She replies just as quiet and before she can stop herself, before she can think about what exactly she’s about to admit, she adds, “I care about you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a barely-there smile and while it may be tiny, it’s a smile nonetheless and she feels the tight knot in her chest begin to loosen as she lets go of his hand, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

He does as she asks but his pained wince doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead when she pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the discarded blanket, and her jaw clenches at the sight of deep purple bruises in the shape of his father’s fists marring the skin over his ribs.

“Let me know if this hurts.” Oh so carefully she reaches out with one hand and gently touches the darkest mark, where she’d seen him clutching at outside her window, her fingers delicately feeling for any damages.

“A little.” He admits, shaky breath warm against her forehead and she does her best to keep her hand steady as she checks over the rest of him, then feathers her fingers back over that first bruise.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken or cracked, so that’s good.” She says, allowing her hand to linger for a second before letting it fall from his side. “A rib or two might be a little bruised, though, so we’ll put some ice on them later, just in case. Sound good?”

JJ nods and watches her with those ocean blue eyes as she pulls her own shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain black cami and shorts, before grabbing his hand once again and pulling him into the shower with her. The water’s just a tad too hot and it instantly starts turning her skin red but Sailor doesn’t mind, instead choosing to embrace the heat and the way it burns everything away, leaving behind brand new skin that’s ready for a new day, new adventures. She reaches up and gingerly wipes the blood from her best friend’s face; in a mirror of earlier, he leans his cheek into her palm, eyes slowly closing while both arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

“Sail,” He whispers her nickname into the humid air between them and she barely registers the tremble in his voice before his knees buckle, sinking them both to the shower floor until they’re face to face, sitting in between each other’s legs. He clings to her, arms even tighter around her waist and face buried against her neck, and she feels the shake of his shoulders when she winds her own arms around them. One hand moves to steadily run through wet blond hair, over and over, comforting in the best way she knows how, the fingers of her other hand tracing circles on the bare skin of his back as water continues to rain down on them like the downpour outside.

She’s eerily reminded of another time they sat like this, sobbing in each other’s arms five years ago, the first time she saw just how cruel his father could be, the first time she realized she’d do absolutely everything and anything to keep him safe, and it was both one of the best and worst days of her life.

Eleven year old Sailor shoved her math textbook into her cluttered locker and kicked it shut with a scowl. She hated math, her math teacher, and especially whoever made her schedule- who in their right mind would put math in eighth-period? She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and grunted softly at the extra weight it carried. JJ hadn’t come to school that day and Sailor had volunteered to take his missed work to him; it made sense, considering she lived closest out of the pogues and it’d make her feel better if she got to check on him herself -there was a reason the rest of the group called her the mom friend, after all.

She’d already collected assignments from the classes he shared with Pope and Kiara as well as herself, so now she was just waiting for John B to drop off his own. As if summoned by her thoughts, the brunet boy rounded the corner and waved, weaving his way to her through their fellow middle-schoolers. “Sorry, you know how Mr. Jefferson likes to go on and on and on...” He said, pulling some papers from his backpack and handing them to the redhead. “Do you remember where J’s house is?”

Sailor rolled her eyes and carefully slid the homework into her own bag. “Considering I live, like, five streets away, I sure hope so.” She fired back, ignoring his cackle of laughter as they joined the rush of students, excited for the weekend, flooding out through the double doors of Kildare County Middle School. She lingered by her friend as he unlocked his bike from the rack and then climbed on, asking, “You’re helping out at the shop on Saturday, right?”

She nodded, scanning the sea of waiting cars and waving when she spotted her ride. “Yeah, why?”

“My dad and I are gonna hang out at the beach that day so we’ll stop by and say hi.” With a casual salute in her direction he slowly started pedaling down the road, calling back over his shoulder, “Tell JJ he can come too if he’s feeling better!”

“Tell him yourself!” She yelled after his retreating back, not surprised in the slightest when he didn’t turn around and disappeared into the trees. Alison’s beat up blue truck pulled up to the curb seconds later and the older redhead leaned out the open window, a shit-eating grin on her face as she joked, “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!”

Sailor laughed and climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her backpack on the floor with a loud thump. Alison winced at the sound, raising her eyebrow as she waited for the younger girl to put her seatbelt on. “What the hell do you have in there, rocks?”

“One of my friends missed school today so I have his homework. Do you mind driving by so I can drop it off? He only lives a few streets away.”

“Sure,” Alison replied, flicking on her turn signal and merging into the stream of cars leaving the school’s parking lot. “So who skipped: Smarty Pants, Bandana Boy, or Surfer Bro?”

The eleven year old giggled at the nicknames -she’d never admit it, but they were honestly pretty accurate- and replied, “Surfer Bro. And his name is JJ, Ali.”

“Rightttt, JJ. What do you think it stands for, huh? Jesse James? John Jacob?”

“Oh my Godddddd!”

The high school senior continued to come up with names, each more ridiculous than the last until Sailor exclaimed “There!” and directed her to park near a small, run-down house on a quiet road. She pulled a folder from her backpack and was out the door before the older girl could blink, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

The redhead slammed the truck door behind her and made her way toward the porch and what she assumed was the front door; she’d never been inside JJ’s house but he always came out to meet them through there so she figured it was a safe bet. The smile fell from her face, ears registering the sound of horrible, angry yelling just as she brought her fist down to knock and she anxiously fidgeted back and forth on the step, her heart starting to beat fast in her chest. What the hell was going on?

"Fucking hell!” An enraged shout came clear as day from inside and as she heard the person’s stomping approach, something in her, a feeling, urged her to hide the folder in her hand behind her back. She jumped in surprise when the door was suddenly ripped open, revealing a fuming, red-faced man who glared down at her with heavily lidded eyes and one hand clenched in a fist at his side, the other holding the threshold in a white-knuckled grip. “What the hell do you want?”

“H-hi, I’m Sailor, one of JJ’s friends? He wasn’t at school today so I came by to check on him.” She said, proud of herself for keeping most of the tremble out of her voice while she studiously avoided his cruel gaze, instead subtly trying to peer behind him and hopefully catch a glimpse of her friend. The man, who she realized with sheer horror had to be JJ’s dad, was absolutely terrifying, with breath reeking of booze and mouth curled into a vicious snarl as he moved to block her view into the house and snapped, “Kid’s fine. Now get the fuck outta here.”

“Can I just see-”

She was cut off when he slammed the door in her face with the hand that had been by his side and her eyes widened, stomach sinking with dread as she caught sight of the splotch of bright crimson left behind on the wood. Oh, God. This could not be happening. She remembered John B’s warning about JJ’s dad, saying he wasn’t a very nice man when she became friends with them last year but she didn’t recall him ever saying anything about this and it hits her like a freight train: he probably didn’t know. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. If JB didn’t know then Pope and Kiara definitely didn’t and a sickening feeling started to churn her belly, both at the thought of JJ facing all of this by himself and the fact that she alone had the power to help.

Inside the house, she heard his dad resume his screaming, every other word accompanied by a sickening thumping noise she’d only heard in person once before, a few years ago on the beach with her parents when two drunk tourons started wailing on each other over a spilled beer: the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Sailor started to panic, both hands flying to cover her mouth in terror. Underneath the screaming and punching, she couldn’t hear anything, any cry or yelp or whimper from her friend and, mind racing with million terrible, awful thoughts, she turned and ran back to the truck, flinging open the door and scrambling inside to grab Alison’s arm, folder in her hands falling to the floor.

“Ali, please, we’ve got to help him-”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” The older girl joked as she looked up from her phone, smile falling from her lips when she caught sight of the eleven year old’s pale face and wide eyes. She reached over and placed her hands on Sailor’s slight, trembling shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her lip quivered terribly as she told Alison everything she saw and heard, watching her expression slowly twist into outright dismay, the fingers on her shoulders tightening their grip when she finished, “Ali, what’re we gonna do? We have to help him right now!”

“Fuck, okay, first off let’s calm down- don’t give me that look, kid! We can’t just burst in there like Wonder Woman or something, let me- oh, look!” Alison pointed through windshield, where JJ’s dad furiously stalked from the house to his truck, climbing inside and violently slamming the door before taking off in a cloud of dust. Sailor quickly ducked when he drove by and stayed down until the older redhead gave her the all clear, “He’s gone. That was perfect timing, huh?”

She didn’t reply or even wait for her to unbuckle her seatbelt, taking off at a sprint and bounding onto the porch in no time, furiously knocking against the door. “Hey, J, are you there? It’s Sailor.”

There was no reply and her heart dropped to her stomach. Alison joined her on the front step, her face blanching when her eyes landed on the blood stain on the corner of the door. One of her hands reached out to grab the handle while the other found Sailor’s smaller one and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” With no hesitation and the bravery Sailor wished she had, the eighteen year old pushed the door open and pulled them both into the dusky house. The younger redhead wrinkled her nose at the sight of beer cans and pill bottles littering a circle around the couch but she pressed on, calling his name as the girls moved room to room.

“Sail?” The sound of JJ’s pained voice coming from the room at the end of the hall made her heart skip a beat and she dropped Alison’s hand, running forward and bursting through the door in a rush, not even thinking about what state her friend might’ve been in. Feeling like she’d just been sucker punched right in the gut at the sight of him lying face down on the floor with a small puddle of blood forming under his mouth, she dropped to her knees beside him and delicately took his hand in both of hers, nearly crying in relief when his fingers gripped tight to her palm. Behind her, she heard Alison’s sharp intake of breath as she entered the room, darting over to kneel on JJ’s other side and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, and together they carefully helped him roll onto his back, then up into a sitting position with the older girl’s arm behind him as a brace.

Her jaw trembled as she tried and tried to say something, anything; her head was filled with so many questions -what happened, how could he do this, when did this start?- but the only thing she managed to ask was a simple, “Why?”

“It’s just what he does.” He replied with a shrug, wincing at the movement, “I’m sorry, Sail.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” She asked incredulously, then followed his finger as he pointed at a pile of jagged yellowish-brown pieces on the floor by his bed.

“He broke the shell you gave me.” He looked so upset, so distraught over the broken whelk and she felt her heart swell with waves of affection for her friend, who was more concerned about her broken gift than he was about himself.

“Hey,” She said softly, turning away from the mess to look him in the eye with a small smile, her hand reaching out on its own accord to brush a lock of fine blond hair away from a cut near his temple. “It’s just a shell, okay? I’ll find you another one.”

The sight of blood on his teeth when he returned her smile reminded her of the task at hand and she shook her head, wrapping her thin arm around his waist. “Let’s get you out of here. Think you can stand?” At his nod, both girls put one of his arms around their shoulders and slowly stood, shuffling out the door with all the grace and speed of an old man with two bad knees, but hey, they were moving and getting JJ out of that terrible place, so she’d go as slow as they needed to, even if her anxiety was getting worse and worse with each passing second they spent in the house.

After loading the kids onto the bench seat of the truck, Alison quickly drove them to the empty Flynn residence -Carmen and Ryan still working at the shop- and helped Sailor move JJ into the bathroom. “I’ll go grab you some towels and dry clothes, okay? I think some of your dad’s old stuff might fit him.” She said, watching as the young girl kneeled beside her friend and started untying his shoes.

The eleven year old nodded at her older friend and sent her a small smile. “Thanks, Ali.”

“No problem, kiddos.” With a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes she was gone, heading down the hall toward the laundry room.

Sailor reached over and turned the shower on as hot as possible. “Okay, um, take as long as you need, I guess. I’ll wait outside.” She jerked her thumb toward the hall but before she could even take a step, his hand darted out and grabbed her wrist.

“Stay.” It was more of a demand than a question and JJ seemed embarrassed to even be saying it, the uninjured parts of his face turning an endearing shade of pink. “Please?”

She just nodded and reached a leg out to gently kick the door shut, her mind racing. She stayed but what the hell should she do now, keep her back turned? Get in the shower with him? From the way he was fidgeting back and forth and avoiding her eyes, he was probably thinking the same thing.

“Oh, come on.” She finally said after a minute or two of decidedly not looking at each other and kicked off her sandals, darting forward on impulse to grab his hand and pull them both under the spray. The water uncomfortably soaked into their clothes and made their movements sluggish as they clumsily shuffled around -stepping on each other’s toes and mumbling identical apologies- before finding a position that was only a little bit awkward in the confined space, his arms on either side of her waist and bracing against the wall, her hands tentatively resting on his shoulders.

“This okay?” She asked, feeling her cheeks reddening from more than just the steam curling around them and frizzing her hair, and JJ nodded, swallowing thickly and blinking away a droplet of red-tinged condensation that slid down his forehead. Her hand, moving on its own accord, slowly reached for his face until her palm gently came to rest against his flushed cheek, the tip of her pointer finger just brushing a small cut that sliced through one eyebrow.

“How...” Sailor shook her head, taking a deep breath before finally asking the question that’d been on her mind since this whole thing started, “How long has this been happening?”

Once again he avoided her wide-eyed gaze, eyelids fluttering shut as he answered hesitantly, quietly, “I...I don’t remember a time when it didn’t.”

His answer chipped away the last brick in the dam and the floodgates broke. She flung herself into his chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and fingers twisting in the sodden fabric of his shirt, sobbing into the warm skin of his neck. He froze in her embrace, whole body stock-still until something in him seemed to break too, and his own arms encircled her waist, bit by bit, pulling her close as he buried his face into her shoulder and two sixth graders slowly slumped to the shower floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

“J, why didn’t you say anything?”

His body trembled in her arms and she inhaled sharply at his reply of, “Because I’m not worth it.”

Pulling away from his neck to rest her forehead against his, she cupped his face in both hands and forced him to look her in the eyes, her voice quiet but adamant, insistent as she said, “Don’t you dare say that again, got it? You are worth it. So, so worth it.”

The look behind his red-rimmed, ocean blue gaze was made of pure, unadulterated disbelief and Sailor, at a loss, wracked her brain for something, anything she could do to make him see himself the way she did: loyal, adventurous, funny, and oh so brave, already a beloved, dear friend to her in the short time she’d known him. How could she help him realize he was so much more than his father’s abuse?

‘What can I do to make you believe me?’

An epiphany came to her like a bolt of lightning straight to the heart. It was more than a little crazy and the thought of actually doing it was lowkey terrifying but she’d seen it work beautifully for Alison and her girlfriend Peyton that one time and hell, she was so desperate to help her friend that she’d do just about anything. And so before her anxious mind could start to overthink she surged forward, both hands still holding his face in a gentle grip, and firmly pressed her lips to his.

JJ’s eyes were almost comically wide while he stared, frozen still at her touch, and her own eyes were just as huge as she held the kiss for a few seconds and then abruptly pulled back, her face slowly changing into a shade very similar to her hair.

“Y-you, I-” He stuttered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as a deep pink flush started to color the tan skin of his neck. “Wh-why-”

“Because you are worthy, J. Promise me you won’t forget that.” Her words were as fierce as the hug she pulled him into, only letting the tension bleed out of her when she felt him gradually return her embrace and nod against her shoulder.

“I promise, Sail.”

“Good.”

And with that they fell silent, holding each other tight until the shower ran cold.

Sailor didn’t know it at the time but that hadn’t been just her first kiss but JJ’s too, as they never talked about it until two years later, during a game of truth or dare with the rest of the pogues. Neither actually told the truth, both giving a vague answer about a bet that seemed to placate their friends enough to let the matter drop, never to be brought up again.

The only kiss that happens today is the light brush of her lips against his forehead as she holds him close, even as the water slowly begins to lose its warmth. His embrace is tight, their limbs intertwined so fully that it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins and when he speaks, she has to strain to hear the words mumbled against her neck over the pounding spray of the shower.

“I don’t know how much more I can take.”

His confession cuts her deep. Hearing him admit something so utterly heartbreaking and vulnerable, coming from the side of him Sailor alone gets to see, ignites a fury that simmers under her skin and burns her from the inside out, thoughts turning venomous and, dare she say, downright homicidal. Fuck his dad. Fuck his dad and everything he’s ever done to hurt her best friend, both with and without fists.

“If I could get away with murder, I would.”

It’s true. For JJ, she’d do anything and everything to keep him safe without hesitation, up to and including maiming his dad so he could never touch him again (and if she happened to take it a little too far and straight up kill the bastard, she’d most definitely be fine with it.). He laughs, but it’s empty, hollow, and sorely lacking the joy, the carefreeness, the pure life that it normally radiates.

“You’re not the only one.”

Some time later, after the water raining down on them turns ice cold and their tears have dried, they reluctantly disentangle themselves from each other and towel off before making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab an ice pack for his ribs and have a meager dinner of sandwiches made with the last of her bread and a near empty jar of Nutella. He laughs, for real this time, when he reads the note she writes herself on the fridge future sailor, as much as you want to, you can’t live off just nutella and sheer spite, okay? please go shopping. love, past sailor <3 and grabs the marker out of her hand, adding +past jj and a little smiley face that makes her smile brightly.

They return to her room where they change, back to back, into dry clothes -one of her dresser drawers is full of his things she’s stolen acquired over the years- and, after throwing everything wet, including their discarded shirts and blanket retrieved from the bathroom, into the washing machine to be dealt with some other time, they lie on her bed side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped up together in a spare throw stashed at the bottom of her closet. Binx slinks up from his spot at their feet and lazily drapes himself across their laps, purring like a motorboat when Sailor starts running her hand along his back.

“I almost sat on those,” JJ says, handing over her glasses, “and this.” He holds her forgotten book in his hands, casually flipping through the pages before turning it over and scanning the back cover.

“Have you read it before?”

He shrugs, a barely-there grimace briefly twisting his features as the motion jostles his sore ribs. “Started it, never finished.”

“Well,” She starts, slipping her glasses on and snatching the book out of his grasp, “how about we fix that? I’ll read, you pet the cat.”

Sailor’s voice is soft and steady as she starts to read aloud, a content smile on her face that’s echoed by the boy lying beside her when she settles against his side, head pillowed on the arm he curls around her shoulders without a thought. JJ’s the near perfect listener, only snickering once or twice at her total butchering of some of the more difficult Greek names (how come she can say Hephaestus just fine but gets tripped up on Dionysus?) but otherwise hanging off her every word and the relaxed ease with which he runs his hand through the ends of her damp hair fills her with a warmth, a happiness that she can’t describe but never wants to stop.

Hidden away from the rest of the world, curled up together on her bed, they forget the day’s past horrors and replace them with bright hopes for the future, exchanging comforting touches, deliberate yet played off as unintentional, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp -a caress of knuckles here, a brush of a palm there- as she reads into the night, until the cloudy sky darkens to black and they’re both fighting off the languid pull of sleep.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He plucks the book from her hands without waiting for a response and marks their place with a gas station receipt she was using as a makeshift placeholder, and setting it on the beside drawer.

“It’s your turn to read tomorrow,” He takes her glasses off with gentle fingers as she speaks into what little space still exists between them (that’s not otherwise occupied by Binx), smiling at the slow graze of his thumb along her cheek and nestles further against his side. “I’m done botching the names of deities for a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Damn it, Sailor kind of hates it when he says that cause it makes her feel things that she’s not quite ready to think about yet. Thankfully, her blush is swallowed by the darkness as he turns off the light and settles down beside her, arm slung low over her waist; her hand carefully brushes against his bruised ribs over the old shirt he wears, ice pack long ago thawed and thrown somewhere onto the hardwood floor.

“How do these feel? Better?”

She feels JJ nod, his chin brushing the top of her head. “Much.” There’s a pause, long enough that she starts to feel like she’s about to nod off, then he whispers, “Thank you, Sail. I know I don’t say it enough.”

She takes a deep breath, fingers stilling on his side, “Because you don’t need to, J. Remember what I said earlier, in the bathroom?”  

He nods again but doesn’t reply, instead drawing circles on the small of her back, so she takes it as a cue to continue, “I care about you, okay? You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m just...doing what feels right.”

After a beat, the arm she’s using as a pillow curls and pulls her tighter against him as he says quietly, almost shyly, “I care about you, too.”

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle without either teenager noticing and the gentle pitter-patter against the roof casts a somnolent spell into the air, dazed and dreamy. It wraps around the pair, not unlike the way they wrap around each other, and slowly, easily, safely, they drift off as one.

-

let me know what you think!

taglist ❤: @jiaraendgame​ @hmsjiara​ @heavensalreadyheres​ @obxsummer​ @maysbanks​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @sunflowerbecca​ @obxlife​ @obx-adventures​ @sexualparkour​ @mortifiedposts​ @coltonparayyko​ @miawantsapuppy​ @jjmaybanky​

[thepartyresponsible]

this fill is for @rozword and @hargreeeves who both asked for frank castle/jason todd and whose prompts happened to work well together. so here’s the first half of a two-part no superheroes au, in which jason is not red hood and has never been robin, but he’s still getting into fights in alleys. the prompt for this one is: "are you leaving?"

warnings for some canon-typical violence and also some canon-typical bad medical decisions.

                                                         ---

Jason wakes up on a couch that isn’t his, in a house he doesn’t know, with a dog he’s never met curled up next to him. There’s also something wrong with his face and temple and entire skull region, but he’s not surprised by that, given the facts of the situation.

“Fuck’s sake, Rex,” he says, patting the dog on the head. “Why didn’t you cut me off before I drank the entire bar?”

The dog whines softly and nudges Jason’s chin with its nose. The lick to the face that follows isn’t especially upsetting on its own, but Jason’s instinctive flinch sets off an entire New Years Eve of fireworks behind his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he says, swinging his legs off the couch and accidentally dumping the dog to the floor. When he brings his hand up to the side of his head, he touches something rough and tender, a fresh scab over one hell of a swollen bruise.

He reevaluates the dizzy, nauseated feeling in his stomach. He considers the fact that he isn’t wearing a shirt. He investigates the couch, staring pensively at the smears of dried blood that indicate he was still bleeding a little when he passed out.

His boots are sitting neatly by the side of the couch, socks folded and placed on top. His wallet’s there, too, although his phone is missing. He’s still wearing his jeans.

He cuts his loses, shoving his feet into the boots, his socks into one pocket, and his wallet into the other. After a brief internal pep talk for his stomach and his head, he heaves himself into something approximating a standing position and starts maneuvering his way toward the door.

It’s not so bad, really. If he keeps moving, he almost doesn’t notice the way the floor kinda sways under his feet.

He has his hand on the doorknob when he hears it. A soft shift behind him, the creak of wooden furniture, and then a voice, quiet, clear, deep: “Are you leaving?”

Jason turns his whole body to see. He has no plans to try turning his head again any time soon.

There’s a man across the room, sitting in a sunlit breakfast nook, coffee mug in hand, staring at Jason with what Jason chooses to optimistically classify as resting murder face.

“Uh,” Jason says, fumbling with the stubborn door, putting a bit of weight behind his attempts to get through it. “Yeah. Had a great time.  Five stars. Thanks. Maybe next time, when someone says ‘fuck my brains out,’ consider the possibility that they didn’t mean it literally.”

The man’s dark eyebrows pull together. “I didn’t--- that’s not.” He sets the mug down and frowns at him, which is a revelation to Jason, who’d been under the impression that he’d been frowning the entire time. “I didn’t fuck your brains out.”

“Yeah, not for lack of trying,” Jason says. “What the hell even happened? Did I take a headboard to the temporal lobe and you just dumped me out here and hoped for the best? What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with this door?”

“Deadbolt’s locked,” the man says. “And you’re concussed. You’ve been having a lot of trouble with doors.”

Jason finds the deadbolt and shoves it open. “Thank God,” he says.

“That isn’t gonna help you,” the man says.

“Could you sound more like a serial killer please?” Jason asks. “Really. When I relay this story to my friends, I want at least one of them to actually piss themselves.”

The man blinks and shifts back a bit, like he’s trying – from clear across this wide open room – to give Jason more space. “That’s the door to the backyard,” he says.

“Oh,” Jason says. He pushes the door open anyway and stares in bleak resignation at the six-foot fence. “I can jump that,” he says. Just to be clear.

“Yeah, I know you can,” the man says. “I saw you fight yesterday.”

Jason blinks. Now that he’s said it, there is some kind of memory there. Vague, half-formed. When Jason focuses on it, it waves and fades like breath in the winter. “There was a fight?”

The man looks uncomfortable now, glares down at his coffee for a second. “Yeah. You and a few guys. I was walking by. Heard some noises. Some yelling.”

It’s the word yell that does it. Summons a clip of memory out of the inky black swamp of last night. Jason, picking himself up off the ground, blood in his eyes. Shaking his head, blinking, and then catching, in the corner of his vision, this guy taking a brick out of someone’s hand and then breaking that arm, neat and fast. The snap, and then the scream.

“You broke someone’s arm,” Jason says.

“Well,” he says, sinking deeper into the chair, taking a sip of his coffee like he thinks it’s gonna somehow hide his face. “Like I said, there was a fight.”

Jason closes the door and turns back around. He takes a few steps closer to breakfast nook. He can’t for the life of him remember what the hell he was fighting about, but he figures it was probably worth it. He doesn’t get in that many fights anymore. He is learning, slowly, to pick his battles.

“So there was a fight,” Jason says, “and then, what? You were like ‘that’s hot, better bring that guy home?’”

He frowns. “Not like—I tried to call your friends for you, but you kept giving me the number for some pizza place.”

Jason does a quick mental check of the phone numbers he actually has memorized, and he begrudgingly admits that the top three are all fast food establishments. “Well, maybe I was hungry.”

He stares, deadpan and silent for a full beat. “Could be,” he admits. “You did throw up on my shoes.”

“And I’m not fucking sorry,” Jason says, even though he is. Also, somewhat mortified. “Was I giving you a bad number for 9-1-1, too?”

“No, but you had a lot of loud opinions about cops you really wanted to share. Figured it probably wouldn’t work out well if they showed up.”

Jason hasn’t fought a cop since high school. Again, he’s learning. But he’s willing to admit that some of his hard-won character growth might’ve temporarily vanished after the blow to the head.

“Coulda dropped me at a hospital,” Jason points out.

The man raises a single skeptical brow. “I tried.” He doesn’t elaborate, but the expression on his face indicates that the process of his attempt was not an especially pleasant one.

“So you brought me here,” Jason says, “and then--”

“Tried to clean you up a bit,” he says. “You didn’t like that. So I got you some water, and some ice. Checked on you a few times overnight. You didn’t like that either.”

Jason is starting to realize that maybe he’s been something of a nightmare and an asshole to this guy. “I bled on your couch,” he says, just so they can get everything out in the open.

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “It’s not a great couch.”

Jason blinks at him. “You’re being really calm about this.”

He stares at him for a second and then drops his eyes to the table. After a moment, he shrugs again and looks up. “Combat vet,” he says. “Not the first or the worst head injury I’ve seen. Figured you’d be okay so long as you didn’t get confused and walk off a bridge. Or find another six guys to fight.”

“Six?” Jason asks. Jesus, he must’ve been really pissed about something. Or they were really pissed. Or they were mutually pissed at each other.

“Well, six when I got there,” he says. “Looked like maybe you’d already handled one of them.”

It occurs to Jason that, as shitty as this morning is and as bad as he feels, he’s probably supposed to feel a hell of a lot worse. Maybe he’s supposed to be dead right now.

“I’m Jason,” he says.

“Frank Castle,” the man says.

Jason gets another flash memory. Himself, banging his fist on a dashboard, yelling “Frankie says relax!” at a startled car of clubbers at a red light.

“Oh my God,” Jason says. Very carefully, he brings his hand up to his face. “I can’t believe you didn’t just throw me into traffic.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Frank says. “You only hit me once.”

Jason scans the patchwork quilt of memories he’s built so far. At no point does he remember hitting Frank. “When the hell was that?”

There’s a second where Frank seems to replay the night in his head, like even he’s having some difficulty tracking the madhouse funshow timeline of a concussed Jason. “You couldn’t get in the truck,” he says, finally. “It’s kinda high. You kept tripping on your boots. I was gonna help you. Got too close, I guess. So you elbowed me in the throat.”

“Right into traffic,” Jason repeats. “You coulda just…” He mimes picking up a body and hurling it into oncoming traffic.

“Nah,” he says. “Once you were done swearing at me, you were actually really sweet about it.”

Jason trudges the rest of the way across the room and slumps into the chair opposite Frank. He figures, at this point, he’s given Frank cause and opportunity to murder him. If Frank passed on his chance, he’s probably not interested.

“No sign of my phone?” he asks.

“Oh, found signs,” Frank says. “Looks like you broke it on somebody’s teeth.”

Jason sighs. “Goddamn it.”

“Can use mine,” Frank offers. He slides it across the table to Jason, all his motions so slow and measured that they don’t even make Jason feel seasick when he follows them. “If you can remember any number that isn’t for pizza.”

If Jason focuses past the ache in his head, he can remember Roy’s number. And Dick’s, too, although he’s really hoping it won’t come to that.

Jason picks up the unlocked phone and navigates to the call screen. “Thanks,” he says. “For not killing me. Or letting me be killed.”

Frank looks at him like he has no idea what to do with that. After a second, he stands up. “You want some coffee?”

“God,” he says. “Please, yes. Absolutely. And, like. Seventeen Advil.”

“Three Tylenol,” Frank says. “And you gotta eat toast.”

“Stop trying to save my life, Frank,” Jason says. “I’ve got it from here.”

Frank blinks at him, long and slow, and Jason’s not sure he could look more dubious if he tried.

“Fine,” Jason says. “Three Tylenol and some toast. Sounds great.”

Frank nods and sets off into the kitchen. Jason watches him go, memories shifting and settling in his head of Frank’s hands on the side of his face, carefully tipping him toward a light that hurt. An ice pack pressed gently to his skin, someone taking off his boots.

“You can borrow a shirt,” Frank calls back over his shoulder. “When you go. Yours was ruined.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “Thanks.” The dog sidles up next to him, presses its nose right into his palm. He dials Roy’s number as he scratches behind its soft, floppy ears. “I’m gonna take your dog, too.”

Frank looks over at him, eyes dropping immediately to the dog at Jason’s side and then rising to Jason. That resting murder face is still firmly in place, but Jason’s starting to learn how to see behind it, and there’s something like a smile back there, hidden behind the serious set of his mouth and the furrow between his brows.

“No,” Frank says. “Sadie stays.”

“Relax, Frankie,” Jason says, and Frank full-on rolls his eyes in the single most decisive display of emotion Jason’s seen so far.

“Don’t start that again,” he says. “My neighbors already left a shitty note.”

Jason hopes like hell that all his memories come back. Because while it sounds like there are parts of last night he’s happy to lose, there are other parts he kinda wants back.

Frank does that thing again where he doesn’t quite smile, and Jason grins back at him for a second before his face reminds him that emotive facial expressions aren’t really a good idea right now. He grimaces, and Frank’s smile disappears.

He ducks into the kitchen, and Jason presses ‘Call.’

[rurifangirl]

chile ya shoulda told me i missedd the oc asks🙄✋

imma just send in a few not to heavy on ya💃💃

echo🌸

🍁 Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

kayn🌸

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

kida🌸

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

shou🌸

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

myst🌸

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

I'm sorry bestie, but I was prepparing for our 20th marriage 😔💔

Echo🐏-

It's not rare It needs space for himself, but even when he'll later on join the dumbass trio, It does have a soft place where it goes to, especially when stressed.

Any places with water nearby Is perfect for him. Which Is a reference from when he got cursed, and It Is kind of ironic. But since it got cursed, It found the sound of water..oddly soothing.

Not that he enjoyed it that much, but more because It was so tempting, that made him forget about all doubts and much about the outside world.

When with the gang, it will spend less time there, which Is understandable, since they will travel in many places.

If there isn't that place, it would panic, and decide to kick themselves out of everyone else. Hoping It can resolve this by itself. Most of the time, he forcefully does so, but there are times when only crying could help.

Kayn💜-

HE'S THE DEFINITION OF AN HUGGY BEAR OF COURSE HE'D LIKE THEM!! Litteraly anything physical related, as long as It ain't sexual, Is absolutely great for him. He himself does to others some surprise hugs, even tho to the only ones he's close to. And Ruri too naturally. I miss adding the boys to shit so here, Ruri finnaly has been mentioned.

He'd give the world n beyond to anyone if they'd want to, he's doing his besttt💜💜

Kida💮-

Abldkdkaldk as with the other Shou's asks, I'll try😭😭

"Such classyness and worth, in yet such a rough body. The flowing beauty, with a fierce spirit, easly feedable. Through compentent fights. Hands, as though used, were pleasing to look at. And understandably warm. With such soft eyes, you could almost be lost in them. The liliac, almost ethereal lights did help, too. Such, inky and flowing hair made me remember of one of a lion."

Shou🍵-

OHOHOHO OKAYOKAY, I GOT ITT

1- His design obviously. I just, really love It, and might be my fave overall, even if I really like Rui's and Myst's quite a lot too. His hair Is something that just makes me go brrrrr.

2- His development, even more than personality. I know I didn't use this as much, but I love how he goes from a shady, "villain", trying to murder Lyva and Rui out of jelousy and rage, to a far more understanding, and trying for the redemption he never knew he needed, until he met Qiran. Which Is why Id like to Say that, of he didn't meet him, he would've become more and more villanous with time. He's not a villain, nor an hero, even now. He doesn't know that too. And that's something i really, rEALLY like in his character.

3- His past, and how he can't let go out of It, even if that severly hurt him. But he couldn't understand that, even until now he doesn't. He still portrays his mother as someone who didn't deserve such pain, completely ignoring and not understanding how that still hurt him.

4- His wording abilities. Most times he's so sneaky, and even oddly teasing, in subdule ways, as if that could help him, in any way. No matter if it's morally wrong or right, if that's what he belives in, that's his decision. Will he regret It? Perhaps. But that's a risk he knowingly always takes. Even if that would mean doing the same for Qiran.

IM GETTING SO LONG BUT I JUST REALLY LOVE THIS DUDE AND HIS CONFLICT W BEING A CANIBALISSTIC SNAKE DEMON ALRIGHT BYEEEE

Myst🎸-

A big 7.5. Ya can't convince me otherwise. The reason why I'm not giving them an 8 Is because of her,, moments. But even then, he's a big bimbo and i love him so fucking much toooo😩

Also id overall rate em an 8.5/9, Idk either. I think he's really great too, but probably goin for the 8.5.

Tags undercut

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @nadi-117 @damnfoxx @dopesaladlady @audre-falrose

[kutemouse]

Caught (Part One)

Disclaimers: All “Save Me” webtoon and BTS MV/highlight reel/film references and plots belong to BTS and BigHit. All pictures of Kim Taehyung belong to BTS and BigHit, I just edited them for my header. The picture of BTS came from Vogue Japan, I just edited it for my header.

A Note from Kutemouse: I know, I know, this has been a long time coming, and I’m so sorry it took so long for me to post this!! I’ve actually had it written for a while, but today was the first day I was able to get up and do some stuff. Pregnancy is rough! Oh, that’s right, if you haven’t seen it yet, I made a Big Announcement earlier today that explains why I’ve been so inactive lately, and also explains my plans for the future.

Age Recommendation: 21+ (this is NOT one for youngsters, kuties, and is MOST DEFINITELY NSFW)

Genre: Mafia!AU w/ BTS, Jailbird!AU w/ Taehyung, Yandere!BTS

Warnings: Not many warnings for this part, kuties. Swears, I guess. Unsupportive SO? Kidnapping. Use of chloroform.

Word Count: About 3k

Summary: Kim Taehyung was the absolute love of your life… until he became a murderer. With him serving a life sentence in prison, you were finally free to live out the rest of your life however you wanted. Just when you thought you were at the top of your game, ready to take on the world, Taehyung reappears like a monster not even your worst nightmares could dream up. He gives you a year to fall in love with him, but now the question is, can monsters even be loved?

Master List

Tag List: @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash​ @btssmutheaven​ @taemaknae​ @rebeccawoodrow​ @sassysaxsolo​ @iconicgguk​

If you want to be added, just lmk!

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Caught (Taehyung Series, Yandere, Smut, Angst) Part One

We were skipping class in the school greenhouse, enjoying the humid warmth and the earthy smell wafting from the plants. We were talking, I forget about what. What I remember most is fiddling with his large, rough hands, intertwining my fingers between his over and over again. I remember his deep laugh that seemed to rumble through the recesses of my soul. I remember glee blooming in my chest whenever he grinned at me. 

His tone was teasing, mine was indignant yet flirtatious. Again, I forget what we said to each other, but I clearly remember those two words. “Kiss me.”

I gaped at him. “What?”

“Kiss me,” he repeated.

I hesitated. “Here? Now?”

Taehyung leaned down, tilting his head, until his lips hovered over mine. I felt each of his exhales on my skin, practically heard my heartbeat speed up.

“Kiss. Me.” It was barely a whisper, yet it resonated through my body, down my spine and throughout my limbs.

Without another word, I pressed my lips to his, melding them to fit his, a thrill running through me at his appreciative groan.

He pulled back, his inky eyes somehow growing darker. “I love you, baby girl.”

I sat up, gasping. Blood rushed to my head, making me see stars. With a groan, I covered my face with my hands.

“Sweetie?”

My fiancé, Lee Chanwook, rolled over and peered at me. “You okay?” he asked, his voice husky from lack of use.

“Yeah. Fine. Just had a dream, go back to sleep.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. He rolled over, his breath growing deep and even as he fell back into the reaches of slumber. If I could be so lucky. I hadn’t thought about Kim Taehyung in… well, it had to be almost a year now. Or two. I wasn’t sure.

Either way, my life moved on without him after shit completely hit the fan. My aunt and I agreed I shouldn’t transfer schools, since I only had a month or so left til graduation. I graduated alongside Chaeyoung, who seemed to be my only friend after Taehyung got arrested. She held my hand tightly the entire ceremony, only letting go when I was called to accept my diploma.

As soon as I graduated, Aunt Sunhee and I moved into her place in Busan. It was a tidal wave of change. Compared to my mom’s cramped, two-bedroom apartment, my aunt’s large house was a mansion. She recently obtained a position as COO of a large company and applied for custody of me immediately after.

Before we moved, I found my aunt’s letters my mom had hidden from me. My aunt had tried to call me multiple times but was never able to reach me. She even flew out to see me a couple of times, but all it took was my mother calling me at school and telling me I needed to stay at a friend’s house for me to stay away. I guess my mom was scared she would lose me.

Yet that’s exactly what happened in the end. My aunt paid for my mom to go to a rehabilitation center, but after only a few weeks, the center called my aunt letting her know my mother had disappeared. Aunt Sunhee called the police and even hired a private investigator, but my mom was nowhere to be found. I succumbed to the realization that she was probably dead. I didn’t get out of bed for weeks afterward.

A year and a massive amount of therapy sessions later, I decided I wanted to do something with my life. I was already attending university to obtain a business degree, but I hungered for more. My aunt got me an internship within her company, and I learned a lot just by working under her. Four years later, with a bachelor’s degree in hand, my aunt hired me as her executive assistant, and I took a year off before going to graduate school to both work and plan my wedding.

I was introduced to Chanwook at a company get-together. He was the son of one of my aunt’s business associates, and he caught my eye almost immediately. Mostly it was the way he was the exact opposite of the boy I hadn’t been able to get my mind off of. He was a stickler for the rules, had a great relationship with his parents, and never, ever did anything that would cross the line or damage his flawless reputation. He was kind and funny, but there was no wild or daring side to him. At the time, he was exactly what I needed.

He helped me forget about Taehyung. In the years before then, whenever I had a spare moment for my mind to drift, Taehyung’s wide, boxy grin and deep voice would float into my thoughts. I spent days wondering what went wrong. When had he become a murderer? At what point did he crack? Why hadn’t I noticed sooner?

Chaeyoung and I kept in touch, and I heard some details of Taehyung’s trial from her. I heard he was sentenced to life in prison without parole, due to the one count of murder against him. It would have been two, but Taehyung’s dad’s body was never found. No one was even sure he was dead.

I spent many nights staring at the ceiling, thinking back to the night when Namjoon got that frantic phone call from Taehyung. When Jungkook wouldn’t let me see him. When he completely disappeared for that entire week.

I had no doubt he killed his father. I don’t think he did it maliciously or intentionally. I think he found the strength inside of himself to fight back, and it ended in a death. It didn’t make the murderous act any less horrifying, but it did make me wonder just how deep the darkness inside Taehyung ran. Was he really the monster the media made him out to be?

Aunt Sunhee caught me one night poring over article after article covering Taehyung’s trial. “Y/n, you can’t keep doing this,” she said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You need to move on with your life.”

It took a long time, but eventually, I stopped surfing the internet for mentions of Taehyung’s story. My conversations with Chaeyoung grew few and far between until they stopped completely. Memories of Tae’s smile, his voice, his laugh, his lips, faded away. I even changed my last name to “Park” both so I’d be recognized as my aunt’s relative, and so no one from my past could find me. Four long years later, I was finally free of Kim Taehyung.

Or so I thought.

Apparently, my damn subconscious didn’t want to let him go. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to wipe away the image of his smiling face. I never imagined that, years later, he would still be haunting me.

I got out of bed, wrapping a robe around my body before stepping out onto our apartment’s deck. The cool, four-in-the-morning air roused my senses even further awake. I stayed like that until the sun began to peek over the edge of the horizon, thinking of Kim Taehyung and our shared past.

“Hey,” Chanwook said, coming up from behind to wrap his arms around me. “Have you been out here all night?”

“Not all night,” I replied. “Just since I woke up from that dream.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed sleepily in response. “Was it a good dream?”

I bit my lip, mulling his question over. “No,” I finally said. “It was more like a nightmare.”

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

That afternoon, I yawned as I re-read the same sentence for the umpteenth time, willing my brain to focus. “You look like you need a cup of coffee,” my coworker, Lisa, said.

“That would be nice,” I murmured in response, still trying to focus.

She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’ll get yours with an extra shot of espresso,” she said.

“Just so you know, I absolutely adore you.”

She blew me a kiss accompanied by a cheeky wink. “I know. Be back in fifteen.”

With the promise of caffeine on the way, I sat back in my chair and rubbed my temples, telling myself I’d get back to that report later. My cell phone began to buzz, and I picked it up, frowning at the unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Miss Park?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Hello, my name is Choi Yeonjun. I’m a representative of the company Bangtan Enterprises.”

“Never heard of it.”

A chuckle came through from the other end. “That’s because we’re a small start-up just breaking into Seoul’s business world.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Miss Park, we’ve been made aware of your extraordinary skills and experience. Your aunt is COO of her company, correct? And you’ve been working under her for how long?”

“Well, if you’re including my internship, about five years now.”

“Excellent.”

“Mr. Choi, what is this about?” I asked as politely as I could.

“As a start-up company, we’re in need of experienced people to help run it,” he explained. “We’re prepared to offer you the COO position here at Bangtan, which comes with your own office, and we’ll double your salary.”

My mouth dropped open. “Double?”

“Double.”

I shook my head in an attempt to pull myself together. This opportunity was huge. I’d been accused of exploiting nepotism in order to get where I was today, but this could be my chance to prove all my naysayers wrong. I could show them I was entirely capable of forging my own path.

Still, I wasn’t going to just jump at this. I pulled my keyboard towards me and searched Bangtan Enterprises. Only a few results came up, but they confirmed my hopes into reality. Bangtan Enterprises was indeed a start-up, but it was based on a very profitable idea and, from the looks of it, had already lined up some high-end clients.

“And you said you’re based in Seoul?” I asked.

“That’s correct.”

So I’d either have to move there or split my time between Busan and there. I chewed my lip, wondering what Chanwook would think. “Your offer is very generous, Mr. Choi. May I have some time to think about it?”

He chuckled once more. “Unfortunately for you, you are not our only candidate. You’re our first choice, but there are others who are willing to start as soon as tomorrow.”

I clenched my phone. “No! I mean, that’s fine. I’ll take it.”

I knew I might regret it later, but this was a hell of an opportunity. Besides, it wasn’t like I signed a contract. I still had time to back out.

“Excellent. We’ll send you an official offer via email. When is the earliest you can start?”

“Don’t tease me, Mr. Choi,” I said playfully. “I thought you said my competition could start tomorrow.”

“That may be true, but—”

“Well, anything they can do, I can do better. I’ll send you my plane’s arrival time.”

“We’ll have a car waiting.”

I swiped off the call, anticipation flooding through me, causing a burst of excited energy to run through my veins.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

“You what?” Chanwook gaped at me.

“I said yes,” I replied nervously. I just told my fiancé about the new job, and he seemed to think it was great up until I said I accepted.

“Sweetie,” he groaned, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Are you serious?”

I frowned. “Yes, of course I am. I wouldn’t joke about something like this, Chan.”

“Well, you’ll just have to tell them you can’t take it anymore.”

I scoffed. “And why not?”

“Because we have a great life here. You make plenty, I make more than plenty. Why do you need another job?”

“Maybe I don’t need it,” I retorted. “Maybe I want it.”

“Want to move away from here? Miles away from your friends, your family?”

I scowled at him in response.

He sighed. “Y/n… answer me honestly. Is this about your mom?”

I snorted in disgust. “Seriously, Chan?!”

“It’s a valid question! Are you sure you don’t only want to go to Seoul to see if you could find her?”

“No, that’s not the reason I want to go to Seoul!”

“Then why?”

“Because! This is something that I earned, that I did on my fucking own. In fact, this will be the first and only thing that’s mine alone.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? My job? Came from my aunt. My business degree? My aunt’s money. This apartment?” I said, gesturing around the room. “Your money.”

“So what?”

“So I want something for myself. We don’t have to move to Seoul, you know. I know your job is here, and I’d be willing to make the commute. You know, stay four days there, three days here, or something.”

Chanwook scoffed. “Do you even hear yourself?!” he shouted. “We are getting married! Planning on starting a life, here, in Busan! If you want a job based on your own merit and not because your aunt took pity on you, then find one here.”

I was rendered entirely speechless for a good few moments before I was able to gather myself back together. “I cannot believe how unsupportive you’re being,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m taking that job. It’s your choice whether you’ll let that affect our relationship or not.”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

I turned and grabbed my suitcase before stomping out the door, intent on going straight to my aunt’s. If Chanwook was going to be a total ass, I didn’t want to be around him. Thankfully, Aunt Sunhee wasn’t there to ask prying questions when I entered the house with my spare key. I walked up to my old room and hopped on my computer to search for flights from Busan to Seoul. This was my dream. And nothing, nothing at all, was going to stop me from achieving it.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I walked briskly toward my destination, my heels clicking on the airport floor. As promised, a car was waiting for me, along with another passenger in the backseat. “Miss Park,” he said, extending his hand towards me as soon as I buckled up.

His voice sounded familiar. “Mr. Choi?”

“You can call me Yeonjun,” he said, his blonde hair falling over his left eye.

“And you can continue calling me Miss Park.”

He tossed me a smirk. “So, the boss would like to speak with you,” he said easily. “Nothing to be nervous for, he just wants to get to know you. However, he has an important meeting to attend over on the other side of town for which he’s requested your presence.”

“So this car is going straight there?”

“No, you’ll switch to his car once we get to the office. That way, you’ll have time to get reacquainted.”

I frowned. “Reacquainted?”

Yeonjun chuckled. “I meant acquainted. Slip of the tongue.”

“If you say so.”

We spent the rest of the ride in silence, something I was surprised over. I thought he would want to go over my contract or something, but I supposed that would all come later. The driver pulled the car into a parking structure, causing the interior to instantly darken.

“There it is,” Yeonjun said, pointing. A sleek, black SUV sat in the middle of the road, effectively blocking our way. “Go on. Mr. Kim is waiting for you.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of my new boss’s name. Thoughts of Taehyung rushed through my mind, but I shoved them away. Kim was a common enough last name. I stepped out of the car, pulling my suitcase from the trunk before walking towards the SUV. Yeonjun did not follow. After stowing my luggage in the trunk, I opened the side door and hopped in.

A figure sat on the bench across from me, his face covered in shadow. “Mr. Kim? Hi, I’m Park Y/n,” I said, extending my hand. He did not take it.

“I know who you are,” he said, his voice an eerily familiar deep tone.

“Oh, of course you do. Yeonjun said you wanted to get to know me… What would you like to know?”

“I know everything about you already, baby girl.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see through the darkness that covered his face. “S-Sorry?”

“I said,” he replied, leaning forward. The light caught onto his inky eyes, causing me to gasp. “I know everything about you already, Y/n.”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Kim Taehyung was leaning towards me, a smirk dancing around the corners of his mouth. Sure, he looked slightly different. Older. More mature. He had definitely filled out, and his hair was now a complimentary jet-black falling attractively into his dark eyes.

“Hey baby girl,” he said, his smirk widening. “You lost?”

My body suddenly jumped into full-blown panic, and I grabbed at the car door’s handle, shrieking once I realized it wouldn’t open. Taehyung forcefully wrapped his arms around me, pinning me hard to his chest, clamping a hand tightly over my mouth. “None of that now,” he hissed.

I bit him, causing him to yelp, and continued trying to escape, fumbling at the lock that stood between him and my freedom. Taehyung pulled a handkerchief and a bottle from his jacket pocket, putting a dab of whatever liquid was inside on the cloth before clamping it over my mouth. His chuckle came out as more of a wheeze as he held me to his chest. “Damn, baby girl,” he said. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to resort to this, but here we are.”

With each one of his words, my field of vision grew smaller and smaller until my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I felt myself falling into a state of unconsciousness not even the fear of death itself could fight off.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Part Two is Here! 😉

[mwolf0epsilon]

A story of Sammy stumbling upon siren head?

Summary: The studio wasn't the only place hiding the lurking horrors of the world.

---

[[MORE]]

Freedom had come with a lot of existential dread and lingering doubts. It hadn't been the oh so sweet respite that everyone had coveted so much, not when they were still abominable creatures made of cursed ink (and in some cases machinery). Still, for all that they'd worried, Henry had pulled through and prevailed.

He'd not only gifted them their salvation from Joey's nightmarish dream, but also offered them a way to live unafraid in a world they no longer belonged in. He gave them a house, food, clothes, a life worth living.

Never once did he ask for anything in return. A true loyal and kind friend to those who desperately needed such a charitable heart.

"You don't need to repay me. I'm only doing what's right, and besides I got that house after my uncle died... It never really felt right to move out of town with Linda and the girls, and I never knew what I was going to do with it." He'd humbly dismissed any offers to repay his kindness. "You all need a safe place where you can recover and slowly reacquaint with normalcy without anyone judging or fearing you. The location is perfect."

And it was. An isolated corner of a vast forest, with nearly no signs of civilization. Easy for Henry to check up on them since he knew where to go to reach it, but out of the way enough that not even hikers came by often.

It helped that it had a bit of a... Dark reputation. Missing cases, strange sightings, and creepy sounds in the night. A deterrent for sane people with a yellow streak.

For someone like Susie and Allison who looked human enough to pass off as such if provided with an appropriate disguise, it was a bit of a hassle. Grocery shopping (when they were in the mood to be seen by the oblivious folk in the nearest town) took longer due to such a long trek.

For others like Tom and Buddy who were living cartoon characters it was a more comfortable experience. They could go out and feel the sun upon their skin without fear of what may happen if they were spotted.

And then lastly, for beings like Sammy, the Searchers, Butcher Gang, and for Norman, it was both a stark reminder of their inhumanity, and a blissful respite from the crippling dissonant thoughts that made them oh so prone to violent outbursts.

In the woods there was no one they could hurt if they lost their senses (which was not as common a thing as it once was, but still something the Projectionist suffered with on the regular). In the woods there was peaceful silence where they could wade through the madness and regain their footing. In the woods they could almost be their former selves.

Granted this was a double-edged sword on one regard: The Projectionist tended to wander far and not recall how to come back.

If Norman ended up somehow stumbling back into society, there would be trouble. Which is why Sammy was assigned to follow him every time he felt like going for one of his "little walks".

At first the once-music director had scoffed and been incredibly annoyed at being saddled with such a responsibility. He was not in a capacity to look after himself, much less a 7, nearly 8, foot tall half-ink half-machine man that could easily render him into ribbons if he set him off. Norman's transition from coherent sentient thoughts to downright feral and highly aggressive behaviour was too unpredictable for someone who's memories tended to evade him easily.

But then, as pointed out by Allison, Susie wouldn't be able to calm him because she knew neither sign language nor Morse code (which he'd learned specifically from Norman when he was still human just for fun), and Allison herself was not overly close to him so her presence would only distress him further.

When he'd still tried to refuse, Tom had resorted to threats which he'd returned in kind. In the end it was the pleading looks of both Jack and the rest of the band that got him to relent. But not before barking at them to never say he wasn't a charitable and patient man (things he really wasn't, considering his short fuse and unwillingness to socialize when he was in a particularly sour mood).

Once he'd committed to the task, Sammy found that the sounds of nature soothed him. Watching after the Projectionist wasn't too bad either, as he thought the large monstrosity looked quite happy as it wandered aimlessly, occasionally looking up at the expanse of darkening skies. Sunsets seemed to spark something more human in Norman. Got him to sign more and sometimes vocalize his words (as painfully gritting to the ear as that may be). It reminded Sammy of... Of times long past. Ones where he'd consider this brute as a bright and very accommodating (if not a little annoying at times) friend.

A friend he dearly missed even, for no matter how much they tried, Norman would never go back to being who he was before the studio chewed him up and spat him back out as something some would consider a dubiously smart animal.

The peace also sparked something in Sammy himself. It made him feel more grounded, more like himself, to the point where his form would shift accordingly. Because their bodies were reacting to their slow recoveries.

Over time a few Searchers had slowly become Lost Ones, and a few Lost Ones had begun transitioning into human forms. There was always something a little off and cartoonish about them, but it was progress nontheless. People were remembering who they once we're, and that was more than they'd ever accomplished in that hellhole.

Sammy sometimes could see his true face reflected back by a puddle or larger body of water, but it was a fleeting thing.

At times he could even feel his unruly curls brushing against his neck and shoulders, but they weren't the dirty blond he'd remembered. They were an inky black that upset him slightly, but better than the shiny bald head he'd had for so many years. Less saddening than the yellow glow of eyes that should have been a soft hazel, and much less startling than the sharpness of his teeth. Somehow he always got the nose right, which was adding salt to injury considering he couldn't regenerate his pinkies.

The Projectionist's walks were moments of introspection. Ones where he was sure he'd be able to get his true form back, even if slightly altered.

So imagine his annoyance when one such moment was marred by his selfish distraction...

He wasn't entirely sure when he'd lost sight of Norman, or for how long he'd spaced out just staring at his reconstituted face on the nearest reflective surface, but the moment he noted just how dark it was Sammy knew he'd fucked up.

They'd been wandering for hours and he'd been so absentmindedly worrying over faded memories that he'd just let the Projectionist wander off to the nearest flower patch to marvel at all the pretty colors (prettier than old sepia and inky tones that had made their horrid existence oh so much duller). He'd gotten so stuck in his own head that he'd never noticed his charge moving off to explore further and further into uncharted territory.

They'd never gotten so close to the mountains, and now? Now Sammy was sure he'd never be able to find the Projectionist again. He'd failed Norman.

Something which he absolutely refused to let happen. If not out of pride, then out of shame. He'd rather die than return to the others without Polk in tow, knowing they'd add it to the list of things that made him a genuinely horrid person (aside from ritualistic murder and allowing Joey to manipulate him to the point of idolizing a false god). That wouldn't do.

Sammy wouldn't be able to live with the scorn. So he trekked further to where he assumed the hulking ink creature had gone.

Henry had told them stories. The ones about the people going missing. Freaky tales that had unseen horrors lurking amidst the trees and skulking in shadows. One such creature he seeked (for the Projectionist had become one of these fabled cryptids just by being an out of place being in the woods), but the others he'd heard of, although fabricated, were mysterious and spooky to him.

Having such shluck looping in the forefront of his mind like a bad film reel was troublesome. It made him hesitant the moment he heard anything that sounded out of place.

Steeling his nerves was hard. Despite being made of ink, his heart was very much still human, so he felt instinctively fearful of the unknown. Those silly stories were genuinely scaring him and he resented Henry for being such a good narrator.

With every step further into the mountainside he hoped to see the light of Norman's lens, and hear the clicking of the projector he had for a head.

He was not expecting to hear... What sounded like an emergency broadcast.

It was so sudden and confusing that it made the ex-music director pause in his tracks. An echoing call that spanned miles, like it was being projected from up high.

Looking around his surroundings he saw nothing out of place. Just rows upon rows of trees and a watch tower in the distance further up north.

Turning his head more slowly yielded the same results. Nothing that could broadcast that loudly in sight... Until he saw it...

At first glance it looked like an old siren. Rough and weathered, rusty looking from a distance. Very strange to be found this far away from civilization. But then he really took the time to stare at it. Noted just how off the towering thing was, and then realized... Those sirens hadn't any speakers. They had teeth.

As soon as his mind picked up on this very fact, he saw everything else. And then, before he could exclaim in terror, he was up in the air held in a massive far-too-human-looking hand, and being pulled closer to said teeth.

Sammy screamed as he felt the pain of being bitten into, upper torso pulled into this nightmarish thing's eager maw, only to then be unceremoniously spat out and tossed on the ground. The shock and pain made him deconstruct into a puddle and, to then aggravate the issue further, the beast stepped down on him as if insulted by the vile taste of ink.

Sammy didn't much care. He lost consciousness soon after.

When Sammy came to, the sun was rising. He was groggy from the pain and confusion of being violently assaulted by something straight out of a Lovecraftian novel, and the intense light washing over his eyes didn't help.

Wait... Light?

Blinking away inky tears, Sammy found Norman staring down at him with a posture that read clearly of concern. The poor thing had likely found Sammy's puddle form and been fretting ever since.

The composer thanked whatever god was out there that the monster that attacked him hadn't found the Projectionist. He wouldn't have had the sense to run.

"H-home. Let's go home..." He whimpered weakly, despite the creature before him being deaf and unable to read his lips properly considering he currently had none. The pitiful look of him must have clued the bigger ink being, however, as Norman scooped him up with ease and began the trek back. Sammy directed him, mostly through pointing when he seemed unsure, all the while keeping an eye for that... Siren-Head thing that thankfully found him too disgusting to consume.

The one perk of his abominable state...

Needless to say, they were never coming back to these parts. Not as long as he allowed it. Some things were better off left undisturbed.

Because, as it turned out, the studio wasn't the only place hiding the lurking horrors of the world...

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Hey There, Hot Tea

A/N: 3k of Dick Grayson/Nightwing fluff in which Nightwing doesn’t spill any tea but Dick Grayson doesn’t know how to keep secrets. 

When I awoke on that fateful Thursday night to the sound of incessant scratching against my bedroom door, my first thought consisted of several profane words. My second thought wondered what ungodly hour the clock read (barely past three, witching hour). My third thought manifested in an agitated grumble of my cat’s name. Rolling out of bed, I cursed at the sudden loss of my warm cocoon. “This is why you can’t sleep in here, Chip. Because you’re annoying.” I told him, opening my door so he could scamper out into the living room. “You play with my heart and make me think you want to cuddle, but no! You wake me up at three a.m. because you want to sleep in your own bed.” I continued to gripe ineffectively through my mouth guard, squinting through the dim lamp lighting at Chip’s canine sister, Dale, snoring blissfully on the couch. “Why can’t you be like your sister, huh?” “Meow.” I chugged half a glass of water and turned to hightail back into my bedroom and snuggly cocoon, only to be interrupted by more scratching. This time, Chip clawed at the front door to the apartment. A flash of panic ripped through me and my thoughts flew to the baseball bat beneath the couch and the butcher knife in wooden block on the kitchen counter. Dale raised her head, ears barely perking up as she glanced towards Chip disinterestedly. When Chip’s ceaseless pawing was met with neither intimidating banging nor a mafia member from the Bronx ordering me to open up, I crept cautiously towards the door. “Dale, if this is how I die, because Chip wants me to let a murderer inside, please tell my mom I love her.” I squinted through the peephole for several moments before concluding that I was blind without my glasses and that there was possibly a man unconscious in the hallway. Though countless horrific news stories of young women being murdered in their homes played through my head, it was absolutely impossible for me to disregard someone in need. You might call it my kryptonite. Perhaps that was why I chose nursing as a profession, not neglecting the fact that I get to wear absurdly patterned scrubs. I ditched my mouth guard for proper vision and fuzzy slippers, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. Once again, I glanced through the peephole to confirm my suspicions. Indeed, there was a man slumped on the floor of the hallway just outside my room. As a matter of principle, I yanked the baseball bat out from underneath the couch and placed it against the wall near the door. Just in case. With a shameful, sheepish smile, I realized that this presented an opportunity to knock on the door of my devastatingly handsome neighbor, Mr. Richard Grayson, for help. The prospect of spotting him in his pajamas – no matter that my own consisted of panda flannel pants and a worn tee that told the world I survived my first trip to Central City – made my stomach lurch. It seemed that in the past few months, I’d developed a mild crush on my neighbor, something that caused me equal parts anguish, fear, and excitement. I scolded myself for it often, but no matter how intently I tried, I couldn’t quite shake the warm affection I felt when he flashed me that sweet smile or told me good morning in his sleepy urban drawl. Our periodic interactions were barely substantial enough to constitute a friendship, but I took what I could get. We often bumped into each other in the mornings, sharing the elevator, equipped with steaming mugs of coffee and friendly smiles. Though I wasn’t much of a morning person, his gregarious energy and charming mannerisms quickly changed my opinion of seven-thirty a.m. for the better. Once, we even got stuck in the elevator together. We were both half an hour late to work, but I embraced that mishap because it allowed me to learn that he worked as a detective downtown, enjoyed old horror films, and substituted copious amounts of breakfast cereals for proper meals occasionally. He was chivalrous and pleasantly flirtatious and very easily filled the spot in my heart reserved for feeling weak around handsome and polite young men. Plus, Chip seemed to adore Dick. This was impressive because most humans offered him minimal intrigue and Chip would sooner bite your ankle than purr and rub his head against your legs. (Dale believed that no human harbored ill-will, but that’s why she wasn’t a guard dog.) I shoved my cellphone in my pocket, should the seemingly unconscious man warrant a 9-1-1 call and took a deep breath, switching on the lights. I cracked the door open slowly, peeking through the opening not unlike a groundhog. The man, lanky yet well-built, was sprawled out against the opposite wall. He was clad in inky black and…leather? His face was angled towards the wall, dark hair tousled. I broke the eerie silence of the hallway. “Uh...hello?” My greeting received no reply, unless you count his heavy breathing. Gingerly, I inched closer and nudged him with my foot. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “He’s like a rock.” His frame was so toned – or maybe it was this suspiciously leathery suit – that the pressure of my fuzzy slipper against his side barely made him budge. Though he could certainly be a serial killer praying on young, independent women, he seemed groggy enough that if need be, I could dive back into the safety of my apartment and call the police. I kneeled down, arm’s length away, and tapped his shoulder, which was also brick-like. And very, very warm. Something about that shaggy mop of hair and sturdy frame was awfully familiar, nagging at the pit of my stomach, but I was still too tired to register the gut instinct – or, maybe, I felt silly for admitting that the unconscious man before me reminded me a bit of Richard Grayson. Inhaling deeply, I leaned over and tugged his opposite shoulder to flip him onto his back. When he groaned, I gasped and stumbled backwards, banging my head against the wall. “Holy shit.” The man in front of me was, in fact, not my hot neighbor. The blue silhouette of a bird nearly glowed against his broad chest. “Well, Nightwing, I guess I’m glad we’re meeting here, while you’re passed out in front of my door. Not because I’m being mugged in a dark alleyway.” I laughed nervously to myself. He groaned again and I jumped again, but his eyes were still shut tightly. His mask didn’t give much away, save for that sharp jawline and slightly parted lips. Hesitantly, I patted his face. “Um. Mr. Nightwing?” Nothing. Forcefully, I shook his shoulder. “Maybe you should get out of the hallway?” I received a pained sigh in response. “Should I, like, call an ambulance? Do superheroes like their well-being treated institutionally? Do you even have health insurance?” I continued babbling, further perplexed about how to proceed. Inhaling deeply, I did the only thing I could do. I pinched the underside of his arm. A startled yelp left my mouth, but not before a strong hand encircled my wrist and I ended up flat on my back in the middle of the hallway, the breath knocked out of my lungs with a sharp wheeze. “No, no, and...yes.” His voice was a low rasp, one that left me reeling, no matter that my head had recently collided with a wall and the ground in the recent past. I blinked up at the ceiling, paralyzed by both fear and embarrassment. “Okay.” I croaked. He appeared above me, hovering. His gaze was warm and sky blue. When he smiled, it lit up his whole face, even beneath the mask. “Sorry.” He apologized sheepishly, helping me sit up. There was that nagging feeling again in my stomach and I shook my head, more for my sake than his. “Oh. It’s fine. Getting flipped over by a superhero? I can check that off my bucket list.” He helped me to my feet, hand lingering for maybe a moment too long against the small of my back, still smiling bashfully, looking much more like a flustered teenage boy than the savior of this city. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t help but snort. “Are you okay? You’re the one who was just passed out on the ground!” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Wait! I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I don’t want to seem mean. Thank you, Mr. Nightwing, for protecting our city.” He chuckled lowly. “It’s no problem at all, sunshine.” Sunshine? I squinted at him. The only other person who calls me sunshine and laughs quietly like that is Richard Grayson each time I end up with him in the elevator. “Am I allowed to ask how you ended up…here?” I quirked an eyebrow, smiling at him shyly. He deadpanned, but his mouth twitched playfully. “If I can get a cup of tea, you might just find out.” I pursed my lips. “Deal. But if you, noble Nightwing, try any funny business, my dog will end you.” His laugher filled the hallway with light. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“Hey there, hot tea?” He read off the mug. In spite of myself, I blushed. “It was a gift. Would you prefer the cat one?” “No, thanks. This one is flattering.” I didn’t expect to spend the early hours of Friday in my kitchen conversing with a superhero, but my mom and Disney always taught me to expect the unexpected. The sleepiness had faded, but I still felt a little delirious. Chip was perched happily on his lap, purring like Nightwing had all the tuna world. However, I easily learned that Nightwing smelled more like earth and the stars and gracefully worn-out nylon, not like canned fish, as he leaned across the island just barely dancing on the fringes of my space. “I am not in your building because of villainous activity, if that’s any consolation.” He told me. “Right. Because that explains why you were knocked out in front of my door.” He smirked, glancing down at the mug dwarfed between his palms. “I was just…checking in. But I guess I’ve had a rough night. Little aster, lots of disaster.” His eyes flickered up to meet mine, silvery and dancing. “It’s definitely gotten better though.” Is a superhero flirting with me? I cleared my throat, heat rising in my cheeks once again. I turned to put my own mug in the sink and shrugged. “Glad to be of assistance.” “Want to be a nurse off the clock?” “Of course.” And then I froze, gazing at him with wide eyes. “How do you know I’m a nurse?” He wrinkled his nose slightly, before he beamed and placed his forearm on the table, dark gash caked with dried blood. “I’m just in the loop, you know?” I frowned but grabbed the first aid kit from my cabinet. “Superhero connections and all that jazz.” The memory of Richard explaining his vast knowledge of the best coffee shops in the city and their owners played across my mind. “Nothing can top my five-year-old coffee pot and store-bought cream.” He smiled at me warmly. “You gotta try Duke’s. Or Cool Beans.” “Am I supposed to trust your word?” “Yes. I’ve learned all the best coffee spots. Detective connections and all that jazz.” I felt uneasy, but not necessarily uncomfortable. He rolled up the sleeve of his suit easily, wincing. I dampened a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol. “This is gonna sting.” “I’m sure I’ve felt worse than – OUCH! That burns!” I blew against the wound to dry it faster. “I’m sorry! I did warn you!” He huffed unhappily. This fine specimen, radiating heat and masculinity, morphed into someone boyish when he jutted out his bottom lip and, of all things, pouted. I wrapped his forearm tightly in gauze. “It’s not too deep, but it is long, so try to take it easy, okay?” Nightwing placed his opposite hand over my own as I taped the gauze. His skin was warm, fingers calloused, and I couldn’t help the little shiver that ran down my spine. “Thank you.” His Atlantic eyes bore into my own. A few moments of silence followed, but his eyes spoke so many words, deep and dark. Looking at him was like looking at a word search. I knew if I looked close enough at the letters, I might be able to decipher what he wanted me to know. I swallowed hard. “You’re welcome, Nightwing.” He smiled, but this one was sad. “I should get going.” I nodded slowly. “Right. You should. With a city to save and all,” He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again when I walk him to the door. “You sure you don’t want to launch yourself through my window? Wait, actually, don’t. That wouldn’t help your arm.” “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted, winking. There was a pause, and my heart jumped into my throat. “Take care of yourself.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You too, sunshine.” He disappeared down the hallway in the blink of an eye and I drifted to sleep to the sound of his laughter ringing in my ears.

The next time I woke up, it was to the sound of my alarm blaring beside my head. Barely raising my head, I fumbled around before I managed to slam my hand down on the OFF button. I debated skipping out on my morning jog, but Dale woofed encouragingly, and I didn’t want to break the two-week streak I had going. I must have pleased the powers that be, because I had the day off from work. I washed up and almost convinced myself that last night was a weird dream until I walked into the kitchen and the flirty mug was in the sink and my first aid kit remained on the counter. There was a little frost on the window, but once I was outside and running, I found that the cold air was refreshing. I welcomed each deep exhale, crisp air creating a slight burn in my lungs. I allowed the run to sort through my jumbled thoughts, plagued with charming smiles and sparkling eyes. By the time I dragged Dale and myself up to the eighth floor, we were thoroughly winded. “Good work, Dale.” I congratulated her, the memory of the unconscious superhero barely bothering me as I lugged myself down the hallway. Until the door across the hall swung open to reveal a humming Richard Grayson, carrying a basket of laundry and, maybe, the key to my heart. The humming ceased and he looked almost startled to see me. I wondered if it’s because he was hoping to break into song and I disrupted that, or if it’s because I look like a hot mess after several miles of jogging. Self-conscious, I ran a hand over my hair, hoping to quell the disobedient flyaway curls. “Hi, Dick.” I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. The leash fell from my grip and Dale bounded over to him, tail wagging furiously. He set the basket down and leaned over to rub her ears and coo her name. I approached them slowly, praying that I put on enough deodorant. He glanced up at me through warm honey eyes and I froze. “Hi, Y/N. And hello to you too, Dale.” I nodded at his pile of clothes, trying to disregard the plaid boxer briefs at the top. “Long day of laundry ahead of you?” He smiled affectionately and my stomach churned. “Three more loads after this. I’m lucky I’ve got the day off.” “Good. You’re such a workaholic, you deserve the break.” “Says the nurse who works the late shift. What are your plans for the day?” “Nonexistent. I think I wanna crawl back into bed after a hot shower and some oatmeal.” He smirked. “Good. You’re such a workaholic, you deserve the break.” Dick mimicked me and I could only blush in response. I clicked my tongue at Dale. “Dale, let’s leave our nice neighbor to do his laundry.” “Dale, you can keep me company anytime. And your sweet mom, too.” My face burned, and I ducked my head. “Well, maybe, if you’re not busy tonight and you want some company and like Chinese, there’s this – ” I started asking if he wanted to grab dinner, but then I saw the gauze wrapped around his forearm. My mouth ran dry and I could not stop from staring, though I knew I really needed to. He followed my line of vision and cleared his throat. “Chinese is good. You have good taste. I trust your opinion.” I snapped out of it and blinked at him. “I, uh, yeah. Chinese. For dinner maybe?” I sounded breathier than I would have liked, but last night’s events were playing over again in my head rapidly. He smiled, but it was tense. “I’ll let you know.” Disappointment flooded my chest. “O-okay.” We were silent for a few moments. He stared at me, calm and level, but I practically gaped at him. The hallway was empty, and I couldn’t help but wonder. My voice was shaky, but I still asked. “Dick, how’d you hurt yourself?” His gaze remained measured, but his eyes flashed intensely. My insides twisted. “I had a rough night last night.” All I managed was, “Oh.” He straightened his posture, glanced right, glanced left, and promptly yanked me inside his apartment. I yelped, stumbling forward into his chest. Dale sniffed curiously around the kitchen while I stared at my neighbor, paralleling her curiosity – but I was tainted with rising panic. I breathed deeply, all earth and stars and cinnamon. Richard Grayson might be Nightwing. So what? I scolded myself, talking down the instinct to panic. Dick ran a hand through his thick dark hair, stepping back from me only a little. His bangs flopped onto his forehead, cheeks flushed. “When I told my dad that I wanted to get to know the cute nurse across the hall better, this isn’t exactly what I meant. This is a disaster, emphasis on dis.” He told me bashfully. I continued to look at him, perplexed, but then his words registered. “Wait, what?!” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Got any more of that hot tea, hottie?” “If I can get an actual explanation, you might just find out.”

[murdockquills]

I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain.

characters: peter quill & meredith quill

warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, post-infinity war

notes: this is my first shot at writing a peter fic! both he and I are from the same small hometown in missouri, so I wanna explore that connection more. I was inspired by black panther’s ancestral plane, but wanted to bring it a little down home for peter. song is fire and rain by james taylor. (x)

read over on ao3: (x)

---

Just yesterday mornin', they let me know you were gone

 Suzanne the plans they made put an end to you

 I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song

 I just can't remember who to send it to....

Peter groaned; his eyes slipped open just a crack. It was shockingly dark, much darker than where he had just been. He couldn’t remember falling asleep or even closing his eyes for that matter, but really, he couldn’t remember much at all. There was a vague notion in the back of his mind, dwindling and nagging like a dream on the edge of forgetting.

The color of burning. The smell of decay. The pang of guilt, of loss. Mantis. Drax. Gamora.... Gamora!

He sat up with a sudden gasp, grass and dirt falling from the side his face. Panting anxiously, his eyes desperately strained to adjust while they darted around in his head like a jackrabbit. Slowly, surely, the world around him began to come into focus and for a moment, he couldn’t believe what he seemed to be seeing. Something he hadn’t seen since he was a kid - corn stalks, barely illuminated against the backdrop of night sky, reaching up all around him. They were not fully grown, five feet at most and just beginning to bud from what he could tell, swaying and rustling in the warm night air.

It was a far cry from where he had just been. In fact, it was Terra..... Earth. Or, at least, it seemed to be. But he couldn’t understand how he could’ve got there, without his ship, plopped into the middle of a field.

....You've just got to see me through another day

 My body's aching and my time is at hand

 I won't make it any other way

 I've seen fire and I've seen rain

 I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend...

The faint melody carried on the wind, sounding closer or farther with each passing breeze. Peter found himself humming every note. “But I always thought that I'd see you again....” But his Walkman was gone, and the Zune was somewhere back on the Benatar, wherever it was. Struggling a bit, he picked himself up off the ground and stood, his head lifted a good foot or more above the tops of the stalks.

He turned in place for a few moments, taking in his surroundings. The dancing sea of deep green against the inky midnight sky sprawled out in front of him as far as his eyes could see. But a couple hundred yards to his left sat a car. A real, terran car, just like.....

He took a quick step forward and froze, his heart pounding in his chest. It couldn’t be. But then Peter gradually found his feet carrying him through the field faster and faster, the corn leaves slapping against his body as he rushed past, the smell of the damp, humid soil filling his lungs with each breath. Suddenly, he broke from the edge of the field into a clearing and stopped dead. Just in front of him was the bumper of a rundown, old hatchback. And stretched out on the hood attached to that bumper lay a peaceful, lounging Meredith Quill. Her eyes were closed but the small smile playing on her delicate face insinuated that she wasn’t sleeping. Strawberry blonde ringlets of hair danced around her. She looked young and alive and..... healthy.

“There's just a few things coming my way this time around now....” she was softly singing to herself, completely unaware of his presence.

Peter could feel his whole body swelling with emotion, emotion that defied all logic and sent him reeling. Words were catching in his throat, as tears began to well in his eyes.

“M-mom?” he finally felt himself ask aloud.

Meredith’s eyes slowly opened, and with the same calm grace, she leaned up on her elbows to face him.

“Peter,” she breathed, sounding somewhere between relief and confusion. “Peter...... is it really you?”

His mouth was open and his lip was trembling, but all he could manage was a slight shake of his head. Blinking back the tears, he stammered, “Yeah..... I’m me. I’m Peter. Your son.”

The way his mom looked at him felt warm and understanding, yet equally full of question. She lifted a hand to reach out to him.

“Come here, baby,” she said, tinged with the honey sweetness of that slight southern drawl. “I can hardly see you.”

Peter stepped closer. He put out his hand and hovered just above hers, feeling a hitch in his breath. It was all too familiar. A stray tear found its way down his cheek. Meredith moved to curl her fingers around his, and suddenly Peter could breath again. Carefully, he enveloped her hand in his, feeling the full weight of all the years past in the way it dwarfed hers.

“Your hands are so rough,” she remarked, before her eyes flicked up to his face. She studied him for a long moment. “Look at you, Peter, you’ve gotten so big..... the big, strong man I always knew you would be.”

Peter breathed a little laugh, dropping his head to his chest. His mother sat up, reaching to cup his cheek with her other hand. Her soft fingers brushed across all the dirt and cuts and scars, raised slightly even under the stubble of his facial hair. Even in the night, she could tell how battle-worn he had been. A far cry from her little boy, but still reminiscent of the days he’d come home hiding a black eye.

“You been fighting those bullies again, baby? Out saving helpless little frogs who ain’t done nothin’?” she asked, a brilliant smile lighting up her face.

Peter tried to smile back. “Yeah..... you could say that. Only.... I think the bullies might’ve won this time, mom.”

His mother’s hand slowly slid down his chin, then gently dropped to his arm, trailing along it to grasp his hand with both of her own. “Come sit with me, Peter.”

With some awkward difficulty, he complied, struggling to scoot onto the hood of the car without scratching it with the element blasters on his thighs. Carefully adjusting, he lowered his back against the windshield until he was laying side by side with his mother. Just like they’d do when he was a kid. Only this time he was considerably larger than her. His hand rested open beside him, and she softly placed her hand upon it.

And for a long moment, they just laid there, staring up at the sky. Above them was sprawled the Milky Way, spattered with distant stars. He had forgotten how wide and open and endless the skies in Missouri appeared. But perhaps it was easy to forget when the galaxy was spread out before you on a daily basis, and you had traversed it end to end.

“Mom,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I think I’m dead.”

The wind picked up around them, catching in his auburn hair, and on it came the earthen smell of rain. A smell he hadn’t quite experienced in such a way for a long time.

“No, Peter,” she said. “You’re home.”

The hush of the swaying corn stalks fell between them. On the horizon, mountains of cumulonimbus clouds, gargantuan and stunning in their beauty, sparkled with lightning. A distant roll of thunder came sweeping across the plains. It reminded him of the same energy that had lived inside himself. Though always a Missourian and a Terran at heart, he was destined among the stars.

Peter swallowed hard, but tears began to trail down his jaw.  

“This isn’t my home anymore.”

He looked over at his mother, afraid he had hurt her with his words. But she was just looking at him, silent, yet her eyes begging to know why.

Clearing his throat, Peter continued.

“I found a family, mom - not.... not that you aren’t my family, and not that we didn’t have one, but you were..... gone.... and I was taken. Against my will, at first, but Yondu, well.... he turned out to be the dad I never had. And my real dad - mom, you wouldn’t..... I can’t believe what he... well, he just wasn’t what you thought he was. He wasn’t what I thought he was, either.”

“You found your father? Where was he?” Meredith asked, her voice full of wonder.

“Actually, he found me,” he said, hesitating to find his next words. How could he ever admit to his impassioned mother that the love of her life had put a cancer in her brain, forced her suffer a slow and painful death, and tried to use her only child as a god battery to fuel his plan of galactic destruction and power? That the love of her life was a murderous, filicidal planet?

“Mom, you didn’t need him.... and I didn’t need him either. He wanted me to be a god like him, but... I just wanted to be like you. Besides, you were the strongest person I’ve ever known. You still are. Way stronger than he could ever be.”

Tears were welling up in Meredith’s eyes as she looked at her son.

“And I already had a dad, like I said. Yondu was tough on me, but he helped me survive this far, even if he threatened to eat me sometimes. And he was really cool, he had this arrow he could control just by whistling, which is about as neat as you can get. Oh, and he was blue. You woulda liked him, probably... eventually. When my Walkman broke, he gave me a Zune, and you wouldn’t believe how many songs that holds.”

She chuckled at Peter, always so enthusiastic and animated, just like she remembered.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

He glanced down at the stars reflecting in the car’s glossy paint.

“He saved my life.”

She smiled softly, stroking Peter’s hand with her thumb, feeling the pain of his loss but also gratitude for his sacrifice.

“Then he really must’ve been a good father. I’m grateful you had him, Peter.”

“Me too,” he said. “He wasn’t my only family, though. I have Rocket and Groot, Drax, Mantis, this crazy blue chick named Nebula who hates me but that’s okay, and then her sister...... Gamora.” His voice cracked.

Suddenly, he remembered hitting that ugly purple bastard in this head over and over and over and over, yelling at the top of his lungs....

“Gamora?” Meredith asked, noting her son’s blank stare and the way his voice had trailed off.

“I lost her....”

Another deep rumble of thunder rolled through the silence between them, he could feel it reverberate in the body of the car beneath him. He cursed himself and his foolishness under his breath. Suddenly, a drop of water landed on his nose. Then his cheek, and his hand, until the sky opened up above them and rain began to fall steadily. Among it all, Peter finally allowed himself to cry.

Meredith Quill, reclaiming all the years she had lost, wrapped her arms around her trembling son and pulled him into the crook of her neck. His cries were coming out in choked sobs and ragged gasps for air. She sang quietly into his ear, “Lord knows when the cold wind blows, it'll turn your head around.... well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come, sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground....”

She didn’t even need to ask to know how special this woman was to him. How deeply loved. And she hoped - no, she knew - he had been deeply loved back.

Gradually, Peter began to calm down to the sound of her voice. He wiped his cheeks with the palm of his hand, despite the rain slowly drenching them anyway.

“Then go find her, Peter,” his mother whispered.

He looked up at her with his reddened, moss-colored eyes like a scared child once more. He squared his jaw as he sat up to look at directly.

“I.... I don’t know how.”

She took another look over him, all dressed in leather with his gadgets and guns, just like when he would dress up like Indian Jones and run around in the woods fighting bad guys. Only.... a spacefaring Indiana Jones now. There was nothing in this galaxy he couldn’t find, she was sure of it.

Wrapping her arms tightly around him again, Meredith rested her head on his shoulder. He sank into her hug, holding her as close as he could manage.

“You found me again, didn’t you?” she said, fighting back her own tears. Peter squeezed his eyes shut.

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, my brave little Star-Lord....”

The rain stopped. The wind went still. The scent of burning filled the air.

Peter opened his eyes and looked down at his empty arms. There he sat once more on the planet of rubble, completely dry.

[unholyhelbig]

Bechloe Prompt - Chloe always come home stressed and tired, but the only highlight of her day/night is listening to her neighbor playing piano. One day/night while listening to her neighbor playing piano, it abruptly comes to a halt and Chloe gets worried (the last song played and Chloe heard being "Lighthouse - Hush Sound"). One week later with no music, Chloe decides to check up on her neighbor.

[A/N: A/N: This took forever and I’m really sorry. But hey, I’m not used to writing piano stuff… except for I kind of am. I’m actually going to link a fic that I’m super proud of. It’s not done yet, but it also centers a piano.]

—> THE BROKEN PIANO 

—> SUBMIT PROMPTS HERE 

She always thought the piano was too grand a structure. Its looming frame would take up half of any room that it was placed in. It stole the center stage, drawing all attention to the embossed instrument. Someone who sat at the red studded seat with great posture and strong commitment wasn’t someone Chloe wanted to be.

That didn’t’ mean she despised her neighbor; in fact, she admired the musical prestige that would often float through open windows like the notes that hung heavily in the air. The breeze seemed to shift them like eyes steadily flicking across sheet music.

Chloe would often settle herself against the window seat on the second floor of her old Victorian. She had long ago done away with the screen, letting her leg hang into the open air as her focus shifted to her own work of grading papers.

Her mysterious neighbor always seemed to be fiddling with something- tuning up her instrument or running through the same few bars over and over again. Chloe didn’t seem to mind; her eyes would clench shut and her fingers would tap absently to the beat that edged through the mostly empty suburban street.

In the summer the notes were lighter; they matched the warm air and the scent of honeysuckle that always took up more than half of Georgia. When the weather shifted to a cold heaviness, so did her neighbor’s music. The pianist would lean heavily on the further ends of the instrument, notes deep and dark.

She balanced the mug within her grasp, eyes watering as she gulped down a healthy amount of red wine- it was soft and sour all at once. Chloe had curled herself along the edge of the window once more but without any papers. There was no resolve left in her patience to pick out the grammatical mistakes that one too many made. Instead, she waited for the music.

Her neighbor worked like a clock, though, Chloe had never seen much of the stranger. The darker side of the young teacher wanted to admit that she sprung up quickly from her mattress each time a golden yellow mix of headlights shown through her bedroom window.

It was part of the allure, though, not knowing exactly who played such heavenly music.  

She felt the cold bite of midnight air, letting her head rest against the wood paneling of the window seat. She didn’t mind the cold so much, the light dose of alcohol warmed her skin. Yet, it seemed almost habit to run her free hand up her arm, tracing the pattern of old tattoos often covered up nowadays.

The notes started in a slow and haunting tune, a mix between sharps and flats. The pianist let the music flow, Chloe watching carefully as the sheer curtains lay evenly over a solid window. Warm light bathed the grass in front of the opening. The stranger laid heavily on the keys- Chloe could almost feel the passion put into each note, her fingers tightening against the mug.

There was an earth-shattering crunch. Not one of broken glass, or metal wrapped around a tree at an intersection a few blocks away from her house- no, it was sour notes. Keys all pressed at once as the mysterious stranger weighted everything on the musical instrument.

Chloe drew in a breath so sharp that it burned her throat. She had almost dropped the novelty glass she picked up on her way to Wyoming. It was a little gas station in Limon Colorado, a place that was a mix between a convenient store and a tourist trap. It had worked well enough- being the only thing the redhead had seen worthwhile between civilization and Kansas.

She blinked a few times, staring at the inky shadow that stood in front of the window. She couldn’t quite see an outline, as more of a dark shape. The curtains hugged the frame, two solid arms reaching up as they grasped at the sill, pulling it down with a shaking slam.

Chloe pushed herself harder into the wall, almost as if she was afraid of getting caught. She had never heard the pianist end so abruptly, had never grit her teeth to the point of pain at the sounds that wafted from across the street.

They’re having a bad night she figured glumly, not letting her disappointment of the silence get to her. She had to get to bed anyway, it was too late, even for her.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheels, knuckles a sickly white against the grey interior. She was trying to talk herself out of this, it was lack of sleep, it was her pure need to be the star of a lifetime movie involving something other than clean-cut weddings- Hell, Chloe didn’t’ know why.

She didn’t know why she was drumming her thumbs against the dashboard as she wiggled around in her seat. Her sapphire eyes snapped up to the rearview mirror every once and a while. She was parked in her driveway, not pulling all the way into her cold garage.

This was ridiculous.

So, what if her neighbor hadn’t played music in upwards of a week? So, what if her mail was collecting on a molded welcome mat? So, what if her grass almost reached the numbers on her mailbox- weeds wicking through the cracks in the driveway.

Okay, so maybe Chloe was a little bit more than curious. But that didn’t’ explain why she had to keep herself from stepping out of her Honda Civic and dashing across the street to knock on a stranger’s door.

She missed the music desperately, and overall, she missed the warmth that it provided with its simple construction. Whoever was behind that grand piano felt with every inch of themselves, made Chloe feel.

Chloe steeled her nerves as she grasped the handle to her car, pulling herself into the cold air. She left a stainless water bottle filled with coffee on her roof- if I’m murdered, they’ll know I wasn’t intending to be.

Her thoughts ate at her bitterly as she pulled back her shoulders and tried to walk across the street. The school teacher cringed at how loud and truth-calling her heels were against the pavement. Sure, a suit like this was a power move at the moment, but not the greatest for sneaking.

She palmed the shoes, used to the rough and chilled pavement under her socks.  

Countless papers were stacked in the gutter in front of the large house, the shutters a deep navy against the slate rafters. There was a stained-glass window that was blocked by a large oak, and a car untouched in the driveway. The grass tickled at her legs as she stepped over the offending mail- not sure if she should knock, or if it was considered rude to even touch the stuff.

Her fingers were shaking like she had never spoken to a neighbor before- she had. The old woman to her left had a pension for figuring out about any fling she brought home, and the lovely couple to the right were trying for their second child. But all of them had a mutual understanding not to disturb an artist at work.

Chloe drew in a breath, one that ripped into her throat as she let her knuckles connect with the wooden door. It seemed too hollow, too empty. She took an instinctive step back, tucking her arms around her as she rocked on her mostly bare feet.

This is a stupid idea, they’re not home.

The thought echoed in her mind. Of course, there was a reason that this person wasn’t answering the door- she almost let out a breath of relief. She had done her civic duty and checked on the neighbor that vanished out of nowhere. Good. Now she can go home and eat that salad she made at the beginning of the week.

That’s when the door opened. Its metal hinges creaked and groaned like the ghost of Christmas past. An unfamiliar warmth pushed past the doorframe as Chloe’s stomach dropped. She could catch the faint scent of vanilla and the musty edge of ink.

A woman stood in front of her, a few inches shorter as she leaned against the door. She had a strong frame, shoulders held back in confidence. She held onto the iron doorknob, a black t-shirt stretched over her stature, grey joggers ending in mismatched fuzzy socks. An innocent person who didn’t’ look so scary- her eyes such a deep midnight that they were almost an inky black.

She squinted, scratching at the back of her head as a few strands of brown hair fell from a messy top bun. “Can I help you?” Her voice was raspy. Sexy.

“I just uh,” Chloe said, “I didn’t’ think I would get this far.”

The stranger lifted her pointed brow, the ghost of a smirk pulling at her lips. “Ah, I see, trying to get the neighborhood recluse out of her house?”

“No!” she rushed, a little too quickly. “I just… I heard you playing last week, and you stopped so suddenly, and your mail has been collecting- like, what if you dropped dead or something? I couldn’t’ not check on you.”

She was laughing. The woman was laughing at how flustered Chloe became- she must have looked like she was mad. Her shoes were still clenched in her hand, her blouse was half pulled from the hem of her pants with all the nervous fidgeting she had subjected herself to.

“That was very kind of you,” The beautiful woman spoke, dragging her thumb along the edge of her eye “I didn’t die, promise.”

She whispered the last word. It sent Chills up Chloe’s spine, one that made her once again trace the ink that graced her arm during a simpler time- the stranger guiding her stare to the exact spot Chloe had called attention to. “I like your tattoo.”

“Thanks.” She said.

“Got any more?” She leaned forward slightly, squinting her eyes “Can I see them?”

“Depends on if you’re the type of composer who runs of coffee.”

The woman scoffed, stepping aside as she let the door creak even louder. Chloe almost flushed at her own words. She was never too forwards when it came to stuff like this- but it felt different. Like she knew this woman for years just based on the music flowing through a grand piano.

Maybe she did know her, maybe they both knew.

[startistdoodles]

No Longer Lost

I’m...not a writer ;w; Or at least I’m an amateur one. But I really wanted to write a short story of an interaction between a character and Ivy like they had encountered her in the game. This is pretty much a one-shot, but I hope you guys like it nonetheless!! ^^;

(A brief backstory on the characters ok so Piper is a journalist who visited the studio to make a report on the whole history of the place and Grey is an 11 year old boy who is really chill and followed Piper inside because he wanted to brag to all his friends. Right now they’re on level P)

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

The eerie ticking counting the dancing feet of the Bendy clock also counted the heartbeat pulsing within the journalist’s chest. She swallowed hard as her sweaty fingers grasped around the handle of the mysterious gun. Each tick of the clock seemed to count down to the moment of her untimely death.

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

“Piper?”

She snapped back to attention as the dusty-blonde 11-year old waved his hand in front of her nose. Grey raised his brow. “Earth to Piper, do you copy?”

“Yes, yes,” she panted, pushing his hand out of her face. “I’m ok just…” Piper didn’t know what she needed. At least—what could actually be given to her right then and there. Boris gently placed his gloved paw on her shoulder sympathetically. She didn’t know why, but the beast seemed quite…human. And not like the other seemingly heartless monsters they had encountered so far. Compared to them, Boris was a gentle giant whom she didn’t mind having around--despite him being very unnatural to look at. The woman looked over her shoulder and patted the wolf on the head, his eyes closing in content. “We won’t be long, buddy,” she said softly. “Just stay out of trouble.”

The hallway was damp and dark, with pillars of ink cascading down the walls, and making the floorboards squeak and groan. And the dripping. The dripping. A chill ran down Piper’s spine, and she turned to Grey for hope of mutuality. To her frustration, the kid seemed unfazed by the studio – his collected demeanor and how he encountered each monster with such a chill attitude made the woman feel almost like she was seeing visions. Either that, or Grey was insane.

“Five hearts,” the boy recalled, scratching his chin. “Where could they be…?”

“Like I’d know,” Piper replied, trying to mask her fear with wit. Grey was unamused—or perhaps he was? His blank expression and the way he clenched his sucker between his jaws said absolutely nothing. She regained her senses a bit before speaking again. “But we should hurry. Who knows what will draw the…the demon in…”

Grey nodded as he already knew what was at stake before turning his head and pulling on Piper’s sleeve anxiously. “Pipes! Pipes, lookit!”

“I told you to stop calling me—” the woman began to snap back in irritation before reluctantly glancing up in the direction the boy was pointing. She made a sound quite reminiscent of a squeak and leapt back, her only means of defense once again squeezed between her grasp and trembling in her anxious palms. Before the two stood, or more accurately sat, a creature. An almost human looking creation with massive horns that pierced through the sides of its small and deformed skull. Its mouth gaped, revealing several jagged teeth and ink dripped down in front of its one cartooned eye and one pit that held a tiny glow – almost like it held some sort of spirit inside. The creature stared unblinking at them, breathing heavily enough to almost throw its small frame off balance.

“What…the actual—” Piper breathed softly as she awkwardly tried to hide behind the boy. Grey stood immobile for a few moments before reaching out his small hand.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmured, slowly inching closer. Piper gripped his hood and yanked him back, a movement so sudden the monster crouched low like a cat about to dash away from a vacuum.

“Grey are you insane??” she snapped at him in a harsh yet whispered tone. “Everything down here has done nothing but try to KILL us! Stop trying to befriend things you don’t understand, it’ll only kill you!”

The boy stared into the woman’s fear-struck eyes and furrowed his almost nonexistent brows. “Let go,” he said sternly, not giving a chance for Piper to respond before jerking his shoulder away from her, his own fiery eyes still fixed on hers. “And you don’t know that. Look what happened to Boris. And don’t you remember Sammy? Piper, these are all people. People who are trapped here and they have NO memory of their life. No knowledge of good and bad and are just doing what they do because it’s the only thing they know. You tell me all you want to do is tell people the story of this place? This is the story. The blood of it, actually. You don’t give a care about these people. You only care about yourself. And your stupid article.”

As Grey backed away from her, he scowled. Disgusted at the woman he considered to be a bit rough around the edges, but was soon revealed to be a lot more rough than he initially thought. She stood dumbfounded, her own brows quivering as the kid spoke the truth that pierced her very soul. Grey continued to make his way towards the monster, his hand palm-up and carefully outstretched before him slowly bridging the gap between the lost soul and the boy. The creature twitched anxiously and released a croak, its neck stretching out to carefully examine the act of affection this stranger was offering it.

“I’m a friend,” the boy said quietly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s ok…” The inky, drippy mess of a person adjusted itself to be more comfortable. Perching on its hind legs and using one of its forearms to carefully touch the hand. No one had ever been this gentle with it, or Grey assumed as such as its clawed paw quivered with anxiety and hesitated greatly before placing its cold, wet hand into his.

“a sUrPriSe…?” the creature asked in a gargled, yet feminine tone. “whAt iS It, fATheR?”

Piper sighed deeply, her limbs releasing the prior tension and fear of the unknown. Perhaps Grey was right. Perhaps this studio…did still have some good left in it. As the woman began taking steady steps towards the creature, it perked up and hurriedly crawled away, its breathing becoming more intense. The journalist froze before looking where it had gone, her face twisted in confusion. But the beast sat a good thirty feet away from the humans, bouncing up and down as it purred and mumbled random phrases.

“I’m gonna follow it,” Grey announced, not looking back at Piper in spite. “You can just stay here and…try not to die, I suppose.”

The woman said nothing to argue, and instead watched as the boy trotted after the creature. It looked happy and bounced off, Grey right behind it. Piper stood alone for a solid second before following suit as well. She may not trust or even like the creature, but she would hate to see the kid get hurt. Plus if he did get hurt, she could be there to witness it. And perhaps remind him of his foolishness.

The scrawny beast found its way to a mysterious door—one of which the likes of the two humans didn’t even notice when they came this way before. Piper was taken back in shock—did she just not notice it? Or did it just…well it couldn’t have! …Could it?

At the right base of the door was a vent shaft—too small for the two to fit inside but the perfect size for the little monster to squirm in, adding more inky stains to the entrance as if it had gone in before many times already. Grey frowned as he watched the being slink in and create deep, metallic vibrations through the walls and floor as it climbed through the darkness. But a sudden click of the door alerted to the confused humans that the monster didn’t just decide to ditch them. It was allowing entrance.

Grey eagerly turned the handle to reveal a small room behind it with many relics scattered across the remains of the floorboards. A gramophone was placed on a wooden desk bearing many scribbles of a mysterious character—one that looked similar to Bendy, but the way its sheep-like horns curled around the sides of its head instead of pointing upward like the little devil they knew proved to them this was something completely different—yet familiar.

Piper gently brushed off the collection of dust from the small shelf bearing many plush versions of the horned cartoon character with delicate fingers. “This is…it,” she marveled looking down at the boy then turning to see the small beast who was now sitting in the corner. Its eyes…its eyes now held a more gentle and fragile glimmer to them. A human-like glint of sadness that was trapped behind the smiling shell of a disgusting abomination.

“PapA sAid…hE woULd maKE mE a sTAr…” it whimpered silently as the two looked over at its pitiful face. “whY woULD he eVEr LiE to Me…”

Grey slowly removed his lollipop from his mouth and placed it back in his pocket. “Someone lied to you?” he asked gently.

“I trUSt yOU pApa…”

Piper didn’t care that that wasn’t a legitimate answer. This creature was trapped. Forgotten. Lonely. Betrayed.

To the right of her sat a golden tape player, in which the woman lifted up and slowly pressed the ‘play’ button. From all she knew of these strange tapes, perhaps it would be able to provide the answer that this creature couldn’t with its limited speech. Grey’s ears peaked to listen as he sat with the creature to provide comfort with a doll. A gravely voice soon echoed through the speakers, creating a chill to run down the monster’s jagged spine.

“…She’s not really dead. I saw it. Mr. Drew murdered her, but by some godforsaken sorcery or whatnot, she was revived—but as a slimy, distorted…IVY!! I couldn’t believe my very eyes. I had to get the police involved as soon as I could. But when I did, they couldn’t finds her anywhere. I tells them what I saw, and they just LAUGH at me. They couldn’t believe me, and why would they? It was silly, yes, but I saw it! With my own two eyes!

But Joey…oh, he goes and he tells these men that it was all just a big misunderstanding. He straight up LIES to their faces!! Tomorrow…I’mma confront that man again. I ain’t workin for nobody like him no more! That filthy rat has another thing coming! I quit!”

Click.

The room fell under an uncomfortable pin-drop silence. The silence where all you could hear is your heart racing and the ink dripping. Grey looked up to match gazes with the monster, but it wasn’t looking back. It only gently ran its fingers along the outline of the wood grains in the floorboards. It said nothing—didn’t even make the slightest gargling noise. Instead, it just breathed slowly, its raspy breath being caught in its throat. “Is…is that you?” the boy finally asked after a long pause. The creature finally raised its heavy head.

“LovE rEquiRES saCRiFice…”

The beast bent her head back down and raised her paws up to bury her pitiful face into them and releasing a quiet sob. So much grief, so much emotion all swirled up in what remained of her former heart. Piper joined the two, and knelt down to put one hand on the poor monster’s sticky shoulder. Her paws slowly slipped down her inky face as she tried to wipe away tears—only no tears came. Just the dark embodiment of the lifeblood of the studio.

“How can we help her?” Piper finally asked, not even expecting a proper answer. She knew Grey had no idea either—if there was something they could do, they would probably know it already. And it came to no surprise when the boy sighed and shook his head. The beast, however, did. She raised her gloved hand to point at the forgotten weapon the journalist left behind at the door frame—the Tommy Gun.

Piper shook her head violently. “No, no, Ivy, we’re gonna save you! Come with us, we’ll introduce you to Boris, and we’ll take you back up to the surface!! Trust us!”

The creature shook her own head, heavy horns swinging from side to side and flinging specks of ink onto the humans. “saCRiFicE…” she mumbled as she stood to her feet and crawled almost lifelessly to the weapon.

“No, Ivy. Put that down…” Piper almost choked on her words. “We’ll get you out of here! You won’t have to suffer any more!”

“Piper…?” Grey muttered as Ivy clutched the gun to her chest and wept softly. “We can’t help her.”

“Shut UP, Grey!” she snapped again, tears beginning to form on her lower lids. “You said yourself, these are all people! We can’t leave her here to just…suffer!”

“She’s already suffering!” Grey raised his voice for the first time, catching the woman off guard. The boy quickly retracted his harsh tone and sighed. “…and she always will. Pipes, taking her to the surface won’t change her physically. She will always be a monster, always continue from the suffering brought upon her. We have to end it for her.”

Piper once again stood speechless as Grey carefully took the gun from Ivy’s hands. “But…” she mumbled before receiving the weapon from the boy. The woman turned again to the beast, who sat up straight and smiled.

“It hURts, paPa...” Ivy mumbled as she slowly put her hands together, her paw and fingers holding each other gently. “leT me gO…”

Grey turned away, pulling his hood over his head to hide the pain in his eyes. With great reluctance, Piper slowly raised the gun to Ivy’s small and fragile chest—the chest of a tortured and twisted little girl. The chest that held a broken heart of a lost soul wo just wished to be free from this hellish pain.

“I trUST yoU.” The small voice whispered. “Don’T bE scAReD.” The woman smiled, her eyes reddening from tears and guilt. Why did she ever hate this small being? Why did she have to grow so close to her in such a short time? Why did she have to be the one to…save her? Piper gently stroked Ivy’s ink-stained cheek for the first and last time, the monster’s own quivering enhancing hers.

“Be free little one.”

[babydarkstar]

Dust to dust by The Civil Wars is such a Reylo song.

god yes it is. it totally is. i love the lyrics, they’re so beautiful.

and here’s a very small narrative i wrote for it that was sort of inspired by the song:

(warning: this got kind of dark. and maybe a little (very) violent. read at your own risk, my dudes.)

— Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light. —

“Don’t deny it,” he grunted, and she wanted to scream, wanted to bash his skull in. “Don’t deny the strength you feel from the Dark Side.”

Rey pushed further, harder into him, her filthy hands burying themselves into his chest as she labored to move him away from her.

They stood parallel to each other on the apex of a mountainous cliff, wind whipping and rain thrashing so violently she feared she would fall. Despite the chaos of it all, the sounds were muffled and her ears picked up nothing—nothing but the hum of their bond buzzing, sparking between them. It was a full body sensation, one that creeped to her toes and made her hair stand on end.

She hated it. She hated him for forming it.

(Even though she never dared to admit she was also at fault.)

She hated the closeness, especially thinking back to when, on those lonesome nights in the pitch black desert, she had prayed to the Maker for someone with whom to share herself with. This was not in the slightest what she had expected. To be chained to a monster, a downright beast with nothing but evil in his twisted soul.

“I will forever deny the darkness,” she seethed, her voice affected by the labored breaths she took.

On this horrific, Ahch-Toian cliff they stood—or rather, struggled. Their fight was lengthy, bloody, and violent. If she had found it difficult to battle him on Starkiller Base, this was absolutely impossible. He was stronger than he had been before, as no fresh injury pressed his beginning strength this time. They fought long and hard, hitting, jabbing, twisting, smashing, till blood splattered and tears fell. This deadly waltz they danced hid nothing, as they had screamed and grunted and vomited in any manner they deemed appropriate, their sweat mixing in a way they felt they never could. The Force kept them constant, providing them with the strength enough to fight for an eternity.

And long ago had they destroyed the objects most desirable to them at one point in their lives: their lightsabers, smashed to infinite pieces once the strength of their power mingled, the crackling, fiery proximity of their bond too much for the unstable kyber crystal of Ren’s, causing an explosion to ruin both. Nothing, not even the destruction of precious weapons, however, could stop them.

They grabbed with their hands, grabbed with the force, kicking, biting, yelling.

(Rey had bit him several times, piercing holes through the sleeves of his armored clothes as he pinned her to the muddy ground. How she did it, we may never know. But she drew blood, and upon its metallic tang spilling into her mouth, she unintentionally spit in his face like an animal. Needless to say, their spit swapping fest differed vastly from other couples who pinned each other to the ground.)

In this pulsing moment, Rey felt nothing but rage, a singeing twang that ripped through her chest at the immovable wall that was Kylo Ren. It took so much of her strength to pull her mental barriers up and keep them there, for he had steadfastly pushed on her mind for what felt like hours, slashing the dark tendrils of his mind against her titanium walls, harsh as a whip.

You’re scared, Scavenger, he shot across their bond, his tone smug yet cautious. Despite his smooth internal tone, he grunted roughly as they wobbled and struggled, each one yearning to defeat the other.

(Well, Rey wanted to defeat him. As for Ren? He wanted her to join him. Neither fought gently for their cause.)

His long, bruising fingers were wrapped around her arms, pressing into her flesh with enough force she thought for sure would crush her bones. She let out a yelp but kept steady, digging her feet into the soft ground and willing that he fall, or move, or do something to prove she wasn’t wasting her last reserve of energy on a hopeless case. The muscles in his chest tightened against her fingers as he pushed back. She snarled and wanted so badly to rip the bond from their minds as she felt his smugness.  

But she was spent, long past the brink of total exhaustion. She ran purely off of the Force by now, along with some deep-set, burning desire to crush himand his goddamned ego, her fuel the fiery spirit which kept her alive on Jakku.

Yet suddenly she felt the deepest dragging sensation in her body, as if gravity itself pulled her bones to the very core of the planet, begging her to stop before she killed herself.

But her pride, her soul—it resisted fatigue if only for the fact that she would not see him defeat her.

Rain dripped into her eyes and soaked her clothes, but she had long forgotten any other feeling except the vibration of the bond that seemed to wrap around her ribs and pull her closer, only growing stronger each time she pulled away.

I’m not afraid of you, she snapped, baring her teeth.

Then why are you hiding from me, little Rey?

It suddenly occurred to her to wonder what, exactly, it would be like if she released her mental walls and let him in. However remedial it was, she planned to open her gates for him and use that dumb knockout trick he used on her to turn him off like a light. Trying a new approach, though dangerous, could prove effective, if only for a few hours. So she abruptly released her tight hold on the mental barriers and welcomed whatever awaited her on the other side.

It was approximately half a second of relief from the mental strain before all hell broke loose.

Kylo Ren’s grip loosened on her arms as he was temporarily taken aback by the change of mental scenery. Dark, silken, and inky black, the tendrils of his mind rushed in all at once, like a beast pushing against a door, not believing that it would ever open and taken to residing on the outskirts until one day, it did. The mental impact affected her more than she had anticipated, causing her to stumble backward and fall on her rear. Her bones ached at the impact and her mind screamed in pain, blistered by the unwelcome guest that engulfed her head.

Get out, she screamed at him, but she could barely hear herself in her own damn head. He continued prodding and poking around, only having respect enough not to waltz his way into her memories as a child scavenger. Everything else he flew past, flipping and shifting and darting around as if he had never been there before.

(This was false. Kylo Ren had built himself a shoebox apartment inside of Rey’s mind, reserved only for him. He stayed there only at night of course, when they slept and every dream they had was consumed by the other. Some dreams were tolerable; others were violent and often involved an angry Rey. During the day, could find the box shoved into the middle area that connects them. He brought it back every night.)

“I said get out!” she shouted aloud, eyes screwed shut in anguish at his rough probing. She threw a hand towards him blindly, hoping that a force blast would be enough to get him out.

Thankfully, it not only stopped him but pushed him out entirely, the inky blackness of his mind withdrawing to his side in an attempt to get a grip on his balance.

Rey let out a sigh of relief, eyes still closed as her head throbbed. She assumed she had knocked him to the ground, but when she opened her eyes to prepare for his attack, he was no where to be found.

She looked around wildly, whipping her head over both shoulders to see if he had stealthily moved behind her, but she caught no glimpse of him. He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air in mere seconds; it was impossible.

But then she remembered where they were and felt the elastic tug on her chest pulling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

Cliffs kept no one safe.

“No,” she gasped as she scrambled to the edge of the overhang, squinting to see a minuscule splash just beginning to settle below.

“No, no.” Her heart slammed into her chest, the pit of her stomach dropping with the heavy feeling of dread. The only thing that kept her from screaming was the dull, melancholy thrum of Ren’s side of the bond beating in her chest like a second heartbeat, assuring her that he had not died.

It felt odd to compare poetic things to something so vile.

She couldn’t explain her feelings, or her panicked reaction. They just crashed into her like the tumultuous waves of the sea below. It barely registered that she began formulating a plan to rescue him, for it seemed like second nature.

(She wanted him gone; but not dead. Killing never seemed morally sound to her, thus why she couldn’t let him die at her hands.)

Frustrated with herself, Rey turned and rushed down the hill, scaling each boulder as she practically flew to the bottom of the mountainous island, paying no mind to the pull of fatigue. Instead, she focused on her fear. What scared her more than anything was not the risk of falling; it was the silence from Kylo Ren. Over the past six months they had nagged each other; Ren sending her lewd thoughts and violent imaginary visions of her friends getting brutally murdered; and Rey, shoving him away, sometimes accidentally leaving her thoughts to bleed onto his side, never engaging on purpose. It was quite obnoxious to share her mind with another, but the silence ringing in her head terrified her to no end.

And she cursed herself as she made it to the bottom, scanning the water frantically to find any sight of him. Dark waves sloshed against the rocks violently, a spray coming up and dusting her with salty drops; the sea was even rougher from the storm that crashed above her, which reduced her visibility exponentially.

A deep-set panic sunk into her. She would have to go in. She had to go in.

But she couldn’t swim.

But he was drowning. Nothing but a mere whisper of him came to her, something dull and dying fast, and it scared her that she felt no panic from him, no sign that he was still fighting. She tried tugging at their bond, just sending a ripple through, but nothing came back. The thought that he died on impact made her want to vomit.

There was no other choice but to find him. So, without preparation, she dived in.

Down, down, down.

Into the chaotic sea she fell, and it was nothing she had ever known before. The water felt like silk between her fingers, yet it stung her wounds, making her feel as if she were being cut with tiny knives. It moved with a current strong enough to slam her into the rocks nearby, and if not for the Force cushion she protected herself with, it would have snapped her neck. She thrashed about like a drowning kitten, trying to pull herself to the surface but the current was so strong, too powerful for her weakened frame. She was fearful of the water yet so determined to breathe, her lungs already screaming for air and her limbs begging her to stop, but she scanned the dark waters around her for any sign of him. What she couldn’t see she made up for with what she felt. Pushing aside her absolute terror, she focused on nothing but the Force, stretching her senses out in the rocky waters to find Kylo Ren’s Force signature.

She found him not far from where she had jumped in, but his energy was barely distinguishable from the other life forms that pulsed around her.

When she reached him, he looked almost unrecognizable through the watery filter separating them. But it was him, with his dark hair fanned out and his arms suspended above him, the dark fabric of his clothes tangled and drifting with the shift of the water.

Despite her lungs begging her for air, Rey awkwardly kicked her way to him with untrained legs. One of his steel toed boots was caught in between rocks, but once she pulled enough she managed to wiggle him out. The force of the release brought them up a few feet, but not enough. So she closed her eyes, felt the wavering conditions around her, and drew from the Force, using a swift jump in the water to propel them upward. When she reached the surface she coughed and spluttered, finding that her weight and Ren’s combined were too much for her to keep afloat so her head bobbed beneath the surface multiple times before she could get a grip on her surroundings. She wasn’t far from shore, but it felt like hours before she reached it. 

Her hair clung to her face as she dragged him to a nearby cave away from the danger of the water, the rocky ground causing her to slip and nearly fall multiple times before she got there.

She fell to her knees before his still figure, shaky hands searching for a pulse. When she found none, hot, angry tears brimmed her eyes and fell upon his cold, graying face as she furiously blinked them away. 

In a brash attempt to save him, Rey drew a rusted skill from a long lost memory and attempted to resuscitate him. 

(And how does she know CPR? Scavengers have to at least know the basics of lifesaving.)

“Come on, please don’t—Please,” she begged his seemingly lifeless form as she jammed her palms into his chest over and over, eventually resolving to mouth-to-mouth, her wet lips touching his as she attempted to breathe life back into him.

Seconds, minutes passed as she kept on, biting her lip to keep from sobbing aloud until a small voice inside of her told her he wasn’t coming back. The silence from his side of their bond overwhelmed her, and the place where they connected was dead and mangled. It was then that she withdrew from her attempts and rested her head over his chest, crossing her arms above her head in defeat. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him through shaky breaths. She had often dreamed of the day she would get to fight Kylo Ren to end it once and for all. But she never intended for this to happen. “In another lifetime, we won’t have to fight.”

When did she become this monster she feared? The universe often seemed mysterious and magical; but to Rey, all that ever happened was cruel. And now, it seemed, she met her maker, became what she feared most: a reaper of death and violence.

Kylo Ren fell at the hands of a girl who vowed to never incite hatred or death upon others, a girl who was just that: a girl; young and living a life in which fate dealt her a tricky hand, testing her, pushing her to her limit. She had reached her limit. 

And yet, as she reached the brink of her very will to live, a tiny, barely-there spark flew from Ren’s side of the bond, so minuscule that Rey thought she imagined it. But then it happened again, this time stronger.

She shot up and stared at his unmoving face, not daring to get her hopes up. 

But when he jerked his body and rolled to the side to loudly, painfully cough up a gallon of water, she couldn’t help the rush she felt. Her shaking hands flew to his face and she wiped away the stray hair that obstructed his eyes, brushing off the sheen of sweat that had formed on his cold face.

He stared up at her and blinked wildly, still coughing up a storm. Then he hoarsely spoke, “You dived into the water to save me. Did hell freeze over too?”

“I see through you,“ she panted, blinking the tears away from her eyes and disregarding his words, “I see through it all. I see through the stupid mask you wear. I feel it. I know you feel it, too, Ben.” She let the name of a dead man slip past her lips, and she knew not whether it was the habit she formed from hearing Luke call him that or something else, something desperate. The weight of their shock rippled through her, just enough to make her backtrack, but she decided to keep going.

"It is a cruel, cruel life we have lived, Ben Solo,” she said, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper, her lips trembling as she realized that the two of them weren’t so different after all. How tragic, that two creatures made of the same chemical makeup, neglected in the same way, could end up on opposite sides of a war in which they strove to kill each other for.

She wanted to sob at the revelation. Sure, she learned of Ben Solo and his adolescence, but never had she related his situation to hers because she had only focused on the details of his violence, overlooking what may have caused the problem and instead blaming him for everything.  

“I am tired of forcing myself to choose a side. I don’t want to. The light and the dark, they put me in a box I don’t belong in. I don’t know what I am and I’m tired of it,” she croaked, hating that she was confessing such a weakness to him. But it somehow felt right, so she couldn't—wouldn't—stop. “There has to be someway else. A place with no light and dark. Can we fix the universe somehow?”

“I’m nothing but broken. A cracked mess. You’ll have to fix me first, Scavenger.”

Exhausted, she allowed herself to drop down flat beside him. A feeling of mutual peace hummed between them, and she now found that the company in her mind was nothing of a nuisance. The moment she laid down, fatigue overcame her, and her eyes drooped. She felt her slowing pulse in every part of her body. There’s only so much a body can take. But she had no time for it.

“You won’t need fixed. Know what they say about things that are cracked?” she whispered to him drowsily with the tiniest smile that shined through her tears. Confusion flared from his side of the bond and so she said:

“They let the light in.”

Something new and unrecognizable flickered across their bond, a sensation that surprisingly emanated from both of them. Something not quite warm, yet not harsh and cold either. It felt neutral, grey.

Perhaps it was a shift in their opinion of each other. Or perhaps it’s just what they were, what they were always meant to be:

Balanced.

————————

sorry this took so long! i’ve been so busy with life but I did it. i hope you enjoyed!

xx anya

(send me an ask with a reylo prompt/reylo song/any song/theory/guilty pleasure & i’ll write something for it)