#and that's way better than if i was sad in pain AND hungry and dehydrated!

[darkshrimpemotions]

And another thing! If you have any issues that make it hard to get out of bed--depression, chronic pain, anything--one of the nicest things you can do for yourself when you're feeling okay is start to keep a bottle of water and some kind of non-perishable easy-to-consume snack by your bed for that day when you wake up and can't move. You don't deserve hunger pangs and headaches! You do deserve to be fed and hydrated!

And if you've dealt with these issues for years this is old news to you, but it bears repeating for anyone newly dealing with these issues. Because it took me so long. SO LONG. To stop expecting to care for myself exactly the way I did before I was sick. And to stop shaming and punishing and needlessly hurting myself for it.

[angeart]

Y'know I had just added the 🎀 because I was asking about the ribbon and I wanted you to know it was the same person on the follow up ask xD but I also went :o irl at being called ribbon anon!

I saw you had tagged the bonus rambles about the mimic's name! I have been dying to ask that too! but you also mentioned follow up rambles so I figured we'd learn it then?

Noooo what happened to Scar's vex wings?? D: Also how do Scar's vex wings work in general? are they out all the time like Grian's or can he magic them away??

-🎀

naah, you have to keep it now! you’re officially the ribbon anon! it’s yours! :3c accept your fate <3

as for the bit about the mimic’s name… i think i’ll make a separate post about that a little bit later (either later today or tomorrow). it’s not going to be a part of the Main Big Mimic Arc Rambles, because it’s something me and link figured out sort of on the side, later. but i’m happy to tell you about it, so keep an eye out for that one!

scar’s vex wings are magic, and he mostly has them hidden away. i asked link to tell us all more about how that works, so if you’re interested, go check it out on their blog! >> link to the post here << 

but yes yess let me tell you about what happened to scar's wings! and what better way to tell you than through an unnecessarily long storytime. tucking it under the cut <3

so. you know how i mentioned that they meet by hunters pouncing on grian, and grian getting hurt? mmh. we start with grian in pain, hungry and dehydrated to the point of lightheadedness, and exhausted from lack of sleep as well as a pretty significant bloodloss. basically, he’s out of commission, and it’s up to scar to take care of him and desperately try to keep him alive on zero supplies.

they make their way to a crevice in a ravine that leads into a cave. (in between this and that, there were tears and panic and desperation. and kisses. shh.)(and of course, the ribbon.) 

i think this cave is very fun, so i’ll yoink two snippets from the rp, one from scar’s pov (link) and one from grian’s (me), so you can get into this pretty atmosphere too <3 

-- SCAR POV snippet:

His best way of describing the place would be this nightmare server’s best attempt at a lush cave, Scar thinks somewhat bitterly.

And a rather sad attempt at that.

There’s greenery, which is shocking enough given how almost everything they’ve seen has been dead or dying. It’s mostly moss, a few sparse patches of grass, and a leafy substance that sticks to the walls, littered with thorns. 

Vines stretch down from the ceiling, but they’re not bright and colorful like glow berry vines back home. They do glow, but it’s only a faint illumination, somehow still managing to be grey and drab. And it’s not the fruit that glows either, but rather the vine itself, almost pulsating. Almost breathing. 

It makes Scar uneasy, but not immediately threatened. And unfortunately that’ll have to do.

There is fruit on the vines, for what it’s worth, but they’re bruised and darkened. Questionable at best. Scar doesn’t like their chances.

What matters, however, is the water. 

There’s a small pond in the center of the cave with water pooling into it slowly from one of the walls. 

It’s not the cleanest source of water given the dirty moss and dying roots that crawl along the shore, spreading their way underwater in various places and tinting the surface green, but they’re hardly in a position to be picky. 

(It’s likely better than the river from before, surrounded in mud and grime and later death.)

Right now a place like this may as well be paradise.

“Home sweet home?” Scar offers jokingly, though timidness seeps into his tone. He really hopes it can be, at least long enough for them to get back on their feet.

-- GRIAN POV snippet:

It’s the rhythm trailing off and stopping, that finally forces Grian to crack his eyes open. He blinks, chasing the blur away, trying to take in their new surroundings: the moss coats walls and ground in stray patches, lending them some colour in a place that’s otherwise drab and grim; the pond in the center glitters faintly, murky water reflecting murky light; the growth clinging to the stone walls and hanging from the ceiling looks wholly unhealthy, slick and sick, mushy, rotting, held together only in places. The vines seem to be breathing, swaying the gentlest bit even though Grian can’t feel a breeze; a calm but wholly unsettling pulse of light fades and brightens in time with their miniscule motion, always veering on not-enough, casting them in various shades of dimness. 

Just like anything else here, this cave looks wretched and like nothing he is familiar with. 

And yet Scat tacks a joking phrase on it, like plonking down a cheesy mat that says Welcome in cursive, deliberately and triumphantly placed in front of a building that’s entirely falling apart. There’s no salvaging this, but Grian chuckles quietly anyway, and with a wry curl of his lips, he echoes back, words hollow and barely touched by misplaced amusement: “Home sweet home.”

And it just might be—or the closest thing they can achieve to it right now. It’s dark and damp and unpleasant, the air a bit stale and the walls oozing icy chill, but it’s shielded and hidden, quiet, sheltered from the wind and the rain, with a pooled source of water perfectly within reach. It’s more than they expected. More than they could’ve hoped for.

----

now that you can imagine the absolute beauty of this place, for no reason at all but to indulge me, we can continue!

scar carefully sets grian down by the wall to rest. grian lies down in the only way he knows to be safe: with his dishevelled wings tucked tightly against a wall, feathers as much out of sight as he can manage, despite the horrible discomfort of it. and scar leaves to try and gather some supplies, leaving behind a promise that he won’t stray too far, won’t get out of sight.

he manages to put together enough things to light a fire, while grian dozes off into an exhausted, shivery sleep. with the fire lit next to the avian, scar moves away again, even as fatigue drags at him and begs him to stay, to rest. because this is all on him now: he needs to provide, he needs to protect, he needs to make sure they stay alive. (and it terrifies him, because he doesn’t have the best track record of staying alive, back on hermitcraft—) and for that, they need more supplies.

so he ventures back into the cave, searching. pawing at the stone. digging. trying so, so very hard to get something out of it all. using his wings to aid his aching legs. they provide dim, pale blue  light, which also helps as he moves further and further away from the fire. 

he makes sure to constantly look back, anxiously checking the area surrounding the fire, making sure nothing’s approaching grian, who’s wounded and asleep and completely defenceless.

scar does not pay nearly as much attention to his own surroundings.

that’s when it happens.

the crackling of the fire almost completely swallows up the familiar warning hiss of a creeper.

scar whirls around, eyes wide, catching a sight of a creeper that’s all wrong—distorted and decaying, overgrown with vines and fungus, with haunting empty voids for eyes—before it sets off and explodes.

all scar can do is fling his wings forwards in a desperate attempt to shield himself with them.

this is what tears his wings to tatters. (you can see their state on some of link’s art - like the hhau scar design/reference sheet)

scar skids on the hard ground, thrown by the force of the explosion, wings wrapped around him protectively. immediately after the cave falls quiet and dark again, his wings fade, too, and— he’s disoriented and breathless and in pain, and the explosion woke grian up—an awakening pitch straight into confused, searing panic—and scar doesn’t really get much of a chance to process what’s happened and how much damage there is. in fact, he doesn’t check his wings for a very long time. (he knows they’re damaged.) (he doesn’t want to see—doesn’t want to feel it.)

so it’s a while before scar gets to understand just how damaged his wings are.

and it’s even longer before grian sees.

<3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“I’m not telling you again.”

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion

1905, somewhere outside New York City

-

"Come here, little one."

The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.

He can't see her.

But she can see him.

"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."

She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.

She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.

Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.

"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."

He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-

"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.

"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.

Not that he'll see any of them ever again.

Not since his parents-

Not since-

He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.

Everything here is wrong.

He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.

"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."

"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.

They don't seem to notice, or care.

But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?

"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"

"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"

She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.

"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"

She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.

"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."

She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.

He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.

While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.

He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.

"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."

He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.

She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.

"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.

And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.

There is no pain.

Only the fear.

I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.

His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.

I'm going to die.

He wants to go home.

He wants more to drink.

He's so hungry.

He wants more blood.

When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.

"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.

Then... pain.

Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.

He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.

"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.

"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.

He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"

"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."

Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.

The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.

He's going to die here.

And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.

He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"

His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.

He screams.

He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.

He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.

His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.

He dies, but he does not die for long.

-

Tag list:  @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[pettyvxbes]

COLSON BAKER x READER - OCEAN EYES IV

BRIAN, JIMI, JANIS, KURT, AND. . .COLSON?

"Can we get two 16oz house drips, one black with two sugars and the other with two sugars and a splash of cream?" He ordered, remembering exactly how you took your coffee, even after all the time you'd been separated. It made you smile, knowing that you still occupied some space in his mind.

"So this is your coffee shop?" You asked, leaning against the side of the counter as you waited for your drinks.

"Yeah, I opened it last year. It turned out pretty cool." He smiled as he looked around the room. You could tell he was proud of it.

"It's badass" You agreed with him.

"If you're hungry, we serve brunch." Colson handed you a menu to peruse. "This is actually why I was at the farmers market. All of our fruits and vegetables are local." You looked over the list of food, noticing all of the fresh ingredients.

"That's so cool. Everything sounds delicious." You said, flipping the menu over to continue exploring. On the opposite side, you found a cocktail menu. Some of the drink names made you chuckle. There was 'the gunner,' 'sex, dope, and cheap thrills,' 'screw me' with its counterpart, 'screw you,' and the 'you know I'm no good.' Without even seeing the ingredients, you immediately thought that the last one sounded like a drink you'd choose.

Colson exchanged the menu in your hands with a coffee cup filled with hot coffee. You looked at him and gave him a weak thank you smile which he inadvertently returned, and just like that, you were taken back to the first morning you had ever spent together.

You woke up randomly as the sun was shining through the tiny window of your dorm room. You were still wearing the same clothes from the night before. It confused you because you hadn't even remembered falling asleep. The last thing you could recollect was laying with Colson in your XL twin bed, which he noted multiple times was fantastic because his tall, lanky ass fit perfectly.

"Good morning," Colson whispered. It took you a moment to fully wake up, but you noticed how your bodies were intertwined when you did. Your head was on his chest, and his arm was holding you close to him. It was cozy.

"Good morning." You repeated, squeezing him and nuzzling your face into his neck. "How long have you been awake?" You asked sleepily, afraid that you were the only one who had dozed off.

You and Colson had agreed to stay up as long as you could talking to each other. After all, it was the first time you had seen each other since Atlanta, and even though you had basically talked every day for the last 3 months, you still had a lot to talk about.

"Not long, maybe like fifteen.. . twenty minutes" He shrugged. "I didn't want to wake you. I just wanted to lay here and hold you a little longer, watch you sleep, smell your hair." He squeezed you, placing a small kiss on the top of your head. "I wanted to memorize all of it because this weekend will be over before we know it, and then It'll be back to facetime calls and falling asleep on the phone."

"Blahhh, don't remind me." You pouted, sitting up to face him. You enjoyed every single second you got to spend with that blue-eyed boy in your bed, and you never wanted it to end. He had quickly become your best friend, your person.

"Sorry. Y'know, you're fucking cute when you're sleepy" Colson smiled at you, no makeup and hair a mess. To him, you were perfection. "Oh, I ordered coffee." He said excitedly as he sat up, reaching for the cups on the table next to your bed. "Remind me to thank your roommate later. She was not very happy when she was woken up by the Doordash driver." He chuckled.

"She'll get over it" You took the warm cup from him, sipping slowly. Careful not to burn your mouth. You immediately spit the coffee back into the cup, scrunching your nose up at the taste. The coffee was sweeter than a glazed chocolate donut filled with thousands of tiny sprinkles. You thoroughly enjoyed coffee, and you liked to be able to taste the flavor in every sip.

"Shit, did I get it wrong?" He asked worriedly. It was one of the topics you had discussed last night, and he had already forgotten.

"Yeah, but we've never had coffee together, so I'll give you a free pass." You joked. "Two sugars and a splash of cream," you reminded him with a small smile.

"I swear I will never forget again." He promised, passing you his coffee to share.

"Let's sit back here" Colson's voice pulled you from your memory. As you followed him to the back of the coffee shop, you noticed photos of different famous musicians on each table.

"What's with the pictures?" You asked, gesturing towards a table with Kurt Cobains' face on it.

"They're all a part of the 27 club." He could tell by the expression on your face that you had no idea what that meant. "a bunch of artists and entertainers that died at the age of 27." Colson explained.

"Oh." you gasped, finally understanding the name of his coffee shop.

Colson led you to a table in the back corner. It was secluded enough to offer a little privacy from the rest of the customers. You took a seat, instantly noticing the photo that was on your table. It was him. Your narrowed eyes and knitted brows caught his attention, and he followed your gaze to determine the look of confusion on your face.

"You're 31." You stated the obvious.

"Yes, but most days I feel like my life ended when I was 27." He let out a small chuckle.

You took a sip of your coffee, waiting for Colson to elaborate further. Quickly getting distracted by the liquid in your cup. When the coffee first hit your tongue, you could taste a combination of floral and fruity notes, but as you swallowed, you noticed a nutty caramel tone. It was unique and unlike any other coffee, you had ever tried.

"Mmm," You hummed quietly, approving of the noteworthy java in your hand. "You remembered how I like my coffee." You said without thinking.

You regretted it almost instantly. You didn't want to discuss your past relationship or talk to Colson like old friends. You just wanted the explanation you deserved so you could be on your way. It wasn't necessary to spend any more time with him than need be. You didn't want to conjure up old feelings any more than you already had by being in this stupid city.

"I said I would never forget, didn't I?" He looked at you like you made the whole world spin, and for a moment, it was like time stood still.

"God. I'm so stupid." His words came out as a whisper as he looked away from you. Shame and guilt wallpapered his face. "I made the biggest mistake of my life by losing you, and it's something I'm never going to forgive myself for."

"Why'd you leave Colson?" You were blunt, and your words were shaky.

"Because y/n, you deserved better." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "I was laying there with you in my arms that morning thinking to myself, 'how can I possibly love this amazing woman the way she deserves to be loved when I don't even like who I am."

The sadness in his voice was evident, and you could clearly see the pain in his glossy blue eyes. He hurt himself just as much as he had hurt you.

"I was the biggest fuck up on the planet. You sacrificed your happiness to be with me, to support my dreams, and be my biggest fan. . .I was selfish, and I took you for granted. I broke your heart, and somehow you still managed to see the best in me. It wasn't fair to you. -- Y/n, I had to go because I knew that staying would have been even more painful for you. I was a sinking ship that was burning, and I couldn't bear to be the reason you went down in flames too." A silent tear slid down his cheek.

You sat there speechless as you listened to the explanation you had waited years to hear. You hadn't even realized it, but at some point, you had started tearing up too. Colson reached over, wiping the tears from your face.

"I hate myself for fucking things up with you." He said, staring at you.

You didn't know what it was about him, but when you looked into those blue eyes, you saw a reflection of your soul staring back at you. He was your person, always had been, and always would be. You and Colson had a once-in-a-lifetime connection. The kind of connection that made you feel alive by just being near him, even the silence between you, was comfortable because you felt complete in each other's presence.

"You are worth so much more than second thoughts and maybes'. I am so sorry y/n" You could feel the emotion in Colson's words. His apology was like rain on a dehydrated garden. Grossly overdue, but miraculously just in time.

You sat in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Earlier, when you said you lost your life at 27, what did you mean?" You questioned.

"Y'know, everyone thought I was overreacting after our breakup. . ." He started. You had no idea where he was going with his response, but you let him continue." what they didn't get was how much of my life you really were. . .You were more than just another relationship down the drain. You were my past, my present, and my future. Y/n, you were my life."

At that moment, you understood why his photo sat on a table in that coffee shop. He was a part of the 27 club, not because he physically perished at 27, but because that was when he lost the only thing that ever made him feel alive, you.

TAG LIST @canyoubuymetoast @ticketstomydaydreams @mvrylee

[blindingdutchy]

lamentation | THREE

{peter parker x fem!reader AU}

based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

SERIES MASTERLIST

word count: 3,310

warnings: depression, anxiety, grief, mental illness! descriptions of injury/blood/gore! angst

18+!!! minors stay away!

Peter Parker: are you okay??

Peter Parker: (Y/N)?

Peter Parker: why aren't you at school? please tell me you're okay

You shut your phone off and buried your head under your pillow again, wishing for nothing more than to go back to sleep and escape life completely. All weekend long, and especially all morning, your phone had been ringing non stop with texts from Peter Parker. As much as you wished you could say you hadn't read them, you had.

You'd read them all almost as soon as you'd received them, but you just couldn't bring yourself to respond. You didn't need friends. You didn't want friends. Peter Parker was not your friend, and you were determined to keep it that way. No matter how hard he tried to force himself into your life, you were not going to let him in; you couldn't.

You couldn't let him in and risk getting hurt again, and today was yet another painful reminder of why. It was her birthday. At least, it would have been if she weren't dead. If you hadn't put her in the wrong place at the right time, ending her life and ruining yours forever.

For one tiny moment after you woke up, one minuscule fraction of a second, you forgot the importance of the day. You forgot what made the day different, and you forgot that your sister was dead. Or, rather, did you forget you ever had a sister at all? Had--that was the word that made you weep.

That fleeting moment of ignorance was the exact reason why it should have been you and not her. Surely, she never would have forgotten your birthday, or you, or your absence. She never would have looked at the date and even hesitated in remembering what the significance was. Always the better sister, the better person, the one who deserved it all.

Since that moment you had not left your bed, and Peter's latest slew of texts forced you to look at the time and acknowledge that hours had passed. It was lunch time, hours and hours since you'd awoken, and you had not moved even an inch. Everything felt too heavy.

The air felt too thick, gravity too strong, your body made of stone; you wondered if you were even able to move. Of course, you had shut your phone off so clearly you could move, but you didn't want to. It was so hard, so unbelievably hard to move. Why did everything have to be so tough?

As you laid there, staring at the blackened void of the backs of your eyelids because you just couldn't shut your mind off, your thoughts wandered through all the darkest places. Would she have been ashamed to see you like this? Would she have been disgusted with how you were acting, the person you had become?

God, why couldn't you just shut it off? Why couldn't you just make it all stop? That was all you wanted anymore. You wanted the thoughts, the feelings, the memories, everything, to just go away. You wanted to just exist in the empty void that only came about when you were sleeping. The space where your senses were gone and it was just you.

Or, maybe, you didn't want to exist at all. That wasn't to say that you wanted to die, even though you did, but rather that you just wanted to cease to exist. You wanted to never be, to never have been. It was complex thought that was equally as heavy and taxing to ponder.

Would that have made a difference? Would she have lived if you had never been around, never been alive, to lead her down all the paths that lead to that moment? If you hadn't existed, she wouldn't have been in the park at that perfect moment. If she, by some mystical force, had been there anyways, she wouldn't have lingered behind to save you.

Everyone's lives would have been so much better without you. Your parents wouldn't have had to work so much to afford everything for you and your sister. Your grandma might have lived longer, not having to exert herself so much to watch after the troublesome child that you had been. Maybe the butterfly effect of your lack of existence would have reached so far that the world would generally be a better place, too.

You barked a laugh at the thought, your voice hoarse from dehydration and lack of use. How pathetic it was of you to think you had so much of an impact! You surely were not so important that you changed that much about the world.

"(Y/N), honey?"

The world got a little heavier at the sound of your door creaking open and your mother's soft, hesitant voice. When you didn't respond, nor even move a muscle, she sighed, "(Y/N), you need to eat. I made some soup, I'll even bring it up to you if you want."

Despite the fact that you didn't feel hungry in even the slightest capacity, your stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food. "Okay." you whispered, and when the door clicked shut again the silence was overwhelming.

She would have been so disappointed in you. You knew just how much you worried your parents with every passing day, and as much as you wanted to be better and make them feel better, you just couldn't bring yourself to care. You couldn't bring yourself to care about your wellbeing or how all the things you were doing, or not doing, affected your parents.

Caring wasn't easy anymore, and it felt foreign. You were so bogged down under all the baggage on your back, on your shoulders, and on your head that you couldn't expend any of the energy required to do so. If you did, if you tried, you'd surely have collapsed under the weight.

Your mother came back and left once more just as quickly, sighing quietly as she tried and failed to rouse you from your bed. You'd remained silent through the creak of the door, the soft clatter of the bowl and spoon being placed on your nightstand, her soft breathes of disappointment, and the click of the latch as she left again. You even held your breathe, so immersed in listening to all her little noises that you forgot about the air you needed to live.

When your mother returned to your room later that day, though it felt like seconds for you, she ripped the blankets from your body and blinked down at you tearfully. "You didn't eat." she stated simply, gesturing to the still full bowl of soup that was now ice cold.

You blinked back, though the tears in your eyes were due to the sudden burn of being open rather than emotion. The numbness had creeped in at some point during the day, and you couldn't feel a thing aside from empty. She waited there for a long, pregnant moment for you to respond, but you had no words.

What were you meant to say? You could hear your sister's voice scolding you for ignoring her, but you just couldn't think of the right thing to say anymore. "Get up, (Y/N). Dinner is getting cold and you're going to eat with us, even if I have to drag you out of this bed myself." your mother finally demanded.

Weakly, you clambered out of your bed and followed her downstairs. She tried to hide it, probably for your sake, but you could see the pleased smile on her face as she finally got you out of your bed. You wondered what it felt like to smile anymore. Could you smile anymore? You'd tried a few times, but it always felt awkward and forced and never looked quite right.

"She lives!"

You grimaced, your version of a smile, at your father's bland attempt at humor that earned a warning glare from your mother. Yes, you lived, and that was the problem. You didn't want to. You shouldn't have. It should have been her coming down to dinner to celebrate her birthday, not you trudging to the table to try and ignore the party that should have been taking place.

She would have been nineteen. Would she have liked college? Would she have found a cute college boy to date, maybe have brought him home to meet the family on her birthday? Your mother made her favorite food, a family recipe, and you pretended you didn't notice.

It didn't taste as good without her around to gush over it in anticipation. You'd never been much of a fan in the first place, but as a little sister it was your duty to love everything your big sister did. Food included, and you'd eagerly sucked down that casserole for years and claimed it was your favorite too.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere!" your mother announced, wiping her hands on a napkin as you choked down the last pea on your plate.

When she returned a few moments later with a large chocolate cake in her hands, a cold sweat blossomed over your body and you stiffened. "What's that?" you demanded, staring wide eyed at the all-too-familiar cake incredulously.

It was a rhetorical question. You knew exactly what it was, but you were horrified to see it. She'd made her famous chocolate cake, the same cake she'd made every year for your sister's birthday because, like the casserole, it too was her favorite.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Why did she make a cake? Your sister was gone, and there was nothing to celebrate. If anything you wished to still be hidden away under your blankets, moping and wishing for peace. Yet, here was your mother, placing the cake down on the table with a sheepish smile and watery eyes.

She stared at the cake, avoiding your eyes as she sniffed, "I just... I thought that maybe this would make it feel like she's still here. I just wanted a little bit of her to make the day a little less sad."

"She's not here, Mom." you snapped, "She's not here, and this isn't going to change that."

With a loud screech from your chair that scraped across the floor, you bolted away from the table and back to your room. God, why are you being so horrible? She's just trying her best, you don't have to be so hard on her... Your sister's voice echoed in your mind, rattling around your skull so hard you swore you could feel your teeth chatter.

She was right, and you knew it. You knew you were being unfair, cruel even, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't help the uncontrollable guilt that seeing all your sister's favorite foods brought creeping back over you. You couldn't help the bile that steadily rose up your throat at the thought of her, the sight of her ever-present empty chair.

You couldn't help any of it. The anger and guilt was too much to bear, especially as you heard your mother's choked sob echo from the dining room all the way to your bedroom. You'd done that. You'd made her cry with your selfish contempt. You were truly the worst.

Collapsing back onto your bed and burying yourself under your blankets, you smothered yourself with your pillow until it felt like your lungs were going to explode. The tears never came, though you wished for them desperately. You felt like crying, you wanted to cry, but you couldn't. You were all cried out once more.

A loud knock on your window startled you awake, and you blinked in surprise at the pitch darkness of your room. You couldn't remember falling asleep, but that was fairly typical anymore. When you don't dream, there's never really much to differentiate between wake and rest. It was always just like blinking your eyes--one moment it was one day, and the next it was another.

Time moved pretty strangely ever since the incident, you'd discovered. Sleep made time seem longer, more impactful, and without it the days all blurred together. Another knock caught your attention, followed by another, before there was a steady rapping at the glass pane that made you furrow your eyebrows.

You clicked the power button on your phone only to huff when you remembered you'd shut it off, and turned to face the window. A shadow passed before it and your heart stuttered frightfully. Another knock, another shadow, and you were surprised you hadn't peed your pants in fear. There was someone out there.

A head popped up over the windowsill, falling heavily against the glass with a loud bang that made you jump. "What the--Peter?" you gasped, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting until you could make out the familiar suit of Spiderman.

What the hell was Peter doing at your window, and why was he still dressed up in his stupid costume? Begrudgingly, yet secretly curious, you creeped out of your bed and opened the window with furrowed eyebrows. "Peter, what are you doing here?" you whispered, but he didn't respond.

Well, he didn't respond with words. He groaned, a strange gargled noise like he was trying to talk through a mouthful of water, and his head lolled to the side weakly. Prodding his shoulder, he nearly tumbled to the ground until you caught him awkwardly and strained to keep him upright. "P-please, help." he gasped.

Your heart was racing, and your mind was moving nearly as fast with a million questions. How the hell did Peter know where you lived? Why was he at your window? What was wrong with him? Why did he think you were the person to help him? Why, what, why, how, all the questions remained unanswered.

It was a great struggle to drag Peter through your window, a task that was done without much help from the surprisingly heavy boy who leaned nearly all of his weight onto you. You did it, though, and bit back a scream when you pulled your hands away to find them covered in blood. As you stared at the dark, red stains on your flesh, the smell of it hit you and your head was spinning.

Blood, and a lot of it. Immediately your mind brought you back to that fateful day, images of your sister's lifeless form flashing before your eyes and blurring the world around you. Your breathing grew shallower, and just as the tunnel vision started to encroach, Peter garbled, "Please, (Y/N), you need to help me."

He weakly slapped at his chest until his suit deflated like a balloon, peeling away from his body like a loose tarp that was easily pulled away from his skin. "Oh, my god!" you wailed. His body was riddled with cuts, scrapes, and bruises galore. You wondered if any of his skin remained unbroken, because everything was black, blue, and red.

For the first time in what felt like forever, your fight or flight switched gears to fight. You weren't entirely sure why, because you were crying and holding back vomit like your life depended on it, but you raced around your room to gather anything you could to staunch the bleeding. Every breathe you took overwhelmed you with the smell of blood, that familiar metallic scent of iron or pennies, but you couldn't breathe through your mouth.

If you opened your mouth, you were surely going to lose all the food you'd eaten for dinner. All you could think of was your sister. You thought of what she would have done, and you knew that you were making the right choice in helping him. She would never have left him to fend for himself. Most of all, though, you thought of your sister and how you hadn't stopped her from dying, and you couldn't do that again.

You couldn't let another person die as a result of your actions. You couldn't, and you wouldn't. So, you worked hard and fast through all your crying to patch Peter up as best as you could. Nothing needed stitches as far as you could tell, but nearly every inch of his skin was broken with some form of scrape, scratch, or cut.

It was messy, and by the time you finished you were pretty sure you had more of Peter's blood on your skin and clothes than he had on himself. He was asleep, or unconscious, you weren't entirely sure. What you were sure of, though, was that the sun was rising and he needed to leave. You needed him to get out, both for the sake of your mentality and your parents'.

So, you jabbed your fingers into his shoulder and hissed, "Wake up!"

He awoke frantically, his eyes snapping open and his body lurching upright as he looked around in a panic. "Get away--(Y/N)? What... What am I doing here? Where am I?" he stammered, slumping back onto the floor with a wince as he continued to scan his surroundings in confusion.

"You're in my bedroom, Parker, and I don't know why. You showed up covered in blood and begging for help." you grumbled in annoyance. "You need to go. It's almost morning."

He blinked in surprise, glancing out your window to see the early hints of dawn on the horizon. "I, uh, I'm... I'm sorry. I don't remember coming here." he mumbled, "Woah, did I hurt you? Oh my God, I hurt you, I'm so--"

"This is your blood, Peter." you growled, cutting off his frenzied rambling as he finally caught sight of the red stains all over your body. "Get out."

He stared at you with parted lips, eyes wide with panic and apprehension. "Are you crying?" he finally asked, his voice timid.

It took you a moment to realize that, yes, you were in fact crying. You hadn't realized that the tears were still flowing from your eyes, but as you did the adrenaline wore off and you choked out through a sob, "Get out! Get out of here, Peter!"

Without the adrenaline pumping through your veins to keep you grounded, the emotion of the entire situation caught up to you. All the fear, anguish, guilt, and anxiety--it all washed over you in an instant and you were losing it. But, you were also angry. You were angry with Peter for putting you in that position.

You were angry that he'd show up, barely alive and begging for your help, when he knew somewhat of what you'd been through. He knew, at the very least, that your sister's death was on your hands, and he put you in a position to put another name on that list. Most of all, though, you were angry that already all of your worst fears were thrown in your face.

Peter wasn't your friend, but some part of you wanted him to be, and already you were faced with the prospect of him dying and you being helpless to stop it. Why was the universe so cruel to you? Were you cursed? It was all a sick, twisted joke, and you wanted no part of it.

"(Y/N), what's wrong--"

You cried, "Just, please, go. I'll see you at school, okay? Just go!"

And, after a moment of hesitation, he went. He climbed out of your window from where he watched you for another minute longer, clearly unwilling to leave you alone in such a state. Peter watched wordlessly as you fumbled to close and latch the window, until you shut the curtains and shut him out again.

Peter Parker: i'm so sorry

Peter Parker: please be okay

Peter Parker: i better see you at school tomorrow or i'm coming back to check on you

Peter Parker: or today i guess

SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:

@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb

[brutal-nemesis]

Spiral Day 2021: Cycle(-stys) of Yikes

Waddup y’all out how’s spinning out going? Good, good, love to hear it. Hey does anyone want to watch me break Castys? It’ll be funny I swear ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ In reality it’s INCREDIBLY messed up so please heed the warnings shit gets dark But uh yeah for context this is when he’s stuck in the lab ✨

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: lab whump, dehumanization, muzzle, organ harvesting and noncon surgery referenced, the boy goes nuts, starvation, dehydration, implied self-harm, implied autocannibalism 

Castys thought endless torment would be a little more exciting. 

Not that he’d expected it to be fun, but it was just...boring. Every damn day was the same. They’d drag him out of his cell to the same room, strap him to the same table, cut him open with the same knives and take out the same organs. Well, no, the organs they took varied by the day. But he only had so many different ones, so at some point he’d experienced it all before. The tests had a horrifically wide variety to them, but the common theme seemed to be Painful and Terrible and 0/10 Would Not Recommend. 

He’d fantasize about being back on his ship often to distract himself from everything. He’d imagine the sound of the waves, the feel of the spray in the wind, the smell of salt, his crew by his side...the thought of them made him happy and sad at the same time. He missed them all so much (except for Harris, he was a bitch), but the fact that he was here meant they were all safe and happy. Yeah, that was why he was stuck in this stupid place, those darned mortals and their tiny lifespans that he just had to get all sympathetic about and give himself up to these psychos so they didn’t spend the rest of their little lives in misery. Instead, he was going to spend the rest of his much longer life stuck in-no, he was going to get out...somehow.

But how? He didn’t have anything to pick the locks with. He was constantly restrained, either strapped to a table or chair in the lab or being manhandled from one room to the next by people who were ridiculously stronger than him. He’d tried to rush past the guards when they came to get him from his cell, but they’d caught him and chained his ankles together, making it nearly impossible for him to even walk. The short chain connecting his ankles and the muzzle they’d strapped to his face a couple weeks in were never taken off, just permanent additions to what it was like to be Castys. And if they took the muzzle off, it was just so they could mess with his mouth, and it went right back on afterwards, because why give food and water to someone who can’t stay dead?

So it went. Castys started to forget what it was like to walk normally, to speak with other people, what it felt like to eat, to be touched in a way that didn’t hurt, to be treated like a person. There was only the cycle of wake up, get dragged out, get sliced open, get poked and prodded and stabbed and studied, get dragged back, fall asleep and pray that tomorrow would be a little better, or even a little different. He could vaguely keep track of time by how blood-crusted his skin was, a way to tell how long it had been since the last time they’d hosed him down and chopped off his hair. The ship he dreamed of never went anywhere anymore, it was stuck, like him, because there was only here, wasn’t there? Everything else was just a delusion. The boy had always been in a cage, the ship had always been in a bottle. The square of the sky he could see out the window was there to trick him into thinking there was something else out there, but he knew there wasn’t. There was only here, and there was only the cycle.

The cycle, though, began to change, so slowly as to almost be imperceptible from one day to the next. Tests were a little shorter. Less organs were taken. They left him alone for a minute more. He hardly noticed it was happening until one day...they didn’t come for him at all. At first he was alright with it, he preferred the loneliness and the quiet to the table and the pain. But not dying at their hands every day meant the condition of his body wasn’t being reset constantly. Soon enough, hunger and thirst began to claw at him. Even if he had something to eat or drink, that muzzle was still stuck to his face, no matter how much he fiddled with it. Or maybe that was just a part of him, maybe he didn’t have a mouth, and this was just his face.

Every three days. Thirst. Weakness. Dizziness. Death. Was it three days? Is that how long you could last without water? He tried to count, but the numbers got lost in the haze all too easily. There was no way to mark the stone, to keep track outside of his head, the blood wasn’t being washed off him anymore. He had nothing, nothing at all, just here and himself and the unyielding stone. The square of sunlight would move across the cell, the only motion to break the constancy of everything else. It was the same day repeated over and over and over and over and over and it was the same just the same nothing ever changed, ever, ever, it was the same-

Something wasn’t the same. The leather muzzle that had kept him silent for so long had been slowly rotting, and it finally fell off. For a moment he simply stared at it lying there on the ground, broken, dying, fading away. He opened his mouth for the first time in decades. And he screamed, because that thing got to rot away and disappear and he wouldn’t, he would always be here, hungry and thirsty and alone and trapped and alive and it wasn’t fair, not at all, and he screamed because it had been so long since he was able, he cried because it was all he could do.

The tears, at least, moistened his dry tongue.

He drew lines. Some were faint, and some were vivid. The vivid ones were good, they were brilliantly red, they tasted so sweet, they pulsed and burned like stars. He drew so, so many, and every one was new and different and brilliant. Little cracks in the never ending cycle of monotonous agony. They let him feel for a moment like his thirst was quenched. The cracks widened, chunks broke off the sides, and then that constant feeling of hunger went away, too.

And so it went, drawing and sucking and biting and chewing in an attempt to satiate those cravings, but it was never enough, never enough, and he would wake up to unbroken skin, and the cycle could start all over again. Maybe he could have counted somehow, how many times it happened, but it didn’t matter, there wasn’t an end to count down to, there was just wake up and hurt and drink and scream just to hear something and wait for death so we can start again just wait just wait it’s coming the ship is sinking in the little bottle but it always comes back up please just let me rest just let me go I can’t do this again I can’t I can’t-

There was a new sound. A creak. Footsteps. They came back, old memories of something outside the cycle. There was someone-or was it something-standing on the other side of the bars. Its eyes were so white and empty, a color he hadn’t seen in so long that he couldn’t help but stare. It stared back, eyes narrowing and then widening.

“Castys?” He cocked his head. That sound, that word, it meant something, right? It did, it did, he was sure it did, but...what was it? And what...who was that? The more he looked, the more he was sure that there was something familiar about that silhouette. It was...distinct. Unmistakable. Unique. He didn’t remember who it belonged to, just that he recognized it. It was a someone, yes, yes, not an it, not-an-it-or-I’ll-tear-your-throat-out. So when they opened the door to his cell, when they came in, when they smiled at him, fangs flashing in the dim light, he wasn’t afraid, even if he should have been.

“I finally found you.”

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101

[whatshername-please]

Out of the Water - Chapter V

Synopsis: You were very proud to be a mermaid, thank you very much. You didn’t want to be where the people were. Actually, you’d rather avoid it. Defending the merfolk was the biggest goal in your life… well, it was until you meet a certain pirate… it seems that your family really had a thing for humans, after all. Not that you’d ever admit it…

Pairing: Harry x reader

Word count: 4514

Part 5 of ?

Warnings: none? Possibly grammar mistakes? Also, some cuss words

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so I’ll probably mess up some tenses, grammar and stuff. Go easy on me, please. Feedback is always appreciated.

               The sun was fading away in the horizon and soon it would be dark and, as you walked, you wondered why everything in this damned kingdom had to be so far away? Didn't they have magic carpets or something like that? Besides, since it was getting darker by the second, the sense of urgency was growing too. You had the feeling that Audrey was just playing with you - she obviously knew where you were, so why she didn't make a move yet? It was like a cat and mouse game and you were the mice heading towards a trap. Also, Mal having the Amber did not put your mind at ease since you didn't have the advantage.

You were literally entering to the lion's lair willingly.

"What happened between you and Hook?" You raised an eyebrow and Evie, who had come to talk to you, explained. "We heard the screaming. I know he can be difficult to deal with, but soon we'll all be in Auradon together".

Evie was way too good for this world, wasn't she? You didn't have the heart to contradict her or tell the atrocity the pirate had done to you.

"I know, sweetie. Don't worry, I'll try to be civil, even if the person in question is an utterly jerk who deserves a punch".

She sighed, looking almost disappointed. Obviously, you didn't give the answer she was hoping for but honestly, what was she expecting from you? Moreover, your response was nice enough, considering Harry was annoying and a water thief.  

"That's a beginning, I suppose. But I think we can work on the aggressive attitude, though" she said with a shrug.

Oh, maybe you should have skipped the punching part... If she thought that was violent, you hoped she never found out that you almost chopped Harry's finger off, then.

As the time passed you grew impatient, it was already night and no one was in a chatty mood anymore. As for you, you've never wished for a day to end so fast and, on top of that, something else was bothering you and it was not the perspective of facing Psycho Audrey. Maybe it was the fact that once everything was over, Mal would let the kids off the Isle (it was what she had promised, after all). However, as much as you want to believe her, you had your doubts. Either way, nothing would ever be the same.

Finally, you arrived at Fairy Cottage and crossed the garden very quietly, trying not to draw attention to yourselves. When you finally got at the building, Ben burst the door open.

Great way to go unnoticed.

However, in the end, it didn't matter because Audrey wasn't there and your little journey had been a waste of time, thereby she was still on the loose and you had no one idea where she could be or what she was planning to do (but whatever it was, it would be unpleasant). Suddenly, the sound of a bustling knock filled the air startling everybody.  Ben followed the source of the disturbence and discovered a very scared Chad locked in the pantry.

The poor thing looked completely distressed and hysterical and, soon after, he mumbled some nonsense and rushed off without a second thought.

"Well, at least he is pretty" you said out loud. How Cinderela could have had such a foolish son was beyond your comprehension, but his golden locks made up for the lack of discernment.

Harry laughed and the clumsy encounter with Chad lifted everyone's spirit and, when you left the Cottage, there weren't Mal's gang or Uma's crew anymore, just friends trying to save the world. Even if you were all doomed; at least you'd end up things in good terms.

Yeah, that's what you naively thought.

Evie told Ben about Mal's promise and apparently Mal had had other plans that she didn't bother sharing with anyone: she was going to close the barrier for good. No more in, no more out.

Nothing serious or extreme.

No reason to freak out...

Holly shit!

You felt like a fool!

Just to think that you gave your word to Harry and Gil that Ben wouldn't do that! You were so mad that you couldn't even talk and it never happened before! Also, you didn't have the heart to face Uma, not after you said to her things were changing for the better. You knew how Uma pretended to be tough, but right now her spirit had been shattered...

Harry confronted Ben about the lie and you thought he'd lose his shit and gut someone, but he just looked completely broken, like someone had taken away his will to fight. Even though Harry and Uma knew pain and betrayal, they didn't expect this. They trusted the people of Auradon were different and they were let down.

Things weren't suppose to go this way! You wanted to do something! Anything! But what?

It was then that Celia took the amber from Mal's hand and threw it into the water. Well, if you were screwed before, now you were hopeless. At least it was for a good cause, if people in Auradon thought their lives were worthier than the life of the inhabitants of the Isle, let them rot. You couldn't even be mad at Uma for leaving since that was what you wanted to do too, but you knew there was nothing you could do to help her in this moment. Actually, you knew Uma well enough to know that going after her would only bother her.

The words Harry said to you earlier about Auradon's privilege echoed in your mind and you couldn't stay put anymore.

"I know this is not my place to say something. I mean, most of the time I'm not even here, I'm not a VK and closing the barrier doesn't affect my life... but it does. It does because there are people there, good people destined to live a dreadful life just because they were born on that Isle! People in Auradon have been living their perfect little lives where everything is pretty and colorful while we claim to be the good guys, but what we have done to the villains and their kids is atrocious! There will always be good and evil, that's how life works and we can't run away from it. Deciding which path to follow is what defines someone's true self, but in order to make this decision we need to have a chance. Mal, you of all people should know that, you had a chance and now that your life is good you want to deny those children the same opportunity? From this day on, every time you play 'happily ever after' with your prince charming, know that you are doing it at the expense of a child on that Isle"

You wish you had heard Mal's reply, but as soon as you finished talking, the world froze.

                                                     _______

Legend says that you were indeed the hottest stone statue in Auradon, but it didn't soothe you a bit. To say you were pissed was not nearly enough to express what you were feeling right now. If Audrey weren't already dying, you would have gladly killed her yourself. The only reason why you were still in the awful human world was Uma... this, and also because becoming stone had consumed all your energies and right now you were way too busy drinking a huge bottle of salted water to not die of dehydration.

Your grandfather would have to choose another diplomat because you were never ever setting foot on land again.

Maybe, if you weren't so angry, you would have choked on your drink when Mal told Hades was her father.

It explained a lot about her, though.

So, Hades, Mal's father, was the only one who could save Audrey and they were going to fetch him on the Isle to help the dying girl. Oh! The double standard! When a kid from Auradon curses everybody is "a mistake", but if someone from the Isle does that is "they are too dangerous, let's lock them up forever". Is it fair? No. Does anyone care? Also no.

You thought it couldn't get any worse, but boy, you were wrong. Uma just said she was going back to the Isle, which was pretty understandable and expected, but you had one itty-bitty tiny hope that she would stay.

Oh, on top of that, everyone accepted Mal and Ben's selfish decision to close the barrier. You scoffed under your breath, salted water wasn't enough to deal with all this, you needed something stronger, like vodka. The good thing was, since everyone was leaving and your cousins were safe, you had no more business in the human world and you took your cue from the VKs to announce your own departure too.

You waited for the limo alongside Uma, Harry, Gil and Celia, the atmosphere was tense, and you had seen happier people at funerals.

"I thought you were going back to Atlantica" the teal haired girl said, breaking the overwhelming silence.

"I'll go with you... until we reach the barrier, at least" your voice was more hoarse than you expected it to.

"Yeah, don't want to risk getting trapped, right?" If this was supposed to be a mean comment, Harry had failed; he just sounded sad, like everyone else. The pirate wasn't expecting an answer but you gave him one, anyway.

"I wouldn't mind going to the Isle, but there is no magic there and no magic means no legs for me, so you would be stuck with a mermaid... unless you don't care to carry me around..." you half-joked.

The car finally arrived and you got into it. It was nice that Ben sent the limo to pick up the VKs, and the guard's vehicle was going ahead, probably to go find Hades. There was all sorts of food in the limo, but no one touched them because all of you were way too lost in your own minds to be hungry. As you were approaching the Isle the unsettling feeling in your stomach grew worst and there was definitely something wrong with your eyes. Just before the car crossed the barrier, you asked the driver to stop. For one second, it seemed he would argue against it, but you gave him a warning look, since you weren't in the mood for more useless fights.

"Uma, can we talk outside for one second, please?" you asked.

You two got out of the car and, as soon as Uma closed the door, you hugged her.

"I'm sorry, Uma. I'm so sorry" the only thing you could do was to repeat how sorry you were, but you knew your apologies didn't change anything.

"I know" she reassured you, looking in your eyes "It's not your fault, you shouldn't be apologizing".

"Someone has to" you said, your felt so tight in your chest that hurt. Then, Uma smiled and hold your hand.

"Thanks for everything you've done for me. I don't know how I would have gone through the past months without you"

"You'd have done just fine, you're a fighter" it was now or never, you lowered your voice so even if someone in the car was paying attention to the conversation, they wouldn't hear you "You can still change your mind, let's go back to Atlantica and, before you interrupt me, Harry and Gil can come too. I have no idea how this is going to work but we'll figure it out" you offered her - you had to try.

"You know I can't abandon the Isle, speacially now" her eyes were full of sorrow, she knew exactly what meant to go back "Maybe you can swim near the barrier so we can see each other from time to time".

You knew she would say that, but it didn't mean it hurt any less.

"Definitely!" you tried to sound cheerful, but the words that left your mouth were robotic and fake "We'll see each other again".

This was a lie, even if you saw each other it would never be the same. The realization hit you hard and that weird feeling that you had in the car, finally made sense when streams of salt water started falling from your eyes.

"I'm leaking!" you freaked out "What is that?! I'm leaking!"

"You're crying, you idiot" she laughed, her eyes watering too.

"Nonsense, mermaids don..." before you could complete the sentence, Uma hugged you again, which made you start crying even harder.

No, not crying, leaking.

"I promise, Uma. I'll not stop fighting for the Isle. I'll talk to Mal, Ben or whoever I must to! They will change their minds, even if, in order to do so, I have to summon up the wrath of the ocean upon them".

You didn't know how long you two stayed crying in each others arms but a voice with a thick accent called both of you after a while.

"Are you ladies alright?" Harry asked. The pirate and Gil were standing there next to both of you. The dark haired boy had a hint of curiosity on his face but he knew better than to tease his captain.

You two pulled away from the hug, Uma looked slightly embarassed to get caught in such an emotional moment.

"I can't believe I'm leaking" you said while trying to wipe away the tears from your eyes; however, they insisted on falling down.

This was so awkward.

"You're not leaking, you're crying" Gil's brow furrowed "Don't you know what crying is?"

"Yes, I do... it's just I've never cried before..." you said between sobs.

"Wow, life in Auradon must be really perfect if people don't even cry here" for the firts time since you met him, he sounded sad. The boy was probably thinking about all the opportunities he would never have in Auradon because he was destined to live on the Isle forever.

They took away Gil's bright smile and you could not forgive that.

"It's not that... I live in the sea, tears don't fall when you are under water" you explained, finally calming down.

"Maybe the ocean is just a big pool of mermaid's tears." Gil said absently, eyeing the vast blue ocean in front of him and you couldn't help but hug the blonde boy too.

The Sea Bitch was such a softie.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Gil. I wish we had more time to know each other better, but I know for sure that you're loyal, brave and gentle. I hope you are very happy. You deserve it".

You broke apart short after and Gil seemed very touched by your words.

"Thanks... that was one of nicest things that someone ever said to me" he offered you a shy smile "I wish you the same".

You looked at Harry, who looked back right into your eyes. You stared at each other until you hold out your hand, which he accepted. It was weird, Harry Hook has gotten on your nerves since the very first moment you met. He was smug, annoying and a little crazy, but at the same time he was very funny and fearless, qualities that you admired. You wanted to say something, but before you could open your mouth he let go of your hand.

That was it, then.

You also said goodbye to Celia and wished her the best. Then, the VKs got into the car again and, since Harry was the last one standing outside, you took the chance to ask him a favor.

"Please, take care of Uma"

His face broke into small smile and he nodded slightly.

You watched with a shattered heart the limo cross the barrier, taking away your friends from you forever.

There was nothing else you could do, so you jumped into the ocean and disappeared between the waves.

Not an hour ago all you wanted was to be back home, but now everything seemed pointless. For the last months Uma lived in Atlantica and going back without her gave you a knot in the stomach, things wouldn't be the same anymore without your friend there. The two of you used to spend hours plotting ways to get everyone off the Isle, finding a hole in the barrier or just talking about the future... and now you had nothing but crushed hopes. Of course you wouldn't give up, but you felt like you had moved backwards 10 spaces in the game, you fought for the merfolk on the Isle for so long and when it finally seemed that everything was going to be fine, it was a lie.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you didn't pay attention to where you were heading, which caused you to bump into your mother and younger brother.

"Where have you been"? Attina asked, her voice was somewhere between angry and concerned, but it was impossible to miss the vein popping out on her forehead "I was worried sick about you!"

"Sorry mom, I was in Auradon" you told her, knowing very well that this answer would only upset her more because there was no way she hadn't hear about Audrey and her little mishap.

"Auradon?!" The look of horror on her face made clear that she knew about what happened and wasn't happy about it. If humans thought you were hardcore, it was because they never talked to your mother "Do you know what Sleeping Beauty's daughter did?"

If you knew? You lived and survived it.

"I heard even Uma was there! Your grandfather was almost sending guards to look for you and your cousins! What happened?"

"Did you finally meet Uma, then?" your brother, Nereus, joined the conversation. He didn't know anything about Uma or that you two were friends. Also, he had no idea that he had talked to her many times when she was under the charm spell.

Then, your mother called by your full name, which never meant something good.

"You weren't there in hopes to befriend Ursula's daughter and bring all the merfolk from the Isle to Atlatica, were you?" Your mother knew you so well... and she wasn't happy.

"Of course not, mom..." I'm already friends with Uma, you added mentally.  

Before she started complaining, you explained everything that happened that day (ok, almost everything, you definitely skipped some parts). Her disapproval face grew to the point her vein was ready to explode, while your brother gasped and cheered at the most exciting parts, as you told the story. Under other circumstances you would have narrated the events in a dramatic and majestic way, not sparing any single detail; however, it was way too painful to remember that was your first and last adventure with Uma and her crew.

"Will they close the barrier forever for real?" Nereus asked and, when you nodded, he offered you a sympathetic smile. He knew how much you fought for the merpeople on the Isle.

Your mother, on the other hand, had other things bothering her.

"So, you tell me that they let a bunch of kids fight against a delusional girl who held one of the most dangerous tools of dark magic in the kingdom? Where were Fairy Godmother, the Blue Fairy, the 3 Good Fairies? You can't trust fairies, that's what I always say to your grandfather! Where were Belle and the Beast? Any adults?!" as she talked, her voice got more and more high-pitched, until she was practically shouting.

"They were probably under Audrey's spell" you enlightned her, even knowing that it would not ease her mind one bit.

"That's an absurd! How can we trust our kids to go to Auradon Prep if they can't keep the security system of a museum working properly?!"

You and your brother exchanged looks. Although your mother had a valid point, you didn't want to hear any of it, which was odd, because you never missed the opportunity to roast the human world.

Claiming to be tired, you excused yourself and swam to your room and, as soon as you got there, you glanced at the spot where Uma would used to stay, knowing that you'd probably never talk to her again. You felt like someone was crushing your heart and if you weren't under the sea, tears would be rolling down your face. You lay on the bed, trying to stop thinking about Uma, the Isle and everything. It was a good thing that you were exhausted, so you soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but, suddenly, you were woken by someone knocking on your door. You cursed under your breath, who, in the seven seas, was disturbing you right now? Not even bothering to look up, you invited whoever was at your door to come in, you heard them entering and closing the door and, after a moment, you felt the weight of someone sitting on your bed.  

They coughed and you recognized the deep voice that belonged to none other than your grandfather, King Triton.

"Grandpa!" you sat up quickly and hugged him.

"Hello, my dear" everyone feared your grandfather for he had quite a dauntless reputation (even you had to admit that he was frightening sometimes), also, his temper was known in all Auradon. However, when he looked at you with those gentle eyes, you forgot he was the King of the ocean, in these moments he was just your grandfather and you fell protected and loved near him.

"Oh grandpa, it was dreadful and I'm misarable" you hugged him again, hiding your face on his neck.

"Your mother told me what happened and that King Ben wants to close the barrier" his voice was so calm that it was difficult to imagine that when he was angry he could create storms and tsunamis.

"That's horrible. I feel so powerless and guilty! I know most of people think everyone in the Isle is evil but that's not true! They are kind and loyal and they don't deserve to be doomed to perish in that place! You should have seem their faces when Mal told them the program had been shut down" your grandfather wasn't know for his love for villains, everytime someone brought Ursula up he got riled up and changed the subject quickly, but you needed to speak out.

"And who are 'they' that you're talking about?" he asked, stroking you hair softly to confort you.

"You know... Celia, Gil, Harry... and Uma" you were nervous to talk about Uma with him. Actually, despite him knowing that you were in charge for her "search party" you have never discussed that you wanted to bring her to Atlantica, even more that you had brought her to the palace clandestinely and that she lived under his roof for months.

"Uma?" his voice was stern when he said your friend's name.

"Grandpa" you straightned up and looked him in the eye "I know it must be hard for you because Ursula caused great pain to our family but Uma has nothing to do with it, she is brave, smart and care so much about other people. She had the chance to stay in Auradon but she came back to the Isle because she couldn't abandon them! She might has taken some questionable decisions, but who hasn't? She was fighting for what she believed was right! Isn't it what you taught me?"

King Triton furrowed his brows; the wrinkles in his forehead were visible which could only mean he was deliberating something.

"You do seem to know a lot about her" he said after a while, his voice and face were severe and you swallowed... this conversation was taking a dangerous path.

"Well... I..."

Before you could finish the sentence, your grandfather cut you off.

"I know what you did"

You froze, he couldn't possibly be talking about Uma living in Atlantica. There was no way he knew that, if he had had any suspicion of what you did, he would have been beyond furious, so you tried to play cool.

"What are you talking about, grandpa?"

He raised an eyebrow and sighed.

"I know you brought Uma to live here in Atlantica"

And then you died.

The end.

Oh wait.

You weren't dead... but you were sure your grandfather just told you that he knew about Uma... Something was terribly wrong. He probably noticed your bulging eyes and horrified expression because he elucidated soon after.

"I raised seven daughters, my darling. I don't need my trident to see through a charm spell and a lie" it was weird, his voice was strangely serene and he looked slightly amused.

"But... how... like... why... Aren't you angry?" there weren't enough words to describe your shock right now.

"I learned to trust the people I love a long time ago, even when we don't agree on the subject." his tone was solemn and wise and it made you feel so small and pathetic because you knew you had disappointed him.

"I'm sorry, grandpa.... I'm sorry that I lied to you and that I disappointed you, but I'm not sorry for what I did" you didn't have the courage to look him in the eyes, but he lifted up your face and smiled.

"You didn't disappoint me. I trusted you enough to let you do what you thought was right, that was what I taught you. And considering everything I saw in the last months, I believe Uma is a good girl and I'm glad you're friends"

You returned his smile, not in your wildest dreams you thought your grandfather would understand this and it made you so glad how supportive and understanding he was about everything.

"I'm sorry for lying to you! I won't do it again" you promised him.

"You're young, you will" he laughed it off "But trust me when I say that I'll be by your side no matter what"

Everything should be perfect; however, there were a bitter feeling in your mouth and a knot in the pit of your stomach that you couldn't get rid of. In the end, it didn't matter if your grandfather trusted Uma or not, because she would be trapped on the Isle forever.

"So… I think I need your help" you bit your lip, uncertain of how to say it "We can't let them close the barrier for good, but I don't know what to do!"

"Don't worry, I promised I'll talk to King Ben about this. They can't just close the barrier like this without measuring the consequences" he reassured you "Now, rest, my darling. You had a long day"

He got up and swan towards your door, but before leaving he turned his head and said.

"Otherwise, you have my permission to summon up the wrath of the ocean upon them" he winked at you and left.

"Wait" you whispered to yourself "How does he even know?"

And then it hit you.

"SEBASTIAN!"

[janekfan]

Hello friend!! I thought of a prompt, and if you like it, it's yours!! What if Tim was kidnapped by the circus with Jon?? They're having a bad time together; Tim is hostile. Eventually, Jon starts to get quieter, and Tim thinks he's in a mood. Jon complains of a headache, and Tim thinks he's being a baby. Until he finds out he's burning up and was just too afraid to say anything because he didn't think he could take Tim telling him he didn't care 😭 (but, begrudgingly, he DOES) 💖

oooooooh this prompt! Had me feeling things! Thank you @taylortut!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400745

It was Tim who woke up first, unsure of where he was, still with the residual anger he’d had on his way to confront Jon about all of this nonsense still burning incandescent. Hindsight being 20/20, he probably should have taken the anonymous tip on Jon’s location with a grain of salt and a fistful of caution but he was just so angry it was filling him up like a poison, overflowing with nowhere to go, and it was so much easier to focus on his boss because it was his fault they were in this mess.

It was his fault Sasha was gone.

It was his fault they were all trapped.

“T’Tim...” Barely an exhale and if the room they were contained in hadn’t been dead quiet, he’d ignore Jon. Still might. Let him sit in the guilt and shame of having inflicted whatever this was on yet another assistant.

If he even cared.

“Where...are we?” There was some light to see by, but not nearly enough to determine the answer to that even if he’d wanted to speak to him in the first place. Based on his own headache, Tim assumed that Jon had been knocked unconscious as well and corroborated it with the hiss of pain drawn sharply between his teeth.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” Snapping callously and surprising even himself at the harsh bite in his voice, Jon flinched hard, turning with it to examine the space.

“We’re tied up.” He remarked, nonplussed, and Tim heard him pulling at his bonds. It wasn’t rope, but something softer and before he could think on it further a shaft of light fell upon Jon as a being, not quite a person, stepped through a door. “Nikola.”

“Well acquainted are you?” Tim scoffed.

“Not by choice.” And he didn’t look anywhere except straight at the thing he’d named, vitriol in his eyes, in the firm set of his jaw.

“Oh, Archivist. Don’t be like that.” Her smile was inhuman, too many teeth, not quite right. “And please do stop frowning like that.” Jon turned away from the fingers claiming his chin and Tim had once been so close to him that he knew he didn’t like to be touched unless he trusted you. Like Tim had trusted him. “I want you in pristine condition for the show.” She snapped once and several mannequins surrounded and released Jon from his bonds. They tried to drag him through the door and Jon fought like a beast possessed, wild and feral and loud and no match for their sturdy yet gentle grip as they carried him off against his will. It left Tim alone in sudden silence, a little stunned and more than a little worried and he’d take that to his grave, thank you very much.

With nothing else to focus his attention on, Tim could only think of how awful Jon looked illuminated in that cold beam with that monster leering down at him. Could only think about how hard he fought before he was hauled away in cold, plastic hands and wondered if that was the last of him.

But he was returned, quiet and haunted, still and silent when they tied him back down and resisting the water they held to his lips until they forced it on him by holding his nose, sputtering and hacking as they poured it down his throat. Calm, Tim took his ration, puzzling over his strange behavior and trying to get a closer look, but Jon just hid behind his overgrown hair, using it like a curtain to shield his face and visibly shivering.

“Given up already?” He sneered, trying to get a rise out of him.

He failed.

Time waxed and waned, strained and stretched, dilating like a pupil in the dark whenever Tim tried to keep track of it. Eventually, he gave up. It didn’t seem like there was any rhyme or reason regarding when they took Jon, but he assumed it was at least once a day. Each time he raged against them with everything he had and each time they overpowered him like he was a child and hurried him off to god knows where. Each time he was tied back down he had an odd blank look in his eye that gradually cleared until it didn’t, trembling finely and Tim used it as a way to needle him, goad him, tried to make him do something, anything. Without a response he didn’t know if he was getting through to him, but it made him feel better to take out his frustration on Jon.

Days passed. Inexorably slow with nothing to do save yell at his sole companion. Jon still tried to make his taking as difficult as he could, but he was slowing down, losing strength on a diet of bread and sips of water. Now when he returned he shook with the effort of weeping without sound, turned away as far as he could and spilling sorrow down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, little Archivist.” Nikola purred one day, lifting his face with a delicately placed fingertip. “Do you know why he hates you?” A new game they were forced to play. Because they were held captive by the Circus. And the Circus had taken Danny. And Tim screamed himself hoarse demanding answers from Jon when he'd been told.

“You’re lucky I’m tied down, Jon! I would take my answers by force if these fuckers would let me!” Jon never said anything other than apologies and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair and when Jon cried it made him that much more furious because what right did he have to be upset when he was the one doing all this to them!

“We can’t have that, Tim.” She would smirk, placing her hands over his shoulders in a mock massage, tone soothing and so understanding. “We need him to be perfect.”

“Perfect.” Tim spat. Perfect. And Jon shook harder at Nikola’s cryptic words until she turned her machinations toward Tim because, after all? If he’d kept a closer eye on his precious family, would he have lost him at all?

“It’s really your fault if you think about it.” Tim tried his damndest to get closer, grappling so hard with his bonds he fell over and still tried to take a chunk out of her with his teeth. She merely laughed, ridiculing them both.

“Leave off!” Jon shouted, Tim’s chest was heaving against the floor as he twisted and bent himself into all manner of shapes in a fruitless attempt to attack her again, blind with rage and hate.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Nikola caressed his skin and Jon bit his lip until blood ran in rivelets but she left.

“I’m so sor--”

“Save it. Don’t think this changes anything.” Uncomfortable and sore and still seething, Tim laid there until they came for Jon.

Whatever they were doing was taking a visible toll and Jon’s resistance began tapering off and he became too tired to put up a fight. He’d developed a cough that kept them both awake. It began small, chronic and dry, but no less obnoxious and only Jon could find more ways to make this captivity more difficult.

“Stop it.” Clipped and bitter.

“Sorry, sorry. Smoking, you know.” Tim didn’t answer and Jon’s attempts to stifle it were sorely lacking, bursting from his chest like a gunshot.

“You know what they want, don’t you.” Surprised, he looked up, nodding slowly, brow furrowed. “Well?”

“It’s. It’s.” Real fear raced across his face before he could stop it and he swallowed thickly.

“Lemme guess. It involves you.” Tim’s ire began to rise because of course it did.

“Yes.”

“And you won’t just give it over to save us?” Jon looked away, eyes shut tight.

“No.” He tried to take a deep breath and it lodged somewhere in between. “But it’s becau--”

“Save it. Coward. It’s enough that you won’t consider it.” Resentful, Tim again wanted to get his hands on him because of course he’d refuse. There wasn’t a more selfish man in the archives. “So this is it then? We go the way of Sasha?”

“I--”

“Because you didn’t help her either. Didn’t even notice.” It was his turn to hide because he’d be damned if Jon saw him cry. “Maybe if she’d been the Archivist, it would have been you.”

Jon didn’t, couldn’t fight this time and was more lifeless than any time before when they secured him which seemed to please Nikola and she praised him, dragging fingers through his messy hair, pulling sharply on the tangles.

“Ah, you’ve finally learned, Jon." And she tapped his cheek, sickeningly tender, before finally leaving him alone.

“Giving up so soon?” Tim scoffed; ‘so soon’ being weeks into their capture when Jon was clearly exhausted, sleeping more and more in between waking enough to hack up a lung. He could hear the wheeze on his breath from where he was across the room. “Figures.”

“Jus’… m'head hurts.” Laughing bitterly, Tim told him to keep it to himself. Dealing with Jon when he was in a mood or whining for the sake of it hadn’t made it onto his agenda. But the part that cared, that he’d tried to stamp out and fill with hate, reminded him that they were both dehydrated and hungry.

Reminded him that Jon was getting quieter and quieter, going long stretches between speaking and this time when he was carried away, he was frighteningly lax and loose, head thrown back and gasping, overbright eyes half lidded. This time, when they dragged him back and tied him up, he was crying openly, shaking fit to fly apart and eerily quiet. But the tears were there, streaming down his face and gathering on his chin before his trembling got the better of them.

“Jon?” If anything, he sobbed harder, the sound choked off as he tried so, so hard to be quiet.

“Please s’stop, Tim.” And his whisper was so broken, so small and sad, that Tim shut his mouth, because Jon was at his breaking point and he’d helped push him to it.

Now Tim couldn't stop looking at Jon and it made the other man self conscious when he was awake enough to notice, trying to keep his head turned away when he had the strength and it wasn't thrown back over the chair while he gasped like a fish out of water.

The few times Tim caught him looking his way were fraught with weariness. Jon's red rimmed eyes, bruised and ringed with shadow, held a constant question and reminded him too much of his paranoia. Truthfully, the stare was heavy and he was uncomfortable with the weight of it leveled across his shoulders.

"What're you staring at?" But it was a half-hearted attempt at inflicting hurt and Jon shrugged, blinking and a few times as if to clear his vision.

"You okay?" It sounded like he'd been swallowing gravel, rough and low and painful.

"What do you think?" And Tim couldn't stop responding in anger, swearing to himself that Jon's defeated expression meant less than nothing.

Jon wasn’t well.

He’d been unconscious for the better part of a day and Tim hadn’t been able to rouse him; shouting at him from the other side of the room wasn't enough but he tried once more out of desperation.

“Jon, buddy. Jon!”

“Mmwha'Tim?” Cracked right in the middle, it was forced through a deep wet cough that sounded bad. Really bad. The effort left his narrow chest heaving with every difficult pull for air, like he was breathing through a straw.

“Oh, thank god.” Even with the distance between them Tim could see his face twist up in confusion. “You weren't answering me.”

“Talkin t'me?” Panting and pale in the weird light, Jon’s features seemed carved from shadow and sweat.

“Yes, who else??” More than used to Tim’s frustration and annoyance, Jon just let his chin tip forward on his chest. “Jon, what's wrong.”

“Head hur's.” Slurring badly, Jon gave up words altogether in favor of letting his dark lashes flutter closed.

“You've said! What else?” Yelling and angry and helpless, the guilt rose in him like a slow and deadly tide when he saw tears slipping down his face. Tim was scared and he was mean, shouting and demanding, because of it. Because he thought he was done caring about this paranoid menace who had posed as his friend and gotten them into this mess. And he wasn't, oh he wasn't and something was seriously, seriously wrong and he was tied to a chair two meters away and couldn’t do anything about it. “Jon! Don’t, hey! Don’t go to sleep!” But it didn’t matter, he was already gone.

“Well, don’t you look tetchy.” Tim ignored Nikola’s jab the next time she and her clowns came to visit and through a surge of protectiveness he hadn’t felt in so long for anybody, he spoke on his behalf.

“Please. Jon, he. Something’s wrong.” She didn’t look impressed.

“He’s stopped his fighting.”

“Let me check on him. Whatever you need him for, he won’t be any use if he’s dead, right?” Nikola laughed, cruel smile striking fear into Tim’s heart for the first time.

“It wouldn’t matter, truly. But. Well," grabbing a fistful of hair, she forced his head back and forth to get a good look at him. "I just don’t think he’s done yet. And that would be a shame--I do so wish to look my best.” Tim was no closer to figuring out what was happening but it didn’t matter anymore. “I assure you, if you try to run.”

“I won’t.” Swiftly promised, they’d escape another time. Somehow, someway. “Untie us?”

“Us?” She chuckled and in the end, only released Tim but it would have to do, and once he was sure she was well and truly gone, he stumbled on numb legs to stand over him.

“Jon?” Gently, like he might break under the weight of his hand, Tim laid it over his forehead, brushing back through his tangled hair when the heat of it met his palm. He was a furnace, burning away to nothing and very sick. “Jon?” He tore a strip off the bottom of his shirt, wiping away the sweat because there was nothing else he could do until he finally came around. “Hey, Jon.” Jerking away with enough force that Tim had to catch the chair, he coughed with his shoulders hunched around his ears like--

Like Tim was going to strike him.

“Oh, no, no.” What a mess they’d made. “Hey, none of that.” When he went to apply the compress again, Jon flinched, shaking, muttering breathlessly:

“Don’touch, please, don’touch me any’anymore. Pl’please.” So now he was free, free to see up close the terror and fear, faced with it plainly enough to question that Jon wanted any of this at all, or if he was just as caught in it’s spiraling web. He wore himself out, body slumped uncomfortably where he was tied as he lost consciousness and Tim was at a loss as to what to do. He wasn’t able to pick apart the knots, didn’t have anything to slice through his bonds. No medicine, no water. Nothing, and so he finally relegated himself to pounding on the door, shouting, pleading for water because Jon was out of his mind with fever and wouldn't let Tim touch him. Of course it went unanswered, and instead he found himself sitting crisscross at Jon’s feet. “Don’...don’touch…”

“I won’t, I promise. Not, not until you say I can.” Wringing his hands, remembering every time they'd helped each other through a sick day at the institute. Remembering when he was free to touch and free to comfort. Jon ruined that. But it shouldn't mean he was afraid of him.

“T’tim?” The whimper of recognition made the fist around his heart squeeze. “They...they’re. My skin. Take it. G’g’gonna take it.”

“Calm down, you’re not making sense.” And shaking so hard with chills his teeth were chattering.

“It’s going to, to hurt. She, Ni-she.” Worked up, Jon was hyperventilating, barely getting any air between his coughing and rambling but he wouldn’t listen to Tim. “It’s, it’s. I, I, I don’wan’to h’hurt anymore…” Delirious, he had to be, paranoid and ill and delusional and he said as much.

“Okay, Jon? That’s not going to happen.”

“Why Tim!” Nikola’s delighted voice rose up behind him and he startled. “He didn’t tell you? This ritual requires a special ingredient, a costume! Of special power and distinction and you,” she tapped his forehead sharply, “just don’t fit the bill!”

“Costume?”

“Of course!” When she clapped her hands together it made a sharp plastic clatter. “Our Archivist here will have the most lovely skin when we’re through with him.” Tim felt sick to his stomach. Jon. He’d. He’d called him a coward. Wished awful things on him and maybe it would be impossible to be friends again but, but they’d been friends once. Been close once. And.

“Please. He, he needs water.” His voice shook. “His--” skin “It’ll be better if he’s had enough water.”

“A wonderful idea!” She turned away from where she was tracing lines over his body, “to think I wanted to kill you upon arrival, when you’ve been so useful in keeping our mutual friend in line!”

“Slow, slow Jon.” He pulled the cup away when it seemed he’d try for the whole of it at once, “you’ll make yourself sick.”

“T’Tim...need.”

“I know, be patient.” Jon’s brown eyes were piercing even glassed with fever, all his limited focus directed at Tim.

“N’no.” He paused to get enough breath to speak. “Run. You n’need to run.” Days ago, Tim would have done so in a heartbeat but the thought of abandoning him now. He couldn’t.

“I cant.”

“Tim”

“No, not without you.” His gaze was devastating and he dropped his head.

“Why?” He didn’t have an answer and thankfully didn’t need one because at that very moment a yellow door appeared where one had never been before and through it stepped a man who both was and wasn’t, face ever changing, limbs elongating in strange intervals and he had to look away.

“I’ve come to kill you, Archivist.” A distorted echo that was also not an echo filled up the room.

“Get in line, you’re not the only one who wants a piece.” The being seemed taken aback, tickled that a human would even dare, and Jon used the gap in their conversation to draw its attention.

“Michael.” The thing that was Not What It Is shifted focus, oil on water. “Tell me.” And while Jon couldn’t say anything more than that, he did and instead of killing the archivist, Helen saved him, using sharp fingers that warped and writhed to slice the bonds and send him sprawling to the ground. Or would have, if Tim hadn’t caught him. He wouldn’t respond to Tim’s shaking and shouting and when Helen offered to grant them both safe passage as a favor to her favorite Sims (her only Sims, Tim figured) he lifted him into his arms and stepped through the door.

And into his own flat.

“Do tell him I say hello, would you?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Course.” Awkwardly, he waved with his arms still full of Jon. “Thanks.” When he was sure his flat had only the same number of doors it came with, he laid his burden down on the couch, heading to the medicine cabinet for any fever reducer he could find and filling a glass with water on the way. It took too much time to wake him and he wasn’t aware enough to parse the instructions Tim was trying to explain, that dreadful whistling almost deafening this close and the crackling in his lungs like dry leaves in autumn. So he propped him up against his shoulder, body blazing through their clothes, and slipped the pills onto his tongue one at a time so he could swallow them with small sips. Replacing himself with several pillows shoved behind him, Tim wrung out a cool flannel and smoothed it over his forehead, ignoring the sluggish, enquiring gaze until it disappeared behind heavy lids and his face relaxed into sleep.

There wasn’t anything in the fridge that survived his absence save for the bicarbonate of soda and beyond that, Tim didn’t want to take a chance opening anything. The bread was moldy, but a packet of biscuits with peanut butter helped dull the hunger and, though he would never admit it, gave him a reason to stay up to watch over Jon. Flushed and fevered, he mumbled nonsense in his sleep, and Tim recognized enough that he soon decided not to listen, the horror of it too much to bear just yet. He fell into his own bed, relaxing sore muscles and glanced at the clock blaring too bright numbers that he didn’t want to read, his last conscious decision that they’d been gone this long, what was one more night before telling everyone else they weren’t dead.

The sun, blessed sun, fell across his face and he let himself have a lie in until he remembered who was passed out on his couch and he dragged himself towards responsibility, a knot of apprehension tight in his throat, relaxing when Jon looked, well, not well, but better. Apparently sensitive to being watched, their eyes collided briefly before ricocheting away and Tim was irritated by it and the way Jon was avoiding him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were that sick?” Though Tim stood over him, Jon continued to look at his hands, tracing a finger over the rough scar spanning his whole palm. He took his time, thinking, so long that when Tim shouted “well?!” he jumped, eyes wide, breath catching.

“You. You said.” Coughing into his elbow, he needed a moment to recover. “Said t’to keep it to myself.”

“When you were complaining about a headache!” Jon shrugged with one shoulder, curling into himself small and fragile, somehow more so in the late morning light.

“Didn’t think--”

“No, you didn’t, you never do, Jon!”

“--you’d want to know.”

“Jon.” But would he have wanted to know? Would he have ignored it like he had his anguish? What reason had Tim given him when he’d used everything he experienced in that room and out of it as a weapon against him? Jon was looking up at him, wan and pallid, waiting for whatever Tim had to say and he knew he would take it like he’d taken it in their captivity. He sat on the low table in front of the couch. “Jon. I’m. You know I’m angry with you.” He nodded. “I’m sorry for, I took it too far. But, I’d still have wanted to know.” He pressed the next dose of medicine into his unblemished hand and made sure the water glass was within reach. “Take those.” Before he slipped into the kitchen and away from their shared mistakes, but he could still hear.

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Oh,” he popped his head back into the sitting room. “Helen says hello.” And chuckled when Jon threw an arm over his eyes with a groan.

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV

Chapter 16

You’re growing restless. Without having the latest idea of how much time has passed, without the faintest possibility of knowing if it’s day or night, with so little to do, you’re starting to lose your mind.

When Miranda had you in the cell of her apartment, she kept you somewhat entertained with the surprise of something new and unexpected every day. For as scary and painful and confusing it could be, it was still something.

Now that you’re in that confined space with her, your head is spinning with hundreds of thoughts and scenarios that make you feel dizzy.

You’ve thrown up a few times already, the throbbing in your head so intense that you’ve barely registered how Miranda had tucked you in the blanket and forced you to swallow every last drop of water you still had from the bottles, risking dehydration herself.

You don’t know if you’ve imagined it or dreamed it, but at some point you’ve even heard her banging on the door, demanding at least some medicine or more water or some food. Perhaps they thought you were putting on a show and didn't believe her words, but you were glad that after a nap - that could have lasted half an hour or even days - you were feeling better.

Rubbing at your still upset stomach, you watch her doing push-ups on the floor, keeping count even though she hasn’t asked you to, and squeeze your eyes tight when the movements of her body going up and down make your head spin again. The sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you feeling ill again?” She asks, her voice urgent.

Cracking one eye open and swallowing thickly, you shake your head. She’s still on the floor, arms outstretched as she supports her weight, her whole body rigid and perfectly toned, when you exhale.

“I don’t know what it is.” You mumble, rubbing your forehead with the pad of your fingers. You’re vaguely aware that your hand is shaking.

“It’s this damn place, it’s what it is.” She snarls, rolling on her side and sitting crossed-leg in the middle of the small space. She’s studying you. “And you’re dehydrated.” She informs you.

“You’ve kept me without food and water for longer than this- I think.”

“I knew what I was doing.” She spits back, lifting her chin slightly.

“From what I remember,” You took a shaky intake of air while a weary smile tugged at your mouth, “you had to force-feed me at one point.”

Miranda narrows her eyes. Any other time you would fear the outcome of your bravery - or stupidity - for snapping back, but now you’re grateful for the reassuring tinge of playfulness that flashes on her face.

“You’ve always been a handful.” She murmurs. “Always had that fire. That’s what makes you so-”

She’s cut off abruptly when you hear some clanging noises coming from the other side of the door. You’re mentally cursing whatever o whoever has caused her to stop, because right now you can only care about what her words might’ve been if she had the opportunity to finish that sentence, but on the other hand, you can feel how grave the situation is by the way she tenses up.

In response, you tense up as well, struggling to focus on the door just like she’s doing. A pregnant silence has descended in the cell when she cautiously spins around to face the only way in and out, as if she’s ready to jump at anyone attempting to enter your space, like a lioness defending the territory.

It makes you feel safe.

The noises stop for a moment, then you hear something being dropped on the floor, the metal dragging on tiles and, finally, from underneath the door, a small flap swings open to let a sad-looking tray slide in.

You hear Miranda sigh heavily as she retrieves the tray, inspecting the content with a curious wince. You’d say she’s disgusted, but there’s a strange glimpse in her eyes when she pushes it close to you, grabbing a bottle of water and opening it for you before handing it over.

You roll your eyes, biting your tongue to prevent snapping at her that you’re perfectly capable of opening bottles - though, probably, you’re not right now - and take a tentative gulp.

Charmed by what intentions might be, you watch her grab one of the two energy bars, ripping the cover off with her teeth and taking small bites.

“Eat.” She says, sitting crossed-legged next to you. “Do it slowly, it tricks your stomach into believing it’s more food.” She instructs.

You eye the other energy bar, the pack of crackers, the few grapes that are scattered around the plate randomly. It doesn’t make sense and it makes you suspicious, despite the fact that she’s eating.

“What if it’s drugged?” You murmur, throwing a pitiful glance over. Your stomach is still upset and the last thing you wish to do is spend the next few hours retching again.

“It’s highly possible.” Miranda agrees, but keeps chewing. “But it’s the only source of nourishment they’ll give us and you need the fluids.”

“We’re taking chances?” You scoff, curling on yourself and hugging your knees protectively.

“I’m not taking chances.” Miranda sighs, she sounds annoyed. “You can handle the majority of drugs, you’re immune as much as I am. Do you really think I would take a risk like that?”

“I, uh-” You stare at her, mouth agape, blinking in puzzlement.

“Or we can always recreate one of our first days together, m’eudail, and I can shove those grapes into your mouth one by one and keep my hands on your pretty lips until you’ve swallowed everything down like the good girl you are, shall we do that?”

You gulp automatically, fighting the depraved thrill that has crawled down your spine, like a shiver, as soon as she’s started talking like that.

Weakly, you shake your head no, choosing to take another large gulp of water, instead, hoping that the heat would go away with your dry throat.

“Are we really immune, though?” You ask with a frown.

Miranda shrugs, not entirely convinced - you can see she’s hesitant.

“I did try my best and you responded well enough.”

“Evening drinks?”

Miranda cracks a broken smile in your direction.

“Clever girl.” She smirks, going in for the other bottle and taking a sip before closing it up again, perhaps saving it for later.

“You knew-” You murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “You knew this would happen someday, that somebody would actually come and get you.”

“I tried my best not to let it happen.” Miranda sighs back, and you can tell by the slight quiver in her voice that she’s telling the truth. “I tried my best not to let it happen to you, but I couldn’t be sure to grant you complete safety so- I needed to prepare you.” She adds, her voice heavier, somehow.

Silence falls. You watch her chew the few remnants of her bar and then fidget with the wrapping. It seems like she’s playing, but you know by the gentle crease on her forehead and her unblinking eyes that she’s planning something. You decide not to disturb her and focus on putting something in your stomach: you’re hungry, and yet you don’t exactly feel like eating your bar, nor the grapes; thinking your body would appreciate something salty and dry, you heave a sigh and reach out for the crackers.

“Wait.” Miranda’s hand wraps your wrist in an instant, quick and efficient like a snake. She grabs the crackers before you do and you’re left watching her, mesmerized, as she meticulously works the nail of her thumb to scrape every salt crystal off, offering the crackers to you, one by one, as soon as she’s bared them.

At first, you think it’s the tricky part of the food, where they’ve stored the drugs or the poisonous substance, but then you see her gather the salt in the wrapping paper and ball it up as tight and as small as possible.

You quickly eye the camera, wondering how she managed to make it look unsuspicious or why on Earth would she think that no one would ask anything about her curious actions.

“What are you doing?” You dare to ask then, watching her placing the little envelope in full display, next to the extra unopened water bottle.

“You’ll thank me later.” Miranda says, but her voice is completely emotionless. She eyes the shiny ball of wrapping paper with spite. “Trust me.”

“You know I do.” You murmur sincerely, offering her a timid smile.

Miranda heaves a small breath, shifts closer to you, grabs all the crackers and spends the next ten minutes passing one unsalted cracker after the other. After making sure you’ve eaten everything, she kisses the corner of your mouth and licks a crumb off.

“Good girl.”

[edmund-valks]

Ilandreline - Soul Food

(( The Call - A Compound Beginning - Just One Cookie ))

She had nothing left to eat, a realization prompted by the sensation of fingernails scratching in an empty pouch.  A giggle escaped her.  There was something comical about running out of food in this vast wilderness.  "I could eat the plants."  That was her voice, wasn't it?  "They won't feed me, though.  They're made of nightmares and failure.  That won't do."

After realizing again her food pouch was empty, Ilandreline looked around.  Something about this place… She shook her head.  "Too hungry to think straight."  Her fingers wrapped around nothing in the little bag where she'd kept the last of her cookies.  "Wish those plant-things could help."

She reached for her water, settling for a drink now that there were only crumbs left to eat.  Squeezing the last drops into her mouth, she wondered what it would be like to die of dehydration at the end of her journey simply because she'd become so disoriented from a lack of food that she hadn't bothered to leave the Paths.  "Hah!  That would be some serious chump shit, wouldn't it, Granny?  Granny?"  She looked around, frowning at the emptiness where Aurelaine had been.  "Where'd you go?  Oh, there you are."

The old elf said nothing, merely sighed.  That was probably fair.  Ila wasn't exactly doing the family proud at the moment.  "Look, I know it's sad -- pathetic, even! -- but you have to admit it's funny.  Me dying, I mean.  Like this.  Right at the door out.  Hilarious!"

Maybe it wasn't that funny, now she thought about it.  More disappointing than funny.  That hurt, in a strange way.  She was used to disappointing her mother, but disappointing Granny Laine was something else entirely.  Maybe she should find a way not to do that?

"Would it be better if I, you know, left?  That way you wouldn't see it, right?"  She was beginning to suspect that wasn't really her grandmother at all.  Maybe it was a ghost.  Maybe it was a hallucination.  But would either of those be able to mimic the displeasure on her face so well?  She didn't know, ghosts were a Von thing, not an Ila thing.  "Whatever, it should work, I guess.  Or something.  Better to die where the dead go than here, where I'm like ninety percent sure they're just eaten.  Better than dying at a door I forgot to open then."

Again, the nagging feeling that there was an answer she was missing.  And again if fell away quickly, drowned out by the rumble of a stomach and the ridiculous situation she'd found herself in.  "Fuck it, let's just do the blood thing, plenty of that around here."  Someone laughed aloud -- it didn't sound like her, it was a bit high-pitched, kinda manic -- while Ila looked around for a plant to chop open.  There weren't many, for some reason.  This area seemed strangely barren, like if someone had cleared it intentionally.  That was odd.  Or was it?  She couldn't remember anymore.

Oh well.  No plants didn't mean no blood.  She had plenty.  Not just in her body, either!  Chuckling to herself, Ilandreline grabbed a large bottle from her pack, removing the stopper.  The iron-tang of its contents filled the air, tickling her nostrils with warm memories of a full belly.  Delicious.  Maybe if she drank the whole thing then-

No!  You're supposed to be doing something with this!  Nodding at the voice in her head, she stumbled around, emptying it as carefully as the wobbling terrain would allow.  Who authorized such an unstable plane?  She wanted to have words with them.  Or she would later, once her thoughts cleared up a bit; this haze was frustratingly hard to shake.  

She blinked bleary-eyed at her handiwork.  A circle… and now what?  Oh, right, some symbols of… uhhhh… similarity, right?  Making here like there and there like here and something big in the middle to represent an open conjunction of adjacent planes.  The blood was a perfect reagent because it was also a pun -- the places were joined because they started to bleed into one another.  A cackle from somewhere, probably her grandmother, who had decided to be invisible again.  That was her right, of course, but it got frustrating to be laughed at by someone you couldn't see.  Seemed rude somehow.

"Whatever, let's light this candle and uh… wait, there aren't any candles.  I… what was I supposed to use to…?  Oh, right!  Obviously."  She positioned herself over the central rune, giggling like a girl at the absurdity of everything.  Knife in hand, she opened her jacket and lifted her shirt out of the way.  While activating a circle normally didn't take too much, this wasn't a usual sort of rite.  Muttering something untranslatable in her family's Shath'yar dialect, Ilandreline slid the blade into her side.

The pain brought unexpected clarity.  Hissing through clenched teeth, she had a moment of recognition, one she did her best to cling to.  The life she gave to this work had to be placed here and here, with the proper invocations.  The words spilled out with only minimal slurring, the extensive practice Aurelaine had insisted on paying off in her moment of need.

This was indeed the exit, her planned destination and point of egress to the Shadowlands.  Despite being mostly delirious, she felt the work forming around her.  Through her?  Yes, that.  Black fire froze her arteries, leaving the pins-and-needles of lost sensation in its wake.  The symbols written in blood -- hers and others -- blazed holes in the non-space she’d traverse, like projector film melting in the lamp’s heat.  There was screaming somewhere, her throat sympathetically echoing the rawness of the cry.  Colours inverted around her, scintillating motes dancing in her vision, the darkness agonizing in its brilliance until-

There was light all around her.  Even with her eyes squeezed tight, she could feel its insidious heat trying to burn its way in.  But there was a certain firmness of ground around her, perhaps to all of reality, and that was what mattered.  Sightless, her fingers grasped at her belt to where she’d left her goggles hanging, exhausting what little energy she still possessed to replace them on her head.  Only then did she dare look to see what had happened, where she was.

Despite the smoky blackness of the cut-crystal lenses, there was more brightness than she would ever be comfortable with.  It didn’t hurt, not yet, but it ached.  She found herself staring at an endless blue sky overhead, with vague awareness of white stone around her, glinting gold.  Blood -- her blood -- pooled around her, providing a coolness the horrible sunlight never could.  Did she need to stop that?  Had she cut too deep?  It didn’t matter, she didn’t have the strength to cauterize herself at this point.

Wild laughter bubbled up from somewhere.  No, not somewhere, from inside her.  After a moment of wrestling with it, she stopped, though the inclination remained waiting behind the barrier of self-control.  “What a fucking joke,” she said, voice weak even inside her own head.  “Travel a billion non-miles or whatever only to die alone in a sun-scorched hellscape of a temple plane.”

“No, you will not die here.”  The words came from somewhere she could have seen if she’d been capable of moving any longer.  “You have not journeyed in vain, stranger.  There will be questions for you, when you are well enough to answer, but not until then.  Rest easy, child, knowing that the Kyrian will not let further harm befall you.”

The who?  She got as far as saying “What in the Endless Dark is a Kyr-” before her consciousness gave out entirely.

[supertweetycherry]

THE DECK PRINCESS - [ii. The Talk]

🔹Pairings: EXO x BTS x OC

🔹Genre: Fluff, Cardau, Adventure, Powers, Reverseharem, Love, Mates

🔹Ratings: General

🔹Warnings: Light Swearing

🔹Word Count: 2.9k+

Navigations--> | Masterlist -- <<PREVIOUS | NEXT>>

—————————————————————————————

“I’m up, mom. Stop screaming.”

I groaned as another round of screaming started from downstairs.

“Lee Yoonmi! Get up you lazy girl. We have guests coming over soon.”

I buried my head deeper into the pillow. After last night’s rowdy party and then the extra run back to the house has left me exhausted and cranky. Considering I returned just before 5 in the morning and my wake up call started at 9, I can proudly say I’m utterly screwed. I might just have to take a bunch of pills to get rid of the incoming headache that will soon plague me.

“I’m up, mom. Please stop screaming.” I growled, not bothering to open my eyes. “See, I’m getting ready.” I made some uncoordinated movements with my arms on the bed before dropping them like a sack of potatoes.

“Hurry up!” I smiled. That’s usually the warning I get before she leaves me alone for an hour.

“Okay.” I said into the pillow before changing sides to get into a more comfortable spot.

“I mean it Lee Yoonmi!”

“Ugghhhh... MOM!” I whined pulling myself up from my warm comfort. What is wrong with this women? I just want to sleep. I need to sleep. Three hours of sleep is not fun. Screw the guests. I don’t want to meet them. They can go and fu—

I stopped.

“No.” I exclaimed as I suddenly remembered who was coming today. “No, this can’t be happening.” I quickly picked up my phone and looked at the time. It’s 10am.

“Fuck” I’m so screwed.

You see, today I’m getting a special recruitment visit from a very prestigious academy in all of Seoul.

The Celestials Academy. I know the name is not that grand but still. It’s one of the world’s best academy that houses the best of best. All of its graduates are now big companies CEOs and major share holders, ruling the world by the tip of their fingers. Infact, my whole family has been to this academy. My parents. My grandparents. My great-grand parents. My great great-grand parents. It’s a tradition. So it’s obvious, that I, Lee Yoonmi, the only child of my father would attend this place.

THAUK!

I winced as my foot hit the dresser. I totally deserve this. I have been prancing around the room trying to get ready for the special visit, but ended up making more of a mess than the actual dressing. I looked at my toe in worry. It was red. And it was throbbing in pain.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I tried to hold down my scream. “Deep breadths, Yoonmi. Deep breadths.” Why does this always happen to me?

I was about to give my dresser a deathly glare is when a flash of black stopped me. There was something lying at the foot of it. Exactly where I had happened to hit my foot.

“Oh, what the hell? What are you doing here?” I grumbled picking up the familiar looking playing card. “Shouldn’t you be on the table?”

I looked at my study table where I had last placed this card. It was empty. The window behind it was wide open. The wind must have flown it all the way across the room. Just like it nearly took my eye out last night.

“Ya! Are you a trouble magnet or something?” I rambled as placed it on the dresser and continued to fix my jeans. “You should know, I blame you for this. Because of you I had to take a detour last night in heels to escape your little fans. Nearly broke my ankle from all the running. And now I’m super late for my interview that will possibly decide my future in the Lee family.”

Is it weird that I’m talking to a card? Something tells me it can hear me.

Looking at the mirror, I sighed sadly. My eyes were red and puffy from the lack of sleep. My lips were chapped due to dehydration and my skin colour had turned two shades darker than normal. I am well and truly fucked.

“Again, I blame you for this.” I repeated as I picked up the card again. As predicted, it was larger than a normal playing card. The sides were curved and there were specks of small white galaxy like blobs that covered the dark background. It seemed like the blobs were moving and twinkling just like what a normal galaxy would look like from under a telescope. The silver diamond in the middle of the black wispy background was shinning for some reason. The sun rays from the nearest window sparkling the diamond like the real thing. The surface felt smooth. There was also some writing underneath it. Two characters. They looked pretty similar to the old Hangul characters that was taught to us in history class last year. Hmmm. I might have to refer to my notes to see what it means. Meanwhile, I flipped the card around. The other side was blank white. But I could see faint outlines of vines forming around the border of the card. They had a light green tint to them.

“You’re such a weird card.” I hummed, narrowing my eyes slightly. Something is not normal about this card. It was warm. Like it was buzzing with energy. As if it’s waiting for something.

“Why were they after you? Heck, why did I even decided to pick you up? You do know Song Mina is going to kill me if she finds out I took her precious card. Actually on second thought, I don’t regret taking you. I don’t like her anyway. So I don’t really care if she’s still out there crying over her harem of boys to find you. Besides, I can see you are in a very bad shape. All these tears and rips. It makes me feel sad. I don’t know why.”

It was true. The state of this card is making my heart ache. Even though the diamond was shinning, the sides and the white blank side are carved with creases and slices of lines.

“Am I going crazy? I’m talking to a card.” I mused, shaking my head. “Yeah, I AM going crazy.”

Suddenly, the card grew warm. A tingly feeling went through my fingers. I looked weirdly at it.

I think I’m really going crazy.

                                                       ******

I looked weakly at the peas on my plate. I had just finished my breakfast and was starring at the extra big green peas that my lovely mother has decided to dump on me for some unknown reason. Don’t get me wrong, I love peas. But today, they seemed too sweet for my taste.

“Why aren’t you eating, sweety?”

I looked up at my father’s clean face. His face portrayed unknown worry. I couldn’t grasp what he was thinking but by the side glances that he kept giving to my fumbling mother, made me worried. They both were acting weird since the moment I have come downstairs to join them.

“They’re too sweet.” I said, dropping my chopsticks loudly on the table. Unknowingly, my hand went to the side pocket of my jeans where I had placed that weird playing card. It was still warm. I could feel it vibrate a little but I ignored it and just continued to run circles over it with my fingers. I just needed the satisfaction that it was still there.

“I thought you said they were coming.” I suddenly said, looking at my watch. They should have been here by now.

“Actually, they are not coming till two in the afternoon.” My mother said slowly.

“What?” I questioned, looking at the time again. “That’s still two hours away!”

“We know, sweety. We just wanted to have a little talk with you.” My father spoke, putting his own chopsticks to the side. That wasn’t a good sign.

“You guys are making me nervous. Did I do something wrong? Look if it’s about last night then I’m sorry that I sneaked out. I know I wasn—“

“Wait, You sneaked out last night?” My mother exclaimed.

“Uhh...” I looked at their confused expressions in worry. I wasn't supposed to say that. Oopsie. “I-I uh... I m-meant I snitched out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uh.. It means I snitched out all the food from my secret stash.”

“You have a secret stash of food?” I bit my lip in annoyance.

“Yes, mom. I have a secret stash of food.”

“Why?”

“Because I get hungry.”

“But there’s food in the kitchen.”

“I know.”

“Then?”

“Then what?”

“Then Why?”

“Ugghhh...” I groaned, pretending to hit my head on the dinning table. This is getting nowhere.

“Honey, you can drill her with your questions later. We have more pressing issues to discuss right now.” My father cooed my mother to a stop. I whispered a thank you to him. He was pretty lenient on me. I bet he already knows I sneaked out last night.

“But..”

“Ji-soo...” My mother sighed heavily.

“Fine.” She said before snapping her head at me. “But this isn’t over young lady. I know you sneaked out last night. I’m not deaf.”

I nodded nervously. It’s better to just roll with it.

There was an awkward silence for few seconds before my father bursted.

“Yoonmi, there is something that your mother and I have hidden from you.” He started lightly, taking in my change of expressions carefully. My eyes had narrowed at him. “The reason we are telling you this is because you are about join the academy that will either make or break your future.”

I sat up straight at his word. Make or break my future? What is he on about?

Now, even my mother was starring at me with an intense look. There was absolute something serious about this situation.

“What do you mean?”

“Yoonmi, you are a Card Wielder.” My mother announced. I gave her a funny look.

“I’m a What?”

“A card wielder. It’s a term used to refer a person who posses the abilities to summon Warriors from cards. Now, I know this sounds crazy, but please let us explain what warriors and cards are before you start asking us million and one questions.”

I gave them a weird look. Yes, I did have a bunch of questions running through my mind but I will let them explain first. Who knows they might be playing a prank on me?

“Many centuries ago, a secret society was established to protect the world from unknown forces. It consisted of card Wielders and warriors. The warriors were a magical race that once inhabited this earth before they were all trapped within the playing cards. They are beings who look like us, who act like us, who feels like us. The only difference is that they each posses magical powers that can be used to save the world. Their cards, is like a small prison that keeps them in-place. The masters, which is us, have the power to summon and use them in whatever way we want to. Over the centuries, our society has flourished. We were able to build various governments, schools, hospitals and companies around the globe with the help of the warriors. And you my sweetheart, you are also a part of this growing society. The celestial Academy that you will be going to is full of Card Wielders. It was built to train young Wielders on how to use their warriors properly and achieve things that you could never dream about before.”

I was dumbstruck. I’m a card wielder? There were human like beings in playing cards? With magical powers? A secret society? How am I supposed to digest this? This is a bloody clusterfuck they dumped on me!

“I know this is a lot to take on, sweety.” My father voiced out. “But don’t worry, Professor Lizing will explain more about the cards and warriors when she comes around.”

I stared at them. Is it my turn to speak? I don’t even know what to say.

“You guys are pranking me, right?” I started. “Please tell me this is a prank.” I said in desperation.

“No, Yoonmi. It is not a prank.”

I suddenly gripped the table as I sucked a deep breadth. Are they being serious?

“I don’t believe this.” I denied, shaking my head vigorously. “There’s no way something like a Card wielder or warriors exist! It’s all fiction!”

Both of my parents exchanged looks. I banged my hand on the table loudly to gain their attention.

“Do you guys have any proofs?” I demanded, pinning them with a glare. They again exchanged looks. “Stop looking at each other and give me the damn proof!”

Suddnely, a deep humming buzz echoed just before everything on the table started levitating. I stumbled back in fear as the peas on my plate were now twirling in mid-air right infront of my own eyes.

“That’s the power of levitation. I gained it when I acquired a special ‘air’ deck when I was 21.” My mother announced like it was nothing. I looked at her with wide eyes.

“And this is what I like to call ‘water splash’.” My father spoke just as a glass of water beside me erupted, splashing all its water into my face. I coughed and wheezed at the sudden attack. “A pair of twin warriors. The most naughty duo you could ever find.”

“Static.” My mother continued, clicking her fingers. I suddnely felt a shiver before my brown bangs on my forehead rose up in the air. I could see sparks flowing through them.“A nice little trick for a little payback.” As if on cue, one of the hair touched my raised eyebrow and I felt a small shock run through me. It threw me off my high stool in an instant.

“Sonic Boom. I clap my hand like this and BOOM.” And just like that a loud boom was heard, and both the ladies of the house covered their ears to protect them. When it stopped, a ringing was left in my ears and the whole dinning table was trashed to bits. I could see my squashed peas under a broken leg table.

“Oops, sorry.” My father laughed nervously, wincing at my mother’s glare.

“You know what, maybe your whipped ass would look better with that sorry.” My mother exploded just before she raised her hand. I ran to her in an instant and held her boney fingers from producing anymore of this magic.

“Stop. Please stop. I get it. It’s all true.” I exclaimed in desperation. “I believe you.”

They both looked at me and flushed.

“Sorry.”

I ignored their apology and pondered on this new development. If this is true, does that mean I’m like them? I’m a wielder? why haven’t they told me this before? That I’m not a normal person.

“Wielders have magic?” I questioned unconsciously.

“Oh no, honey.” My mother waved at the question. “Wielders are normal. We just gain a small amount of power when we gain a full deck. It depends on the deck’s basic element or how powerful it is.”

“Decks?”

“Ask professor Lizing. I think she will be able to explain you this a bit better.”

I nodded.

“Hold up...” I said standing up. My face was still dripping with the splashed water. “You said card Wielders summon warriors from their cards, right? But I have never done that before. I have kissed hundreds of playing cards when I was little. As far as I know there was no warrior wheezing out of them.”

“It only works on special cards, Yoonmi.” My mother explained. “Cards that are larger than a normal playing card. They each have a individual design and colour to it. They are magical cards. You will feel them buzzing with energy. They will seem very... alive.”

My body froze. Cards that are bigger than normal? Buzzing with energy? They don’t mean.... no way. Are they referring to that weird card I found yesterday? There’s a freakin person living inside it?!

As if on instinct, I slapped my hand onto my right pocket. It was growing warm again. I could feel it buzzing.

“Every wielder gets their first card by the age of 8. And from there on, they build their collection up to form decks. There’s no limit on the cards and there are hundreds of decks out there for Wielders to choose from.”

“But I haven’t even gotten my first card yet. Does that mean I’m a late bloomer?” I questioned worriedly. “Is that bad?”

They both looked at each other before facing me again. Did I just see them cringe?

“Well, technically it’s both bad and good.”

“Explain.” I ordered, pining them with my best glare I could muster up.

“It’s bad because you will be looked down upon by the other Wielders if you don’t get a card soon and it’s good because it means you are destined to have more special cards.”

“Destiny? Special cards?”

“You will learn about this at the academy. We can’t tell you anything else.”

I nodded. I get what they mean. My brain is still trying to filter out the information they dumped on me earlier.

“So, I’m going to be bullied unless I get a card soon. Great.” I huffed. Bullied at school and now bullying at the academy. I’m screwed from all sides.

“I’m gonna take a break. Please let me know when they are here.” I announced before leaving the room with a loud bang. Yeah, cue in my theatrics.

[daydream-hobii]

Shadows & Wolfsbane | Chapter 15

Genre: Poly!AU; Werewolf!AU; Shapeshifter!AU; Fluff; Angst

Pairing: BTS x Female!Reader; Alpha!Reader, Beta!Seokjin, Alpha!Yoongi, Alpha!Hoseok, Alpha!Namjoon, Omega!Jimin, Beta!Taehyung, Beta!Jungkook

Summary: Y/N is the youngest Alpha in her compound, owning a whole village. She was born by two Omegas, and originally wanted to be killed, but things were changing in her universe. At the end of the year, each Alpha can pick up to 30 new warriors, wolves that have been training, and the youngest always starts. Y/N never really chooses, asks for the ones who were unwanted such as the old or disabled. This time, she picks the strongest seven players among the warriors, and the other Alphas aren’t too happy, but she chose them for other reasons…. Hopefully, they’ll help her with the predicament she’s found herself in….

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Sexual Assault, Depression, Anxiety; Suggestions of Smut; Read with caution <3 MENTIONS OF TORTURE, BLOOD, DEATH, AND OTHER VARIOUS TOPICS, READ WITH CAUTION!!!

Word Count: 2,014

// Previous // Next //

Author’s Note: Welcome to Chapter 15! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I love getting feedback! I hope you enjoyed it!!! ^_^

        I stood with Jungkook, wearing the darkest clothes we could find to hide in the night. We had to leave earlier than our sunset, since we were on the opposite side of the world. Really, it’s our afternoon, and their early morning.

        Jungkook and I were with about ten other people, two being Dex and Sooki. People complained about Sooki going, since she’s the leader of this group and if she got hurt, it’d be bad, but she knew that she wanted to go to make sure everything ran smoothly.

        Watching Dex pull magic from the air was fascinating, even more so when there was a physical cut in the world in front of us, opening to view the woods that I would explore in my free time. It looked exactly like a portal, and it was so odd. Jungkook and I looked at each other before he gripped my hand.

        We were the first two to walk through. It was eerily quiet in this forest, and when I smelled the air, it was crisp. Once everyone was through, I watched Dex close up the portal. I raised an eyebrow, since I knew Sooki and him would be staying here for when we return.

        “In case anything happens to all of us,” Dex replied, giving a soft smile. “So they can’t get back to our base.”

        “Smart,” Jungkook said, staring towards our community…. “Let’s go get them back.”

        There was a slight growl in his voice as he shifted, his blue green eyes a beacon in the night. Some other people shifted to their wolf forms, while the humans gripped there weapons. There were a couple hybrids with us as well, and they used their heightened senses to help navigate. I decided to stay a human out of habit, and I wanted to be able to move swifter. Being the biggest wolf in a pack is difficult in times like these.

        We snuck through the woods, reaching my village. Even in human form, our scents were heightened, so when I smelled the blood and despair that was within it, my heart dropped. I twisted to the other people that were with us, my heart filling with sadness.

        “I want you to go into my village and take as many people as you can,” I whispered, making them furrow their brows.

        “We’re to help you in the dungeons, nothing else,” One said.

        “Please,” I begged, making Jungkook whine. “Kookie and I can handle it, I’ve been down there before…. My pack… they don’t deserve this.”

        “How do you know they’ll come with us willingly?” A woman asked, eyeing me.

        “Tell them… Bellum venturus est,” I said, nodding. “They’ll know.”

        “War is coming, huh?” Another said, nodding. “Good choice.”

        I nodded my head, telling them to be safe. We opened the large door, letting them go through while Jungkook and I went the other way. We snuck through the town, dodging past the wolves. With so many wolves around, we probably smelt like everyone else. If they saw us, however, they’d know it was us.

        Jungkook and I made our way to the middle of town, which was heavily guarded with wolves. I bit my lip, taking a step forward before Jungkook placed his mouth on my sleeve, pulling me back. I looked to see some council members going inside, some wolves following them. A feeling of hatred ran through me, but now was not the time.

        We saw an opening, sprinting towards it and ducking away inside. We snuck through the halls quickly, Jungkook shifting back once we made it to the door that lead to the dungeons. Once we entered, I thought I was going to be sick.

        We walked down the stairs that lead deep into the ground. There were screams and groans of agony in this place, liquids painted along the walls. I smelt the air and could smell the six boys - they were here, but it was difficult to pinpoint where.

        “You smell them, right?” I asked Jungkook, who nodded.

        “It’s difficult… but they’re here,” Jungkook replied, biting his lip. “So are guards.”

        “We can talk because it’s so loud down here,” I said. “We just have to sneak around. Who smells the closest?”

        Jungkook took a deep smell of the air, closing his eyes. He’s known them much longer, he had there scents down better than I did. He shot his eyes open, taking a left and walking fast, making me hustle to keep up.

        “Jimin,” He said, making another left in this maze.

        We walked through the hallways, sneaking around and listening for guards. When we reached a room, Jimin’s scent was strong. Jungkook wasted no time in opening the door, and when I heard him gasp, I entered behind him.

        Jimin was laying in a bed, legs pulled to his chest and facing the wall. He was fully clothed, but they were dirty and ripped. Bruises ran up his arms, and he looked hungry and dehydrated. When he heard Jungkook gasp, he turned his head, a slight fear in his eyes before he relaxed, standing up and hugging him. His face was just as bad as his arms. Bruises covered him, a black eye dotting around his left one, lip cut open, cheeks red. His eyes were squinting at the light from the hallway, where torches hang on the walls.

        “You came back,” He whispered, gripping Jungkook. He reached for me, making me join them in a hug, tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

        “I’m so sorry,” I said, hiding my face in his shoulder.

        “We can talk later,” Jungkook interrupted, pulling away and gently pecking Jimin’s lips. “We need to find the others…. Can you walk?”

        “I can,” Jimin replied, gulping. “I didn’t get the worst of it.”

        “What do you mean?” I asked, holding his hand.

        “They had us together for a while…. We all got… beaten up. Attacked by wolves. Tae and I got the least of it…. The others aren’t in good shape,” He said, tears spilling over.

        “We need to go get them, now,” I said, turning towards the door.

        “I can smell Jin,” Jungkook said, Jimin nodding. I followed the two boys, pulling them both back just before they went around a corner.

        There were guards in front of a door, some screaming coming from the room. The two boys growled, while I felt my fangs grow, eyes turning to their natural color. I shifted, barely fitting in the hallway. When I rounded the corner, I didn’t give the guards time to react. I lunged, pinning them both to the ground and putting my teeth around their necks and squeezing tight.

        Their blood was like acid rolling down my throat. I’ve killed before, but never another wolf. When I shifted back, blood covered my mouth, a sense of horror rolling through me. I tried to push it down as I wiped my mouth, the two boys running over. Jimin gripped my hand, giving me a soft smile as I shook myself out of it. There was no time for shock.

        We opened the door to see a man standing over Jin, who was on the ground, covered in blood. The man’s hands were on the wall as he kicked him mercilessly, Jin covering his face as he started to lose consciousness from the pain. Jungkook howled in anger, making the guard turn in surprise. He gripped his shoulders, throwing him off the eldest boy. Again, the shock of us being there was too strong, so before he could defend himself, Jungkook twisted his neck, breaking it and watching him collapse.

        I was over Jin in an instant, holding his cheeks in my hands as he sagged in relief, limbs stretching out from his fetal position. He looked ten times worse than Jimin, both eyes almost swollen shut, blood rolling down his head and nose. He had cuts and bruises all over his body, and from the looks of it, a couple broken fingers and possibly a broken wrist.

        “About time you got here,” He mumbled, shutting his eyes briefly.

        “Jin, oh my God,” I whispered, a tear slipping down my hot cheek. Jungkook knelt down, brushing his sweat soaked hair from his forehead.

        “I’m alright,” He mumbled, opening his eyes. “Help me up.”

        Before we could say no, he started to stand. Jungkook helped him as I took a step back, holding Jimin’s hand as he looked at Seokjin up and down, tears welling up. Jin sighed in relief, gently cradling his wrist as he pecked Jungkook’s lips, moving and doing the same to Jimin and I.

        “Let’s go get the others, shall we?” He said, slowly walking out.

        “We’re not going to talk about this?” Jimin asked, wide eyed.

        “Jin, you’re hurt, you can’t do this,” I begged, staring at him.

        “The others don’t have time for me to be taken to a safe place,” Jin said, before flashing a small smile. “I’m okay, promise.”

        Seokjin had a point, the others didn’t have time…. Jungkook and I made Jimin help Seokjin as we took the lead, Jungkook sniffing the air. Taehyung was the next closest, but he was much deeper into the maze of dungeons. We dodged corners and took out guards on our way, and when we arrived, it was quiet… too quiet.

        Looking around, it was much darker than the other hallways. There weren’t many guards or screams, but many moans and groans of pain. There was a blood smell, but not nearly as strong. All of us walked down the halls, pausing in front of a room. There were groans of agony coming from inside, I was the only one who opened it fast, while the other hesitated.

        It was Taehyung and he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling, feet barely touching the ground. Jungkook and I quickly ran over, Jungkook lifting him up as I found the lever to put the chains down. He slumped to the ground, bringing his arms down and wincing in pain. They were both dislocated, so I walked over, gulping and holding his shoulder.

        “Hold on, Tae,” I whispered, moving his shoulder back into place. He yelped in pain, eyes opening wide, before I did the same to his other one. This seemed to wake him up a bit.

        He was definitely the least scratched up from the other two. He did have some scratches and bruises, a large bite mark on his thigh, no doubt from a wolf. It seemed to have stopped bleeding, but looked infected. Both his eyes were okay, there were no bruises, which was wonderful.

        Taehyung had a big smile, pulling me into hug and kissing my neck, sighing in relief. He winced in pain from the stress of his arms, but I made sure to gently hug him back. Jungkook hugged him from behind, tears fresh in his eyes for the first time.

        “You’re okay,” Jungkook choked out, making Taehyung pull away from me and hug Jungkook.

        “Of course I am,” Taehyung whispered, pecking his lips.

        I helped Taehyung up, making him ring out his neck and wake up his legs. His shoulders were sore, for obvious reasons, but he seemed the healthiest of the bunch.

        “We need to find Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi,” Seokjin said, making Taehyung go pale.

        “Namjoon is close to me,” He said, frowning. “They didn’t torture me, but they put us close so…” He paused, biting his lip as he got teary eyed.

        “What, Tae?” Seokjin asked, placing a hand on his cheek.

        “So that I could listen to him scream…. They figured out that was the worst torture possible for me…” He whispered, a tear dropping down his face, dripping off his chin.

        The last three boys we needed, my Alphas…. It wasn’t spoken between all of us, but we were all thinking the same thing. They were all going to be the worst of the ones taken… they would all possibly be unconscious, or worse, dead, because they’re Alphas…. We need to get to them, fast.

[katekarnage7]

After rain + destiel

Whew. Okay. After hours of slaving and pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into this prompt, it’s finally done. And it’s three thousand words long! Yay!

In any case, thank you so much for this lovely prompt, my friend. I’m super happy that it’s finally done and that I can share it with you. You can find it here on AO3 Here we go!

---

Dean trudges through the damp masses of leaves on the ground. Rain falls all around him, pattering softly on the leaves of the forest trees. Every inhale is sharp and freezes him to the bone.

His stomach growls loudly. It’s been days since he’s had anything to eat. He reflects on his decision to leave the compound. Maybe it really wasn’t the best idea. He immediately disregards that thought.

He had to leave. There wasn’t any other choice. The scars that burden his skin are proof enough of that. A bitter taste sullies his mouth at the memory. He hates his scars. They show everyone just how broken he truly is.

His backpack feels like it gets heavier with every step. Memories plague his mind. Every single bit of pain he endured comes back to haunt him. Even though he feels like he’s about to pass out, he keeps moving, those memories spurring him on.

There’s little doubt in his mind that Alastair will be coming after him soon enough. But he will do anything to keep himself from falling into that monster’s grasp. Not again. Not ever again. He can still remember what Alastair had said to him on the first day.

“Don’t be scared, little one. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

Dean proceeded to attempt to escape forty-seven times over five years. He remembers each time like they were yesterday. He would get thrown in solitary or in the punishment room every single time. And every single time, he would try to break out again. It was a vicious cycle.

He still can’t believe that he’s out. Truly out. Flashes of those left behind will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. Kevin, Ash, Benny… He had to leave all of them behind. That bitter taste resurfaces. He’ll get them out someday. Someday soon, hopefully.

He just needs to find some shelter. Eat properly. Then he’ll be strong enough to tear down Alastair’s operation piece by nightmarish piece. Only then will he be satisfied. He shivers as the rain begins to pick up.

The soft patter of rain against the treetops gives way to the rumbling of thunder. It’s a full-on storm now. Gusts of wind hit him full force as he traverses the terrain. The forest floor is slippery and laden with rocks and sudden drops.

Any wrong move could potentially end his life. No pressure, right? The worst part is that he doesn’t even know where he’s going. He had no map, to begin with. He just got out of the compound and ran like a bat out of hell.

A realization hits him. If he doesn’t get out of this forest and back to civilization soon… He might starve to death before he can save his friends. There’s a strike of lightning somewhere off in the distance.

Panic overtakes him.

He begins running through the forest. Rain berates him as he dodges through the trees. Moments later, he slips on a wet rock and topples down into a ditch. The last thing he remembers is the gray sky overhead and the rain softly falling onto his face.

---

He slowly wakes up, keeping his eyes closed. He’s warm and comfortable, something that he never thought possible. There’s a pleasant smell in the air. It makes his stomach growl. His eyes snap open.

The first thing that he registers is the bed he’s laying in. Certainly not his old one at the compound. His bed in the compound couldn’t even be considered a bed. No, this… This is a real bed.

His eyes then land on the door on the far side of the small room. There’s one window off to his left and a dresser next to the door. Other than that, the bedroom is mostly barren of any decorations.

The second thing that he registers is that he definitely isn’t wearing his own clothes. Whatever he’s wearing now is far softer. He looks down to find a gray cotton shirt and wool pajama bottoms.

They’re like nothing he’s ever worn in his life. Not to mention the fact that they’re clean and dry. Totally different from his wet and extremely dirty clothes. He takes a deep breath. That heavenly scent fills his nostrils again.

It smells like soup. Almost tomatoey. Like something his mother would’ve made when he was a kid. His heart pangs at the memory. All in one, his memories rush back. He remembers breaking out of the compound. He remembers the storm. He remembers falling and hitting his head.

A sudden realization overtakes him. Is this what Heaven looks like? A little room in a cabin somewhere? He examines the wooden paneling around him. Definitely a cabin. He never really believed in Heaven as a kid.

Even when his mother said, ‘Angels are watching over you’, he never really believed her. Maybe this is his version of Heaven. Or maybe it’s the starter pack you get when you die. A little cabin in the woods.

Worse ways to wake up, he supposes. 

When he was in the compound, he often wondered what it would be like to die. What would happen after. Sometimes, he prayed for death. Anything would’ve been better than his reality in those days.

He’s pretty damn sure that none of his friends - they were more family than friends to him, really - would’ve agreed. Benny, the big teddy bear he is - was? - could always find something positive. He used to shoulder most of the responsibility and workload. Especially when someone else was in need of help.

Death due to dehydration and starvation was all too common in the compound. Sometimes a person would just drop dead. The worst part was that it was usually kids, fucking kids, who would die.

Their bodies just weren’t equipped to handle all of that exertion without proper nutrition. Even the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed new kids would get worn out soon enough. Then, eventually, you would start to see the signs.

Dark circles under the eyes, sadness burdening every feature, and this overwhelming sense of exhaustion. Those were common in just about everyone at the compound. When those signs started to build up, there were two common outcomes; one, they would drop dead. Or two… Two, they wouldn’t wait to drop dead. They’d just… 

Well, exhaustion would build up. After a few escape attempts, most stopped trying. That’s when resignation usually set in. That’s why, about two months after they’d get some new ‘recruits’, there’d be a breakout of suicides.

People would use just about anything they could get their hands on to end it all.

A clap of lightning from outside breaks his trance. He winces. He hates thunder and lightning. It always frightened him as a child and it still does now. Lightning in Heaven? He thinks. And then he realizes that this is in fact, not Heaven. He brings a hand up to his head. Sure enough, there’s a bandage over what must be a cut.

His head is pounding and his body aches. This definitely isn’t Heaven. Which means… How the hell did he get to this cabin? Why did his new captor bandage him up and put him in fresh clothing? What in the absolute hell is going on?

There’s a soft clatter from outside of his room. He sits straight up. He’s not cuffed to the bed like he feared he might be. He’s free to move around. Immediately, he jumps out of the bed, being as silent as possible.

Whoever put him here is a new enemy. A new thing to fear. He searches around the room for anything to use as a weapon. There’s nothing. Not even a goddamn vase. He hears footsteps outside of the door and freezes.

The door is pulled open and the form of a man steps through. He’s shorter than Dean. Not substantially. Probably by a few inches or so. Still, it’s enough to restore some confidence in him. Even if he is a gangly nineteen-year-old.

The man turns to face him. He’s holding a bowl of soup with some sourdough bread on a plate. “Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says in a deep, rumbling voice. It’s almost as if he ate a whole bowl of gravel before coming in.

Dean decides to stay silent, examining the man carefully. He looks to be about late twenties, early thirties in age. He has messy black hair and the bluest goddamn eyes that Dean thinks he’s ever seen. There’s so much intelligence in the man’s features.

It almost throws him off. Almost.

“How do you feel?” the man asks. Once again, Dean says nothing. The man simply stands there, watching him. It feels like a perverted staring contest. Silence hangs in the air.

The man clears his throat. “That cut was quite deep, you know. I’m worried about an infection. Perhaps I need more antibiotics.”

Dean bites his lip. Confusion and suspicion go to war in his mind. On one hand, if this man were planning on killing him, why the hell would he patch him up? Where’s the logic in that? Or maybe he’s planning on using him just like Alastair did.

Or maybe… Just maybe… This guy isn’t bad. Maybe he’s just a good human being. He immediately throws that idea in the trash bin. Everyone Dean Winchester ever met has had an ulterior motive.

With the exception of those in the compound. But even those folks… They were just trying to minimize the pain and loneliness. God, the loneliness. “Do you have a name? Or something I can call you, perhaps?” the man asks, snapping him back to reality.

“I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Castiel,” the man, Castiel, says. He sits down on the edge of the bed, offering the soup and the plate of bread to Dean. “Please take this. You look quite hungry.”

He stares at Castiel for a long, hard moment. Distrust and suspicion are overtaken by hunger. A proper meal sounds heavenly. And, as much as he wishes he could, he can’t deny it. If he ends up needing to fight his way out of this cabin, being well-fed will be an advantage. 

At least, that’s how he rationalizes it.

He walks over to Castiel and takes the bowl and backs away. He still doesn’t trust this stranger. And he’s not about to sit next to him and pretend that they’re all buddy-buddy now. He’ll accept the food though.

He picks up the spoon and takes an experimental sip. He almost moans at the taste. It’s better than anything he’s had in a long time. Somehow, it tastes exactly how he remembers his mother’s lentil soup.

There’s something so familiar and comforting about it.

He looks up to see Castiel examining him. His head is tilted and he seems to be in deep thought. Belatedly, he realizes that he hasn’t actually said anything to the guy yet. And, presumably, Castiel saved him from a miserable death out in the wilderness. 

That doesn’t mean he can trust him but… There’s something about the guy that he just can’t put his finger on.

He clears his throat. “Dean. You can call me Dean,” he says. His reward comes in the form of a gummy smile from Castiel. God, it’s breathtaking. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen a smile like that. It’s so genuine and happy. It’s almost infectious.

He has to remind himself that Castiel could potentially be dangerous. Some part of him doesn’t want to believe him. He silences that part immediately. He did not come this far to get killed by his own naiveté.

Dean Winchester knows better than to trust strangers. Still, though, there’s something so trustable about Castiel. Maybe it’s those eyes. God. He mentally slaps himself. Get it together, Winchester! 

Silence hangs around them for a few moments. The soft patter of rain outside is the only sound filling the air. Just then, a bolt of lightning strikes. He jumps so hard that he drops the bowl and plate onto the floor. They shatter into a million pieces.

Castiel is on his feet in a matter of seconds. He rushes to Dean’s side. “Are you okay?” he asks, not quite touching him but standing very close with his hands up. Dean nods, confusion overtaking him. He has no idea why the hell this guy is being so gentle with him.

Right now though, he doesn’t care. He can’t help the panic in his chest as a clap of thunder rumbles outside. Part of him wants to bury himself in the blankets of the bed and honestly, he can’t come up with a better idea.

So, like a child, he hurries to the bed and buries himself in the comfort of the blankets. He can feel himself trembling. Every part of him hates this. He hates how fucking weak he is. Weakness was never accepted in the compound.

He should be able to suck it up by now.

Suddenly, a weight pushes down on the bed. “Dean?” Castiel’s soft voice calls out. He puts a hand on Dean’s knee. The urge to kick it away is strong but, for some reason, he doesn’t. It’s comforting. Comfort isn’t something he gets all that often.

“Are you scared of thunder and lightning?” The question comes out so softly. Shame bubbles up inside of him. He’s not scared. He’s not. Fear is for the weak. And Dean Winchester is anything but weak.

“No,” he spits out. Castiel squeezes his knee. The presence of touch from another human being is so… Foreign. He hasn’t felt a comforting touch in a long time. In the compound, you weren’t allowed to touch anyone.

You just got touched. The overseers would make sure of that. If you did something wrong… He shudders at the thought. He saw horrible things in there. Horrible, horrible fucking things. Things that no one should ever have to see.

The compound was a nightmare. One that he hopes he’ll never have to go back to. He hates every scar that mars his skin. That’s a thought that lives in his mind, repeating itself over and over.

Dean hates reminders of the past. That’s what scars are. Plain and simple.

Castiel sighs softly. Almost too softly for him to hear. Almost. He needs to figure out what the hell this guy’s intentions are. Something about him is off-putting. But not really in a bad way. Which makes absolutely no sense to him.

“Come and sit by the fire. It’ll make you feel better, I promise. And then, perhaps, if you feel up to it, you could have something to eat.”

Dean wants to argue. He wants to tell this man that he’s not hungry and that he doesn’t need his help. But, of course, his stomach has to choose that moment to growl like the insatiable beast that it is.

Castiel’s weight disappears from the bed. Dean slowly pulls the blankets down and away from his face. His strange savior is kneeling down and picking up the pieces of shattered ceramic. Everything about the guy is weird, from his too-blue eyes to his clothes that look like they haven’t been washed in five years.

But even Dean will admit that he’s gorgeous. That hair, those eyes… That body. Yeah, no, he’s built like a Greek god. He slowly gets out of bed, his eyes still trained on Castiel whose back is to him.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, he just watches Castiel pick up piece upon piece of ceramic. He does it so tenderly that it’s almost like watching a mama bear pick up its cub. Which is a weird analogy, yes, but Dean stands behind it.

Castiel eventually stands up and turns around. Their eyes meet and wow… Just wow… Castiel’s eyes are the bluest blue that Dean thinks he’s ever seen in his life. Icebergs, the sky, and the ocean all dull in comparison to those eyes.

And there’s a perfect amount of stubble on that strong jawline. It makes him look rugged but still inexplicably gorgeous. And Dean never thought he’d be calling another man gorgeous, but here he is.

Now that he’s not afraid of Castiel - especially since he has at least three inches on him - he can marvel at the other man’s beauty. Perfectly chiseled features. Oh, god. Dean is really, really, just majorly fucked.

Castiel clears his throat. “Would you, um, like to warm up?”

All Dean can do is nod. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now, seeing as the words ‘Kiss me’ could come out more easily than he cares to admit. And, again, there’s something about Castiel which sparks something in Dean other than just sexual attraction. Oh, yeah, he’s really fucked.

Castiel leads him out into the main room. The room is very… Welcoming and warm. There’s a fireplace on the right side of the room. A couch sits in front of the fireplace. There’s a big shag rug in between the two with a coffee table on top of it.

In the left-hand corner, there’s a kitchenette with all the essentials including a microwave. There’s also a dining table off to his left. And all of it is crammed into the small main room of this cabin. It’s so peaceful.

A family could live here. The roaring fire in the fireplace, the blanket that has been thrown over the back of the couch, the picture frames on the mantel… It seems like a family should live here. But they don’t. At least, not to his knowledge.

“Feel free to sit down,” Castiel says with a gesture towards the couch. He nods and crosses over to it. He sits down and immediately sinks into the comfort of the couch. In the compound, there wasn’t comfort like this to be had.

Everything was cold and hard. The comparison is like night and day. Here, everything is warm and soft. Including Castiel himself. Knock it off with that train of thought. He’s certain that the guy who saved his life wouldn’t appreciate those thoughts.

Instead, he decides to focus on the aching pain in his body. He knows that he must look like complete and utter shit. But he hasn’t actually seen himself in a mirror in years. He wonders what he looks like now.

The beauty of the roaring flames in front of him takes his attention. He runs a hand over his face. Fingers dance over coarse stubble. A mirror would be fantastic right about now. Exhaustion pours over him.

He shakes his head. He cannot focus on exhaustion right now. That would be the wrong move. There’s no time for wrong moves. Not when all his friends are still locked up in that compound. He needs to save them. There’s no other option.

That’s his only goal.

Just then, Castiel sits down next to him, a new bowl of soup in his hands. He offers it to Dean with a small smile on his face. Dean takes the bowl and immediately, it warms his hands. He takes a small sip and warmth spreads through him.

“I do have a question for you, Dean,” Castiel says. Dean looks over to see the other man eyeing him carefully.

“Shoot.”

Castiel tilts his head slightly and oh, boy, Dean has to try really hard to not find it completely adorable. “Where did you come from?”

And there it is. The question he was dreading. He sighs, knowing that he has to answer, because if he doesn’t, Castiel might become suspicious and throw him out. Which would absolutely suck.

He clears his throat. “Um, heh, I… There’s a f-facility, north of here, I think.”

Castiel visibly pales. “Alastair’s compound?”

He blinks. “How’d you know?” A thought slips into his head, completely unbidden. What if Castiel is actually one of Alastair’s men? He edges away from Castiel, already forming a plan to run. An escape route at the front of his mind.

Castiel sighs heavily. “I’ve been trying to take down Alastair’s slave operation for years. I… Well, I work for the FBI. They sent me out here to keep an eye on the compound.”

He relaxes a little. An FBI agent, well then. He clears his throat. “My, um, my friends are still in there, Cas. I… I need to save them. I promised.”

Castiel nods, apparently not noticing or not caring about the nickname. “I understand. I promise we’ll take Alastair down, Dean.” Castiel puts a gentle hand on his leg. And for once, Dean doesn’t wince. The contact is actually welcome.

And then… God, Dean has the strangest urge. He looks directly into Cas’s eyes. Their gorgeous blue color is intoxicating. He knows that he shouldn’t be feeling like this. The two of them had just met for God’s sake! But… Wow, he is gorgeous.

Then, suddenly, he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Cas’s, which elicits a small gasp from the other man. For a moment, the world is entirely forgotten. It’s just them. And Dean knows that all of this is ridiculous.

He should not be kissing this man who he’s just met but he can’t stop himself. Cas is just so… Gorgeous. And kind, too. That much is clear to Dean. If that isn’t enough to be attracted to a person, he doesn’t know what is.

In what could be seconds, minutes, hours, or eternities later, Cas pulls away. His eyes are determined as he stares into Dean’s. “We’ll save your friends. That’s my promise.” A bolt of lightning strikes outside.

The soft patter of rain on the roof rings out. Castiel smiles a little. “Just as soon as the storm passes.” A chuckle spills from Dean’s lips. 

Just as soon as the storm passes.

---

All righty, that was the first letter done! Once again, you can find it here on AO3. Thank you so much for reading!

Tag list: @howdoistopthetrain, @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover (let me know if you want to be added/removed. Thank you!) 

[petersmoan]

Fluorescents

Pairing: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker TW: Depression, mentions of self-harm, eating disorder Read on AO3: here

---

His back was wet from sweat, his pyjamas stuck to his hot skin. When he woke up, for a brief moment he thought he peed himself right in their king sized bed. But it was just sweat, on his back, face, in his hair and between his legs. One of the worst nightmares from the past few months came back to haunt him, to wake him up with a heartburn and make it difficult to breathe. He struggled to take a deep breath for a few seconds and it made him panic. It made his partner wake up as well and get to him as soon as possible.

“What- What’s wrong?! Peter?!” Quentin grabbed him so he could stop shaking like crazy; in fact, Peter almost fell off the mattress. “Calm down. Breathe, please.”

Peter held onto his partner like he was about to lose him forever. Like he was about to lose Tony. He didn’t want to lose Quentin too, ever. He breathed in his scent as much as he could at that moment and when he felt he was really there, he was alive and with him and wasn’t going anywhere, Peter exhaled.

“Easy there, Peter. It’s alright. Just a bad dream.”

Every time after Peter calmed down, there was a waterfall of tears coming right up. Sometimes it was out of pure sadness and depression, sometimes it was because Peter was frustrated. Tired, frustrated and fed up with constant nightmares haunting him from time to time, exhausting his body and mind. How was he supposed to get healthy if he kept having these dreams and draining attacks?

Then he was reminded exactly how. It was so simple, yet so difficult to understand how did it all work. Quentin hugged him from behind, when Peter was sitting at the edge of their bed, sobbing. He was the one who helped Peter start feeling things again, giving a damn about anything and just trying.

Quentin got up and went to the kitchen. Peter learned not to panic every time he left for a moment. He was given a glass of water, took a big sip and breathed out again.

“Drink it now, Pete. You’re dehydrated.”

Peter nodded and politely drank it all. He didn’t feel like his body lacked any water, but he listened to Quentin because he was worried. He was always worried. He has been worried since they first met and Peter spilled his guts. A depressed and devastated man in grief did not care about keeping secrets. Quentin found out about his identity and challenges he had had to face already.

Lying on the bed, Peter was remembering their first session ever. He remembered aunt May talking to Dr. Beck on the phone in the living room, standing in front of the window, while Peter was sitting on the couch, his knees under his chin, hugging his legs and looking awkwardly at her. At that moment he hated Dr. Beck, he hated the fact he needed to talk to him and tell him his aunt can’t stand him anymore.

He went to Beck’s office dressed in his pyjamas, since he barely got out of bed that morning. Beck greeted him, refusing to smirk at his patient’s pink Hello Kitty pants. Peter was obviously not in the mood.

“Please sit down. You’ve got water and napkins here just in case, feel free to use.”

They were sitting across each other; Peter seemingly exhausted, didn’t even have the energy to look uncomfortable. He would fall asleep right here and right now if he could. Quentin on the other hand, was focused. He was looking at Peter, slightly frowning, analyzing his body language. It was after 10-ish minutes when he started.

“So, Mr. Parker. Or shall I call you by your name?”

“Peter” the boy nodded slowly, staring at his thighs, “Peter’s fine.”

“Okay, Peter” Quentin’s voice was smooth and calm. Peter noticed it was relaxing just listening to the man. “I want you to tell me how do you feel right now. No i’m fines or i’m terribles. Elaborate. Use different words than when you talk to your aunt.”

Peter’s eyes welled up with tears. He knew he was going to sound like a childish emo, but in this case his words had so much more meaning.

“You will never understand any of it, Mr. Beck.”

“Just try me. I like challenges.” Quentin smiled in encouragement, which Peter saw because he lifted his gaze for a moment.

“For the record, I’m not schizophrenic. I don’t have hallucinations. I… I actually wish I did. I wish it weren’t true, what happened.”

Quentin just nodded. Didn’t say a word. “I’m not here to judge you, Peter. You probably heard that a lot. And I am going to believe you. You seem like a reasonable kid.”

Peter took a deep breath and exposed his watch wrapped along his wrist to Quentin. He hadn’t taken it off since the last time he went to class and got a panic attack.

He simply let the spider web from the watch grab a glass of water settled on a desk near the doctor. Beck’s face was in fact priceless – he frowned, his eyes bigger than ever, trying so hard not to look… shocked.

“I am, what they call me, Spider-man, sir” he let go of the glass and hid his wrist under the sleeve. “I installed a tiny web machine, to keep it simple, in this watch, and I forgot to take it off a couple of weeks ago. Thought it might be useful now.”

He waited for a moment; Quentin didn’t say a word. His gaze remained surprised and unprepared.

“I have been dead for five years. I came back, and right after that I am responsible for Tony Stark’s death. I feel guilty.”

These were only two things that made Peter a wreck over the few months. Quentin knew that, and was willing to ask for more. He knew he was stepping on a thin ice there.

“Was your contribution to Mr. Stark’s death firsthand?”

Peter frowned, still not looking at Quentin. “Like… did I just go and kill him? With my own hands?”

“Yes.”

The boy shook his head. “I, uh… I did not… He… He saved the universe. It… It consumed him. The power he used.”

“Were you able to help him in any way, to stop this? To save the universe and his life?”

“N-no, I… He saved our lives, all of us, and then he already… he was… he was dying. Right in front of me” Peter’s eyes finally fell on Quentin. Tears streamed down his cheeks as they did. “Right in front me, sir. I couldn’t do anything.”

This memory hit him like a thunder in the middle of a cozy night. He thought about their first meeting because he wanted to feel better, but it did the exact opposite at first.

Peter was a very broken and lost person, and Quentin knew that. Later on at the meeting Peter’s eyes were dripping with tears basically all the time he was speaking.

“Aunt May sent me here to get better. I don’t think I ever will, so please, sir, give me one good reason to believe I’m getting better when it happens.”

He wiped his face with another napkin and took a sip of water. Quentin didn’t say a word, just listened – he saw the boy wanted to spill more of his guts at that moment. “I keep starving myself for some kind of punishment. I cannot sleep because I’m feeling hungry and guilty”, another sip, another napkin, this time to blow his nose. “My weight keeps fluctuating and I can’t remember the last time I slept through a night without the need to just shed my blood. Just like Tony did.” A longer pause after, he finished, “I’m so sick of feeling alone. No one seems to understand that pain.”

It always triggered him, recalling those words he spit in the office. Then he remembered Quentin’s last words when he was leaving the office after two hours of spilling his guts and listening to the man.

“Peter?” Quentin stopped the boy right before he left, “You’re no longer alone in your tragedy. I believe you. Tony was arrogant, but he would be proud.”

It was the first hint he ever got that Quentin knew Tony personally. It wasn’t a good hint, Peter would admit later, because everyone knew Tony was arrogant. He remembered the framed picture of him and Tony, both in expensive suits, shaking hands as the symbol of agreeing to sell Quentin’s work to Tony. They were both smiling; Peter could tell Tony’s smile was genuine. Quentin’s on the other hand, was… sad.

It was his first time at Quentin’s apartment. They were still having sessions, of course, but one day he just invited Peter for dinner, since they had a lot in common besides the therapy. Peter dressed casually, this time not in pyjamas though. When he arrived, instead of shaking hands as a greeting, they hugged. The hug was longer than the usual ones. It wasn’t the first time Peter hugged him; oh god how safe did he feel in Quentin’s strong arms.

“Feel free to explore, I’ll look at the food.” So he did explore. He went to his bedroom and seeing a king sized bed placed near the windows made him imagine how comfortable it must be to sleep there with Quentin.

He quickly got rid of this feeling and started analyzing pictures on the wall above his desk. Next to the huge The Beatles poster there was a high quality photo with Quentin holding a hand with a man. This man was Tony Stark. Peter’s eyes turned big, he leaned closer to check if his vision was correct. Indeed, he wasn’t mistaken.

Quentin knew Tony. They were probably close, coworkers, colleagues even. He knew Tony and was probably as hurt because of his death as Peter, and yet he listened to him without a word, without a bit of grief or any personal feelings. Peter started admiring him even more. He needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

The smell of food hit Peter’s nose when he entered the living room with kitchenette. There he was standing, with his back turned to Peter. The boy approached him and grabbed his forearm, making Quentin look at him immediately. Peter’s eyes were big and shiny; he almost started crying.

“Y-you knew him… You knew him all along… and didn’t even…” when the words escaped his mouth, it was much harder for Peter to stay calm. He wasn’t mad, obviously. He was shocked and all the grief has hit him again.

“Oh, you saw the… the pictures” Quentin turned off the cooker and faced him. “Are you mad?”

“No, of course I’m not, Mr. Beck, I… I’m surprised. And impressed as well, since he was your acquaintance, you must have mourned… I mean...”

“We weren’t exactly, you know, friends. I, uh… I’ll tell you everything in a minute, okay?”

Quentin turned into an awkward mess instantly. Peter offered his help with the food, so he could hear him out as soon as possible. It was truly stressing him out; they sat across each other at the table, both wanting this awkward situation to end.

“I’m sorry Peter, I... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I decided against telling you about this, because I didn’t want you to be afraid of telling me anything. I needed to keep it professional.”

“I’m not mad, Mr. Beck-”

“Quentin.”

Peter sighed a little, “Quentin. I’m not mad, really. I get it. I’m just... I don’t know, amazed. I didn’t see that coming.”

Although he did start eating, it was a very slow process. Quentin noticed the urge to ask him everything about their history, and the most important thing – did he know from the start about the kid? The new Avenger?

“When you first came to me, Peter, I didn’t know. You were just another kid named Peter in my timetable. But when you used your watch...” he paused, took a sip of tea and continued, “I understood. You were the Spider kid he would always talk about. The next Tony Stark. Once in a bar he told me about that web watch you invented, so I did quick math. I already knew why you came here, why you looked and acted like you did. But I couldn’t spill anything, it would make everything just more difficult.”

Peter was speechless. When he didn’t know what to do, he’d usually check his phone or drink his water, but this time he drank the whole tea down and started crying. He covered his mouth with one hand, the other resting on the table. Quentin gently grabbed it and squeezed.

“Hey. If you want to go home or anything, that’s okay-”

“No, no no no no, I don’t want to go home. I want to be with you” Peter shook his head and poorly wiped his tears. “I’m fine. Just a little crisis, but I’m fine.”

He gave Quentin a reassuring smile and continued eating. “You said you weren’t... friends. Were you enemies, then..?”

Quentin sighed, “No, it’s not like that. I worked for him for years. We developed some kind of relation, but I know he wouldn’t, like, die for me. And it kind of hurt, because there were times when I would die for him.”

Peter realized his therapist just confessed about his feelings for Tony Stark. The shock he felt has grown even bigger, his eyes wide open again.

“Oh... I... Did he... Did he know?” Quentin snorted, “No, he did not. He was all about Pepper. And I was fine with that. I didn’t expect anything from him, ever.”

The sadness in his voice could be heard from a mile. Peter felt it in his bones. He felt extremely sorry for Quentin. Though now he would be as devastated as Peter was; actually he was lucky it wasn’t his lover who died, just an acquaintance.

“So... how did you end up on that photo, shaking hands with him?”

“He convinced me to sell my project to him, so I could focus just on my PhD in neuropsychology. I really wanted to improve myself, so he won. I’m not saying he made me, but you could tell he would do anything for my project. Though he then named it B.A.R.F.”

Peter knew about that project, he was told about it by Tony many times. It was bizarre, to finally find out about his therapist’s relations with his biggest inspiration and father-like authority.

They finished dinner and washed the dishes together, still chatting about this whole Stark situation. Peter found out he was on Tony’s mouth most of the time, if they weren’t talking about work or every day stuff. It warmed his heart, but the pain stung a little as well.

Remembering this visit stung a little too, because Peter was sensitive and always felt like crying when thinking about how far he has come with his therapy and with getting his life back. He was standing in their bathroom now, looking at his pale face in the mirror, Quentin approaching him from behind after a while.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good” Peter answered hesitantly, “I’m revisiting some memories to calm myself down.”

“Oh. Any special examples?”

Peter turned around to face him and gently grabbed Quentin’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes, “Remember when you invited me over for a dinner? And I saw the pictures.”

“Yeah. I do” the man grinned at the memory, placing his hands on Peter’s hips and pulled him closer.

“I... I actually cried the whole evening after I came home”, and there Quentin’s smile was gone, “Though it wasn’t sadness. It was some kind of... Relief. Like I actually felt I’m going to be okay. Like I’m really not alone anymore, because you are with me. I think that was the first time the thought of being in love with you came to my mind.”

Quentin felt like he had on their first date. This time he didn’t act shyly or reassure his every movement – they both have already learned their boundaries and ways to show affection. He leaned closer and kissed Peter, hugging him, his muscles relaxed and his mind clear. Beard brushing against Peter’s soft skin, it reminded him of their first time in bed, when he could feel this beard everywhere on his body, face, neck, chest, between his legs. He remembered how much noise they made, and how the bed creaked underneath them.

“Have you done this before?”

Nervously Peter ran his hand through his hair, leaning against the kitchen counter during one of their first sleepovers at Quentin. Aunt May didn’t have any problem with their growing relationship, she was happy Peter finally started to feel alive. To act alive.

“Uh, no. I mean, I used some toys on myself back in the day, but… I lost interest after the blip.”

“It all depends on you, Pete. If you want to do it with me tonight, great. If not, well, also great. I’m going to be there for you while you prepare yourself.”

“Thank you, Quentin” Peter felt his body tense, then relax again. He was really nervous, and very thirsty for Quentin at the same time. “I… I don’t know…”

Quentin chuckled softly and decided to help him, “Do you need my opinion?”

Peter usually needed his opinion on everything. “Yeah, please.”

“So in my honest opinion, you should relax and think clearly of it. Nervousness is always there, it doesn’t matter if you want to have sex or not. It doesn’t show how much you’re ready” he took a sip of water from the bottle near him, “You should shake this feeling of concern and then decide, do you feel like doing it today or wait and prepare yourself better.”

God damn, he was so smart. It immediately turned Peter on even more.

“I… I wanna do it. I want to do it with you, now.” His words were sure, his tone solid and decisive.

The contrast between the normal Quentin and the Quentin in bedroom was incredible. He took a few steps towards Peter until he was just a few inches in front of him, staring down at the boy, completely in control. He caressed his cheek and asked quietly, “Can I take you to my bed then?”

Peter closed his eyes and nodded. Quentin’s voice sent shivers down his spine. He wanted him for so long. He wanted him in every way possible, and now he could make this dream come true.

“Yes, please” he whispered, his hungry eyes never leaving Quentin’s.

When his back touched the sheets on the bed, the man took his shirt off and laid all his weight on Peter’s body; a couple of kisses later they were both naked, Quentin asking Peter for permission to touch him here and there, always reassuring Peter’s going to like what they’re about to do and he’s in good hands, he’s safe.

Indeed, Peter felt comfortable and safe while being held by Quentin, he focused all his senses on the pleasure he was given and on his partner, the sounds he made, his touch and words during sex. When he asked Quentin to do it harder, to move faster, he asked “Are you sure?” and it made the boy smile to himself. “I’m very sure, Quentin, please, just do it” he responded.

Sloppy kisses and caressing each other’s bodies were things Peter remembered the most, right after the feeling of being filled by his partner. He was so gentle, and when Peter wanted him to be rough, he was rough.

After they both reached their orgasms, rode it all out, Quentin left Peter’s body and went to the bathroom. Peter was on his back, breathing heavily with eyes closed and palms still tightened on the sheets. Then he felt a wet piece of cloth on his belly and between his legs; Quentin cleaned him up and everywhere their cum was around Peter as well.

“Let’s go under the sheets, shall we?” the man asked, suggesting Peter should probably get up to do that.

“Y-yeah, yeah.” Peter fell into his arms, tired and satisfied, a dull ache bothering his butt.

“Are you alright, Pete? How are you feeling?” Quentin mumbled in his hair.

“I’m great. Really, I... I feel good. I’m glad we did it.”

He was glad to this day they’d done it, standing with Quentin in the bathroom months later, in the middle of the night. He almost forgot about that nightmare he’d had, he was focused on his partner he loved deeply.

He stopped kissing him, “Thank you, Quentin. For everything you’ve done for me. I... I’m so grateful...”

Again, he felt his eyes welling up with tears, because he was so emotional, especially when talking about these emotions.

“Hey, you shouldn’t thank me for anything. At first it was my job to help you, then it became... My own free will. Because I love you.”

Quentin hugged him, let him cry into his chest. This time his tears were the happy ones. He was finally happy with his life. The nightmares and bad days from time to time were just something he fought with, and never lost, thanks to Quentin, who was always there to talk him out of any dark thoughts and offer him all the help in the world he could.

“Do you want to come back to bed with me?” he asked the boy when he calmed down.

“Only with you” Peter responded, looking at him with a sudden grin. “For the rest of my life.”

Quentin’s embrace was so comfortable that he would always wish it lasted forever. Warm and safe, every time he felt he could fall asleep in a moment.

That reminded him of the first time he had a sleepover at Quentin’s place. They hadn’t been engaged in any serious romantic relationship yet, it was just that one time when they spent too much time talking while drinking wine and eating snacks. Way past Peter’s usual curfew; he texted aunt May that he was sorry, and he’d get home as soon as possible, Quentin wanted to offer him a ride, but the weather was terrible. It was a storm outside, devastating the weakest trees in the neighborhood, that’s why May called him and ordered him to stay at Quentin’s. She trusted the doctor so much, after many dinners they had together to talk about Peter and other, more every-day stuff, that she was totally okay with it. And she was right. The man agreed for him to stay and said he’d take the couch. Peter didn’t want to be any trouble and blurted a suggestion they’d both sleep in bed, since “I-it’s big enough for the two of us… I mean… I didn’t mean it in any way, you know…”. It was so awkward and cute Quentin just started laughing.

“Calm down, Peter. I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, it’s just sleeping. If you don’t have any problem with that, neither do I.”

Peter exhaled deeply and nodded, “Okay, that’s what I meant. Thanks, Mr-"

“Quentin.”

“Quentin. Thanks.”

“I just hope you don’t mind me reading with the lamp turned on for a couple of hours.”

“Sure, why would I? I-I’m your guest after all” Peter giggled, grinning after that, exposing his teeth; this made Quentin’s guts twist more than ever.

God, he’s so beautiful.

“I’m gonna give you some sleeping clothes. They’re way too big for you, but they should be comfy enough.”

And off he went to his bedroom, looking for the clothes. Peter, on the other hand, got up and decided to clean up the table after their little drinking and eating party – two glasses, an empty bottle of wine, three empty bowls of snacks Peter had brought and all the crumbs they’d left in the process.

“Oh wow, thank you, Peter, you didn’t have to!” Quentin came back, his eyebrows risen and a little smile on his face. “Here you got everything I thought you’d need. Tell me if there’s anything more, okay?”

“Yeah, sure!” Peter nodded vigorously, feeling bits of happiness and peace crawling into his mindset, “Thank you.”

“I’ll go grab a smoke outside, if that’s okay. You can use the bathroom, or do anything you actually want to do at this point” Quentin laughed at the end of his speech since he realized that Peter is a big boy and doesn’t need instructions how to function. “Sorry. Sometimes I’m a bit too... protective? I don’t know.”

“You’re a guy who works with mentally ill people for a living, of course you’re protective. And sometimes you talk to me like I’m five” the boy turned his face to look at him and smile, marking the fact he wasn’t upset about that. He totally understood, he always did.

“Yeah. It’s hard to stop bringing work to personal life.”

He went to the balcony and closed its door to prevent the rain, the cold and the strong wind getting in. There was a lot of space and a big roof above so he didn’t get wet, though it was indeed difficult to light the cigarette. In this moment Peter finished the cleaning and decided to take a shower and change into his brand new sleeping clothes. He looked at the stuff Quentin had given him; it was so sweet to notice not only the neatly folded T-shirt, pants and a pair of boxers, but also a towel and a new toothbrush. Peter liked the way he cared about him.

After using the bathroom and changing, he walked right to Quentin’s bed. It was already made for them, just waiting for Peter to climb onto it and drown in its big, cozy sheets.

Meanwhile on the balcony, Quentin watched the storm bother his neighborhood while thinking about his relationship with Peter and all the feelings he had towards the boy. His cigarette burnt long ago, he needed a few more minutes to just stand here and think. He wasn’t doing anything wrong – Peter was in his early twenties and they had regular sessions once in three weeks, because Peter’s mental health was getting better and better. They still managed to be professional and as formal as needed during their official meetings. Their relations outside his office didn’t disturb anything and anyone.

He came back inside, closed the door and got rid of the cigarette. Realizing Peter was already in bed, probably sleeping, he went to the bathroom. It took him around thirty minutes to be ready for bed, so he was actually surprised to see Peter still on his phone, the sheets covering his whole body except his head and hands.

“Aren’t you tired? You drank more wine than I did” Quentin chuckled.

When Peter looked at him, he tried his best not to freeze and stare at Quentin’s bare chest for longer than two seconds. Of course Quentin was going to sleep, so he just dressed in his normal sleeping clothes including sweatpants only, but Peter had to lose it and stare.

And of course Quentin noticed it.

“Is it, uh, is it okay for you..?” he gestured on his body; Peter blinked and quickly moved his eyes to Quentin’s face.

“O-of course-yes!” he exclaimed a little too loud and Quentin found it unbearably adorable. “It’s your house, you dress as you please!”

“These pants are what I usually wear when I’m home alone, so yeah, sometimes I sleep in them as well” the man explained while settling himself next to Peter. “Don’t stare at your phone too much.”

Peter snorted and looked at Quentin like he did at May sometimes when she tried to lecture him on something he was way too old to be lectured on. He relaxed, reminding himself that Quentin wasn’t anything to be afraid of – he could be as awkward and as silly as he wanted to be around this man, and it wouldn’t change Quentin’s mind about him.

As he had stated before, it was time for him to read. Peter continued checking his phone, all the socials he was using, mostly incognito, so no one would stalk him later in case anyone found out about his secret identity. At some point, he stopped looking at his phone and just pretended to do so, while actually checking Quentin out. The sheets covered his lower parts only, leaving his belly and chest exposed to his view. He was a well built, strong man, subtle body hair on his skin. Luckily, Quentin didn’t noticed him staring this time, because he was too involved in the book, a thriller settled in the sixties of twentieth century.

“Didn’t know you were a smoker” suddenly came out of Peter’s mouth, making Quentin look at him. Peter blushed. “S-sorry, I didn’t wanna interrupt you-“

“Relax” the man gave him a reassuring smile, “I wouldn’t say I’m a regular smoker. Sometimes when I need to think about things, I go and grab one. No biggie though.”

When he needed to think about things? What did it mean? Peter didn’t want to ask further, especially since he had some ideas.

“I see” he nodded. An instant yawn attacked him, “I think I’m gonna go to sleep, at last.”

“Good idea, it’s way past your bedtime” Quentin approved, making them both chuckle, again that day.

Peter turned off the lamp on his side and buried himself in the sheets. No matter how much he begged his body not to spread across the whole mattress in his sleep, it did so anyway. He remembered waking up almost on Quentin’s chest, his arm on his belly and his leg on his legs, and his immediate panic that went along with it.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry, I-! I’m so sorry!”

The innocently sleeping man was then woken up by Peter’s loud apologies. He opened his eyes and looked at the boy, seeing zero problems in the way they slept together that night.

“Boy, calm down. You were asleep. Unconscious. Give yourself a break.”

Thinking of the way Peter panicked made him smirk months later when he recalled that morning. Quentin was totally chill with what happened, and he just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Actually neither could Quentin, but he was good at forcing himself not to smile every time he thought about it.

At this point, Peter would laugh at almost every situation in which he panicked, got anxious or stressed out because of his reckless actions towards Quentin. It always meant so much to the man, he always considered them adorable. Peter was so bad at hiding his nervousness and it was obvious he’d get very nervous around Quentin sometimes.

Lying in their bed, months later as stated before, it all seemed like a beautiful dream. But it wasn’t that at all, it was Peter’s life which turned for the better thanks to the man he was hugging right now. He finally made peace with what had happened before and the nightmares that haunted him were just the remains he would get rid of in his own time. That’s what he needed – time and space to heal. And Quentin was the one who had given him both of these things.

Peter couldn’t be more grateful.

[mojavehearts]

Who Am I

Cole x Reader

Chapter 2 - Flashbacks

Candle light, I can sense it and I am at peace, body warm and comfortable in a bed that smells like me, that is dented where I lay in a shape I had moulded, but a soft smell radiated off my left side, it smelt like old leathers and...Vanilla and crushed elfroot?, I felt truly at peace unlike when I was in the white room or in the darkness I am somewhere that feels familiar to my body but my mind is still wounded, somehow. Still aware of myself yet I know not much else, my name, my childhood, the taste of mothers cooking. All things I could remember yet I didn’t know the people around me as my eyes open they look at me with hope, glistening eyes of worry and even pity.

It came back to me, my name who I was. But that was all, for me I feel as if it would have been better if I did not. The guilt of forgetting was clenching around my heart, numbing my body in it’s angry grasp. I feel guilty for not knowing them, it hits me hard coiling in my stomach, they knew me but yet I could not even recall their names.

That boy from before shrouded in my deep sleep. His scent, he was not there with the other people that watched me, my heart knew that he should be yet I knew nothing of him, not even a name, the ache of my heart was the only thing that told me, it had not betrayed me like my mind had.

“Who is he?” I say hoarsely, voice thick and grainy from the dehydration “who is who?” The strong woman from before says in worry and confusion, I frown. Of course if I didn’t know, these people who seem to care for me greatly would not either.

“I am... Y/N who are all of you?” I must keep my manners even if I could not remember a thing from when I was on my way to Haven they all turn to whoever is beside them, all showing different signs of realisation and sadness.

“I had wished amnesia wouldn’t have been the case,I was mistaken and I am sorry, I will check with the clerics, see to it that I can help” the strong woman says, she blames herself I can see it in her eyes dark and red, lack of sleep, her under eye area purplish and veiny.

With that said she walks away without telling me her name I look down at my hands and move my fingers slowly, turning my hands around to get back circulation then staring in wonderment at the small green glow in one of my palms “We know who you are, if anything we could tell you who you are better at this moment in time inquisitor, I guess recoup is in order yes?” Inquisitor? Is that what they called me?, what did it mean to be an ‘inquisitor’ I turn towards the voice, a woman, finely dressed and decorated her hair secured neatly, warm toned skin that seemed to be kissed by the sun. “I am your ambassador Josephine, if you have more questions after I have you read up on what I have complied since the conclave come to me or Leliana, I have great belief that you will regain your memory” she had to be Orlesian by her accent, that’s right I was at the conclave was I not, she writes on some parchment before bowing her head slightly and heading out the door after leaving some papers atop my bedside table.

“And I, would be Leliana, I am your spy master, I too have things that require the need for you to turn your attention to, all other things that had required your attention before hand will be put on hold, if there is anything you need come to me” I turn again to the other side of the room, hooded, shrouded in purples, she seemed very genuine for her job purpose, her hair reflected red in the dim candlelight, I frown and look down at my legs, guilt punching me harder with each forgotten friend “thank you” I say, softer this time, she throws me a quick smile, dropping papers beside Josephine’s before taking her leave.

“We should cut this short huh? Our friend has a lot to do, I’m Varric your roguishly handsome rogue the woman who left before is Cassandra, I guess you can tell she blames herself for your state right now but she’ll come around and talk to you, I wouldn’t worry to much” my head turns back up to meet the eyes of a dwarf and then to meet his chest hair I raise my eyebrow slightly at the choice of style he laughs softly, noticing my line of vision. “Even when you can’t remember a thing you still poke fun at me, glad to know you’re still you” he speaks to me with great respect and care we must have been good friends, I smile at this.

“I am The Iron Bull boss, but Iron Bull or just Bull, is fine too. I am in charge of the chargers a fine group” even during his introduction he speaks of his men?, he seems very dedicated and proud of them “we did so many awesome things together, like that time in the Western Approach with that dragon! Aw man! It was sick!” The rest of my forgotten friends either sigh, chuckle or roll their eyes, I slayed a dragon? Oh my.

“I am Cullen, I command the soldiers who fight for our cause.” He ends it there, fidgeting the whole time he spoke, his hair was so neatly done he definitely took a lot of time into it. He didn’t seem sure of himself “that’s all you have to say to her curly?, after all that worrying about her day and night?” Varric intercepted “that is not true I worried a perfectly decent amount!” The commander begins rambles in embarrassment and walks out still talking as someone else begins to speak.

“I am Solas, I believe you will need to come to me also on questions you may have about everything once you read Josephine and Lelianna’s documents” an elf, he definitely wasn’t Dalish but didn’t appear to be a city elf either, his voice was smooth and he was very well spoken,judging from the way he carried himself, he was intelligent and he knew it, I nod slowly smiling slightly. The guilt was becoming to much to bare but I needed to be kind, I could not throw a fit, no, not whilst these people who care for me a great deal have to go through me not remembering them.

“My dear, I am so sorry this has happened to you, I am Madam Vivienne de Fer, grand enchanter, or of course just Vivienne to you sweetheart, mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain” this woman was gorgeous, and she knew it too, soft dark skin that almost glistened like specs of the moon had touched the surface. Someone snorts loudly “way to introduce yourself, innit? You sound so funny “I am madam snufflefart and I lay with a married man who can’t get it up” it was the girl from before I fell asleep again, she smiles widely at me as if waiting for me to say something as well, but frowns after my confused silence looking down awkwardly at her feet “I- ugh I hate this, I’m Sera yeah? I help the little guys get the big guys, but not you, you’re good people quizzy” she looked slightly distressed by how things were, I smile sadly eyes beginning to glaze over.

“All this sap, I am not in a good position to be crying infront of everyone so I will, infact, be taking my leave after this, I am Dorian, your fabulously intelligent mage with impeccable style and grace, thank you” the man named Dorian quickly scurries off after talking so surely of himself, it must be hard for him to talk about how he feels. I couldn’t see much of him by the way he walked out but I could tell he had dark hair and dark skin, as if he was caramelised, oh caramel, I’m hungry now that I think of it.

A rough cough sounds from the other side of where Dorian had stepped out of the room, calling for attention. I turn and I’m met with a man who reminded me of a bear, well, a bear that was less hostile than those I usually encountered,his eyes stood out the most, piercing blue standing out against dark brown long hair and a thick beard, he seems slightly older than the rest, maybe he has just lived harder days, his eyes showed pain but also relief in them as he spoke, he seemed to be calculating what to say without seeming as if he was thinking to hard “I am Blackwall, I serve the Wardens and I also serve you, like Sera said you are good people, I am sure your current state will not change that” he was very sincere with his words, he means what he says fully even if he had to think it through.

“Someone is missing” I say suddenly out of nowhere, my words escaped my mouth before my mind could stop them, how would I know this? I could not even remember these people let alone another. “What do you mean Y/N” Varric says, confusion upon his heavy brow “I feel...I’m sorry, I- never mind it must have just been a dream” I sigh and run my hands along my sheets, I pause for a moment and look back to the people who had remained in the room, the Elven man, no, Solas looks away from me, as if refusing to meet my gaze. Did he know something, could he help me? before I can manage to get any words out I am interrupted by someone running into my room, a solider “all of you, you need to come see this, it looks like we have problem” the woman says, everyone exchanges glances and starts walking out at a fast pace Varric turns to me and smiles “you should come too might remember something, are you well enough to walk” I blink slowly and nod, slowly raising to sit up and then swinging my legs off the edge of the bed to stand swiftly, I follow my friends out the door studying as much as I could along the way to try and ensure a quick recovery, maybe I could remember. But I was quick to remember to ask why I have forgotten once the time was right.

We are outside, my eyes turn to the sky, what was that? It seemed green, angry it teared the sky and twisted around the clouds. Looking at it I remembered the emerald portal in my dreams but my thoughts were short lived as a woman began to speak with a solider holding the body of an unconscious man, his hat was too big to see his face I squint slowly, a weird feeling in my chest“I found this young man unconscious in the gardens he appeared out of nowhere! No one can tell me who he was so I asked to speak with the inquisitor personally” she was worried for this young man “I am sorry but the inquisitor is...She... is a bit under the weather right now” the strong woman, Cassandra says suddenly to her having come from another direction as us “Someone here must know who he is” the woman frowns deeply, harsh wrinkles from her eyebrows crease her face in worry, I look around my group to see if anyone had, my eyes shifting to how Solas was shifting his weight between his two feet.

“He needs medical attention why did you not take him to the healers?” Cassandra’s swiftly says, she was cautious of him “that is the thing they said there was nothing wrong with him, but he is unconscious, they said they couldn’t do anything for him, that I should instead find out who he is” the woman was visibly upset now, shaken “I have a son myself this boy, he reminds me of him, please if you can help him” I frown and my feet begin taking me towards them “inqui-“ Cassandra starts to interject but Varric puts an arm infront of her, body language telling her to hold on “I will try” I speak those words with hesitation I was not sure if I could do anything much I must try something the solider holding him slowly puts him down and I slowly sink to my knees, raising the boys hat, I look to his face my body seems to shudder harshly and my arms begin to convulse my head aches and I raise my hands to it hissing and the crying out in pain “inquisitor!” Cassandra yells out before my body falls onto his and everything goes black yet again.

Here I was again, slowly opening my eyes to the white nothingness, feeling the prickling burn of the light yet this time I didn’t feel so alone, I feel it a presence behind me, I turn around speedily yet I see no one, I turn back and gasp softly, a dark purple ethereal figure floated slightly in front of me she smiles

“You must be Y/N” her voice was like a dream like it was not real,it made me feel like I was underwater “who are you?” My voice mirrored hers coming out like vibrations “names do not matter here, what matters are memories, ones you need to find, I am sorry my child while I am here to guide you I can not make the trials that you will face here any less troublesome” she begins to float off beckoning me to follow, she waves her hand slowly over a spot on the white nothingness another emerald portal appearing “my child, you must face these dangers if you wish to become whole again, remember what you must do, and who you are now, I am sure you will return I have faith in you” the portal almost sang to me, filling me with the warmth of a song sang by a loving mother “I will return” is all I say still under a trance from the soft hymns.

I let the portal take hold of me entirely, entering it feeling my body feel weightless but also like a statue, stuck in place.

What was that, loud thumping trembling the ground beneath me, I try to balance myself as rocks fall out of nowhere harshly onto the ground below me, I hear war cries, escaping soldiers throats like if they had swallowed rocks, the rocks now coming out of them as they became ill, but no. All they did was fight, it was the Templar’s fighting against blighted versions of themselves, former bodies of their own. As I begin to start running towards them I see, myself, there with Cassandra, Solas and Varric by my side as we fought running towards the tower I follow quickly behind racing towards myself my legs becoming heavier with each sprint closer running up the stairs, a strange man stands there, he looked...sick, not Ill but sick like his mind had been twisted to pieces until he could no longer think like himself, he was darkness. He grabs the me I see and I try to scream but nothing comes out I reach out to myself and then.

Black, cold, the feeling of nothing, damp but also dry, my body was stuck in place begging for water but begging for a towel I refused to open my eyes, not yet.

Not yet.

I take a deep breath, opening my eyes slowly, suddenly flashes of memories hold my body, frigid, convulsing slightly, Templar’s fighting, flashbacks, a voice of evil and then, the boy from before fighting beside me against something big and scary. An envy demon? , why did an envy demon want me, what happened to me. What is wrong with the Templar’s?, I knew this boy, who was he.

I must remember.

The flashbacks stop my body slowly fading from wherever I was when I woke again, I was still where I was, slumped over the boy from before, time must work differently where I was not even a second had past, Cassandra softly touches my shoulder, I turn suddenly “I’m okay” I reassure her staring down at the boy

“I know him” was all I could say, standing slowly and turning to her “you couldn’t possibly, none of us know this man, unless you knew him from before the conclave there is no way” I frown at her words, I saw him there “he fought with us, the envy demon” I explain, surely she would remember now “we fought alone inquisitor...” she was worried about me now, more than before, was I crazy “I’m sure we know him, even if we do not we need to take care of him” was all I said before lifting him myself, struggling slightly until Cassandra offered a hesitant hand.

I will find out who he is, and why my heart beats heavily in my chest.

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~Crüe AU writings~

A new series of writings revolving around the Crüe? Oh you betcha! I hope you enjoy! WARNING: THIS STORY MAY CONTAIN POSSIBLE TRIGGERS! PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN READING!

~Shandi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~VAMPIRE AU~

Featured Pairing: Non-romantic friendship between Mick Mars and Nikki Sixx

Summary: Frank Feranna, Jr. hates his name and his life. His unusual friend Mick offers an even more unusual solution. (told from Nikki’s POV)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can’t stand those cunts. Who’m I talkin’ about? 

“I TOLD YOU TO GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, FRANKIE!!”

Yeah. There’s one of ‘em now. I don’t wanna fuckin’ budge. But if I don’t the dickhead will come up and kick my ass. Again. Not that it won’t happen anyway. How fuckin’ sad is it that I’m used to it? I get up and go downstairs. To the surprise of absolutely nobody my drunken bitch of a mother is passed out on the couch. My charming new ‘stepdad’, the third one in two weeks might I add, is sittin’ at the kitchen table glarin’ at me and chugging down his latest beer. He crushes the can when he’s done, lets out a loud, disgusting belch and tosses it on the floor. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, you little shit? Clean all this up. I gotta take your mom upstairs. This better be spotless by the time I come down again.” I return his glare. “Why do I hafta clean up after you? It’s your fuckin’ mess. Why don’t you make yourself useful around here besides makin’ my ‘mom’ your new cum dumpster?” In two seconds he’s out of his chair and he punches me right in my face. I hit the floor hard. Pretty sure he even loosened a few of my teeth. Yep. I can taste the blood. I barely have time to assess that damage when he kicks me in the stomach. “You’re a pathetic little bastard!!” I hear him scream as I curl up on the floor. Shit that fuckin’ hurt, but I expect it. That’s his favorite place to hit me. He stomps off into the living room and picks ‘mom’ up from the couch, stepping over me as he carries her upstairs. “L-listen...listen to your father, Frankie..!” she tells me in her trashy slurred voice. Like a broken fuckin’ record. I lay on the floor for a while until the pain subsides enough for me to move. Then I go up to my room, throw some of my stuff into a bag and get the fuck out. I know Mick will let me stay at his place if I need to. 

“C’mon in, kid.” 

Mick always knows it’s me before I even knock. It’s so weird but kinda nice. At least here I don’t have to worry about bein’ welcomed by a punch to the gut. “Thanks, Mick.” I throw my bag on one of his chairs and park myself on his couch while he goes into the kitchen. He comes back with a bottle of beer and gives it to me. “That’s one hell of a bruise. Need some ice?” I nod. I could feel my face swelling all the way over here. No fuckin’ way I’m goin’ to school like this. Good thing I packed stuff for the next few days. He hands me an ice pack and I hold it up to my face. It fuckin’ stings but the cold will numb it soon. He opens my bottle for me. We sit quietly and watch tv for the next few hours. At around 5 am he gets up and ruffles my hair. “Hittin’ the bed, kid. You remember where everything is.” 

“Sure do. G’night, Mick. Or g’morning. Whatever.”

Ever the night owl, that guy. Me, I don’t sleep at all. 

Eventually I get hungry so I go into the kitchen to look for food. I look in the fridge. There’s nothin’ in there but bottles of beer. I look in the cabinets. Empty. What the fuck does Mick live on? I can’t ask him for anything. He must take some kind of drugs cause he sleeps like the dead. I go through my bag for my wallet. I don’t have much money but hopefully it’s enough to buy something. I fuckin’ hate this empty feeling in my stomach. I gotta eat. I grab the spare key Mick always leaves for me hangin’ by the door and head out. Fortunately there’s a convenience store not too far away from Mick’s place. I grab as much stuff as I can carry. While I’m paying Mr. Shitstain barges in and he spots me. “What the fuck’re you doing here, Frankie? Why aren’t you at school?” I roll my eyes. Since when does he care? “Yeah. I’m gonna go strollin’ into class with a fucked up face and have my teachers ask a bunch of questions. Think again.” 

“I’m takin’ you home then. Your mom’s worried sick.” I scoff. “Yeah. Sick cause she drowned herself in booze last night. When has she got time to worry about me when she’s suckin’ your dick every night?” Before I can pick up my bag he grabs my arm and drags me out. Guess I’m goin’ hungry then. He throws me in the back of his car and drives back to the hellhole. As soon as I’m shoved through the door I get a hard slap to the face. “Where the hell’ve you been?! What’ve I told you about running away?!” As usual ‘mom’s’ got a drink in her hand. The day’s barely started and she’s already trashed. “I don’t give a shit what you say!! I’d rather be sleepin’ under a bridge than be trapped here with you!!” Shitstain grabs me again and takes me upstairs to my room. “Fuckin’ kids..y’got no respect. I think you need some more discipline.” He doesn’t stop knocking me around until I’m unconscious. 

When I finally wake up it’s dark outside. I wonder if Mick has woken up yet and noticed I’m not there. I’m hurting all over. I can barely move. Hunger claws at my stomach. I’m weak. I have nothing left. I’m too dehydrated to cry. I pull my knife out from under my pillow, using all the strength I have left in my body to pull out the blade. Yeah..it’s better this way. Fuck my mom. Fuck her asshole boyfriend. Fuck this life.. I cut both of my wrists open and wait for the end. 

It’s better this way..

To be Continued!!