#and i had such a bad sleep too i had a very graphic and sickening nightmare which woke me up 2 hours after i fell asleep

[zevrans]

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[kalcifers-blog]

MAG 10185 - Comatose

JSE EGOS X THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES

Fanfic/Statement.

Written by Kalcifer

(Loosely inspired by this fanfic by vanyzvat!!!!)

⚠️CW: descriptions of gore, hospitals, psychological horror, mental deterioration, acts of violence and loss of sanity.⚠️

Please move forward safely!!

Statement of Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestien, regarding a patient that never existed. Statement documented November 16th, 2018, read by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement Begins;

You see a lot of things as a doctor. A lot of very awful things. Things that you wished to never return too. I used to be able to not let things get to me, and I used to do it well.

One time a woman died in my care, aged 21. That was the first time something like that got to me. She was so young so- ready to begin her life. She was healthy too- a complete accident that took her away too short. And I couldn't help her- it drove me mad.

I don't even know how long it took me before I was able to sleep at night, but eventually I did, knowing that focusing on using her memory to motivate me to do better would allow me to save more people than wallowing in my own self pity ever could.

What I'm trying to make you understand is that I am used to seeing people during their worst moments and I am used to being able to come back from it. It's part of my job to be able too you understand.

This is why- this case- it, it worries me.

I want to believe I just lost my mind. I wished, I so utterly wished it was as simple as that. But I wouldn't be here if that was the case would I?

This all started two years ago. October 31st. I was appointed to overlook the care of a patient that had been put in a medically induced coma- after he had apparently, mutilated himself with a 7 inch kitchen knife. I won't go into detail but the wound was bad. And in my own professional opinion, the fact he survived at all was nothing short of a miracle.

I- I try to picture the man I was looking after for months. A year? I- don't know how long it was. But the image of him, it shifts in my mind- it warps like sand and everytime I think I can clearly picture him- he's faded into something completely different.

The one thing I do know for certain is that vibrant green hair he had, it was the first thing I noticed about him before I had to see that, horrid wound on his throat. I expected it to fade during his time with me. But it never did. The day he left it was just as vibrant as it was the day he arrived.

Each time I entered his room- (room 10-185) my head would start spinning. I got what I needed done, I- I attempted to treat him with the same humanity I did with all my patients, especially those who are in such conditions as he is. But every time I entered that room I felt the pressure of an intense migraine push at the front of my skull and I found myself hurrying out of his presence more times than I can count.

It was, routine as always, leaving his room only a few minutes after I entered, rushing towards the nearest bathroom when I noticed it- blood- my own blood, trickling gently down from the corneas of my eyes, staining my otherwise cleaned hospital mask. I hoped it was just my, apparently terrible vision but the blood it- it just looked too red- too vibrant- it reminded me of the man's hair that refuses to fade.

I started seeing things about three months before he left. Shadows that quickly escaped my vision as soon as I tried to look at them. The machines he was hooked up too- switching from a heartbeat monitor to awful, graphic images of visara. The lenses in cameras shifted to look like piercing eyes, flickering to stare at me and to never break their contact.

The wound should've healed by then. It should've. The man should've been dead at that point if he kept bleeding the way he did. But he didn't. He wouldn't die he just lay there. A sickening imitation of death, a mockery- towards me.

That's what it had to be. It was some cruel joke. Towards me, to give me this patient- this thing, to cause me my breakage. Why something would do this is beyond me, and why me? Its something I wished I could give an answer for.

But nothing ever changed. I just got worse. I stopped cutting my hair I think, I only barely followed the hospital guides for cleanliness as much as I could- as much as my tormentor would let me before the water in my shower turned to acid in my mind. Causing me to jump out screaming- it never was of course. It always had been water. The marks that plague my skin say otherwise but it's impossible for it to be anything other than water.

You would think the day the man left the hospital would be a joyous day for me. That I would be happy to see him finally be removed from my life. But no. Of course not. Why would I get any respite from this torment?

I came into the room, disheveled as always. And he wasn't there- I almost didn't notice it- I had gotten so far down my own delusion that I barely noticed that his presence wasn't in the room.

I almost cried with relief, until I saw the flickering of the lights. It- it was just an electrical issue- something that could be fixed- I tried to reason with myself- but the pit in my stomach knew- I just knew it was him.

The hospital stopped making noise that day. Everything stopped, it was like the world had paused. No one was there, I checked. And I checked again. And it was only the third time, after I had checked every room, every inch of the hospital, that I finally returned to room 10-185. And where my patient was waiting for me.

He was facing the wall opposite the door from which I entered. His hair was still that green colour- it- it hurt to look at. I tried not to look, but I couldn't, I felt the blood pour down my face as my eyes grew overwhelmed at the sight of the man and, all the features I can't even place in my mind.

And then- he spoke- his voice was something that could only work after doing what he did to his own throat, the very thing, the action that tied me to him. He said "I think I'm ready to be checked out. Thank you, doctor"

He turned to stare at me. At least his head did. The rest of him stayed statue still. I could hear his bones pop and his flesh tear, as he forced himself to look at me. And gave me a large smile, the blood from his throat, gushing out from between his rotted teeth like a broken faucet.

I'm sure I blacked out, I had to. Because the next moment I remember, I'm in the office of my superior. Being given the information that I had been fired. I'm sure that's what he said. The ringing static in my ears was so loud at that point, I could only piece together what he was telling me.

I didn't care at that point. I just wanted the figure that loomed over his shoulder to stop staring at me with its bloodshot eyes and broken smile.

I have no where else to go now. No one in my life that's cared to stick around will believe me. I have nothing but my story and my diminishing mind. Hopefully, I can finally get some rest at night. It is so hard too when you're being watched.

Statement ends.

After some research into this statement we have confirmed that Dr. Schneeplestien, a German man who had been living in England for upwards of 15 years, did infact work as a surgeon in the Manchester Royal Infirmary.

He was subsequently let go from his job, after neglecting his work for upwards of 15 months. It had only came into light that he was doing so, 3 months before his, very abrupt departure. He had apparently, lashed out at his superiors when he was confronted about this, leading to his almost immediate suspension- as well as arrest for assault towards a police officer, as he was forcibly removed from hospital property.

Henrik had apparently, grabbed a surgical scalpel from his lab coat- and had stabbed one of the officers in the collar. The man survived- but it is interesting to me that Henrik had very clearly, aimed for the same area as the wound of the patient he was looking after, apparently was.

Speaking of the patient- he very much does not exist. The is no record of anyone remotely similar to Schneeplestien's- albeit very vague description of the man, ever being admitted to the Manchester Royal, or existing in the first place.

I was initially tempted to appoint this in the discreated section. As to me it very much reads as the ramblings of a, clearly mentally unwell individual. However one thing that was found when doing this research, is what happened leading up to this statement being made in the first place.

Henrik Von Schneeplestien, was apparently, taken into the custody of the research facility known as I.R.I.S. a facility which, has very similar areas of study to The Magnus Institute. And apparently, take their findings with a lot more agency than the likes of The Magnus Institute. They seemingly, had allowed Henrik to make this statement to gather evidence towards- something.

I did try to reach out to them, as a follow up on this. To figure out what they could possibly need this research for. But apparently, everything about the case of Doctor Henrik Von Schneeplestien, is completely classified information. And legally, this is the only information available to the public about the doctor in any form.

After making this statement, it seems that I.R.I.S had effectively wiped any pre-existing public information of the doctor himself- other than this statement of course. For what reason, I don't know.

That just begs the question- what does I.R.I.S have to hide? I have this nagging feeling that this will not be the last we hear of I.R.I.S- or the likes of the former doctor either..

...End recording.

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[masterwords]

the silence drowns pt. 1

Summary: Morgan interrupts Foyet in Hotch's apartment. Bad times are ahead.

Warnings: graphic mentions of the pig farm...nothing else...yet...but I think you can see where this is going, at least partially.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 1.4k

Notes: What happens if Foyet is interrupted by Morgan halfway through his stab-fest? We're about to find out. I'm trying something new, a multi-part story with shorter parts instead of my usual long-winded rambles. I haven't decided how many parts yet...a few. Not too many. This first part is very soft, very sweet. Don't get used to it.

Read on AO3: The Silence Drowns

**

He lingered in the seat a moment longer than he normally would. Something held him there against his will. The engine purred beneath the hood, fingers on the key in the ignition and he paused while his eyes lay unfocused on the blinking red streetlights. Flashing on and off, red one direction, yellow the other, mesmerizing. A blanket of black and stars covered the sleepy city, and he wondered how long it might take him to fall asleep, if he could at all...he hadn't actually seen anything, no real horrors to assault his eyes, and yet he knew. He knew things he couldn't un-know and it was almost worse. His mind left to its own endeavors, painting sickening bilious yellows and thick milky whites with splashes of coagulating crimsons over flesh, in mud, the sound of pigs in their muck undoing creation. This sickening way they were guilty and innocent, just following their nature, just surviving and yet playing the role of willing accomplice to the evils of man. Maybe they didn't know but they accepted their spoils greedily. Deconstruction or damnation, he'd lost track of his thoughts in the haze of the streetlamps, none of it seemed to make sense anymore.

Not another minute. He couldn't keep pulling himself along on these translucent threads that connected them all to the mud, the shoes, the silent horror. Nausea began rising in him slowly, and yet he couldn't seem to turn it off; his stomach rolled and twisted on a wave of his own creation. Interrupted by the flash of green light from his console, he pawed for his phone, blinked himself out of the reverie to see Derek's name lighting up the screen. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop back against the back of the seat. Almost unwittingly, the corners of his mouth twitched, and he found himself nearly smiling. The pit in his stomach receded, replaced with a welcome ball of warmth as soon as he heard Derek's honeyed voice on the other end of the line.

“We just said goodnight,” Aaron snapped, but it was good-natured, and Derek laughed at his assertation, as if he didn't know. “It's been what, a whole fifteen minutes?” He glanced at the clock and squinted to bring it into focus, the bright blocky numbers hazy and floating before his exhausted eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I said I wanted to sleep but I changed my mind...you up for some company?”

Not really, Aaron thought a little bitterly. Humanity was something he didn't exactly want near him right now and yet he couldn't find a way to turn Derek down. Maybe that particular version of humanity was what he needed. The good kind. The warm embrace of someone who understood, who had seen the same horrors, who could find it in him to love in spite of it. A balm on his broken heart. He'd been doing this job too long, it was creating fissures he wasn't sure could heal.

“Sure. I'm just getting home.”

“I'm starving. I'll grab us some food and be there in an hour...”

“So two hours then? I'll try to stay awake. Use your key, you know how my neighbors get about late night knocking.”

They both found themselves erupting in a small fit of subdued laughter, quiet so as not to disturb the night but unable to keep it inside. How many times had his neighbors mentioned his late night visitors at the mail box? “These walls do echo terribly,” they would muse about Derek knocking on his door so late at night, implying more with their milky cataract filled eyes than Aaron cared to think about. “You should give your friend a key. It's time.” Neighborly relationship advice bestowed with a wink and a nod. Who was he to argue? Most of them had more years married than he'd been alive, and all he had to show for his attempt was a divorce. A key it was.

“See you soon, baby.”

“Derek...” he whined, his pitch driving low and gravelly, breaking before the last sound was exhaled. His exhaustion couldn't be hidden another minute and both of them were struck with the knowledge that he'd be sleeping on the couch by the time Derek showed up no matter how quickly he arrived. No matter, he'd let himself in and Aaron would try to wake enough to visit before dragging him to bed with promises that whatever food he'd brought would make just as good a breakfast as it would a late-night snack. Maybe better.

“I could call you pretty boy, you know.”

“No you couldn't. I'm not pretty.”

“Wanna bet?” This was an argument he couldn't win; Aaron knew it with all of the conviction he could muster. Derek lived and breathed pet names, it was the fastest and most inconspicuous way he'd found to show love in plain sight, and he'd already tested out more than a few that bombed the minute they entered neutral airspace. Only one had lasted through multiple test runs, and now it flowed over his lips so naturally there was no going back.

“Baby is fine. Sometimes.”

The sound of the engine died out when he turned the key, and still he stalled, mulling over the word baby in the same way his much younger self might have set to conjugating verbs in Latin. And, to be honest, Latin was easier for him to understand. A moment more in complete silence, a moment more with his memories. He would have to put them to sleep, put the shrill sound of the pigs whining out of his mind and take hold of the very last thread of hope that Derek would be the answer. His smile, his warmth, the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and musk, the soft squeaking sound of his leather jacket as he reached his arm up to pull Aaron close...it would be enough.

He paused with his key in the lock, chancing just a moment to smile at the absurdity of being called baby again. He couldn't seem to get past it. Even Haley had never called him that, not really, not that he could recall. Honey, sure, and he'd bristled at that the first time she let it slip but he'd been so young, so timid that he never mentioned not knowing what to do with this new affection. Baby felt different, somehow. Less innocent, almost possessive. The part that surprised him the most, he figured, was that he almost liked it. Almost.

He should have known that the night could and would get worse. That the pig farm wasn't the foulest thing humanity could throw at him, that being called baby would be the least of his concerns. It didn't happen at first; not when he set his briefcase down beside the door or when he tossed his keys onto the table. That would have been too easy. Everything was still, quiet, exactly as he'd left it days before. On the floor were a few missed Lego bricks, a box of crayons, a marker lid (which meant the missing marker would be nearby, dried out by now), remnants of his last evening with Jack. The apartment was cold, the heat turned off while he was away, and the first thing on his mind was edging out that chill. He moved over to the thermostat, punched a few buttons, and decided a nightcap might help keep him awake as he waited in his lonely home for company. He would pour a glass of whiskey and plug in the heated blanket, wait for the heat to fill the place with life again...wait to hear the key in the lock and hope that his eyes were open when it happened.

It was there, at his bar, that he realized he was being watched. That his intimate routine had been fodder for unwelcome eyes. Feeling the hair standing up on the back of his neck while he poured his drink, set the glass to his expectant lips, he froze and closed his eyes for what felt like an eternity. He could have lived a hundred lifetimes in that split second. He smelled Foyet, and knew without any reason that it was him. The unmistakable sour tang of sweat and gunpowder and patience...how long had he been here, in Aaron's home, waiting? Hours, days? Where had he explored in the quiet, what corners had he set himself in, what hidden places and unpacked boxes had he explored? He heard the swish of fabric behind him and out of the corner of his eye the murky shadow beside his washing machine seemed to ooze and change shape, coming to life. Not a person, not yet, just a moving ink blot. He tasted his heartbeat, felt it pounding at his adams apple and swallowed it down...not now, he thought. Not now.

“How's my friend Agent Morgan?”

Next Chapter ->

[myfearless-love]

The Wildest Place You Run (4/?) - It Was Awfully Dark

Another addition to this story that I hope you like! Thanks again for my beta, @thejollyroger-writer for the amazing beta work! Also, check out the beautiful art she made for chapters 3 and 4!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 4/? - It Was Awfully Dark

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~4.1k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3

TW for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence

.

"So, what was that all about last night?" Mary Margaret watched disapprovingly as David grabbed five sandwiches off the tray and thoroughly drizzled the tablecloth with mayonnaise.

"Some patrolling Mages reported that a small group of Vampires were fighting next to a club. They called us in to check it out," David shrugged. "But the Vampires left as soon as we arrived. Some humans, on the other hand, couldn't behave and started shooting."

"They didn't realize we were just trying to protect them," Leo rolled his eyes.

"That's it?" Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," David nodded. "By the way, the guys are coming over for a little party. Now that Leo's out of the hospital, we need to celebrate."

"Great," Emma sighed, mentally canceling her plans to read her favorite book in peace tonight. "Who's coming?"

"Well, Leo obviously, Robin, Ruby, August…"

"August?" her eyes lit up because August was the only person besides Mary Margaret with whom she could talk relatively freely.

"Oh, yeah," David nodded enthusiastically, and Emma could see the tiny little smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

He was convinced that she had a crush on August and he would be the one to replace Neal. Then she would be her old self again as if nothing had happened. But there was nothing between them at all, she wasn't attracted to the man. He was just a good friend that she really needed now. Nothing more.

"Eloise, Will, and Killian will be coming too…" David listed, but Emma was no longer listening.

-/-

She spent most of her day, as usual, huddled up in her room. The whole situation with the creatures got weirder and weirder. The open attacks almost completely ceased after Neal's death, but still, no one could live in complete peace. They all felt that something was very wrong, and they were also sure that the creatures had not quenched their bloodthirst. They were preparing for something, and Emma and the others had no idea what they should do.

She just lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts chased each other in her head. Her eyelids slowly grew heavy as lead, and the monotonous ticking of the wall clock soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

She woke up in a musty basement, her face resting on dirty stones. It was difficult to bring herself to a sitting position. Moss grew on the walls of the basement and water stood in puddles on the damp floor. To make matters worse, it was freakishly cold. Her breath wafted white in the semi-darkness.

The bumpy, cobblestone corridor was lit pale silver by the waning crescent moon. Above her head, instead of a proper ceiling, there were only grids dripping with rainwater between the walls.

She was shocked to realize she was wearing nothing but her favorite red satin shorts and a black tank top. Confused, she scrambled to her feet, her legs covered in dirt. She seemed to be standing at the end of a long corridor. The double-iron door that loomed behind her was locked with a chain and padlock, so there was no turning back...

The hallway opened into a single cell. The room was lit by torches, and in the dancing light of the flames, she spotted rusty chains attached to the wall.

A figure crouched in the middle of the tiny dungeon, tremors running through their body.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized it was Killian. His black shirt hung on him in tatters, he was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. Standing next to him was none other than David and Neal.

Eyes widening, she stared at Neal. Was he alive after all? How was that possible? Her heart flooded with warmth, but as she got closer to the two of them, she stopped, horrified and confused. Killian's wounds were visibly severe and he was shaking like a leaf. David and Neal, on the other hand, didn't even lift a finger to help him. They watched Killian with deep disgust and hatred on their faces.

"And how long have you been doing this? Since the beginning, huh? Is that right?" David roared as loud as he could, he was shaking with rage and the veins on his neck, as well as his temples, were visibly swollen.

Without any warning, they both attacked Killian. They punched and kicked where they could, not even sparing his head.

"How do you like that, you bastard? How could you?"

Emma had perhaps never seen David so rave with fury before. But with Neal, she was even more shocked. Her feet were rooted to the floor, and not a single voice came out of her compressed lips.

What the hell had gotten into him?

He'd never been so cruel before.

As the soles of Neal's shoes stung Killian's stomach again, life returned to her feet. "Neal, stop it! Don't hurt him!" She was about to grab his arm to pull him away, but her fingers slid over Neal's body as if he were nothing but air.

Stunned, she stared at her hand, which shone translucently with pearly light. Apparently, she had no physical body, nor was her voice audible. She was completely invisible to them, an idle observer of events.

Killian fell onto his side, half-consciously, blood dripping from his ears, nose, and mouth as well. The ground around him was completely black, and she slowly realized that it was Killian's blood as well. Dried blood. She turned her head to the side and pressed her hand to her eyes.

What the hell was going on?

Suddenly she heard a loud, sickening crack, then Killian's gut-wrenching scream. When she looked back at him, she already knew what had happened. Open fracture of the femur. Killian's eyes widened in horror, gasping for air as his spine writhed in agony.

She shuddered in shock and fear.

"Emma! Come on, wake up!"

The air grew much warmer and her brother called her name. Suddenly she slipped into darkness and then her head cleared. She was lying on her bed, and David was shaking her not-so-gently by the shoulders.

"Let go of me!" she growled, trying to push his hands away from her. The image of Killian in the dungeon still floated before her eyes.

He didn't need to be told twice. David backed away from the bed and scanned her face anxiously. But he wasn't the only one in the room. Mary Margaret, Leo, and Robin also witnessed the whole show.

"Are you okay?" Mary Margaret settled on the edge of the bed. "You were screaming…"

"I'm not really surprised," Emma muttered, then sat up and buried her face in her hands. "It's okay, I just...had a bad dream, I think," she glanced up at the boys.

They took the hint immediately. As the door closed behind them, Mary Margaret looked at her with a frown.

"Are you sure it was just a dream? We thought you were awake and...having a seizure. Your eyes were open, Emma."

"It was so real. But it couldn't be a vision. It didn't make sense," she shook her head.

Besides, she had never had such a protracted vision before.

"Are you going to tell me what you saw?"

"Of course."

Emma tried to brace herself and collect her thoughts. She did her best not to miss a single moment of the dreamlike vision.

"Are you sure it was Neal? And David?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma answered with a firm nod.

"And Killian... Did they seriously torture him together?"

"Yes, but I already told you that," Emma moaned in exasperation. She didn't want to think about that part of her nightmare.

She hopped off the bed and started pacing in front of Mary Margaret.

"I'm sorry to say this, Emma, but it was definitely a vision," her friend explained. "I don't know what else it could be."

"Anything else! Neal… he's dead."

"Yes," Mary Margaret nodded sternly and grabbed her by the arm. She stopped her nervous pacing and turned Emma to face her. "I'm not so sure whether you actually saw him in your vision. You said yourself that it was awfully dark. I'd bet anything it wasn't him. Because if it's the past…" Mary Margaret bit her lower lip thoughtfully and a frown appeared on her forehead.

"Is it possible that I saw part of the past?" She repeated Mary Margaret's thought in astonishment. "We would've known about it." Emma shook her head.

"Yeah, that's why it doesn't make sense," Mary Margaret agreed. "If all this had happened, Killian wouldn't be here with us now…"

"So, what do you think?"

"I think you should get yourself together and freshen up, it's almost seven. The others will be here soon. I don't think you want to show up in front of everyone in this condition."

"Why not?" she shrugged, but obediently headed towards the bathroom anyway. This had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

-/-

People were already gathered in the living room when she came down the stairs. They were sitting around the coffee table playing cards. August, Eloise, and Killian were chatting a few feet away from the designated playing area.

She directed her steps straight to the talking squad.

Eloise noticed her first, and her pretty face immediately contorted into a grimace. Emma didn't like her, and the feeling was obviously mutual. Her shiny red air fell in huge waves to her shoulder, and as always, she was dressed head to toe in blue. She had even painted her nails a beautiful shade of aquamarine.

"Hey, guys!" Her mood was already a bit depressed when she spotted Eloise, but one glance at August brought a smile to her lips.

"Hello, stranger. It's been quite a while since we last saw each other," August took a step forward, right between Killian and Eloise.

He hugged her tightly and pressed his cheeks against hers.

He was a full-blooded Elf, he had turned one hundred and seventy years old last week, but he was still a novice, a mere adolescent of his kind. His slightly wavy, short brown hair hid most of his pointed ears, at least that didn't make him stand out on the streets. He wasn't noticeably tall; he was only four inches taller than her. His figure, however, was anything but frail. His muscular body was quite unusual among his kind. They didn't need the visual display though, they could easily throw vehicles across a road if they needed to.

"Yeah, I missed you, too," Emma remarked, a little annoyed as he let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"I'm really sorry. Please forgive me, I've been traveling a lot." He tilted his head cautiously, but she could see in his dark blue eyes that he didn't feel any guilt; in fact, he was quite amused by her annoyance.

Time passed quite differently for him.

"You all know each other already?" Emma looked at the three of them, but her eyes involuntarily lingered on Killian, even though she had prepared herself upstairs not to stare at him at this party.

It was silly, but she was looking for wounds on his body. Or traces of them. In the end, her gaze fell on his thigh. That, of course, seemed to be completely intact, as did all of Killian's other body parts.

Killian, on the other hand, noticed her gaze, and he failed to mask the surprise on his face in time. Emma felt her cheeks redden and looked back up at August again.

"Actually, we just met," the Elf replied, clasping his hands politely behind his back.

"I thought you wouldn't be here," Eloise remarked, fixing her eyes on the opposite wall as if she found the deep green, serpentine-patterned wallpaper extremely interesting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see August's face twitch slightly. He always found it difficult to tolerate unwarranted hostility.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I thought you knew I lived here, in this apartment. Does my presence bother you that much?"

She was tired of being polite, tired of being kind to her. Her gaze glowed with anger as she raised it to Eloise. The woman had tried to seduce Neal more than once, in increasingly insidious ways over the years, but to her utter disappointment, she had never succeeded. And that irked her to no end.

Now she seemed to be trying to ensnare one of the boys as well.

"I think a bit of fresh air would do us good. Emma, would you like to go for a walk?" August asked.

"That would be great, actually," she forced out through her clenched teeth and headed toward the hallway with August on her heels.

On the way out, Emma's gaze floated to David's face, and she almost let out a laugh. His expression was overwhelmed with hope that she would soon throw herself into August's arms.

"Where did that red-haired bitch come from?" August asked with an unflinching expression as they walked to the edge of the woods behind the house.

Her heart leapt in her chest, for Emma had never heard him use the word "bitch," though he was already unfortunate enough to know a few.

"I heard her thoughts, saw her memories… it was simply stomach-churning," he explained at the sight of her stunned expression.

The fact that he could see into Eloise's head so easily meant that she was truly as blunt-witted as she seemed. He was still very young for an Elf, and at the moment, he could only peer into the minds of individuals with more modest intellectual abilities. Emma kept asking him if he could hear her thoughts and see her memories, but he replied in the negative every time. She didn't know if he was telling the truth, but she hoped he wasn't lying to her out of pity.

"And where have you been for so long? I really missed you."

"The Guild sent me to France. The situation there is pretty depressing, too. The open street clashes stopped there just as suddenly as they have here. I don't understand it either," he shook his head. "But there's little we can do about it anyway. I'd be more interested in how you survived this month without me."

"I did nothing, as usual," Emma shrugged.

"Nothing worth mentioning again?" he raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

"You know I would tell you otherwise. It was unnecessary to even ask."

"I didn't know that man you were dating, but I have to admit, you're making me more and more curious. What was it about him that left such a deep impression on you?" he asked, the question directed more at himself than her.

She wouldn't have had the strength to answer him anyway. Instead, she told him about her dream-slash-vision. She was genuinely curious about his opinion.

"Strange," he muttered, staring thoughtfully ahead for a few minutes. "It can't be a vision since the man you were seeing is already dead. It can't be from the past, either, because then you'd surely know about it and this Killian guy wouldn't be here now. It's rather annoying, but I have to admit; I have no idea what it could be."

"I see."

Of course, she was disappointed; she was very confident that August would shed some light on what was going on.

"But I would appreciate it if you could tell me more about this Killian. When did he join the Hunters?" His eyes twinkled with eagerness and curiously, obviously excited about what he knew so little about.

"About two or three months ago," she answered, tossing a branch from the path.

"He is rather strange," August remarked.

Emma understood, he wanted to know more about Killian. "To be honest, I know very little about him. His magic is pretty strong, and apparently, there were Elves among his ancestors."

"Elves?" he frowned and shook his head imperceptibly. "Strange. I didn't sense that in his aura, though I should have…"

"I don't know from which side of his parents and how many generations back," she added hastily. "Maybe it's just a distant relative, that's why you couldn't sense it."

"It's possible," he nodded, but she could see he wasn't entirely convinced. "He's also quite taciturn," August continued, and Emma realized with a weary sigh that he wasn't going to give up on the subject of Killian.

He was as stubborn as a mule.

"Why do you worry so much about him?"

"His aura…" he shuddered as he thought back to their encounter. "It's even darker than yours."

"Darker? What's that supposed to mean? You never said mine was…" she paused.

August reluctantly came to a stop beside her and turned to face her. "Usually, the aura of people with a dark past, an evil personality, or dying individuals turns black. But it also happens when someone has gone through a terrible trauma or grief and can't get over it. General malaise, depression. Such people are usually very lonely, in some cases even antisocial," August replied.

Emma knew exactly what best described her of the things listed, but she had no idea about Killian. She couldn't really decide. Apparently, neither could August, and she could see that it bothered him.

"But… since when can you see the aura of Mages so clearly? Until now, I thought you could only do that with humans."

"My abilities are getting stronger," he smiled, visibly proud of himself. "Anyway, I feel sorry for the boy. I'm not sure why, but when I'm around him, the feeling just floods over me."

"I get it. I mean, I really don't, but that's probably my problem. Anyway, I think we should get back soon, I don't want David to get the wrong idea…"

"Yes, let's," August smiled and they both turned towards the house.

-/-

Meanwhile, in the living room, people at the coffee table got bored with playing cards and were discussing where to continue the party. The Hunters, of course, weren't bound by the curfew, they could go wherever they wanted.

Emma cut across the hall and marched straight to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. But unfortunately, David was already leaning against the refrigerator.

"Well? What's up with August, Ems?" It probably wouldn't have been possible to scrape the taunting grin off his face.

"Thank you, he's fine," Emma replied measuredly.

She was beginning to get rather annoyed at his behavior. She had decided long ago never to let anyone get close to her heart again, certainly not another Hunter she could easily lose.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, and so does August. But we both just laugh at your attempts. We're friends, that's all. We've even talked about it a few times, if I remember correctly," she stared fixedly at David's face, whose good mood was disappearing like a gray donkey in a fog, and his bleak expression didn't make her feel better.

"And how long do you plan on doing this, huh?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything you could object to!"

"But you do! You drive everyone crazy with this world-weary widow behavior! You act as if nothing matters to you anymore!"

"Maybe it doesn't!" she began to lose her patience and she, too, raised her voice.

"You're not even trying to get over him. You're just… you're just a… selfish, stupid girl! You only think about yourself!"

The hot tea she was pouring into her mug flew straight into David's face. She didn't think he had any idea how much his words hurt her.

David let out a yell, and as if on cue, August stepped into the kitchen. He was astonishingly angry; Emma had probably never seen him in such a state before. If he could have killed with a single look, David would have collapsed dead on the floor.

"The others are getting ready to go to the Witchland Club. You better hurry up and change into something dry before they leave." August's voice was low, but his temper sounded undisguised.

He was one of the few people David never argued with. Without a single word, he left the kitchen.

She shivered all over and turned away from August bitterly. That was when she noticed the figure leaning against the counter at the other end of the kitchen. Killian. He could have seen the whole thing. He had a mug of something in his hand and was watching August and her with a stunned expression. He muttered something under his breath that Emma couldn't make out and shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"Are you okay?" August put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, concern written all over his face.

"No… David is right. I'm selfish."

"You're not. If anyone's selfish, it's David. He has no idea what you're going through. He doesn't understand that the wounds of the human soul heal over time, not through violence and feigned negligence. Your pain will pass, I promise you. I'm not saying it will happen tomorrow, but it will take effect soon. David is also trying to protect his own soul, it's hard for him to see you like this. We can't blame him either."

She couldn't think of a reply, just watched the tiny drops of the tea on the floor. And then August did what he never usually did apart during greetings. He hugged her. Emma blinked in surprise for a while, then returned the gesture uncertainly.

"I don't understand you. Why do you care about me?" she asked, lips pulled into a smile.

"I have a few special quirks. You count as one of them," he winked at her.

"I need a serious answer, though," she insisted.

"I like you. You're a good friend of mine. I knew you before Neal died, and I wish you were like that again…"

"August…" she turned her head and broke away from his embrace.

"You asked, I answered," he shrugged.

"We're leaving now! Hurry up, guys!" Leo stuck his head into the kitchen.

"I'd rather stay home tonight, if that's all right," Emma replied.

"Me too," August nodded.

"Too bad," Leo said and walked back out of the kitchen.

Emma walked into the living room, August behind her.

"Come on, Killian! You better come with us!" Eloise urged him relentlessly.

"I'd rather go home," Killian shook his head.

"Let him! Once he makes up his mind, there's no changing it," Robin waved it off and followed David and Will out of the apartment.

Ruby shrugged and made her way to the exit as well. She was still limping a little, but otherwise, she seemed fine.

"You could stay here, too," Emma only saw a blur of gray as August slid next to Killian.

He smiled charmingly at Killian, and Emma knew immediately what he wanted. He was curious about Killian, there were too many secrets around him, and August endured it terribly hard when he didn't understand something.

Eloise expelled an angry breath, then left the house behind Mary Margaret and Leo, but the door remained open.

"I really should be going," Killian shook his head.

His face was calm, his gaze indecipherable.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" August frowned and put a hand on Killian's shoulder.

He used all his compelling skills, of which he had plenty as a full-blooded Elf.

"Aye, I'm sorry. Maybe next time," Killian nodded and his icy magic flared up again.

She was more than a foot away from the two of them, but she shivered at the feeling. August's face, on the other hand, didn't even twitch. At that moment, Emma found Killian more terrifying than ever.

"Good night," he turned on his heel and stepped out into the night.

August stared after him for long seconds, then whirled around and settled on the couch.

"What was that?"

"That's what I'd like to know. I'm going to suggest David keep an eye on him," he stated firmly, his gaze hardening instantly. "I tried to read his mind, and he noticed. I've hit a wall I wasn't expecting. And it's not the same wall I bumped into with you. It's a line of defense, and his magic… well, that's the most disturbing thing. He's not a simple warlock, that much is clear. But even if there was Elven blood in him, I couldn't sense it. However, there is something else that I cannot identify in any way. And I must admit, that worries me greatly."

"Not knowing exactly what and how much power resides in him doesn't necessarily make him evil," she explained, slightly surprised at August's sudden hostility.

"I didn't say that either," he nodded. "But it can't hurt to be careful."

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 8

Prompt: “hey, hey, this is no time for sleep”

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence and injury

Crash at Point Rain

The battle already rages below them as the 212th Attack Battalion descends toward Geonosis. Obi-Wan watches with great trepidation as the ground forces are already deep in the midst of a violent undertaking. The explosions kick up the dusty surface of the bug planet, creating a cloud that obscures his view from seeing anything besides the muted flashes of blaster and cannon fire. 

The Force reeks of death and destruction. If the turbulence of the gunship isn't enough to cause his stomach to turn, the feeling of darkness is. 

"Five klicks to the rendezvous, General!" the message is passed from the pilot. 

"Very good, stay sharp." 

Everything relies on things according to plan. So naturally, everything goes up in smoke. 

A massive explosion next to them causes the gunship to jolt, nearly throwing half the men out the other side of the open ship. Obi-Wan whirls around in time to watch one of their other ships, hit by cannons, violently explode and fall to the ground in a massive fireball. 

Oh, not good, he thinks, because as long as they are in the air, they are practically defenseless. The clunky ships only have so much maneuverability and the dust is too thick to get a proper visual to shoot down the anti-aircraft tech. 

"Take evasive action!" he yells, though his orders are implied. The blast doors are slammed shut, and darkness encompasses the hold. Obi-Wan white knuckles the hand-hold, his heart dropping as the reports begin to come flooding in through his commlink of other gunships having the same issues. 

He would have preferred to never step foot on this Force-forsaken planet again. One time on Geonosis is more than enough in Obi-Wan's opinion, but apparently, the bugs seem to have a significant role to play in all of this. He still remembers the carnage in that arena like it happened yesterday. It still haunts him that all of this could have been stopped had they managed to capture Dooku. 

Instead, Anakin lost his hand, The Jedi lost numerous, and the galaxy received a civil war. 

Cody's voice rings through on his commlink, sharp and frantic. "General Kenobi, don't land! The zone is hot!" 

"But there's nowhere else to go!"

Suddenly, the gunship jolts once more, but this time the horrible sound of durasteel being forced apart and the heat of explosion accompanies it. 

"We're hit, we're hit!" he yells over the alarms that now blare through the cabin. "We're going down!" 

Some troopers fall into the walls as the ship loses control. Obi-Wan can see out the front window from where he stands, and the red sands of Geonosis are very quickly approaching. We're coming in at too hard an angle!

Another shot comes hurdling through the very window, shattering the transperisteel and striking the pilot. There is only time for a gasp of surprise, and then the trooper slumps forward. 

"Brace yourselves!" Obi-Wan screams as the ship takes a nose dive. Gravity is pulling his body off the ground now, and despite his order, he finds himself suspended with only his grip on the strap as an anchor. The Jedi Master flails, trying unsuccessfully to plant his weight anywhere else and get some traction, but troopers are already being thrown at a terminal velocity within the durasteel coffin, pushing him out of any position of security he could manage. 

When the front of the gunship slams into Geonosis, Obi-Wan is torn from the handle. He unceremoniously crashes into the durasteel floor, his forehead bouncing off it with a sickening crack. Darkness clouds his vision, but he holds onto consciousness as the belly of the ship follows close behind in the violent crash. He is tossed into a huddle of other troopers, their armor cutting into the unprotected portions of his skin. Obi-Wan has no idea if up is up or down is up, or how long they have been skidding across the surface of the planet. The pile of helpless men is suddenly thrown in the other direction as the ship seems to slow, but tip onto its side. Obi-Wan, on top of the pile one moment, is hitting the wall again the next. This time, he doesn't have a moment to react before the other occupants of the hold are on top of him. 

The destroyed gunship itself has stopped, but everything still feels like it's spinning. He gasps through the thick black smoke that has funneled into the cabin, trying to move, but the four troopers that are slung across him have him pinned against the wall. His head throbs, his vision is blurred. He can't tell if it's from the smoke or he hit his head hard enough to give him a nasty concussion-- possibly both. 

Through his haze, he hears groans of agony around him. His troopers have not moved since they came to a stop. He can feel their Force presences-- they're dim. Few. Many have perished, and many more are on the way. 

Obi-Wan manages to get an arm free and pushes the clone that lies across his chest to the side. Blood covers the front of his armor where it looks like his blaster got jammed in his throat. He pushes down a wave of nausea and uses his newfound freedom to push another one of his fallen men off his leg. He's weak. Barely able to manage the weight, though he's never had issues before.

"General!" a faint voice calls from the other side of the ship. It takes him a moment to look up, searching lazily across the smokey cabin. A trooper slowly gets to his feet, stumbling over the bodies of his fallen brothers and landing on his knees at Obi-Wan's side. 

"Trapper," he recalls his name. "are you injured?" 

"Not as bad as others. And you, sir?" 

Obi-Wan grimaces as another wave of nausea burns like acid in this throat, and decides to ignore that question. "Help me get free if you can." 

Trapper is able to pull the other two troopers off him before practically collapsing. Obi-Wan pulls him to sit next to him with his back against the wall. "Well done, trooper. Rest now." 

The clone sighs in relief, reaching up and pulling his bucket off, and holding it in his lap. Now that they have settled and the smoke has thinned, Obi-Wan can finally take stock of the damage. 

The walls of the gunship look as though they were crushed between the hands of a giant. It's a wonder it held up the way it did judging by the force of their impact. Bodies of troopers are strewn about. Motionless. The smell of blood and burning flesh is already potent, which is just about pushing Obi-Wan over the edge. 

"Pardon me, Trapper," he says before leaning over away from his companion and emptying the contents of his stomach. He vomits until there is nothing left, and then his stomach still twists, as though even its natural acid must be ejected. Tears spring up in his eyes and his face feels hot and clammy. Obi-Wan has to clutch the wall to bring himself back to his original sitting position. His hands are shaking. He folds them together in an effort to calm them.

His head hurts. It's a dull, radiating pain that encompasses his head and runs down his neck, making his body simultaneously feel like it's crumbling and completely numb. 

He can feel Trapper watching him. "I'm okay," 

"Did you hit your head general?" 

"A better question may be what didn't my head hit." 

It's more honest than he usually is, but Obi-Wan is quickly losing the will to hide it any longer. He is holding back tears that he isn't sure why are trying to force themselves out. He's felt greater agonies, been through worse tribulations.

But the tears don't seem to be sadness. It's difficult to place, but he feels angry? Frustrated? With every passing moment, his emotion seems to change. 

It's exhausting. He's exhausted. Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath and lets his heavy eyelids fall closed. Though the gunship was dark already, the total darkness is like immediate relief. 

"Hey, general, this is no time for sleep." 

"It sure feels like it," he groans. 

"If you have a concussion you must stay awake to monitor your symptoms, sir." 

"And if I decide to nap?" 

Silence hangs between them for a long moment. 

"I believe there is a chance you may not wake up. Sir." 

As enticing as that sounds in the moment, Obi-Wan forces his eyes open again, rolling his head slowly to the side to look at Trapper. 

"We can't have that, I suppose." 

Minutes or hours later-- Obi-Wan isn't sure-- voices echo from outside and rapid footsteps approach. Not the buzz of Geonosisans nor the clank of battle droids, which is comforting at least. He grips his lightsaber anyway, ready to use it if needed.

Obi-Wan isn't sure of how much help he could possibly be, though. After taking greater stock of his injuries, he is quite sure he won't be able to stand on his own for more than a few minutes, nevermind actually fighting. 

The door of the gunship is forced open and light streams in, causing a flare of pain behind his sensitive eyes. He squints through the daylight until his swimming vision finally focuses long enough to see familiar troopers. 

"Waxer, Boil. Am I glad to see you," he pauses as they run forward to meet them, their gaze obviously wandering to their dead brothers lying about. "Trapper and I are the only ones still alive." 

"Good to see you, sir," They hoist him to his feet, quicker than he probably should have been by the way everything goes black for a few long seconds, but Waxer keeps his arm securely around him as he blinks through it. "Commander Cody's established the square just beyond this position..." a ringing in Obi-Wan's ears drones out the clone's voice, and he winces, squeezing his eyes shut until it passes. "...trying to surround us as we speak, sir." 

Right. The battle. The war. Now out of the ship, he is rudely reminded of the brutality of the ongoing battle that is only made worse by his pounding head. Blaster shots sound as though they are being amplified directly in his ears, and explosions and cannons make his knees feel weak from the light sensitivity. 

Medical is going to have a field day with this, he sighs. 

Though he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bunk for the next week and a half, he reminds himself of the importance of their success. They must recapture Geonosis and take out their droid foundries. 

Obi-Wan pulls the Force around him, releasing his pain and using it to augment his strength. It's a short-term solution-- and something that will get him in deep trouble with the healers if they find out-- but it will do for now. 

There will be time to rest when the war is over. 

[sicjimin]

Hi! I've been here for quite long times, i enjoy reading sickfic but never make one by myself. So, I want to give it a try? 😅 I'm sorry if this comes out confusing since English is not my first language and I'm not sure about my grammar skills.

Hope you like it ☺

TW: emeto, graphic description of vomiting

Seokjin brushed his hair back as he let out a nauseated huff. His stomach had been rolling and gurgling for the last two hours when he woke up and he’d felt worse and worse as time went on. He has been leaning over the toilet since then, a little portion of his breakfast has made its way out from his stomach but he still feels bad.

He squeezes his eyes shut as a wave of sickness crashed over him.

His tongue lifted in a quiet gag.  He quickly leaned over the toilet, folding his arms tightly across his sore stomach. A long croak came from deep in his throat, and a watery stream of vomit briefly flowed out of his mouth.  He closed his eyes to avoid looking at it billowing away in the water. Another cramp hits him right away, made Seokjin double over even more, and a strangled retch brought up a round of thicker puke.  Chunks plopped into the water in rapid succession. After that, it's like he's getting no rest since his stomach is so eager to let everything out. He's pretty sure his dinner, even his breakfast yesterday makes its way to spill from his mouth. When the first round over, he takes a quick breath.

"Hyung?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay, hyung? You've been there for an hour" Seokjin can hear Yoongi's voice laced with concern. It's just a matter of time until he decided to break the door and check up on Seokjin himself.

"I'm f-" Seokjin didn't manage to muster a proper answer as a new wave of nausea hits him and he doubled over again, A thick stream of puke is drained from his body like a faucet, filling the toilet halfway with a sickening sound, the puke piling up and up, left Seokjin panting after that. He flushed the toilet and walk to the sink. Trying to refresh himself even though he knows he looks like shit now. His lips lost it's colors and his cheeks brimmed with tears that slip during the episode he had.

Seokjin opens the door and meets the worried eyes of Yoongi. He smiles softly. "I'm fine Yoongi-chi, I woke up nauseous and i think it's just the last dinner didn't agree with me. But i'm okay now"

Seokjin completely know that he can't fool Yoongi with that. and he also knows that he's nowhere between 'Okay' because he still can feel his stomach churning. But he hopes that the younger gonna let this matter go because he didn't want to be a burden. He's the oldest after all.

"You're sick, aren't you?" Yoongi asks.

Seokjin shakes his head. He can't answer with a proper "No" because he already can feel saliva filling his mouth. But shaking his head is another worst decision because the room is tilting now. He almost lost his balance if Yoongi didn't have fast reflexes and catch him.

"Hyung!" Yoongi eyes go wide when he sees Seokjin's legs gave up. "Let's get you to the bed, you're totally sick"

"No .. Yoongi, I'm so nauseous i think i'm going to puke again" Seokjin mumbles weakly. Covering his mouth with one hand, trying to keep his stomach content down as he speak.

"Wait, shit. okay" Yoongi is clearly panicking now. He never sees the oldest being this weak. He guided Seokjin back to the bathroom. Seokjin hurrying himself to open the lid as his body lurched forward. He closed his eyes again and hung onto the toilet seat as his body shook with a violent heave.  Thick torrents of vomit showered into the water. Seokjin paused, belched loudly, and threw up some more.

“That’s it,” Yoongi soothed.  "Get rid of it all.“

Seokjin rocked with shuddering retches as clear bile spills from his mouth and splashed noisily into the toilet.

This round was more intense than the first, but over more quickly.

At last the heaving tapered off, leaving Seokjin exhausted but feeling slightly better.  Yoongi brought him a cup of water to rinse his mouth and flushed as he spits it back out.

"I'm tired Yoongi" Seokjin mumbled weakly, clearly exhausted.

"I know hyung, let's get you to bed and try to eat some soup. So your stomach won't be empty and you can take some medicine to make you feel better, okay?"

Seokjin just nods tiredly since he didn't have any energy left. The thought of getting something to eat already makes his stomach protest but he knows he needs to do it if he wants to feel better tomorrow. They have a schedule tomorrow, he can't be sick that long.

Seokjin dozed off and just a slip away to sleep when Yoongi come back to their room with a bowl of soup and some medicine. He manages to get down 5 spoons of soup and his medicine. Yoongi is okay with that too, he can make Seokjin eat something again in few hours.

"Do you want to watch movies or just sleep hyung?"

"Lets watch some movies, i dont think i can sleep"

Yoongi nods and slips beside Seokjin, choosing some movies they both can watch. It's just 15 minutes into the movie when he can hear steady breathing from Seokjin. He fell asleep. Yoongi just smiles at the sight and hoping that the older will feel better once he wakes up. It really breaks his heart to see a cheerful Seokjin just has no energy like this. Yoongi decided to not leave the bed and just playing mindlessly with his phone.

Seokjin wakes to Yoongi curled up on the his side with his own blanket. He’s wrapped in it and staring at the TV with his mouth open lazily. He wasn’t sure what had woken him, only that his sleep had come to a very sudden end. After few minutes of regaining consciousness, he's aware of nausea that pooled in his stomach as it sloshed and roiled beneath his touch. He sat up slowly, trying hard not to jostle himself too much.

"Hyung? You gonna be sick again?"

Seokjin nods as he scrambles to let himself out of blanket and run to the bathroom. The soup and the medicine he digests earlier are now being flushed from the toilet. Yoongi stays by his side, trying to give some comfort as he's busy clearing his stomach content.

Seokjin was certainly sick. He can't keep anything down and keep feeling nauseous the whole day. Negative thought has been clouding himself that night after he trying to get a few bites of crackers down. What if he still sick tomorrow? He can't mess up with the schedule. He didn't want to be a hassle to the group.

Seokjin was too caught up in his mind and get startled by Yoongi's voice.

"Just sleep hyung, i can hear your mind running from here"

Seokjin giggles and drifting himself to sleep, hoping that he will feel better by tomorrow.

Morning comes, and Seokjin is doomed. He woke up to another wave of nausea crashed over him.

"Shit " The bug still won't leave his body and they have schedule today. Seokjin tries to control his breathing, so he didn't need to be in the bathroom this morning and he can convince Yoongi that he feels better. He wants to go to the schedule. He doesn't want to make them reschedule just because he's sick. So, Seokjin pulls himself from the bed and makes his way to the kitchen —just like he usually does, so the members will believe that he's already feeling better, even though he's not. He's in the midway of making himself chamomile tea, determined that it will be his breakfast and it will help his rolling stomach to feel better, when Yoongi make his way down.

"Hyung? what are you doing here? Are you already feeling better?"

Its adorable to hear Yoongi's voice that still thick with sleepiness. His eyes don't even fully open yet. Seokjin giggles at the sight. "Yes i'm feeling better Yoongi-chi, thank you"

"You're saying the same yesterday yet you almost fainting in front of me. I don't believe you hyung" Seokjin catches a slight tease in Yoongi's remarks but Yoongi makes some point there. He can't deny that.

"What should i do so i can convince you that i already feeling better?"

"Eat some crackers again hyung, if you manage to keep it down until all the members get down, I believe you"

Seokjin gulps. He knows that he still can't digest that damn cracker. Hell, even the tea he sips earlier still sits heavily in his stomach. But he really needs to make Yoongi believe that he can go to work with the others today. His throat tightens.

"You're still sick, aren't you?" Yoongi smirks, challenging Seokjin. He just wants his hyung to admit defeat, that he still feeling sick so he can tuck the older to the bed and let him rest for the day. But he knows that his hyung is just too stubborn for himself.

"No, i'm not"

Yes, Seokjin just that stubborn. So he picks a cracker and takes a bite. He can feel the cracker sits heavily with the tea he sips earlier. Ready to come back out. But he can't do that with Yoongi's eyes watching him intensely, waiting for Seokjin to toss his cookies and admit his loss. He manages to eat a whole cracker down.

"See? I can eat that, so i'm fine"

"No, dont be too happy hyung. I still need to know if you can keep that down until at least one hour" Yoongi says nonchalantly.

Then they fall into silence. One is too sleepy to make a conversation, and one is too busy to keep his stomach calm.

The members are one by one going down to have breakfast. The kitchen is now filled with the clattering of spoons, plates, and the member's voice. Yoongi is also caught up with his conversation with Namjoon, they both want to finish some beat for their next album after today's interview and meeting.

"Hyung, are you okay? You look so pale" Jimin says softly, voice laced with concern. All attention is now to Seokjin, that lumped against the table, breathing heavily trying to not throwing up.

Jimin want to ask another question when Seokjin suddenly jump and run to the bathroom with one hand clamped over his mouth.

"Tsk, Namjoon-ah, can you call the manager to clear our schedule today? Seokjin hyung is still sick, there's no way we can let him work like that"

"Okay hyung, dont worry. I'll talk to him"

"Thank you" Yoongi musters a soft smile before he makes his way to the bathroom.

His eyes met Seokjin's figures that crouched down in front of the toilet, one hand rubbing his stomach. Yoongi walks to his hyung silently and rubs his back as the older spine curve every heaves he lets out.

"Breathe hyung"

Seokjin's body lurched with another heave. After few moments, he coughed and spits several times, wanting to make sure that his stomach is calm enough to move, and flushed the toilet.

He makes his way to the sink, wants to rinse his mouth to get rid of the taste of bile. His eyes meet Yoongi's, watching the younger says "You're staying at your bed today, and i don't want to hear another argument about this"

Seokjin sighs in defeat, he knows there's no way he can change Yoongi's mind. Maybe, he will do as Yoongi's says since he doesn't have any energy left to work.

"Okay, Yoongi-chi"

——————————————

Ideas:

[jacks-jester]

Silent Treatment

[Jerome Valeska x Reader]

Words: 1,675

Warnings: Murder, violence, attempted sexual harassment/assault

Requested: Yes / No

Request: “ Hello Beautiful Person! I'm your new follower. Requests are opened right? Not sure how violent or graphic asks can be so I just give it a shot ok? Can I get Jerome x reader in Arkham but no one knows why she's there cause she seems too innocent and totaly normal, but she's more dangerous then they think. After killing a guard in front of everyone for harrasing her, she confesses to being a serial killer but she only kills other killers? (I was watching Dexter) J has a crush on her from day one. “ - Anonymous

Summary:  Jerome tries getting to know Arkhams newest victim, a young girl who seems too innocent to be stuck in a place like that. He is quickly proven wrong when her crimes come to light after attacking and killing a prison guard.

A/N~ Love Dexter, love this prompt. Thanks for the response, I hope you enjoy!

Arkham Asylum held the lowest of the low, that included the staff, inmates, and anyone else who dared venture into the shitty institution. Gotham held a lot of bad apples, most of which were comfortably tucked away inside of the padded walls of this penitentiary. Arkham Asylum was disgusting place, the city clearly not caring about the upkeep of the rotting building. The state of the building was laughable, mold growing in every shadow and crevice, rats and cockroaches littering the halls, half the food was rotting in the cafeteria, the guards had no repercussions or supervision, the walls were literally crumbling, and most locks were broken or malfunctioning. The only thing they made sure of, was that guards were armed at all times, assuring brutality between patients and guards, because lets be honest, who would care if an insane inmate of Arkham Asylum was found dead. It was easy for stories to be twisted where guards were the victims of the whole operations, the mentally ill always being the villains. 

Arkham’s inmates mostly consisted of men, all ages, all sizes, all different types of fucked up. Arkham accepted anyone deemed a danger to them selves of society so Arkham became a big mixing pot of problems.Serial killers next to muggers, cannibals next to rapists, even some innocents mixed in with the bunch. The few innocents in Arkham never lasted long though, either being killed or becoming corrupted themselves. See that was the thing about Arkham, nobody got better by going there, if anything it reaffirmed their anger and resentment towards the corrupt city and its inhabitants. 

Arkham was it’s own special breed of poison for the mentally ill.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You were fairly new to Arkham Asylum, only having been there a week so far. It was no surprise that several of the more lonely inmates had taken to trying to flirt with you,claim you as their property, you didn’t take the bait though. You opted to follow the same route as some of the other female inmates: stay the fuck away from any other inmate in this god forsaken hell hole. You weren’t crazy, you knew that, nobody else here did though. To guards an inmate was an inmate, all the other prisoners having the same mindset as the guards. To everyone in here, you were just another loony who got caught and locked away.

The only thing that seemed to catch people off guard, was your quiet and respectful nature. You never got in fights, never had a melt down, and always were compliant with the prison rules. Most people were the most defensive their first week here, you were the exact opposite of the usual response to being locked up. This had peaked the interest of a particular red headed carnie who had just been locked up himself. Jerome was a curious person by nature, a quick learner, and a very big people person - granted he despised most people though. 

Your demeanor drew him in from the start, your physical attractiveness also helping though. Jerome had attempted to talk to you several times, each time being completely ignored or dismissed at the wave of a hand. You always had a book on hand, opting to sit in the far corner of the leisure room and read to yourself while the other inmates played amongst themselves. You were never one to snap easily at people, having learned to bite your tongue to avoid conflict.

Jerome still persisted though, every day opting to sit near you and talk to you, though her never got a response. You’d think a person like Jerome would get worn out and tired of the routine, but if anything he saw it as a game. He wanted to be the first person to get you to talk, he wanted to break your quiet, it helped that he had a bet going with Greenwood though. Greenwood said Jerome would never be able to crack the quiet girl, Jerome begged to differ, and Jerome was never wrong.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It was another day at the Asylum: same shit food, same worn out clothes, same awful staff members, same boring routine. You made your way towards the leisure area, relieved to get a break from your cell. The asylum ran in shifts: high security offenders had the third break of the day - the break you were taking now. You were growing tired of the sorry excuse of a bed the penitentiary gave you, a metal sheet, a blanket, and a flat pillow. It was impossible to get a good nights sleep on those cots, leaving you in an annoyed state for the day. You had gotten no sleep last night, between uncomfortable sleeping conditions and the loud screaming of one of the patients down the hall, it was impossible.

You finally made your way to the checking station, guards typically frisking down patients to ensure that they do not have any weapons on hand. More than once had you seen patients try bringing in pens, wires, sometimes even getting their hands on shards of glass.  You approached the guard station, holding your arms out in a T position and separating you legs slightly so they could ensure nothing was tucked in your pants. You had refused to wear the Arkham dresses, not wanting to deal with peoples stares, specifically Greenwood and Sionis. 

It didn’t take long for the newbie guard to begin frisking you, his hands gently patting you down to ensure there were no potentially dangerous items on your person. You watched him closely as you felt his pats becoming more prolonged, seemingly taking his time - most guards barely graze an inmate before allowing them in, this new guard seemed to be getting to familiar for comfort. You tensed slightly as he began running his hand up your leg. “Watch it.” You said it with a venomous tone, warning lacing your voice. 

The guard only looked at you with a narcissistic smirk, “Mind your manners, you gonna do something about it?” You could feel the rage boiling over in your stomach, “Last chance, knock it off.” You snapped the moment you felt his callous hand brush over you ass, his finger groping lightly, “Try something, I dare you.” You closed your eyes and sighed, “I warned you.” Without another word you brought your elbow, crushing into his face, immediately snapping his nose. Almost instantly blood began gushing from his pig like nose, misshapen and red. He clutched over, his hands both going to his nose as blood freely poured from the new injury. “You fucking bitch!” 

You watched as his hand went to grab his gun, the pistol hanging loosely off his left hip. His movements were clumsy however, his hands slipping anxiously off the pistol, you figured it was the shock of having his nose caved in, a headache more than likely forming. Your eyes widened as he went to reach for the gun, your instincts quickly taking over your rational thoughts. Your leg quickly slung over his arched back, getting in a piggy back position as your hands found the curvature of his neck, your hands quickly twisting in the most unpleasant way.

His body instantly slumped beneath you, falling ungracefully to the floor with a sickening thump, your legs catching you before he could pull you down with him. His head was jarred at a strange angle, his jaw slack, eyes wide with shock, hand resting against his holstered gun. Your eyes widened as you came to grips with what had just occurred, you’d broken your code, well kind of. You didn’t consider yourself a criminal, you simply took out the garbage, only killing criminal who were walking free. So in a way he did fit into your normal range of crime, he was obviously someone who delved in sexual assault and harassment so you didn’t feel guilty about it. 

You only turned around upon hearing a low whistle from behind, a whistle you knew all to well. You swore under your breath before turning to face Jerome who took to slowly clapping his hands together, as if to show his gratitude for the act just displayed in front of him. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He let out a laugh, kneeling next to the fallen guard, quirking his head to make ye contact with the security guards wide eyes. “Did quite a number on him, didn’t cha?” You rolled your eyes, your gaze flicking to the corpse. “Fucker got what was coming to him.” Your voice was quiet but loud enough for Jerome to hear.

He turned to you with feigned shock, his jaw open as he looked at you with wide eyes. He placed his hand over his chest as his mouth formed a wide grin, “I’m honored doll, finally got you to break after a week.” You rolled your eyes at the excited red head, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement, though there was a small hint of genuine surprise within his ebony pools. He circled you for a moment, “Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought you were, not so innocent.” You raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He only nodded with that same impish grin, “Not yet.... not yet.” He reached down, grabbing the keys from the guards body, opening the leisure room door for you. “After you, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” You looked at him for a moment before sighing, going with him for one reason or another. Death wasn’t uncommon at a place like this so after everyone was securely in the leisure room, the guards body was eventually dragged away and to be disposed of. You and Jerome had taken to sitting in a far corner of the room, a game of Candyland splayed between you two. He made his move before resting his cheek on his fist, peering over at you. “This is gunna be fun.Now then, I want to know everything.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Time: 2 hours 38 minutes (Mania made it incredibly hard to focus, I kept getting stuck)

[silentprincess17]

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga Trigger warnings for this chapter: Descriptions of blood, wounds and death. Also: there is a spoiler for one of the side quests in AOC (one of the things Link does for Zelda) and it's in the third paragraph before the last one so it's nearly at the end.

Read Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Ambushed

Link ran, sprinting through the sand, his boots coughing up a flurry of grains, sword already pulled out in his hand, pulsing as it recognised his anxiety.

A ball of fear erupted in his chest, and suddenly Link found his mouth dry and unable to swallow. He couldn’t deny it to himself then, it wasn’t just duty that motivated his actions. Hell, this-this need to protect her… It felt like something he’d always done, an innate instinct. Something deeper than his vows as her Knight tied him to her, probably something to do with his past lives, but he didn’t know how to explain it, and really, it scared him, sometimes, this urge that he had little control over. A lot of things scared him about the sword actually, and he wondered just how separate he truly was from it sometimes.

Despite running flat out, he was still a considerable distance away, but even from here, he could tell, it wasn’t looking good. She had run, valiantly, but there were two of them up ahead of her, he couldn’t make out just yet what Yiga Clan member they were, but he could see the Yiga Foot soldier behind her. And crap, she’d slipped and fallen, and Farore, just – just a few more seconds and he’d make it.

Please, please, please.

His heart thundered in his chest; his hands icy cold, clammy around the handle of his sword.

The three Yiga Foot soldiers approached her, okay, okay, this wasn’t good, no, they had Vicious Sickles, but he had the Sword That Seals The Darkness, and what better definition of darkness than the Yiga Clan, he would make it- and

Spirits

Three Yiga Blademaster’s poofed into existence beside the Foot soldiers, and together they slashed their windcleavers, aimed at his Princess’s throat.

NO.

Link jumped, sliced the first Foot Soldier in the chest, blood spurting outwards and he nimbly twisted to avoid it landing on him, and then aimed for the first Blademaster. Just before his blade hit that idiot’s neck, the other two began to laugh. The sickening Yiga Clan laugh that was so incredibly patronising, and Link was already feeling bad enough this morning and he had little patience left.

“Not so fast, Hero.” The Blademaster in the centre clicked his fingers and another three appeared behind the Princess, all of them pointing the tips of their windcleavers at her neck.

Holy Hylia. There were now 5 blades aimed at her, one of them pressed closed enough that she couldn’t swallow without fear of drawing blood. And he couldn’t bring himself to actually look at her, the one glance he’d had would forever scar him, she looked downright petrified. The sight made his blood boil, the sword glowed blue, but he had to be logical.

It wouldn’t do to attack the one whose neck was under his sword only for the other five to behead the Princess. Yes, he was fast. Yes, he was blessed with rapid reflexes. But even he recognised it would be impossible to eliminate all five without one of them harming the Princess before he finished. It would take seconds for them to nick her carotid artery, whilst he needed to slice through five necks. This would have been so much easier if she wasn’t in the middle of the fray. A simple charged sword attack aimed in the air would have exterminated the lot. He also couldn’t help but curse himself because he’d been an idiot and forgotten his bow, he hadn’t picked it up in all the rush of Zelda disappearing and now he severely regretted it. What he wouldn’t have done for a few electric arrows right now. He would have shocked the life out of them with all their metal weaponry.

“There’s too many of us, Hero, with too many swords at the ready to behead this pretty little blond thing. We only really have an issue with her Royal Holiness here, for she supposedly holds the power to seal away our God.” He laughed, “Although she isn’t that Holy, is she, eh boys?”

They all broke out into laughter, and Link decided that was the best opportunity he was going to get. He stabbed the sword into the first Yiga Blademaster’s neck, a fountain of red erupted out, just as Link shoved his body towards one of the remaining Foot Soldiers, who got trapped underneath the sheer dying bulk of the man. He rolled, pulling the Princess down so she was out of direct range of those windcleavers, and then he unceremoniously chucked her towards the opening he’d just created. She seemed to get the message and started to run, whilst he began to dance with his sword.

Move one to the jugular vein, two to the heart plus some ribs, three a large spin attack against the last Foot Soldier and three Blademasters who lunged at him, but he only belatedly realised one of them didn’t have a weapon, had they used the sickle as a boomerang? He distantly felt a muscle spasm, but that didn’t distract him, no, he ploughed through with the movement, effectively plunging the sword through the layers of skin, muscle and fat, and he leapt out of the resulting crimson blood spray that blended in with their armour. He had to admit, even if he wasn’t comfortable with the whole context of the sword and the trauma of seeing everything they had gone through, it was a beautiful blade. The best he’d ever had the honour of wielding.

His focus was shattered, suddenly, as he heard a painfully familiar scream, was it a memory or – no. That was His Zelda. He belatedly realised the last Yiga Foot soldier hadn’t remained trapped. He’d chased after the Princess and he had three darts pressed her abdomen, hard enough that she was whimpering, with his sickle wrapped around her neck, the curved edge milliseconds from ending her life. She had one hand alternating between trying to claw the mask off the Yiga’s face to ineffectively grasping at his hand wielding the sickle, the other outstretched to him, and it broke him a little.

His heart ached, his pulse thundering hard in his ears, because she was too far away for him to jump to her, too far to do anything without a damn bow. The bodies that littered the floor, and the blood that coated the sand around him weren’t enough, the one that remained would kill her, before he could do anything. Of that he had no doubt.

“Lay down your sword. And you may leave with your life. We do not care for the Hero, you’re simply a vessel for the Hero’s spirit and even if we kill you, you’ll just come back in some other lowlife’s body. We only care for the supposedly High Priestess Hylian Princess Zelda and the Sword that Seals the Darkness. Without those two, Hyrule will be blessed by Calamity Ganon’s unbridled power!”

He hesitated, and in that one second another four Yiga Blademasters appeared behind him, “DO NOTHING Hero. Remember what position your darling Princess is in.” The Foot soldier tightened his hold on Zelda and pressed the blade deeper into her skin and it cut into her neck, causing a small line of blood to leak down the blade.

That was the tipping point, Link saw red, and howled, hurling the Master Sword so that it pierced that wretched mask, straight into the bastard’s eye, and swung down with gravity to cut through his face.

And he turned around to face those remaining Yiga Blademaster’s with his bare hands, but instead he smelt the familiar incense of cool saffilina, which rang alarm bells in his head, this was used as a sleeping drought. He couldn’t do much more than gasp before a towel was rammed into his face, and he struggled against it, but suddenly the smell became so much more concentrated. He blinked, trying his hardest not to breathe, but the haze that descended on his mind regardless meant it was far, far more potent than the one he’d made for Zelda.

All of a sudden, he felt disturbingly dizzy, his legs like jelly underneath him. His eyelids abruptly felt incredibly heavy- he closed his eyes almost unwittingly, and then struggled to open them again. He barely managed to open one flimsily, and he saw vague red shapes ensnaring his Princess and all he could do was fall to the floor on his knees, shameful that he’d failed her.

She was screaming his name, and all he could do was raise a pitiful arm out to her, before he succumbed, and all he saw was black.

[kashxy]

the curtain’s rising (here we go now, break a leg)

fandom: mcu (peter parker)

pairing: none

rating: t (teen)

prompt: ‘the whumpee used to have some source of comfort, like a physical item or an activity. when the whumper finds out, they want to rip it away from them.’

warnings: gore. kidnapping. stockholm syndrome. graphic depictions of violence.

—

“Nothing breaks you, does it?” The man spits, heaving through groans. He looks bloody himself, his shirt soaked in blood and water, mixing together in the white fabric to create a dirty stain that won’t come out without at least three washes.

He’d been water boarding Peter for the last fifteen minutes and he still hasn’t spoken, something which the teen stays incredibly proud of. He’s proud of himself, as proud as he can be while he’s bent over in a puddle of water, gagging and heaving and bleeding but still glaring, still murdering the man with his gaze.

In all honesty, he does know what the man wants. He wants to know where Tony is, where he’s holed up after leaving to recover from his injuries, where he’s hiding out with his perfect family and his lover. But he’ll be damned if he ruins that for Tony, too, and if he denies it enough, maybe the man’ll believe him.

“Boss.” Someone says, bursting through the door. He barely looks at Peter on the floor, one pathetic glance without an inch of sorrow on the young man’s face.

He looks like Peter. Brown hair, not as curly but still voluminous, a little bruise on his cheekbone. The man greets him with a gentle hand on his cheek, and the younger man leans into it, whining softly against the touch starvation.

“He plays soccer.” The younger man mumbles against the hand, gentle and murmured like it’s a secret shared between the air. Peter can barely hear them from here, his enhanced senses duped by the drugs. “College level.”

The man eyes him, his eyebrows drawn together.

“He’s scrawny.”

The younger man hums, eyes closed softly. He looks like he’ll drift off to sleep any second, no care in the world about the fact that Peter’s laying broken on the dirty, cold ground.

“Strong. Almost inhuman.”

The man stops at that, as does Peter. He looks up like a scared little baby deer in large headlights, body involuntarily flinching as the man makes eye contact with him.

“Very good, Matteo.” He murmurs, pressing his lips gently to the younger man’s forehead. He leans in, whining so loud that Peter flinches from the pure agony and desperation in it. “Very good.”

Matteo leaves soon after with tears in his eyes and not a single glance back at Peter. He feels a stab of hatred in his heart, the sickening feeling that someone else knows what’s happening and refusing to help. Despite how his mind screams at him to recognise the signs of stockholm syndrome, it still hurts nonetheless.

“Soccer player, huh?”

Peter swallows, a thick array of blood and spit working its way down his throat. He’s already spit as much as possible out at the feet of his captor, but there’s a cut across his lip that won’t seem to heal.

“We can work with that.” He says, and then turns. Peter’s heart jumps and he whines, shocked by his own indescribable desire for the same man who’s torturing him not to leave. He doesn’t know if he could handle being alone again, not here, not while it’s so cold and dark and lonely.

The man doesn’t leave, Peter’s shoulders sagging when he turns to discarded gym bag on the floor. He’d brought it in hours ago when they started, and Peter had forgotten all about it.

He’s digging around for a while, humming to himself like he’s done it a billion times before. Peter thinks of the boy, of the way his eyes glazed over like he was brainwashed, and winces. He doesn’t want to end up like that, no matter how much it hurts to stay awake in this state of mind.

“I’ll give you one more chance.” The man says, his shoes clicking against the floor slowly. Peter hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten up. “Where is Tony Stark? Where’s he hiding? I know you know, pretty boy. He wouldn’t have left you alone.”

Peter glares at him, his lips pressing tighter together. An old baseball bat, dirty and brown in places, swings lazily from the man’s right hand.

He looks up again, surprised by the silence. He’s still waiting for an answer, whether it’s what he wants to hear or not. Peter doesn’t even want to give him the satisfaction.

He stays silent. Never mind the fact that his stomach’s churning like a goddamn slushy maker, but he won’t speak. He won’t even tell him to fuck off, tell him to go to hell and send him a postcard, because there’s nothing he’ll get out of it. He learnt early on that the man wasn’t fazed by his quick wit or the sarcastic insults that somehow tumbled from his lips, and it’s better that he save his breath anyway.

“Very well.” The man says with a sickly sweet smile, and swings the bat high in the air, bringing it straight down in the space between Peter’s kneecap and his shin.

The pain explodes all at once, like a tense bomb that’s been waiting and hiding, excruciating and mind numbing in its agony. It doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel like it’s humanly possible to feel so much pain all at once, the agony short wiring his brain for a split second and making his entire body go numb.

His scream’s cut short by a choked off sob, gasps echoing in the otherwise silent room. The man’s not even smiling, not wincing, not glaring. He’s just stoic, as silent as the walls around them, seemingly unphased and bored.

The pain’s still blossoming, spreading down his leg all the way into his feet until his ankle’s seizing back into the chair he’s tied to. He’s never felt anything like it, despite dying and coming back to life, being shot, stabbed, punched, kicked, broken. Nothing’s ever hurt this bad.

He can’t even suck in enough air to scream again, his brain’s capacity to use his lungs overcome by the fact that his knee feels like it’s been twisted a hundred and eighty degrees. The room suddenly looks a whole lot lighter, the white pain making even his captor’s face look a little less scary.

“No, wait-“ Peter shouts as the man brings the bat down again, onto the other knee this time. He doesn’t wait for the exploding pain this time, just strikes his legs from different angles, the right and then the left and then on top of his knee until Peter’s body won’t even react to it anymore and he’s just sitting with two legs he can’t feel and tears that won’t stop.

“I would hope you change your mind now.” The man says, dropping the bat just inches from Peter’s feet. He knows he wouldn’t be able to reach it, wouldn’t be able to work his legs enough to stretch out even a few inches.

He leaves without another word, the light still switched on so Peter’s eyes won’t unfocus on the fact that his legs are both twisted in together, the knee of his left leg almost sticking out of the skin. There’s more bruises than there is pale skin, and he feels a jolt of sickness in his stomach.

He doesn’t even try to stop it. He leans over to the left, vomiting all over the stupid dark grey floor, spitting blood and bile and not much else because he hasn’t eaten in almost a week and they barely give him enough water to stay alive.

Collapsing to the floor, intense agony spearing his body like a white hot resemblance of a seizure, he lets out a choked whine and tries to fight against the black tendrils making their way across his vision. He wonders if he’ll even stay alive long enough for anyone to find him. If anyone’s going to come soon.

If anyone’s coming at all.

[mcnyhearts]

✩ for Daisuke and Mafuyu :3c

SHIP THING FOR @kokoro-ippai

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? I don’t see either of them as big time yellers. They don’t want to bring that sort of negativity into their relationship. If one of them were, they would more than likely apologize right away. Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither. The thought of leaving is too sickening to even consider and neither of them would ever want that. Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Once again, neither. Who trashes the house? I could see Mafuyu trashing the house once or twice in more frustation. He has such trouble expressing himself that is he was sad or upset about something he may throw some stuff around. It would more than likely be when Daisuke isn’t around and Mafuyu would feel total shame afterward. Do either of them get physical? NEITHER! They were both abused by their father’s and know that pain. They would never lay a hand on each other in that way. How often do they argue/disagree? Not often, it’s rare. They don’t disagree on much and if they were it would be a quick fix. They are to dependent on each other to ever let a disagreement last too long. Who is the first to apologize? I think both would be likely too. But, I will say Mafuyu just because he is so careful about things like that, since he has that death in his past. If he says or does something he thinks upset the other, he will apologize immediately.

Sex:

Who is on top? Daisuke. Who is on the bottom? Mafuyu. ( Though is Daisuke wanted to be bottom once Mafuyu wouldn’t be against trying. ) Who has the strangest desires? Neither. At least, that I know of so far. Any kinks? We haven’t discussed kinks yet but, I will say Mafuyu for sure has some secret kinks. Who’s dominant in bed? Daisuke. ( And Mafuyu loves it. ) Is head ever in the equation? If so, who is better at performing it? Oh yeah, most of the time. I think they are both pretty damn good at it, but Mafuyu is REALLY good at it. Ever had sex in public? I could see them trying it. Who moans the most? They both are good about expressing themselves in bed but Mafuyu takes the cake. Who leaves the most marks? Daisuke!!! No doubt. Mafuyu will leave like one or two marks on his neck while Daisuke will COVER Mafuyu in marks from head to two. Who screams the loudest? Mafuyu for sure. Who is the more experienced of the two? Mafuyu. Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Make love, no doubt about it. Always. Rough or soft? Both? Like they are soft but sometimes they can be rough. How long do they usually last? Daisuke is a tease so, things go on for some time. Is protection used? Yes. Does it ever get boring? No way, these two are way to in love with each other to ever get bored. Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? Backstage one of Mafuyu’s gigs? Or a bathroom after one of Daisuke’s games?

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? They haven’t talked about things like that yet but, I could see them adopting one day. They both had rough childhoods so maybe they both really want to be good father’s one day unlike there own. If so, how many children do your muses want/have? I don’t know how many yet. Mafuyu personally wouldn’t mind two. Who is the favorite parent? Both of them are, depending on what the child is into honestly. Mafuyu is the music parent and Daisuke is the active and sport parent. Who is the authoritative parent? Daisuke more than likely. Mafuyu just likes to sneak them candy and stuff. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Mafuyu. He’s a big pushover. Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Once again, big pushover Mafuyu. Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Both! They both love things like that and feel they should both be there. Who goes to parent teacher interviews? That’s another both. Though Mafuyu doesn’t love going to them, they make him a tad nervous. He goes anyway though. Who changes the diapers? They take turns. Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? I’m sure they take turns on this too. Who spends the most time with the children? Hard to say. In many ways I really could see Mafuyu as a stay at home dad, so maybe him? I think they both try to be around them as much as possible Who packs their lunch boxes? Both. Who gives their children ‘the talk’? I’m sure it was a team effort. Mafuyu would go in strong and Daisuke would take over because Mafuyu was being to graphic about it. Who cleans up after the kids? Both. Who worries the most? I’m sure they both worry but I could see Daisuke being the big worrier while Mafuyu would always be telling him it’s all going to be fine. Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Mafuyu doesn’t curse a lot so... Daisuke? I think they would both be pretty good about not cursing around the kids though.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? They are both such cuddle monsters. Who is the little spoon? Usually Mafuyu, but they often switch through out the night. Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? They both have their moments no doubt. Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Daisuke! Mafuyu sometimes, but more than likely Mafuyu would start something and Daisuke would take over How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Until the end of time. Who gives the most kisses? Both. What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Just being near each other. Both of them laying in bed reading or studying. Daisuke sitting near Mafuyu as he practices or writes. Alone time is the best time.  Where is their favourite place to cuddle? In bed, where it all started. Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Both! How often do they get time to themselves? Every morning when they first wake up and every night! They are both busy boys during the day, but when its all over they come together at night and have all the time.

Sleeping:

Who snores? Neither that I know of. Mafuyu makes a little sound when his allergies are bad but, that’s it. If both do, who snores the loudest? Neither. Do they share a bed or sleep separately? They started out in different beds but, it didn’t last long. If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Cozy up. If one wakes up and can’t feel the other they get nervous. Both are more at ease when cuddled up together. Who talks in their sleep? I could see them both doing that sometimes. What do they wear to bed? PJ bottoms/ boxers and a tee shirt. Sometimes the tee shirt is taken off during the summer. Are either of your muses insomniacs? They both have issues with nightmares, so sometimes they have nights when sleeping is hard. For the most part though, as long as they are together sleep can be accomplished. Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Nope. Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Wrapped limbs for sure. Who wakes up with bed hair? Both of them wake up with crazy hair. Who wakes up first? Daisuke. Mafuyu has a lot of trouble getting up in the morning. Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? That sounds like a very Daisuke thing to do. What is their favourite sleeping position? They have a few. One spooning the other. Facing each other with legs all wrapped up. One sleeping on the other’s chest. Who hogs the sheets? Mafuyu. Do they set an alarm each night? Yes. Can a television be found in their bedroom? No. Only one tv is in the house and that’s the main living area. Who has nightmares? Both. Who has ridiculous dreams? Both. Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Neither really, they cling to each other so much it’s never a problem. Who makes the bed? Mafuyu, he has a particular way he likes it.  What time is bed time? Whenever they fall asleep, no set time. Any routines/rituals before bed? Just normal things like cleaning up, making sure they are ready for the next day. Oh, and lot’s of kisses. Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Mafuyu? Though he isn’t really grumpy, just a bit out of it.

Work:

Who is the busiest? Both.  Who rakes in the highest income? I’m gonna be vague with most of these because we haven’t discussed future stuff like this yet. But if Mafuyu keeps going music, I would say him. Are any of your muses unemployed? No, I don’t see that happening. Who takes the most sick days? Mafuyu. He gets sick when stressed pretty easily. Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Mafuyu. Who sucks up to their boss? Neither. What are their jobs? Not sure yet. Who stresses the most? I think they both equally stress? But maybe Daisuke a bit more? Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? I think they like them. Are your muses financially stable? Yes.

Home:

Who does the washing? Mafuyu. Who takes out the trash? Daisuke. Who does the ironing? Daisuke. Mafuyu more than like burned himself once and now Daisuke won’t allow it. Who does the cooking? Both. Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Neither. Who is messier? Neither. Mafuyu is very particular about mess and where things go so, he wouldn’t let mess happen. Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Daisuke maybe? Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Once again, neither. Mafuyu wouldn’t allow it. It stressed him out so more than likely Daisuke wouldn’t do it anyway knowing that. Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither. Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Daisuke. Who mows the lawn? Daisuke. Who answers the telephone? Both. Daisuke more though. Who does the vacuuming? Both. Who does the groceries? I’m sure that’s something they like to do together. Who takes the longest to shower? Daisuke. Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Daisuke.

Miscellaneous:

Do they live in the city or in the country? City.  Do they enjoy their surroundings? They are both pretty comfortable. What’s their song? They don’t have one yet and we need to change that soon! What do they do when they’re away from each other? Mafuyu gets pouty more than likely. Daisuke sighs a lot. Where did they first meet? They went to the same high school. How did they first meet? They had classes together and just connected. Who spends the most money when out shopping? They are both pretty careful about money since neither of them are super well off. Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? If the other was alright, I think either of them would find it a little funny. More than likely the first thought would be worry though. Any mental issues? I’m sure they both have PTSD. Mafuyu also has minor OCD that stems from being on the spectrum. Who kills the spiders around the house? Daisuke Their favourite place? Anywhere that the other it. Do they have any fears for their future? Sure, over things like college, jobs, ad things like that. When it comes to each other I think they are pretty confident they found there person. Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? That seems like such a Daisuke thing to do. Who uses up all of the hot water? Daisuke and his long showers!  Who’s the tallest? Daisuke! Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both would do it but Daisuke more. Who wanders around in their underwear? Mafuyu! Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Mafuyu! What do they tease each other about? Cheesy stuff about being cute like sickening in love couples do. Who crushed first? I think technically Daisuke but, Mafuyu wasn’t far behind. Any alcohol or substance related problems? No. Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Maybe Mafuyu later in life because gigs at the bar and such. Who swears the most? Daisuke.

[the--sad--hatter]

Game Of Survival (Bucky x Reader)

FANDOM - MARVEL

PAIRING - BUCKY X FEM!READER 

WARNINGS - SMUT, VIOLENCE, ANGST, GRAPHIC BLOOD AND GORE, SWEARING, DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

DESCRIPTION -

“If you do bad things for a good reason, they’re still bad things.”

When a serial killer decides to save the world, who can she turn to for help? You went to the people who supposed to be the professionals, the experts, the heroes. You should have guessed they would try to save you as well. 

When you were a young girl, you were taught that love was a weakness, a failing of the human race, an anomaly in your biology designed to keep you weak and the only way to be strong was to train yourself to never succumb to it. It was a lesson you learned well, because you had no other choice. You were a creature incapable of love, incapable of loyalty. And on your eighteenth birthday, with a stolen gun from the top drawer of your father desk, you proved just how much you had learned. The weight of the gun in your hand was a small price to pay for the weight lifted from your soul when you pulled the trigger.

“Goodbye papa.”

 You never forgot the look in his eyes as you fired the gun, nor the way it felt when his blood splattered against the pristine walls. It was freedom, and it was divine.

 You never stopped pulling the trigger after that day. Your goal was righteous, your methods were not.

 For a scared child who cowed at the crack of a belt, you pulled the trigger.

 For a young girl ripped away from her home and stowed away in the dark, you pulled the trigger.

 For the young boy enticed away from his family and his veins poisoned and soul stained, you pulled the trigger.

 For the parents who would never hold their child again, you pulled the trigger.

 Your price was non-negotiable, a promise. To be better. Better than the one who had hurt them, better than you.

 But you weren’t a hero, no matter the good you had done for the world. Nobody ever called you a hero. They wouldn’t even call you a vigilante.

 They called you what you were.

 Serial killer.

 Drug lords, crime lords, kidnappers, sex traffickers, abusers, rapists, murderers…. They were your victims.

 Your methods were brutal, unmerciful, terrifying in their violence, downright sickening in the satisfaction you derived from the heinous acts.

 Nobody felt a shred of pity for those who died by your hand. Nobody ever outright condemned you for what you did, but you were just too far over the line for anybody to defend you out loud. But behind closed doors, in hushed voices, they would say it. Whenever the news showed another monster in the world, the whispers were there.

 “I hope The Executioner gets them.”

 Natasha Romanov had met you only once, and not a word had been spoken between you. She had pushed open the door, gun at the ready. Her mark, the man Fury had sent her to take in, dead or alive was lying on his bed. If it weren’t for the gash along his chest, from Adams apple to groin, he might have been sleeping. Moonlight streamed through the open window, glinting off of the silver blade you carefully wiped on the edge of the bedsheet. You turned your head to look at the Russian Spy, your red lips curled into a feral smirk as you raised a blood stained hand to your face, holding a finger to your lips. ‘Shhh’ you gestured, blood dripping from your fingers.

 Natasha nodded once, a short but firm tilt of her head. She knew who you were because she knew who he was. A despicable man who called himself a doctor, she had seen the pictures of his ‘patients’. Or what was left of them. You turned away from her and walked out onto the balcony, disappearing from view.

 Had that interaction happened a few years earlier or later, Natasha might have reacted differently. But it didn’t, and she let you walk away. Clint understood why she’d done it.

 Clint had met you as well. But he had spoken to you.

 You had a gun pressed to the temple of the woman Shield wanted to speak to regarding a string of unethical and dangerous experiments. Biological warfare, her victim was a small town in France. Hundreds dead, thousands more in danger.

 “Put the gun down.” He ordered.

 “Give me a reason.” You demanded coolly.

 He thought it over before he answered because your tone wasn’t mocking or challenging. It was genuine. If he gave you a reason, you would stand down.

 “She’s the only one we can get to in time to stop the next attack.” He said.

 You raised the gun and pointed it at the ceiling immediately.

 “Tell them what they want to know. They will put you in a cell, you’ll be safe from me.” You told her.

 You walked away, right past him as if you didn’t think he would stop you.

 “Wait…” He said.

 “No.” You replied firmly as you continued walking.

 “You can be better than this, you just proved that. Don’t you want to be a part of something bigger than this? To actually make a difference, a real one. What you’re doing, you don’t have to do alone.” He offered.

 “Not interested.” You said dismissively.

 “I can’t let you leave.” He warned you.

 “Then stop me.” You told him without turning around as you walked out of the door.

 He wanted to, but Fury told him to stand down. Clint had always wondered how you found your victims. Now he knew.

 Sometimes when Nick Fury wanted someone dead, executed, a file always found its way to you. You were smart enough to know Fury was manipulating you, he was smart enough to know you didn’t care.

 Contrary to what the rumours said about you, you weren’t a vengeful ghost, you weren’t a righteous demon or a dark avenging angel. You were human, an as such, you made mistakes. You were flesh and blood, and when you were cut, you bled, when you were shot, it fucking hurt.

 The steady drip of your blood splattering on the floor was loud in the otherwise silent room. It wasn’t a heavy enough flow for you to bother staunching it, you wouldn’t die from blood loss so pressing something against the wound would just be unnecessary effort and pain.

 Better to let the blood flow.  Words you lived by.

 But even lonely serial killer sometimes needed somebody to dig out the bullets and stitch them back together. Sometimes even someone who was used to working alone knew when they were in too deep.

 You didn’t bother turning around when the door whooshed open.

 “You.”

 “Hello Clint, nice to see you again.” You said.

 “Uh, who the hell is this and why is she bleeding all over my clean floors? You, creepy lady, stop bleeding on my floor.” Tony Stark instructed you.

 You turned around, smirking at various The Avengers who had all gathered to hunt down the intruder. You held up the flash drive you’d almost died obtaining and tossed it at them. Clint was the one who caught it in his fist.

 “Would somebody mind digging this bullet out, I’d do it myself but I’m about four and a half minutes away from dying so I don’t really have the time.” You said sarkily.

 “I’m waiting for a reason we aren’t cutting that time short, Clint?” Tony sassed back.

 “What’s on the flashdrive?” Clint asked you.

 “Seven and a half billion reasons not to let me die. Saving the world is your thing right? Or have I broken into the wrong place?” You asked them.

 You were betting you hadn’t. You were betting your life on it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~The Next Day~~~~~~~~~~

 When Bucky was a young man, he’d been what nowadays was referred to as a player. When the war came and he shipped out he was torn between wishing he had someone to go home to when it was over, and thankful that there was nobody he might leave behind. Then came the fall and he didn’t think about things like love anymore. When the hellicarriers went down and Bucky started to regain control of his own mind, there was no space in his fractured mind for something like love. When he was in Wakanda, relearning how to be human again, he realized that someone like him wasn’t ever going to be able to find love. Then Tony Stark reached out and brought the lost Avengers home and Stark’s forgiveness went a long way to Bucky being able to start to forgive himself, but still, there was something in him that just knew love was not in his future.

  Or so he thought.

  It happened in a split second, on an unremarkable day. He had just returned from a mission with Steve and Sam. He was weary, bruised and tired. All that melted away, forgotten when he heard her before he saw her. A loud, unrestrained laugh, brimming and overflowing with joy. Bucky’s feet led him towards the magical sound automatically, like a siren call. He turned the corner and it was like he’d only been seeing the world in muted colours his whole life without even realising it. She had her back to him and as she turned around, hair flying out behind her, he saw the wide smile across her face, the twinkle in her eyes and everything snapped into place with an earth-shattering finality.

 She was the one.

 “Buckinator, come meet this delightful creature.” Tony called, waving him over.

 Bucky didn’t hesitate, it wasn’t confidence, it was desperation to speak to her.

 “Hi.” He breathed out, in awe of the shining beauty who was now smiling right at him. For him.

 “Hello.” She said and her voice was just as melodic as her laugh.

 That was the day he fell in love.

“This is The Executioner, one of the most prolific Serial Killers in the world.” Tony announced. 

Her lips curled up at the edges and like a magic trick, she went from sunshine to sinful. 

Unfortunately for him, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

A/N - This is a teaser/tester. I kinda just want to write a story where the reader character is not the good guy, but she’s not the bad guy either. She’s in a very moral grey area, like Natasha would have been when Clint first found her. 

However, I don’t know if it’s something worth writing or should just be one of the ones that only lives inside my mind. 

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 34

Luke scurried into MCs radius of view in the mist. His fall must've hurt him so badly he needed a Celestial hospital. Rafael had never been known to turn anyone away.

Luke was definitely different with the black clothing and general change in spirit, but his eyes were still those of an annoyingly yappy dog.

Lucifer smirked down at the little demon, seeming to find mirth in the sight. Diavolo barely even acknowledged Luke's presence. MCs eyes were glued to Luke's hands, in one hand he held the horn Simon had used to call off the locusts all those months ago. In the other he held a suspiciously Celestial looking messenger bag.

0The brothers examined the newcomers like dogs sniffing around a new pet hamster. Many teased and complemented Luke's new demonic appearance. Luke pretended it didn't bother him that he'd fallen, but he wasn't very good at pretending.

Diavolo's presence was met with tense avoidance. On the one hand the brothers had abandoned Diavolo in the Devildom to die. On the other, Diavolo tried to sacrifice MC then showed up and almost outright murdered them. No matter how much they insist they're fine.

Acacia tried her best to comfort Luke, he had been through something traumatic. She didn't understand why the brothers were so callous when they knew better than anyone how much it hurt to fall from grace. Mammon gained a bit of sympathy after Acacia yelled at him for it, but he still insisted being a demon wasn't that bad.

0MC was fine. Raphael patched up what Diavolo had done so they were ok.

They were fine in the other way as well. They'd moved a lot and a lot had happened very quickly, but they were ok. They were relieved Acacia and Mammon had seemed to have formed a bond. Mammon was a bit flaky but he was a good guy and he'd make sure nothing happened to their sister.

They were ashamed to admit it, but sometimes they had fantasies of running away and having no responsibilities or people to rely on them. Every day Acacia grew more independent, and that fantasy became uncomfortably plausible.

They sighed in the sterile hospital room. The others were asleep one room over, they'd moved here to take a breather. Away from the planning and commotion. They idly folded the paper from the printer into paper cranes and stars. Coloring the sides to make small ornaments that will never be displayed. MC didn't make them to keep them after all.

0Lucifer watched their hands from the doorway. The shape of each finger, the curve of the wrist as they delicately folded the paper. He'd watched those talented, calloused hands like this countless times. No matter where they were or what was available they'd always find a way to make something.

Those hands could weave string and mix color. Use any material they could reach. Such hands belonging to a human were beyond understanding, God had not gifted them these hands, these were skills they'd crafted themself.

Those hands had managed to hold him, teach him, something no angel or deity could ever claim. They could do anything , and if they were to win this fight, he'd have to use that to his advantage.

"MC, a word?" He said softly so not to startle them. They put down the paper softly and turned to him expectantly, they'd probably already known he was there.

"Yes Lu?"

"I want to talk to you about your place in this operation."

"Oh so now I get to know how you scary demons do things?" They mocked lightly, Lucifer smiled.

"Well, we are nothing if not mindful of our faults…" he trailed off. "MC, I have a mission for you. Something I can only trust you with." This peaked their interest.

"Oh?"

"Yes...I need you to research the human's sins." He said. MC was confused for a moment. Then they understood.

"You need to regain your former strength." Lucifer nodded, silently praising their understanding.

"I think understanding humans is the best chance we have to reverse the damage Michael has done. I can only trust you with this."

"Why not a brother?" They raised an eyebrow. Lucifer ran an ungloved hand through his meticulous hair.

"My brothers are a lot of things, but understanding is not among them. You are a human, these are your people." MC looked down in thought.

"My people…"

"Mammon, Beel, and Asmo are too easily distracted. Belphie and Satan resent me too much to leave a battle on my orders, and Levi's strength is needed here."

"What about Acacia?" They shot. Lucifer's lip curled back almost imperceptibly.

"If you believe she can be trusted with this then by all means enlist her help. But I want you to be in charge of this, it is vital." He cupped MCs face in his hands. Their skin was flower petals against his exposed hands. "Tell me you will."

MC forgot to answer when Lucifer looked at them like that, like one might look at the night sky. Finally they found their tongue.

"Of course."

0MC watched Lucifer's breathing slow until it steadied in sleep. They would not stay to see him wake. They tiptoed through the room, gathering their things and packing them into their jacket pockets.

Life had given them responsibilities, one to their mother to be the talented child she wanted. One to Acacia, to help her escape and teach her she was not lesser because of the things that witch had said. One to the brothers, to show them how to get along and remind them to love each other. One to Lucifer, to understand and forgive his broken words, broken actions.

Now Lucifer had given them a responsibility. He had given them the biggest responsibility, an impossible task to solve an impossible problem. Swaying the human collective was something that happened by chance, less reliable than a lightning strike.

They sometimes had fantasies of running away.

Shaking their head to clear it they shoved the rest of their provisions in their coat. They slipped on their crocs and made their way towards the door.

Acacia would be fine, she was with Mammon.

"MC?" A small voice interrupted their flight. Looking back briefly, a pair of curious blue eyes met theirs.

"Luke, go back to sleep." They placated. But he just tucked his fluffy tail between his legs.

"Where are you going at this hour?"

"Out"

"Will you come back?"

MC had to pause, they didn't want to say too much, but they couldn't just let the poor kid worry.

"Sure"

Luke didn't look convinced, but that wasn't MCs problem. They left without another word.

0When Lucifer woke the next morning MC was not beside him. The brief moment of panic was quelled by the thought that they had just gotten an early start on their assignment.

How oddly diligent for one who always wakes after Lucifer. He was not a morning demon after all. He'd probably find them in a few minutes.

20 minutes passed.

Ok obviously MC had left the hospital, it was an incredibly stupid idea but it may be their only way to research the situation. He would scold them upon their return, but ultimately he had to admire their guts. Shouldn't be more than a few hours.

He waited until nightfall.

Something was horribly wrong. They were trapped or captured or worse. He was pacing back and forth in the small room. If they were in trouble he had to go save them, but if they weren't he could give them away. His thoughts went in these circles as he wrestled with his indecisiveness.

Logic, he needed to find the logic.

"Satan!" He called his most analytical brother to help him sort out his dilemma.

"Yes?" He swung into the room at his brother's call. The two now on much better terms.

"MCs gone."

Lucifer told Satan everything, the assignment and how long he'd waited and how he couldn't follow them. Satan sat in thought for a moment.

"It must've been Michael!" Lucifer wanted to scream at the thought of his human in the hands of that obsessive maniac.

"No…" Satan said slowly. "Michael would've come to gloat about it by now, he's almost as proud as you." Lucifer had to agree, and it made his heart beat steady slightly. "It's more likely they were caught by a mouthy cherubim and they're being punished by Him as we speak.

Lucifer's panic broke out once more.

"How can you say that?!"

"What? You wanted analysis. Besides, if MC had been caught by Him then He would've found us by now too." Satan raised his hands in a calming gesture. Lucifer sat down.

"So..? Where are they?" Lucifer asked so quietly Satan almost missed it.

"Have you considered…" he started before thinking better of it.

"What?"

"No it's nothing"

"Satan tell me" Lucifer growled, Satan gulped against his will and immediately felt himself cringe at it.

"I was saying, have you considered they just... ditched us?" He said it cautiously. Lucifer took a second before answering.

"You mean...you accuse them of running away?" His tone was like ice. Satan backed up a step.

"Well I mean– this isn't exactly a human scene Lucifer. You can't actually expect them to be ok with a Celestial battle. And then you put pressure on them on top of that." He was babbling as Lucifer stood slowly.

Had he been too hard on MC? Had he really pressured them into leaving? The thought sickened him, but not because he thought it was true, because he knew it couldn't be.

"No" he said simply, no malice in his tone.

"I know you don't–"

"Satan I'm not mad and I'm not in denial." He already knew what accusations his brother would come up with. He silenced them immediately. "I'm… I trust MC. They told me they could do this and they wouldn't lie just to make me feel better." His tone was determined, it left no room for argument.

They would be back, no part of him doubted it.

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Part Twelve

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: trigger warnings for a lot of graphic torture and mentions of past abuse

Nik was patting his hair dry when he heard the doorbell ring through the house. He highly doubted Cameron was going to get it, so he grabbed his shirt and started towards the door, himself. The bell kept ringing until he threw the door open, mid pull-down of his shirt. He blinked at Nate standing there next to someone bleeding profusely. “Uh. What’s this?”

Nate looked him over carefully, his face neutral enough Nik arched a brow. “At least you’re wearing pants,” he muttered. He shoved the bleeding male at him. “A mating present.”

Nik looked at the male who had fallen to the ground. He grimaced and stepped back before he coughed blood on Nik’s feet. “We haven’t… mated,” Nik said, lamely, unsure how to admit that Cameron had absolutely no interest in claiming him. Nate seemed umoved, but just shrugged. “Who’s this.”

“Remiel.”

Nik blinked again. And looked down at the bleeding angel with renewed interest. “What all did you do to him?”

“Branding, castration and dewinging,” Nate said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Whatever happens now is up to you and him.” Nik looked up at his brother, who was looking Nik over carefully; he wondered if he was looking for bruises or something- as if Nik weren’t capable of taking care of himself. “Be safe, Nik.”

“You too,” he said, tightly. He knelt down and looked at Remiel when Nate left them in the doorway. When the bastard made the mistake of looking up at Nik, Nik punched him in the face hard enough he heard his jaw fracture. “Don’t look at me,” Nik said, disgusted. “You’re lucky you still have eyes.” For now, anyways.

Remiel coughed and spat golden blood on the marble flooring. “Weren’t you taught to not strike your betters?”

Nik bit back his growl and just grabbed him by his bloodsoaked hair and dragged him with him down the hall. “Cameron! We have a guest!” Remiel scrambled to try to get Nik to release him, but his iron grip held true. He dropped Remiel at the end of the hall. “Run and I’ll cut you off at the tendons.”

He stepped over his body and went into the bedroom to see Cameron slowly buttoning up his shirt. “Don’t bother,” Nik said. “It’ll just get covered in blood.”

Cameron turned his head slightly. “Oh. It’s that kind of guest.” He shrugged off his shirt and put it on the bed neatly. “Where is he.”

“Hallway,” Nik said, following Cam out the room. Cameron’s face twisted in disdain at the golden blood streaking his spotless floors. “He arrived. Ah. Damaged,” Nik explained. “I’m guessing the angels took their piece of him first.”

“Hmm.” They rounded the corner to see Remiel hadn’t moved from the spot that Nik had dropped him at. Cameron lifted his head with the toe of his shoe. Remiel’s bloodshot green eyes were laced with pain, but Cameron was looking at the branding still bright and ugly between Remiel’s brows. “They actually branded you as a traitor.”

“I didn’t betray anything,” Remiel ground out. “I didn’t do anything.”

Whatever Cameron was thinking, it made him smile. And laugh. “You actually believe that,” he said, with vague amusement. Blood seeped down Remiel’s temple. “Bleed on my shoes and I’ll make you lick them clean. Nik, grab him.”

Cameron kicked him in the throat before starting down the hall, rightly assuming Nik would follow him. Nik grabbed Remiel by his hair, dragging him across the house and ignored his wheezed pain as he took them down the stairs to the concrete, sound proof room in the basement; Adrien’s former workroom was exactly like this. It was cold enough Nik felt goosebumps rise on his skin. He could only imagine how Remiel and Cameron felt with their open wounds in this cold.

Nik threw him in the bolted chair in the middle of the room while Cameron leaned against the wall, bored, waiting for him to fasten Remiel in place. Remiel’s head lolled back against the chair as he looked past Nik’s shoulder at Cameron. “I’m guessing by the welcome you’re the demon Levant decided to defile himself with,” he wheezed. “At least this time it was with an alpha.”

He knew Cameron well enough to know his face didn’t even move. “Say his name again and your tongue gets cut out early. Nik?”

“Finished,” he said, finishing the fastens. He stepped back and tilted his head, eyeing his handiwork. “Should probably rune him,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Magic and all that.”

“Then do it,” Cameron said lazily.

Nik went for the tools on the bare wooden table at the wall and chose a long, thin blade before returning to Remiel. He could hear Remiel grinding his teeth as Nik began carving the rune into his forearm, but Remiel wasn’t looking at new wound, or the fresh blood slipping down his arm. He was looking at the still healing bites at Nik’s neck and shoulders. Only when Nik met those green eyes, did Remiel drawl to Cameron, “Is this how you treat all your omegas? I’d be worried about how you treat mine, but then again, he always was a kinky little slut.”

Cameron snorted when Nik rose a brow. “I guess that answers how vanilla you are. No wonder why Lev dumped you.”

Remiel’s small smile made Nik’s skin crawl. “Oh, he never once complained about his time in my bed.”

“It’s Lev,” Cameron said, dryly. Nik couldn't tell if Cam were at all bothered by the way Remiel said that. “He can’t complain without bursting into tears. So I’d hold very, very little weight in any skill you may think you have.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” Remiel said. “But do me a favor. Ask him some time.”

Nik dug his nails in Remiel’s jaw and made him look at him. “See, that would require actually caring or giving Lev the option to think about you. Neither of those things are going to happen. You are going to die- slowly- and Lev is going to wash his hands of you.”

Remiel’s smile didn’t waver. “You will never get me out of that omega’s head. Dead or not,” he said, “he will always be mine, and he knows it. Mine to claim, mine to keep, mine to break, if I so choose.”

Cameron pushed off the wall and came up to him. He took Remiel’s jaw in his long slender fingers and jerked so he was looking up at Cameron. Nik heard something in Remiel’s neck make a sickening pop and he waited for Cameron to say something, but Cameron’s mouth just tugged into a horrifying smile. Cameron sunk his teeth down in Remiel’s carotid, holding him so tight that Remiel could barely jerk despite the muscles straining in Remiel’s body.

When Cameron pulled back, Nik knew he purposefully tore through Remiel’s throat. Golden blood rushed down Remiel’s already battered chest and Cameron’s eyes were crinkled as he wiped the blood from his mouth. “Now, what are you afraid of?”

---

A loud thumping sound dragged Lev out of sleep. He woke slowly despite this, nuzzling his face into the pillow that still held Cameron’s scent, however faint it was. He wished the knocking would stop. Exhaustion dragged at him relentlessly.

Just as relentlessly as whoever was knocking on the door.

Lev groaned softly. He crawled out of his little den, dragging a loose blanket with him. Each step away from the den had his omega whining, louder and louder, but he opened the door. The sentries were there, stiff as boards.

“It’s dinnertime.”

Lev blinked at them. The words made sense. Sort of. All he could think to say though, was, “I was sleeping.”

“Clearly,” the sentry said, unmoved. “You still need to eat.”

After blinking at them again, Lev tightened his hold on the blanket. “I’d rather sleep.” He felt restless out of the little fort he’d built himself, too exposed.

“Eat,” the closest sentry bit out.

Lev flinched at the sharp tone, his gaze dropping. “Spaghetti?” He finally said, rather than keep aggravating them.

“Are you asking or telling?”

Once again Lev flinched, even if he didn’t need to. “I- asking? I’m- asking if- can you order me some spaghetti?” So I can go back to sleep.

That seemed to be good enough. Lev fled back to his little den while they ordered his dinner, burrowing under the pillows until he felt safe, face buried in the pillow with Cameron’s scent until his omega settled and he could breathe.

When the food arrived Lev crawled back out without complaint. Rather than get spaghetti anywhere on the bed or in his den, Lev settled on the floor. The faster he ate, the faster he could go to sleep. He needed it; he didn’t have a good explanation for why he was so tired, but he was and the longer he was awake, the more demanding his omega was that he curl back up and rest.

----

Nik watched Cameron with a morbid fascination as Cameron coolly gazed at Remiel convulsing and shaking and screaming, a slight smile gracing his face. He had no idea what Cameron was doing- he hadn’t even touched him yet- except for that bite.

“What are you doing to him?” Nik couldn’t help but ask.

Cameron’s smile widened almost imperceptibly. “Everything.” Nik’s brows shot up and he looked back at Remiel. “He sees what I want him to see, feels what I want him to feel. And I want him to see and feel… everything.”

Nik felt a laugh startle out of him. “Well. Damn.” Nik thought about the straight venom he had given Agra, but with Cameron attached to it, manipulating it and controlling it…. If there was anything to gain from this, Nik thought, admiringly, it was to not get on Cam’s bad side.

Cameron remained still while Nik went around him to the work table against the wall. He caught sight of Cameron’s back muscles tensed, pale skin bruised Nik swore down to the bone. But he wasn’t suicidal enough to call him out on it. Probably why up until now Cameron made him to the leg work.

Nik shook the thought off and steeled his attention to the work bench. He looked at the long line of tools- of weapons. He had seen these same tools for years because of Adrien, because of his father. Death was their family’s trade and he was meant to be Death’s disciple.

He picked a thin, surgical knife meant for deliberate carving of flesh and went back to kneel in front of Remiel. Nik sliced through his tendons with a flick of his wrist, golden blood seeping and pooling on the stone floor almost instantly. Remiel’s scream somehow got louder and more hoarse at the same time. Nik got back up swiftly. “He’s not going anywhere,” Nik said, surveying the bloody blade in his hand. “Not that he was going anywhere anyways.”

Cameron’s mouth curled into a slanted smile, eyes still resting on Remiel’s face. “No,” he agreed. “He wasn’t.”

Cameron had to have relinquished control over him because Remiel’s screams died down and he was gulping in air. Remiel’s wrists were worn raw and were bleeding by the time his head lolled back against the chair.

“What did you do?” he rasped.

“A little slow, are you?” Nik asked.

Cameron snorted.

Remiel’s face contorted in pain when he tried to move. Nik felt himself smile as realization slacked his face. “Running into issues?” Nik asked.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Cameron huffed an amused laugh. Nik said, “Thanks, I try.”

Cameron rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“All this for one slutty omega,” Remiel said, distastefully.

Cameron flicked his cool gaze back to Remiel. “I don’t like my things touched,” he said, smoothly. A shiver ran down Nik’s spine at the words. Cameron didn’t seem affected by Remiel’s words, he certainly didn’t seem affected by the way Remiel turned to look at him.

“He’s not yours,” Remiel said, “and he never will be.”

Cameron’s smile widened. “Is that right?”

Remiel’s smile was pained. “He knows who he belongs to.”

“You’re disgusting,” Nik frowned.

Cameron didn’t even blink. But despite that smile still curved on his face, his eyes were completely empty. “Oh I’m sure,” Cameron said. “And it’s not you.” His eyes lowered to Remiel’s crotch. “Definitely not you. Alphas who try to force a bond clearly are not endowed.”

Nik wheezed a laugh. “Damn.”

Remiel bared his teeth and it only made Cameron chuckle. “Is that supposed to frighten me? Those little pointy teeth you angels insist are fangs. Pathetic.”

Ouch. Nik tongued his own… fangs. Well, what else am I supposed to call them, Nik thought, crossly. But he schooled his face into indifference. When Remiel didn’t have a retort, Nik said, “What? Demon got your tongue?”

“I don’t have anything to prove.”

“Clearly you thought you did,” Cameron said. “Why else would you attack an omega in his own house?”

“I think he just is insecure,” Nik said, to him. “Clearly he has to prove he’s manly.”

“Sometimes he needs to know his place,” Remiel bit out. “Angels dont let demons fuck them; respectable ones anyway.”

Nik gasped. “Are you saying I’m not respectable? Cam did you hear that?”

Cameron ignored him. “I think you’re done speaking,” he said, turning around and going back to the work bench. “Nik, start the fire.”

Nik went to the fireplace in the corner of the room. There were already logs in it, and it was easy to get the fire going. Cameron pulled on a set of gloves and grabbed the long handled pliers. Cameron warmed the pliers red hot before reappearing in front of Remiel. Remiel was still smiling up at him. “Did I hit a nerve?” he asked. “Say something you don’t like to hear? You’re not the first demon he spread his legs for.”

“You mistake me,” Cameron said. “I’m a whore. Do you think I care who he has or has not slept with? I can guarantee you I have slept with far more, and far worse people than Levant and Nik have put together. I am just tired of you wasting my time trying and failing to get under my skin.”

“And you think you have the right to put your cock in my omega?”

Cameron smiled wide enough, Nik could see both sets of fangs. “I can put my cock in damn well anyone I want,” he said, gripping Remiel’s bruised jaw with his free hand. “It’s not Lev’s fault that he wanted fucked by someone who actually knew what they were doing.”

Remiel tried jerking backwards when Cameron wrenched his jaw open. Remiel’s chest was rising and falling quickly, like a hummingbird was beating against his ribs, when Cameron deftly slipped the pliers in Remiel’s mouth, effectively ignoring the piercing scream tearing from Remiel’s throat as he removed his tongue. And then tossed it into the fireplace.

“Go get Sazra before he bleeds to death,” Cameron said, smoothly, wiping the blood from his hands on a pristine white rag.

When Nik came back with the healer, Cameron was leaned against the wall, watching Remiel wheeze and choke on his blood, boredom etched on his handsome face. Remiel’s skin was ashen and it was clear he was close to death. Cameron didn’t bother looking at her. “Heal him.”

---

Lev stared at his den. That wasn’t... right. It wasn’t right. With an impatient yank, he pulled the blankets down. He threw them on the bed, and then gathered up an armful of pillows. What he needed was a nest. Not a den. A big one. Plenty of room. He scooted around the bed, pushing pillows into place. Definitely better than a den. As open as it was, it felt... safe.

He spent at least ten minutes fluffing pillows and making sure they were exactly where they should be. Once everything was perfect, he crawled into bed, curling immediately around the pillow Cameron’s scent was on. He hated it was so faint, but what could he do about that?

He almost went right back to sleep, but it was damn close to lunch, and so he dragged himself back out of bed long enough to order a sandwich, by himself even. Better than waiting for the sentries to bang on the door. It was easier than he expected, after having watched the sentries do it for days. He closed his eyes, at least until the food arrived.

This time he ate it in the nest he’d built, and then immediately burrowed under a blanket, absently picking clothes pins off as he did. Once they were gone, he tried to settle again, but it wasn’t long before he kicked the blankets off. And then his pants. He was restless, and as sleepy as he was, he couldn't quite get comfortable.

He groaned unhappily, and pressed his face into the pillow. Whatever the hotel had served him this time left him feeling off. Dull cramps low in his abdomen distracted him from his sleep, left him even more wiggly than before.

He wished Cameron and Nik were here. Even if they couldn’t have done anything to make his body stop throwing a fit, he missed them terribly. The nest was so empty without them. Lev could reach across the bed and not really reach the other side. Instead of proving this to himself he curled even tighter, humming softly. They’d be back soon. Eventually. Cameron said he was. When he could.

Lev just hoped it was soon. He’d run out of days to count down, and now there was just the waiting.

---

When Sazra was gone, Cameron looked back to Remiel. He still looked like shit, but he wasn’t dying anymore. Just in complete agony from the healing. Cameron’s mouth curved into a slight smile. Nik was grinning with amusement. “You know,” he mused. “I have never been healed by a demon. Stars, it looks like it hurts like a bitch.”

“Clearly,” Cameron said, dryly. “Angels aren’t equipped to handle the kind of healing demons endure.” Nik cut him an irritated look. “Did I offend?”

NIk rolled his eyes back to Remiel. “See what I have to put up with? If he wasn't so hot I’d have dumped his ass months ago. He’s so lucky I’m so conceited and measure my self worth in orgasms.”

“Nikolas,” Cameron reprimanded in a bored voice. “Shut up.”

Nik’s mouth snapped shut obediently and he grimaced, but he stopped talking. He rocked on his heels for a moment before going back to the work bench, getting tools before Cameron told him to. When he came back, Cameron was already in front of Remiel, surveying the angel’s hands.

Fair skinned, scar flecked and calloused; they belonged to a trained warrior. A trained warrior who had preyed on a defenseless omega. Cameron wordlessly held out a hand for the tools, Remiel watching him in heavy, forced silence, chest rising and falling heavily, pain laced in every breath.

Cameron looked between the hands before going to the right hand. “Probably use this one the most,” Cameron said, “Am I right?”

Remiel hissed, trying and failing to jerk back, his wrists rubbing raw and bleeding against the shackles on his wrists. Cameron cocked his head, and took the hammer from Nik, waiting for Nik to stretch out Remiel’s fingers. Nik said, “Make this more difficult for me, and I will make it ten times more difficult for you.”

Remiel bared his teeth and tried keeping his hands fisted. Nik sighed loudly. “Dios Mios,” he muttered, pulling back his fist and punched Remiel in the jaw, instantly bruising the skin down to the bone, a dark bruise welling. “Making my life difficult, is your choice, then.”

Remiel looked at Nik with pure loathing, but there was a dark glint in Nik’s eyes. “Don’t like being on the other end, do you?” It took Remiel a moment to understand Nik’s meaning, and there was an arrogant dismissive look on his face. Nik said, “You hit omegas, omegas hit you. Full circle. Kinda Poetic.” He wrenched Remiel’s fingers out from their clenched fist.

Cameron brought the hammer down on his hand as hard and as quick as he could before the angel could ball his fingers up. Remiel’s choked screams covered the sound of bones shattering, but did nothing for the blood breaking through his skin.

Cameron hummed. “Should I cut them off or dig the bones out?” he mused to himself. Remiel glowered at him, forced tears of pain sliding down his face. He smiled. “Dig them out it is.”

He took the scalpel from Nik’s extended hand and cut into the bleeding flesh with long, practiced fingers along the shattered bones, before pulling the bones out one by one with a small set of tweezers. Remiel hissed when Cameron dug in deep, sinking the needle nose down, pulling out the bones in the tips of his fingers.

Remiel tried thrashing in his seat, but Nik went around the chair, strong hands holding him back flush against the chair. Leaning down to the shell of Remiel’s ear, Nik whispered, “You okay? Looks like that hurts.”

Remiel bared his teeth at him, trying to growl, even if it came out half hearted. Nik snorted and patted his cheek, sympathetically. “Can’t believe you’re tired already. We’re not even halfway done.” Remiel’s pained, withering glare only made Nik smile brightly. “Was it something I said?”

When Remiel tried jerking his head away, Nik only held on tighter. He leaned forward, black and blue hair glinting in the dull light. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Cameron moved onto the second hand while Nik kept needling him. Remiel choked out a pained groan when Cameron brought the hammer down on his hand, his fingers, his wrist. The blood on Cameron’s skin and the pain lacing his back was starting to grate on his nerves, but he shoved both of the sensations into a box in the back of his mind. He needed to do this first. Then he could worry about his skin crawling.

Cameron went to work picking the bones out, one by one with as minimal blood on his skin as he could. Blood was still drenching his floor, however. It was going to take him a while to get it out before they went to get Lev. When the bones were all removed, Cameron took a step back to look at his handiwork. He debated getting on his knees to wrench apart Remiel’s kneecaps, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get back up. “Nik, knees.”

Nik looked over his shoulder at Cameron, and it took him a moment to understand, but he let go of Remiel’s face and went back to the workbench. He grabbed a set of pliers before coming back to take the extended hammer in Cameron’s hand before lowering to the ground in front of Remiel. Nik swung once, completely shattering Remiel’s kneecap in one blow. Remiel coughed so hard, blood flecked his lips. Cameron’s mouth tugged.

Nik flashed an impish grin before dutifully returning to removing bones. Remiel’s head was lolled against the back of the chair as he wheezed, too tired to be able to scream anymore. Blood spilled down Remiel’s leg as he finished removing the last bits of knee. He moved onto the second one, swinging the hammer and shattering Remiel’s kneecap, before digging each bone shard out. When he was finished, Nik stood in one graceful move, wiping the blood off his jaw with his bare wrist. “Anything else?” Nik asked, looking scrutinizingly at Remiel. “He’s too tuckered out to be much fun anymore.”

Cameron considered that before reaching into his pocket with blood crusted fingers to pull out his phone. It had been six hours since coming down here. “Get the jug and fill it with salt water,” Cameron said. “Let’s finish this.”

Nik flicked him a considering look before going to do as ordered. Cameron tilted Remiel’s head to the side before biting down on Remiel’s carotid as hard as he could. Instinct told him his venom was going to start working through the angel’s bloodstream soon. When Nik came back with the jug, Cameorn wrenched Remiel’s jaw open while Nik poured water down his throat.

When the water was gone, Cameron went back to the work bench and selected a small, thin knife before going back. Remiel stared unseeingly, chest rising and falling rapidly- Cameron could almost taste the sheer fear in his blood. Cameron gripped Remiel’s shoulder, held him back and pressed the knife below his naval and sliced two inches before pulling back. “We’re done,” he told Nik. “He can bleed to death.”

Let him choke on his blood, Cameron thought, starting for the stairs. I need a shower.

Nik was on his heel, peeling out of his blood soaked shirt. “Date night is always fun,” he observed, grimly.

Cameron snorted, ignoring the pain shooting through his back at each step. “We don’t go on dates.”

“Then what was that?”

“A hobby.”

Nik opened and closed his mouth before making a ‘you have a point’ face. They both started for the bathroom and Nik started the tub while Cameron painstakingly got his pants off. All he really wanted to do was get this damned blood off himself and sleep like the dead. Nik got in the tub, but Cameron went for the shower. It’d be easier to get it off, and Nik could have the tub to himself.

Cameron scrubbed himself raw, getting the blood off his skin. But he scrubbed even harder, he couldn’t get the ghost of the feeling of it off his skin. Cameron was in the shower for what had to be at least forty-five minutes before the water ran cold and forced him out of the water. Nik was sitting on the edge of the tub, already dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and his hair dry. He was looking Cameron over, but not….

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

Nik shook his head. “Nothing.”

Cameron debated calling him out on it before just going to his room. He wasn’t in the mood to play twenty questions with the angel. Cameron’s back protested as he collapsed onto the bed. When he got tired of Nik staring at the bed, hesitating, Cameron mumbled into the pillow. “Just get on the damn bed.”

Nik blurted out, “Your back-”

“It’s fine,” Cameron said, irritably. “Sleep or leave.”

Nik hesitated only for a moment longer before carefully getting on the bed with him. He could feel Nik scooting as close to him as he could, but kept enough distance that he wasn’t in biting range. Cameron had his eyes closed, moments from passing out completely when he heard Nik say, “Get some sleep, Cam.”

@solangelo3088 @idreamonpaper @livvywrites @incandescent-creativity @halstudies

[loyalflutist]

Scarlet Carnation - Prologue (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Words: 7,084 Collaboration with @datsexykiwi Summary:  “Ignorance is bliss...when you know too much, you will only face worse dilemmas of your lifetime”

Byleth is thrust into a difficult position. After experiencing a strange dream, the professor eventually finds herself switching between the two worlds with two very different Edelgards. Though they contrast from each other, Byleth could not help but cherish them... as they do for her. 

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written for Edeleth, and this is a collaboration I’m grateful to have with the lovely Kate, also known as @datsexykiwi . As someone who I’ve known for years, she’s someone I place great faith in her writing and trust in the ideas we cook up together. Hope you all enjoy this series! I really enjoyed writing it! :) 

Kate’s A/N: Enjoy the max of angst and fluff. Have fun along with us. ;) 

---

It was hot.

A young woman’s forehead gleam under the relentless sun, sweat dripping from her features. Her breaths were as fast as it could come and go. The dark, light armor that should have served as protection over her academic attire was in lieu of roasting her alive. She licked her cracked, bottom lip; a tinge of metal swept over her taste buds.

It was unbearably hot.

Loud, metallic screeches, horses neighing, and screams of all kinds filled the blurry background. There were a variety of sounds that would have driven out any ordinary person. This was something she was used to.

She looked down at her feet. A pool of blood stained the rocky pavement that belongs to the monastery; her metal combat boots were deep in the puddle. Evaporation in this humid and sweltering heat should have occurred in less than a few minutes. However, the ground remained moist as its source oozed plenty of crimson from his injuries. The Sword of Creator was lodged deep into the nameless soldier’s ribcage, its jagged edges slicing through all three germ layers. His facial expressions were, thankfully, overshadowed by his large steel helmet.

“...”

Byleth blinked. It had dawned upon her that she was still gripping ahold of the terrifying relic. Then, with a grunt, the older woman heard a sickening slick while removing her sword. The blade was coated in a deep shade of red. Unfortunately, it didn’t only derive from the deceased warrior. She slowed her respiration rate, her hues shifted upward at the battlefield.

Shadows shaped like fighters of all sizes and shapes ran at each other. When they collided, a black mist would swirl around as if they were dancing to the tune of death. Sparks and elemental spells would erupt from the visual attraction. Then, they would separate. They became still. This stillness would only last for a couple of seconds, however. One would showcase a noticeable trait of losing the blackness that enveloped their figures. Their identity would become public as they accept their demise.

This was surreal. Byleth’s knuckles became white as her aching limbs screamed for mercy. She can’t seem to recall her reason for being here. No matter how much the ex-mercenary mentally groveled, her brain would only pull up blanks. Still, there was one thing she was sure of: she had to be here in this battle.

“tɾo faða noi dɔn joɹhan dorja”

“...”

Archaic language thumped her eardrums. Clearly, it was something Byleth didn’t comprehend. She exhaled. The professor eventually raised her weapon once more as three more shadows crept towards her from the distance; each of them possesses one of the three shadow-cloaked weapons: a sword, a lance, and an axe. She squeezed the relic’s handle.

‘ Is this a dream? ’

It has to be. Not only were there supernatural elements that she could not coherently wrap her head around, but she was also the only person who retained her physical appearance. But it was vivid. The pain that singed from the sweats’ contact with her minor cuts, the wild beating of her heart against her chest plate, the aches that resonated in her worn muscles, and the fatigue that shrouded over her consciousness was a bit too realistic.

‘ Is this really a dream? ’

Alas, Byleth left it at that. The three unwelcome guests soon closed their distance. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled. When she exhaled, her eyelids snapped open and she flicked her wrist. Rocky debris kicked up in the air as she launched herself at the three enemies. The blade was reeled behind her back, her glare prominent.

“It’s over!”

The shadows retaliated. The lancer thrust their spearhead at her chest, the axe-wielder pulled back both arms to deliver a slamming blow, and the sword-user horizontally swiped at the professor.

Byleth pivot her feet. She sucked in her stomach and twisted her upper body. It was a fleeting moment for the spear’s tip to brush up on her heated armor. A battle cry was heard from her direction as she, with all her might, swung her weapon.

The Sword of Creator is a powerful tool during times of conflict. Parts of the blade broke apart into small chunks. It began to emit a dull glow as its razor-like edges flung outward at her enemies. They were unable to block the devastating assault. A single swing produced a multitude of traumas to their body. Splatters of red painted Byleth’s cheek. One by one, the black shell vanished without a trace as they collapsed onto the new puddle.

“...”

She lurched forward. Byleth quickly shoved her foot in front of her to prevent a fall. The young teacher was hunched over, panting; her vision was fading in and out like strobe lights. This is terribly exhausting. She slammed the relic onto the cracked pavement. Using it as support, the neon green-haired dryly swallowed and raised her head.

“...?”

There was another shadow from a few meters. Compared to most others that fill the disheveled landscape, this individual was shorter than them. A monstrous axe slashed through their existence like a hot knife through butter. Each strike brought out more fluids from their victims; dark substances flung in the air in slow motion. It was done with complete elegance and ease. This should have rung plenty of alarm bells in her head. No one should have possessed the strength to make bloodshed a visual treat. They’re a monster; a beast that should be put down. Instead, Byleth could not help but be in awe of the enigmatic person.

She could sense danger emitting from the short fighter. Fortunately, her instincts scream that the teacher has nothing to worry about. Whether Byleth’s guts are being churlish or not with her life is up for speculation. The older woman continued to observe the ephemeral bloody dance.

Just who is this shadow?

“...Huh?”

There was another dark figure spotted in Byleth’s peripheral sight. Sweat continued to fall from her face as her eyes were fixated on the new arrival. When her gaze slowly traced the shadow’s objective, her blood froze.

“?!”

Murderous beauty may have been bestowed to the shadow, but it did not prevent an unfortunate ending. Newfound energy burst through four of her limbs. The ex-mercenary scrambled towards the axe-wielder. Byleth was still unable to grasp ahold of her action’s purpose. But, just like her instincts told her about the unforgiving battle, she too had to protect this shadow.

‘ The Divine Pulse! ’

It was all for naught. Regardless of the amount of concentration she emphasized on the potent skill, not a speck of dust reversed to its original position on the concrete slab. Everything was still progressing forward.

‘ Why is it not working?! ’

There was no time.

She had no choice.

She needed to--

Byleth shoved the shadow out of the way. This threw the person off balance as their entire body stumbled sideways. Facial features were impossible to read, but the teacher could have sworn she saw a flicker of a familiar identity. She widened her eyes. The fighter extended her unoccupied hand out towards the supernatural.

There was a blunt thud pressed into her back. Then, the dull aches that plagued her tightened muscles ramped up to excruciating pain that ripped through her entire being. Byleth felt as if her spine had exploded! Just when this searing agony felt as if it could get any worse, it immediately dissipated… just like her consciousness.

< ---- > 

“---!!”

She gasped and woke up abruptly from her bed. That was certainly a sudden transition from a bloody battle to being in a cozy bed within a tranquil atmosphere. She placed her hand onto her shoulder, remembering that pain against her back. It felt too real that she actually thought she’s dead. She wondered why would she have such a bizarre dream like that. Is it a premonition? Is it just irrational thoughts playing tricks on her dream?

“What a nightmare to have… ”

It’s about time to get up from bed towards her morning class. It’s another day she’ll be instructing the Black Eagles classroom. However, Byleth couldn’t shake the thought away about the dream she had recently. The thing is, those dreams started with being so vague she could barely remember any details of it aside from the fact she’s dreaming. Eventually, she started seeing and remembering more details as everything started to feel real. Sometimes, she would even be aware of what was happening but absolutely have no control over what was happening. She sighed and wondered what was this all about until she heard her green-haired friend speaking inside her mind.

‘ Nightmare again? ’

“...It has been so frequently. I’m starting to feel like I’m sleep deprived.”

‘Too bad I couldn’t see the dream itself, but I can tell you looked uncomfortable in your sleep.’

“...”

Byleth sighed before she changed into her signature black outfit look and lace stockings. She left her room and hid her exhaustion under her poker face like usual. She’s not that expressive according to Jeralt and her students that have been with her for a couple of weeks. She headed to her class to begin the training.

Today’s lesson plan was to teach her fellow students how to balance properly as an essential skill in the battle.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a swordsman or not. Balance is an essential skill that everyone must understand how to use it. Or else, you’ll simply put yourself at a disadvantage unnecessarily. It is both a defensive and offensive skill.”

She demonstrated how to lower the center of gravity, gripping onto the ground firmly with one’s toes. Byleth demonstrated simple actions that allowed her students to understand it without much complexity. It is one of the most difficult basics that took her years to grasp it.

“You can’t always rely on brute force. When you are on the battlefield, what determines the victor is not who’s physically stronger, but who knows how to utilize their body’s strengths better. The ladies will have an advantage due to the fact that they naturally have a lower center of gravity than men. Simple basics, but a difficult mastery.”

Byleth walked up to the dummy made from bamboo. She used the training sword and showed her students its sharpness; it wasn’t that great. It could barely cut through one. However, she will use that same blade to cut through a pack of 3 bamboo stalks in a single strike. All of the members of Black Eagles watched attentively before the young professor did not use any brute force to cut, but was able to slice through all the stalks with a single fluid motion without breaking her sword.

“If you know how to use your hip and balance well with your skills, then you are able to cut through the enemy’s armor or weapon.”

She then asked Caspar to assist her by swinging the sword with all his might at her. At first, he was reluctant to do so but Byleth asked him to trust her. In the end, he did as his professor said, and the moment he dashed and swung his training sword up into the air, ready to cut Byleth down, she swung her sword right at him too.

KLANK

It was Caspar’s sword that fell out from his grip and he could feel the numbness rushing through his shivering hand. Edelgard recognized it; that was the same move that she used to disarm the bandits on their first encounter.

“You can disarm, and that is enough to buy the time to strike your opponent down. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Good, let’s begin the training. Go to your assigned station. I will come to check on you all individually.”

Byleth went around the group checking on her students, teaching all the fundamentals that Jeralt used to teach her when she’s simply just a kid. All of them showed perseverance and put all their effort to learn from her. After the training came to an end, she delegated one and a half spare hour for her team to focus on anything they wanted to do. Meanwhile, she will be working with three students on their private one-on-one training every time. Today, she would be checking up on Caspar, Dorothea, and Edelgard.

“Professor! Is this how you do it?”

“Not quite, you have to lower your balance a bit more.”

Byleth watched the young blue-haired boy stood his ground. She circled around him before she pushed him abruptly without him realizing it, sending him falling onto the ground.

“W-Whoa!?”

“Not good enough, Caspar. You have to relax more.”

“Gah! This is so hard...”

“Like I said, it is a difficult mastery.”

“You’re so good at it...”

“Keep practicing, Caspar. You will get there eventually.”

Finishing with the young boy, she headed to Dorothea and as expected she did slightly better than Caspar due to her natural low center of gravity. As she physically has to shift Dorothea, that made her student giggle and tease the older female.

“Oh professor, I feel so intimate when you’re touching me like that...”

“Keep the context clean, Dorothea.”

“C’mon! Just play along, will you?”

“Not when you make it sound like I’m physically violating you.”

“You’re such a fiend, professor!”

“Oh lord...”

As usual, Byleth was subjected to Dorothea’s sly tease every time she tried to teach her something, at least she’s a very studious girl that worked extremely hard or just as much as Edelgard herself. After she finished her session with her, the last remaining 20 minutes was with the head of the Black Eagles, Edelgard.

“Professor, could I test my skills?”

“I don’t mind that. What would you like me to do?”

“Please attack me, I want to do that disarming move you did.”

“Make sure you disarm me, because I won’t hold back.”

“That will be my pleasure.”

Byleth ran in and swung her sword towards Edelgard before she twisted, using her lower body as her strength to add power into her strike. That struck onto Byleth’s sword, but it didn’t manage to disarm her. However, it was enough to force the professor backward to regain her distance. Edelgard had that slight disappointment in her face as she thought she would’ve disarmed Byleth.

“That was really good. If I didn’t hold my sword tightly enough, it would’ve flew out from my hand. That was splendid, Edelgard.”

She smiled and praised her student for her amazing achievement. That made the young emperor blush slightly with contentment despite not reaching her expectations. As the tutoring session continued on, the class was finally over. Everyone slowly left the room to the dining hall for their meals whilst Edelgard was the last student to leave.

“Professor, are you by chance available at the moment?”

“What is the matter?”

“Well...I want to speak with you in person. Discuss some few matters.”

“Very well then, like usual?”

It seemed there was some secret way they communicate with each other. Edelgard nodded softly with those pink blushing cheeks that it made the professor just have to tease her a little bit. She pinched her soft silky cheeks before letting out a soft chuckle.

“You are adorable, Edelgard.”

“Stop teasing me.”

“My bad, let us go, shall we? I’m certain you brought your packed lunch.”

Bull’s eye. Edelgard did request a packed lunch earlier in the morning since it was her plan to have a private lunch session with her professor without other students around. They headed out to a quiet secluded space where there wouldn’t be many students around to spot them nor disturb their peace for lunch and tea. What they usually talk was related to their class content, especially digesting what she learned through the past week.

“Today’s class was very interesting. I had a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad you did. You’re doing really well too.”

“It is because of your guidance and training.”

“You credited me too much, Edelgard.”

“Not at all, professor.”

After they talked about their lessons, their conversation started to shift to something more casual and rather personal between the two of them. During the past weeks, Byleth was working in the Monastery as a professor, she certainly developed a special bond with Edelgard. Not sure where this is leading the two of them to, but Byleth realize she developed this sense of adoration towards the young emperor. She enjoyed her time with the young lady when it is just the two of them, it feels rather different from when they were other students in the class. As for Edelgard herself, she was clear with how she’s especially fond of the professor in a way she never ever did to anyone in her life. Byleth seemed to have a special place in her heart, but she was yet to be very honest with her selfish demands.

“I hope one day I can be as strong as you, professor.”

“I’m certain you will be.”

“...Will you be there to watch me? Being there with me?”

“I would love to. You all have a bright future up ahead and it would be a great pride and joy to watch you all grow stronger. I want to be there and see how far will you rise and shine as a future emperor of the Empire, Edelgard.”

“You promised, okay? You’ll be there with me.”

Edelgard moved in closer and began to whisper softly so no one could’ve overheard her words. Byleth didn’t reject her and only placed her hand on top of Edelgard’s hand before smiling back at her with sweet adoration.

“So, you want me there with you when you become an emperor, am I correct?”

“...I suppose if you put it bluntly like that, yes.”

“I see.”

She didn’t tease her much aside from giving a soft kiss on her forehead. That made her blush over to her ears in silence, she leaned onto her shoulder before they held each other’s hand without saying a word to each other. Byleth may have been experienced with countless battles, but she’s a novice when it comes to romance - Edelgard included. They spent their tranquil moment enjoying each other’s company before time is up. It was about time they return back to their classes.

“Edelgard, we must go.”

“Right.”

As she slowly let go of her professor, she seemed to be reluctant and it was written all over her face. Byleth picked up those hints that the young emperor wanted to do or say something.

“What’s wrong?”

“...Well, this is embarrassing.”

“...”

The professor could read her expression, and that made her giggled softly to herself before she opened her arms for the young one to come in. She ended up blushed even more with how her professor managed to read her childish mind so easily. She refrained from going in for the hug and made Byleth rather puzzled for a second.

“Ah, was that a bit too much?”

“Y-You’re such a bully, professor.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“How could you be capable of doing such things like this without being embarrassed?”

“Not sure myself, for some reason, I’m not embarrassed by it.”

“You’re truly weird, professor.”

This time she just pushed herself into Byleth’s arms and embrace her tightly. The young one buried her face onto her shoulder. That made the professor embrace her back gently. Despite the tough character she portrayed, she has this childish side that loves hugs. It was for a few seconds, but it is quite long for the two of them.

-

Byleth returned back to her room and felt so exhausted. It may have been lack of sleep she’s been having recently. She decided to go to bed early today and then she heard Sothis speaking inside her mind.

‘ You’ve become quite fond of that girl. ’

“Huh…?”

‘ Just be careful, she’s still a child. ’

“I am well aware of that. She’s an adorable student of mine.”

‘ I wonder if it is just a student-teacher relationship you both shared. I doubt she is thinking that way about you though. I lived long enough to realize that. ’

“Well...I don’t know what to say.”

‘ My only warning would be, don’t give her false hopes if you’re not planning to see it through until the end. ’

“Never thought there will be a day I got a piece of love advice you.”

‘ Shut up, I may look young but I lived way much longer than you do, kid. ’

“Yes, ma’am.”

Byleth gave Sothis a slight tease back but what she said was true though. She’s well aware of Edelgard’s growing feelings that may have towards her. The way she looked and sought physical comfort from her has been escalating gradually. Even though she adored Edelgard quite a bit more than several students, she wouldn’t be able to say that would make her anywhere special and different from other students like Dorothea, Caspar, Bernadette and others too. Byleth wasn’t sure herself if she would call that romantic affection that she has for Edelgard, but regardless of that, she should be careful not to give false hope to her. Rejection is painful, but what's worse than that is receiving false hopes from the one they love.

“...Thank you for the warning though, I will keep that in mind.”

She thanked Sothis back, but she didn’t respond anymore. She probably went to sleep inside Byleth or something, as usual. Thus, it was about time for her to go to bed too. As she lay down and closed her eyes...she recalled that dream was killed. For some reason, she couldn’t shake those thoughts away. As her mind slowly drifted off into the darkness, she wondered if she would have that same nightmare again this time or not...

< ---- > 

CAW! CAW! CAW!

She cracked open her eyelids from the annoying sound. No matter how much she tried to will herself to stay asleep, the ridiculous noise would only increase in tempo and volume. It was almost like out of a horror tale Hubert would spook everyone with! This left her with the latter option of waking up, much to her dismay.

Through her lens, the older female stared at a blurry, brown wall. The natural twitches from her fingertips brushed upon a rather tough, granite-like surface. When she dragged her gaze upward, she found herself peering through a pile of broken pillars and stone slabs. The entire structure was acting as a small shelter for the teacher; its large hole from above provided the necessary sunlight for the woman.

“...”

Clearly, she was not in bed anymore. Just where is she?

That was the first question that popped to mind upon awakening. Byleth regained more of her consciousness as she sat up. This tactician felt a groan slip out as she pressed against her forehead. Small bits of rocks and pebbles were heard rolling off of her chest. She blinked. Then, a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face.

‘ Okay… I’m not at the academy for sure. ’

Obvious deductions were noted. Byleth lowered her hand and scanned her surroundings. The placement of the materials won’t pose any threat to her life. When the professor rapped her knuckles on a torn pillar with ferocity, it hardly budged. There was also plenty of room to stand up on her feet in this secluded premise. She quickly brushed off the residue from her dirtied skirt.

‘ ...Sothis? ’

No response. Confuzzled, Byleth made another attempt.

‘ Sothis… Don’t tell me you’re still sleeping. ’

Once again, no response. The teal-haired frowned. This was especially concerning. Sothis was never the type to leave her hanging. After all, she is the only person in existence to be able to communicate and see her. There’s no doubt that the petite woman would jump at every opportunity to talk at her beck and call. (Almost like a cat!) To boot, wherever Byleth is, Sothis was always there by her side.

‘ I’m sure I’ll figure it out later. ’

There was no point in dwindling upon the matter. Thinking and wishing won’t bring the short woman back to her side. Besides, there are far more important matters to tend to as of right now.

Byleth eventually recognized the Sword of Creator’s presence. The weapon had laid comfortably on the cracked pavements, waiting for its master to relinquish their ownership.

‘ I should get out of here. ’

The ex-mercenary thought of her next course of action as she retrieved her sword. She sheathed the ancient relic back on her waist and looked up at the hole. Gauging from its distance, size, and her skillset, Byleth should be able to make it.

Knees and elbows bent, the professor jumped up and grabbed ahold of the hole’s borders. Thanks to her efforts in training with the students and remaining vigilant with her exercises, this posed little to no strain on her muscles.

Byleth popped out of the pile like a flying fish. Both of her legs straightened as she squarely plopped on the ground. Had her students witnessed this feat, they would have clapped and praised for her acrobatic endeavors!

The teal-haired’s eyes nearly boggled out of its sockets. Unfortunately, desolation was her audience.

It was so barren, and this place... It was once the defense base of the monastery. Various structures were in shambles as if someone or something had rocked this sacred area; its servitude as a protective guardian beyond its walls was fruitless. When she glanced up, the sky high above was cloudless, but consist of a sun tormenting those below with its rays of light. If there was someone worth mentioning, it’s those pesky crows that perched on the black branches of a dead tree. Six of them stared at Byleth; their beaks were clamped shut. It appears that they have a new subject to overwatch on this land.

Byleth tapped the side of her head as she examined her setting.

‘ Just what in the world happened here…? ’

So far, Byleth can’t see a single, notable landmark beyond the base that would pinpoint her next destination. Her shoulders and head slumped.

‘ I have no choice but to walk around and find a village. If I remember correctly, there should be one behind this defense structure. ’

The woman glanced over her shoulder. There was an old, architectural wooden gate that led straight to the interior of the monastery’s ground. Many small communities gathered as a way to become closer to the Church of Seiros. Past the villages and towns, the Officer’s Academy sat above the civilians. To the residents, this was a gift. To the teacher, this meant hope for human contact.

Glimmers of sweat formed on her forehead, the metallic armor she usually wears during battle beginning to rise in temperature. The instructor felt her eyebrow twitch. It was getting hot. Like, really REALLY hot.

‘ I really should get a move on. ’

CAW! CAW! CAW!

Oh, if those flocks of birds can give it a rest!

Byleth tensed her shoulders and glared at the source. The crows wildly cried out, their black wings flapping at similar intervals with their callings. They were so quiet before. What made them act up? Is it because they found her amusing? Or is she too boring of a subject for observation? She stiffened her dry lips when one of the six crows left the mass. This particular bird flew right in her direction.

‘ Oh no! ’

Alarmed, Byleth sidestepped. What she did not take into account after sidestepping was catching sight of the military. The small group of soldiers that appeared from the now-opened wooden gate were chattering with each other. There were five of them. One of them held onto the reins of a snow-white horse as four others respectively held lances and swords in their hands. Some laughed out loud, one nearly doubled over from the profound topic. Whatever cheery banter they had came to a screeching halt, per contra.

“...”

“?”

Upon closer inspection, Byleth noticed that they were from the Adrestian Empire.

‘ Edelgard… ’ Her eyes widen. ‘ Edelgard! ’

How lucky! Meeting up with these fellow comrades meant that she could reunite with the Black Eagles! Her students must be worried sick if she had been sleeping outside of her dormitory room, even more so outside of the Officer’s Academy! Edelgard might give her a good scolding, but that’s the least of her worries!

The professor’s stoic features faintly brightened as she approached the soldiers.

“Excuse me--”

“EEK!”

Byleth nearly tumbled forward and onto her face; she caught herself in the nick of time by flailing her arms. She whipped her head towards the source.

Lo and behold, it was one of the soldiers. He stood rigid and hugged his lance. Not that he was the only one who squealed like a little girl. The other four warriors blanched at the sight of the instructor. Byleth let out a weary sigh.

“I hope you understand that your reactions really hurt me.”

“STAY AWAY!”

“...hah?”

The ex-mercenary was not one for explicitly showcasing her emotions. She just can’t seem to break out any form of expressions beyond disappointment, shock, content, and the occasional cheeky smile. In this case, she bluntly expressed bewilderment. What is wrong with them? Just because she has difficulty in showing features doesn’t mean she looks like a horror show!

Before Byleth could request for information, the five soldiers aimed their weapons at the staff member.

“Mommy, I’m so sorry for doubting you!”

“I thought you died!”

“G-GHOST!”

“What should we tell the emperor!?”

“GO BACK, YOU FIEND!”

It was a discombobulated verbiage. Byleth could not even muster the energy to say something witty right back at them. Actually-- There was no need for wittiness. The teal-haired woman unsheathed her Sword of Creator and pointed it at them. This elicited another squeal from the same male; the tip of his weapon trembled violently.

“I don’t want to do this,” she murmured. “But you leave me with no choice.”

The entire fight sequence took less than a minute, to her surprise. Perhaps fear had gotten to their nerves as their stances were out of line. Simple dodge mechanics and closing in on them made their souls fly out of their body. Byleth also made sure to use the butt end of her handle to knock the stubborn ones out. If anything, her existence made them faint!

“...”

Out of all the conflicts she had witnessed and experienced, this one has to be the most embarrassing of them all. At least it made the traverse to the inner parts of the monastery easier. This was also made possible thanks to the horse that one of the soldiers had. Unlike the horse’s owner, this creature was indifferent with respect to the instructor.

“Hope you don’t mind me borrowing him,” she mumbled under her breath. “I’ll return the horse later.”

That was something she appreciates after the ruckus this day has become. Besides, there is not a moment to waste. She must hurry back to the Officer’s Academy and reunite with her students!

The trek from the outsider borders and into the community opened up to a setting she was familiar with. Villagers and merchants occupied the roads and houses. Domestic animals greeted Byleth with their barks and yelps. Foreigners from all parts of Fodlan were frequently spotted in the midst of small crowds. This revisitation alone almost made the professor forgive and forget the incident with the soldiers earlier that day.

However, something was amiss. As the black horse slowed his pacing, she overheard one of the local merchants.

“It’s already been five years, hasn’t it?”

“Ah, yes… Five years since the fighting with the three nations has started.”

A faint sigh came from the old woman. She adjusted her hold on the cane and shook her head at the female merchant.

“I hope this war can end soon. I’ve heard Lady Edelgard has gone mad since she lost someone.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just a rumor.”

Byleth nearly tore the rein from pulling it back so harshly. This caused the horse to lift his front hooves up and madly kick the air. Had the creature prolonged its posture for another second, the poor mentor would have fallen off of his back. The horse threw his head upward. Evidently, the mammal fidgeted on the spot. She loosened her hold on the reins and soothingly pat his neck.

‘ Five years… Five years?! And what war?! I don’t remember there being any conflict yesterday! ‘ The patting slowed to a stop. ‘ This is all a dream, isn’t it? ’

The woman retracted her hand. She proceeded to pinch her own cheek and pull on it. Pain shot up from the abrupt stretching of the epidermis. Byleth released it with watery eyes.

‘ This isn’t a dream. ’

Dread loomed over her head. Whatever burst of energy she had now trickled out rapidly. Byleth’s guts continuously pound against its own chest, bellowing of impending bad news. Her jawlines became prominent. So many questions boiled underneath her sturdy exterior. At any given moment, she might explode from the deadly force of her curiosity and confusion.

‘ ...I have to see my students. ’

Byleth flicked the reins and leaned forward, the horse galloping as fast as possible towards the tall structures.

Pristine conditions that were evident from the distance eroded its illusion the closer she got. Many of the stone blocks were blown to smithereens. Black marks discolored the once-wonderful and prestigious academy for the students and staff. It made Byleth wonder what her father, Jeralt, would say about the condition. (Not that he would have anything to say in the first place.) Maybe Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn would have had a stronger reaction towards this mess. The fact that the holy ground was stampeded all over by the force of bloodshed would be more than enough to make any devoted followers of Seiros wail for redemption.

At least the marketplace was spared, albeit the number of foreigners and refugees from other parts of the nations increased by tenfold.

“Halt!”

One of the soldiers at the main gate raised his hand. She immediately heeded to his motion and slowed the black creature. The horse tossed let out a small puff through his nostrils as the man approached the dismounted woman. His brown irises gazed upon Byleth’s. Then, his eyes widen.

“Wait… are you really…?”

“?”

She blinked.

“Oh, right! You must’ve forgotten about me already.” The man became bashful, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. A wide grin ran across his face as the helmet overshadowed his eyes. This was a complete contrast to his prior tonality; the deep voice erased with a higher pitch. “Please allow me to speak to you normally again.”

‘ Normally? What could he possibly mean? ’

The steel soldier saluted to Byleth.

“Greetings, Professor! I welcome you back to the monastery!”

“...Thank you.”

It was him, alright. The same fellow that had always greeted her since day one at the academy. Although military personnel were, overall, kind, none of them matched the level of generosity and sweetness as this man. His famous “Greetings, Professor!” always echoed in the back of her mind whenever she thinks of this particular soldier. Five years hardly did a number to his young features. Perhaps he had gotten more handsome instead? Byleth finds it an amusing thought to ponder about.

His smile lingered on his features as he lowered his hand.

“I knew you were alive! I’ve always had hopes that you would return to us.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

He scratched the side of his head.

“Don’t you remember? Five years ago, the Black Eagle Strike Force all witnessed your death at the hand of Lady Rhea… though I don’t know the details all too well since I wasn’t a part of that battle.”

“I’m still not following you.”

It sounds simple on paper, but when he reiterated the information, she simply responded with a blank stare.

Death? How in the world did that concept bear fruit? Unmistakably, Byleth is alive and well. The ex-mercenary curled and uncurled her fingers. Her sense of touch was still intact. She can perform basic arithmetic. Her memory hasn’t failed her so far, save it for her origin and real age. These were some of the traits that a deceased person wouldn’t retain. A dead person is anything but alive. There was also the mention of Rhea… The tactician held the side of her head. Just what does she have to do with Byleth’s lifeline?

“I could see that you’re still confused, Professor...”

“I am.”

“I suggest that you talk to the emperor about this. I’m sure Lady Edelgard will be pleased to hear of this news.”

Hearing her name caused Byleth’s heart to increase its thumping intensity. She placed a hand on her chest and formed a small smile.

“I will do that, then.”

Pleased with her answer, the gatekeeper allowed her to go through the main floors of the monastery. A step into the main floor garnered more attention than she needed. Many Adrestian Empire’s soldiers penetrated her vulnerable exterior with their piercing stares. Some became as white as a sheet. Some began to tremble at the sight of the professor. Others toughened their features. All of their reactions were anything but pleasant.

‘ If only more of them acted like the Gatekeeper. ’

Whispers of a ghost floated around her auditory organ. Uncertainty filled the atmosphere as she marched onward to the classrooms. She found herself standing inside one of them by the doorless entranceway. The sight of her assigned classroom for the Black Eagles still stood well after the supposed five years time gap. As for the other classrooms? Empty. Not a single soul existed in the Blue Lions and Golden Deers Houses.

Just where are the students? The premise should have never been this empty… unless they have all graduated? That was plausible since the students would have to leave the academy in pursuit of their own goals. Then again, there is also that war that was mentioned-- and Lady Rhea being the cause of her death.

Byleth cupped her own chin and lowered her head. There are too many outliers here, and she doesn’t have Sothis to confide to. She’s on her own. Her eyes narrowed. These questions and theories can’t go unanswered. Perhaps it would be best she shares this knowledge with the two people she trusts: Jeralt and Edelgard.

“Professor? Is that really you?”

Isn’t there a pleasant tinkle to that articulation. Byleth knew fully well who it was. She barely got the chance to turn around when Petra and Dorothea advanced to their mentor. The princess of Brigid gleamed and immediately reached out to grab ahold of her hand.

“Oh, Professor! How we miss you so much! I knew you were alive at all these times!”

They’ve changed so much. Both of them radiated in beauty as a blooming flower. It also appears that Dorothea had dropped the signature hat. (What a shame.) It was the warmth that she happily received. In spite of the fact that Byleth would want to contradict with her statement, the tears that flowed down her and Dorothea’s cheeks made her hold back her words. She merely nodded her head in silence.

“You know how worried you made us?” Dorothea used the back of her hand to wipe the teardrops. “When Edie told her that you died, I didn’t believe in her.”

“Yes. I am the same way too. Edelgard is wrong about that.”

“Whoa, what’s with the commotion. Both Lady Edelgard and I would like for you both to-- Teach?”

His long, luscious orange hair flowed naturally as he swooped into the room. Right next to Ferdinand, there was another familiar figure that Byleth would never mistake in her lifetime and the next. The two nobles hurried over to the small group of three. He glanced up and down at Byleth with stern features.

“Professor… is that really… you?”

That question is quite popular, isn’t it? Byleth resisted the urge to make a witty remark and, once again, nodded silently. Compared to the relief that washed over the two other females, Ferdinand crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“I do not wish to be rude, but I cannot find myself to believe that you are Byleth.”

“Ferdinand! That is extremely rude of you to say that!” Dorothea scolded. “The Professor, whom we believed was dead, is finally here with us! Isn’t that a miracle?”

“I find it hard to trust in that miracle, Dorothea. Just look at our Professor here. Don’t you find something odd about her?”

“That she doesn’t have bright green hair? Please. Physical trait can’t--”

“Dorothea, please listen to me. I cannot shake off this feeling that--”

“The professor had simply lost her power with Sothis.”

Byleth felt the regal woman’s armored hands touch her arms. Then, without warning, she embraced the teal-haired. The professor had already gotten used to hugs from Edelgard when she was young, but this one felt different somehow.

Anxiety. Fear. Loneliness.

Byleth let out a shaky exhale.

“Is that why I can’t hear Sothis anymore?”

“...yes.”

How in Fodlan did this Edelgard know about Sothis? Had she spoken to her about it previously?

“Five years have passed, and we all thought you were gone.” Edelgard parted from the hug, yet kept her hold on the older woman’s arms. She raised her head and fixated her eyes on Byleth’s. “How long I’ve waited for this moment for you to return…”

“...”

There was that five-year gap. Perhaps there were things that Byleth hadn’t remembered. Her instincts were itching to dive deeper into the logistics of that theory. Something told her that she needed to really explore that possibility. There was also the exploration of this five-year jump. So much has changed, and so much information has been left out for Byleth. She must play the catch-up game with the members of Black Eagles.

Nevertheless, that could wait. The Edelgard that stood in front of her is older and is in dire need of comfort. Byleth pulled Edelgard into another hug. With one hand holding her head, the professor pressed her lips on the top of the emperor’s head. If there were a few things that didn’t change, one of them was Edelgard’s sensitive and childish nature.

“I’m sorry I was gone for a long time.”

“All that matters is that you have returned to us, my teacher.”