#and the twisted boney torso

[sioster]

Number 20 and your ocs perhaps 👀?

-pluto <3

Mourningstar standing up and rejecting Foammane.

Mourningstar is the leader of a currently unnamed clan, while Foammane is an old drowned spirit who, with his remains resurfacing after a long time, came back to haunt the living.

[dappersautismcreature]

mushroom stew

characters: Bad, Cellbit

tws: cannibalism, violence, gore, slavery/indentured servitude, child solider(ish), death of many npcs, spiders

Bad stretched and yawned as he strode out onto the field— he looked over his opponents for the games.

Nobody looked particularly dangerous. Most of them were young, 18-25 looking, with tough faces and plain clothes. That was pretty usual for the games. People joined or were forced to join by a company or a slavers crew, either for their own money, or someone else’s money. Bad had almost never met someone who was there purely by choice, they could say they were, but the unbearable hunger in their eyes gave them away. Life spent drifting from PvP server to PvP server was wretched, and poor. People needed to hope for more— the games gave them that. 

But there was a price— Bad grimaced as he did another pass of examining his enemies— the first fifty of these people to die would be perma-killed. Forty-five would be stuck in limbo for anywhere from a couple days to a month, depending on how long it took between the time they died and the game’s end. Only the last five could come out alive— and only the winner would be blessed to erase all his wounds. Bad had met people on these fields with limps, with twisted spines, and burns, broken fingers, and missing limbs, eyepatches. Bad himself sported almost a dozen deep scars on his torso and neck and face. In his early days he’d been stuck in limbo for almost three weeks. Now though, after a few decades of practice— he was confident in his ability to come in the top five. Now he could actually fulfill his purpose, the reason he was here.

Snow crunched under a hundred bodies, everyone held their breaths. Silence was mandatory before the start. The horns sounded— and Bad had never felt so alive. He took in a deep breath, letting time slow, and watched as people around him scattered. Boots skidded on icy ground, there were yells, cries of terror. Bad blinked, coiling his muscles, and leaped from his position. His feet thudded against snow, he lengthened his stride, running and running. 

A body slammed into him, small, compact. Bad fell straight on his ass, hissing. The demon sprang to his feet, hands clutching his wooden ax. “Who dares.” He growled, tail curling up like a scorpion’s. The air fizzled, his Thor’s Curse reacting to the sudden threat. 

“I-I-” a kid gasped. His voice was thin, and young. He was still on his back, scattered snow and mud all around him. The young human’s curly brown hair hung around his face, covering his ears completely. He was ragged and boney. Stark blue eyes wide and rimmed with exhaustion. Barely a wisp of peach fuzz graced his chin and upper lip. 

Bad’s posture relaxed slightly. The demon knew what he had to do. He grabbed the kid by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. Then the demon began to run again. “I’m Bad.” He said between breaths. “My name is Bad.”

The kid could barely keep up, stumbling over himself. Eventually he seemed to find his feet, and his breath. “Cellbit.”

They slowed down when they reached the outskirts of the swamp. Bad took his ax and felled a tree, while Cellbit gathered mushrooms. Both of them worked with ruthless efficiency— and Bad was calmed by the fact that at least this wasn’t the kids first game. Somewhat friendly people ran by, calling his name in recognition. But a few called Cellbit’s. Bad’s ear flattened against his head, ok, definitely not this kid’s first game. How old was he? The demon held his ax out to anyone who got too close, tail lashing. He made it clear, this kid was his team now. 

“Stone swords?” Cellbit asked once they had a good supply of mushrooms and wood tucked into their backpacks. Bad nodded, and followed him to a cliffside. He quickly made himself a wooden pickaxe, and got just enough stone to craft a stone sword. He could hear Cellbit working next to him. 

When he looked up, another player was in front of him, staring wildly at him over his crafting table. Flames licked their limbs, and they had glowing red eyes. They looked hungry. Bad stared back, gripping the handle of his new sword. “Cellbit?” He called.

“Yeah?” The kid called back.

“I’m going to kill this guy, I’ll be right back.” He lunged at the player, hearing a faint confirmation from Cellbit. His opponent desperately held up his wooden sword, parrying Bad’s first blow. But the demon was too fast for him, stabbing underneath his defense and sliding his sword clean into the other’s ribs. The player’s red eyes widened, and he sank to his knees, mouthing something that Bad couldn’t understand. The demon stepped back, his sword was yanked from the body with a slick noise. Blood fell on the grass. 

As he walked back over to Cellbit something nagged at him, the way that player had stared— he hadn’t fought back. Maybe he knew him, maybe he knew of him. Dread sank in his stomach but he shook his head and turned to the kid. 

“There’s a guy over there, in a ditch.” Cellbit said, eyes stony. He was clutching his new stone sword with one hand, and with the other he pointed. “Let’s go kill him.” 

Bad’s breath stuck in his throat, but he nodded and the two crept over. The demon gave the go-ahead to the kid— time to see how he came this far in the games. Time to see what he could do. 

The kid leaped over the side of the ditch, sword held low and out. “Die!” He screamed, stabbing it into his opponent's stomach. The player fell without a sound. Bad watched as Cellbit twisted the sword deeper and lunged forward to bite into the dead body’s throat. Blood sprayed across the kid’s cheeks and he tore up, stripping flesh from where the neck met the torso up to the jaw. Cellbit raised his head to meet Bad’s eyes, and the demon shivered. The hunger in them— stronger than he’d ever seen. 

The kid did not break eye contact, as one hand left the sword’s handle, and shoved the hanging strip of gore into his mouth. Blood still fountained out of the hole in the body’s neck, bubbling and spilling into the mud. Bad looked away as Cellbit went for one more bite. This kid was muffined. 

A few moments later Cellbit met him at the top of the ditch— with his sleeve the kid wiped dripping blood from his chin. Then he took his fingernail and picked at his teeth, all the while watching the demon in front of him. Bad had at least three feet’s height on the shrimp, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated. 

“Well done.” Bad spat out. It wasn’t near the worst thing he’d seen here, but it was close. Still, time to put his mind back to the games. “Nice kill. Let’s go find a ravine.”

They found one a couple hundred meters away, Bad dropped down and killed the player hiding in it. The ravine was all theirs. Time to get some iron. Bad mined some of the more open veins, then set up a furnace. While he was stationary he brought out some of the mushrooms and began to make soup. Cellbit returned with more iron, and together they crouched in the corner and waited. Bad leaned against the stone walls and stared at the sky. Cellbit awkwardly checked and rechecked the furnaces. 

“So how old are you kid, hm?” Bad asked in the quiet. “Don’t lie to me, I can smell when you do.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Cellbit snorted. But he still answered the question truthfully. “I’m fifteen.” Now that he was talking more, Bad could hear an accent in his speech. 

“You company?” Bad asked, tail flicking lazily. 

“No, why? You company?” Cellbit grinned, showing his teeth.

Bad rolled his eyes. “Nope, just curious. Slavers then? You get snatched? Slavers are scum, but slavers who take kids are worse.” 

Cellbit was quiet, staring into the coals of the furnace. “Worse than scum. Yeah.” He shifted to curl tighter up into himself. 

Bad allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. A fifteen year old who was experienced in the games, kidnapped and entered into them by slavers. Muffins. He had to get Cellbit out of here. “And your curse? You really chose Cannibal, you know what that can do to a person? Why not Stomper? Something safer?”

“I didn’t choose.” Cellbit growled, baring his teeth again. “Shut up Thor.”

Bad thudded his head against the wall and laughed coldly. He was going to find these slavers and tear them to bits. “Do you wanna know why I’m here then?” He offered an apology.

“No.” 

“Okay.” Bad stared up at the blue sky, watching for enemies. He turned to the furnaces to check on things, musing over calculations in his head. They’d probably have enough now. He made himself an iron sword and some armor. 

“Guy up there!” Cellbit shouted quietly to him. 

Bad’s head shot up. “Oh snap!” He held his sword up, spotting the guy crouching over the edge of the ravine. “Don’t come down here!” The demon called, showing his teeth and swinging his sword. 

Cellbit quickly crafted himself iron gear and jumped up on top of the furnaces. “I’m full iron!” He cried defiantly— despite definitely not being full iron. 

Bad’s eyes caught sight of the white ball in the player’s hands, but before he could call out Cellbit had already seen it. “Switcher!” The kid cried, backing up. Bad also retreated, staying out of sight under some rock. The two of them crouched down, waiting for the enemy to make a move. 

Another player fell down, landing on some rock’s above them. They cried out as they took damage from the fall, still raising their sword. They were no match for Cellbit who lunged at them and sunk his sword into their stomach. The player’s dead body fell with a sickly sound at the bottom of the ravine. 

Bad raised his head at the death message, realizing that over half of the players were now dead. No more permadeaths from now on. Deep down he breathed a sigh of relief. Up above them, another player ran away. Bad shook himself. “I forgot I was a Thor!” He laughed, raising his ax and sending lightning down to strike them. He missed. 

Cellbit handed Bad an iron chestplate as he watched for more opponents, ax still raised to the sky. Lightning thrummed through him and he whooped. His hair stood on end, he felt unbeatable. “We’re going to dominate this game kid!” The demon grinned. Cellbit handed him iron pants and shook his head in disbelief. 

Bad continued to send lightning towards anyone who got close to their ravine. Soon they were ready to leave. They both quickly ate some mushroom stew, then towered up quickly to the top. 

The sun was setting, and they ran through the darkening swamp. Using their compasses, they looked for more people to kill. “Over here!” Cellbit called. “There’s one of the people that tried to get into the ravine earlier!” He ran off. 

Bad followed, pulling out his sword in one hand, compass in the other. 

“They are going to pay for that!” Cellbit cried darkly, letting out a fake evil laugh. Bad snickered. They lost sight of the player a few times, but eventually found him again, they got closer and closer. 

Cellbit was right on their tail. “Come back here!” He snarled. 

“I’ll cut him off!” Bad called as they turned. He dove around a pond and a tree, readying his sword as he closed in on their victim. The player turned towards him, a few seconds too late, as Bad slashed them across the chest. Cellbit got in a good hit on their shoulder, making them stagger away. Bad chased, slashing twice through their back. But the player was fast, and gained ground, getting out of the demon’s reach. 

They lost sight of him going around a ravine, but they kept up the trail. Bad met up with Cellbit and the two of them ran hard, keeping the same breakneck pace. Eventually Bad had to stop, bending over with his hands on his knees. Curse these old lungs. He gasped. Shouldn’t have smoked so much in his early days. “You got this!” He called to the kid, who was still sprinting ahead of him. After a second’s rest Bad ran after them. The chase wasn’t over.

They burst out of the trees, and back onto the snowy plains. Bad caught sight of Cellbit once again. The kid was booking it across the flat space, closing in on their target. Bad grinned as he saw Cellbit work to curve the frantic player back towards him. They met soon enough, sandwiching them between the two. Bad swung and missed.

“How did you miss it!” The kid growled, running past him. Bad rolled his eyes and gave one last burst of speed. He got ahead of Cellbit, and with one swift brutal slash to the back of the neck, he severed the player’s spine. They fell face-first into the snow, head twisted unnaturally. Cellbit pounced on their backpack, looting it quickly. 

“Nice one.” The kid panted, shoveling containers of mushroom stew into his own backpack. He sat back on his haunches, staining his pants red with bloody snow.

“You too, you too.” Bad hunched over again, breathing deep. “C’mon let’s go.” He hauled Cellbit to his feet, the two of them took up a steady jog once again. 

They found the next player on the edge of a ravine, Cellbit got the first few hits with his sword. Then they were chasing again. The player tried to double back after crossing another ravine, getting a good hit on Bad. The demon fell back. 

Cellbit growled and body slammed the enemy into the deep hole. The kid leaned over the side. “They survived!” Bad joined him at the edge and peered down. A moment later they saw the player’s death message. Bad met Cellbit’s eyes, and then they both turned back to the ravine.

“Must be a team down there.” Bad grit his teeth. He saw movement, at least two people.

“There’s water over here!” Cellbit called from one end of the ravine. “C’mon!”  

“Cannonball!” Bad jumped down first before the hotheaded kid could, landing perfectly in the small cave pool. Cellbit landed behind him. Both of them were soaked up to their knees now. They advanced. The remains of a mineshaft lined the sides of the ravine, cobwebs and oak plank supports. They scrambled over collapsed rocks.

“They’re dying to the spiders!” Cellbit laughed, jumping over the last pile of stone and leaping towards the players. 

Bad caught sight of one of them running for cover, a giant cave spider right on their tail. When the two of them caught up, the players had squeezed themselves into a hole and sealed it off with cobblestone. 

“Look at them!” Cellbit cackled. “They buried themselves with the spider!” The kid was loose and happy, seemingly in his element. He swung his sword lazily in arcs. 

“That’s- yeah that’s not a good idea.” Bad laughed, bringing out his pickaxe and smoothly tearing into the rock. Cellbit joined him.

“Careful Cell-” Bad called. Suddenly the players spilled out of their hiding spot, getting two good solid hits on the kids shoulder and chest. Bad stepped back and was caught off guard as two thick fangs sunk into his calf. “Go away!” He growled, stabbing his sword straight into its skull. He turned back to see Cellbit holding his own against only one of the player’s. The other had retreated back into the hiding spot. 

From the side he surprised the one attacking his kid by stabbing his sword deep into their ribs. Seeing their friend being double teamed, the other sprung back out and both focused on Cellbit. 

“Die!” Bad snarled, slashing at both of them from behind them as Cellbit was backed into the wall. Bad managed to sink his sword into the first player’s stomach, ripping it out brutally, almost cutting them in half. The body fell, glancing off of the demon on its way down. Bad felt gore slide down his iron chestplate. 

“Help!” Cellbit cried, blood dripping down his face. The remaining enemy had him pinned against the stone, their blade plunged deep into his shoulder. His sword had been knocked from his hand, and was now a few meters away from his straining hand. The kid kicked at his enemy desperately. 

Bad slammed into the player with his shoulder, throwing them off balance and allowing Cellbit to fall away and scramble for his sword on the stone floor. The demon snarled as the player turned to lunge at him. Bad twisted, letting the blade slash through his shirt and ribs. He spun and slashed his opponent across the chest. The player fell back and returned the hit. 

Cellbit came in and slammed the flat of his sword against the back of their knee. They buckled and swung their blade around to meet Cellbit’s iron as the kid blocked. Rising back to two feet, the player pushed down, trying to overpower him. Bad stabbed them in the shoulder, making them twist as the demon drove the sword into an oak pole, pinning them there. 

“Just die!” Cellbit finished them off by driving his sword through the middle of their throat. Bad met the player’s eyes as they went dim. Blood gushed out to fully coat Cellbit’s blade, spilling down the body’s chest and onto the dusty stone. 

Cellbit staggered to the side, leaning heavily against the wall. “Holy shit, that was close.” He gasped, hand reaching up to the cuts on the side of his torso. He winced. 

Bad yanked the sword out of the body’s neck. It slumped against him on its way down and he kicked it to the side with his knee. “Good fight kid.” He handed Cellbit his sword back. He wiped his own sword off on the body’s clothes. The demon stayed alert. “Stupid spiders.” He growled, keeping his eyes peeled for more. “Must be a spawner somewhere.”

Cellbit just nodded, exhausted. He started rooting through the backpacks, pulling out a few iron ingots and some sponge. “Must’ve been a Launcher.” He murmured. 

“Oh! You wanna use those to get out of here?” Bad asked, scooping a few from his hand.

“Can we?” Cellbit asked, hesitant. “I thought it was just Launchers.”

“Yeah.” Bad nodded. “If you take them from a Launcher you can use them yourself.” He started placing them on the ground. 

“Oh.” Cellbit watched him. The kid cried out as a spider leapt onto him and sunk its fangs into his upper arm. “Shit! Spider!” 

Bad stabbed it through the abdomen, knocking it off of him. Cellbit staggered away, biting his lip to keep from crying. This was clearly getting to be too much for him. The demon reached out to pat the kid gently on the back. Then Bad kept stacking the sponges, and climbed up the rocks.

“Wish me luck.” He said, then jumped onto the top sponge. “If I die-” the demon shot upwards, flying over the top of the ravine and crashing to the ground up above. “Ouch.” He grumbled, sitting up and leaning over to see if Cellbit was coming.

“Ah! I hate spiders!” He heard the kid cry out— voice cracking— before he too was sent flying. Bad just stood back as Cellbit also crashed into the grassy mud. “That was cool.” The kid groaned, lifting himself off the ground. Bad laughed. Cellbit laughed back, near hysterical. They were both absolutely done with things. 

They found a place to take shelter for the rest of the night and heal. Bad helped Cellbit dress his wounds, and taught him to use swamp lily for cave spider poison. Then the demon started a fire and cooked up some warm mushroom stew. Cellbit had set out his bed roll against a huge log, and was curled up against it. His thin blanket was draped over his shoulder and tucked under his chin. Bad wouldn’t be surprised if the kid fell asleep before dinner was ready. 

Tomorrow was the Feast, when a big supply drop would happen. Whoever got this drop was almost sure to win, Bad was humming with tension,even though the drop was at least 7 hours out. He wasn’t sure of the exact time, as nobody carried clocks on them, but his idea would improve once the sun began to rise. The kid could sleep, Bad would keep watch. He didn’t need as much sleep. 

The mushroom stew didn’t take long, Bad ladled a portion each into the two bowls he always carried with him. He crawled over to Cellbit’s still form, gently tapping his shoulder twice with the tip of his tail. The kid was awake after the first, a hand darting out— fast as a snake— to grab the tail tight in one fist. 

Bad grimaced and smiled. “Just me.” He whispered. Cellbit let go. “Before you go to bed, eat some stew, drink some water. Please.” He handed the kid his bowl, and crawled back to his spot— on the other side of the fire. 

Cellbit sat up slowly, no doubt his entire body was sore. He took his spoon from his pack and shoveled bite after bite into his mouth. They were all used to mushroom stew, the same two edible mushrooms that spawned in the swamps were always there, always quick to take and eat. But Cellbit’s eyes lit up at the taste of Bad’s stew. The demon knew how to make those knobby, nasty mushrooms taste somewhat decent. “Thank you.” The soft accented whisper was barely heard over the fire. But Bad appreciated it, and bobbed his head in acknowledgment. 

After soup was eaten, and water drunk, Cellbit turned back over on his bedroll. The kid had one hand on his iron sword, which he held down by his side. His other arm made a makeshift pillow against his face. 

Bad pretended like he didn’t watch as slowly, Cellbit allowed himself to let his guard down, and sleep. The demon wondered just how often the kid had slept during these games— if he’d ever slept on these fields. Bad certainly hadn’t, even in his many rounds. Only six-ish more hours until the sun rose, and they’d pack up, head out for the Feast. Bad leaned back against his tree, and kept his ears perked for movement. They’d set up camp in between the swamp and the snowy plain, tucked in a ditch with a log and a few small trees. There was cover for them, but not much beyond that, several dozen meters of empty ground were their best protection. 

He was used to this— running scenarios through his head the night before a Feast. By his estimation there should be less than a fourth of the original number of players. If he was going on averages, the number was more like ten to fifteen. Bad squinted at the leaves over his head. Most people who survived this long probably had a teammate, at least one. So they could probably expect six to ten teams to also be after the Feast, maybe minus a few because of distance or reluctance. There were always a few people who just hunkered down and hid until the Pit. A shiver went up Bad’s spine, the amount of times he’d died in that Pit ran through his mind. Death after death after death, his hands scrabbling at the stone. The worst part was always knowing he was so close. 

Bad let out a small scream as he felt teeth gouge into his upper arm. His other hand came up to press back against the forehead of Cellbit. The kid’s fangs were fully dug into his flesh and Bad winced as they tugged the wound wider. “Cellbit!” His eyes were fully narrowed into slits, shiny and hungry and violent. Bad shoved again, shaking his shoulder in another attempt to dislodge the grip. Blood shone on Cellbit’s chin as he only dug in deeper. “Cellbit stop! Please.” Bad hissed louder. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The kid did not let go.

Bad grit his teeth and with his free hand reached to where Cellbit’s jaw hinged. Pressing down with a firm thumb, he worked at the joint until the pressure caused pain. Cellbit yelped and his grip on the demon loosened. Bad slipped away, leaping over the fire and on top of the log. His tail was curled up over his back in a defensive position. 

Cellbit stayed frozen, teeth snapping shut with a click. He opened his mouth again, and shut it again. Then repeated the action a few more times. His eyes were still, empty hungry slits. He turned his head to stare at the demon on the log. 

Bad shook his head and sat back, gripping the bite mark and wiping the blood away. “Kid, it’s too late at night to do this please.” He swung his legs back and forth. “Wait until morning?” He spoke softly and calmly, not letting fear into his heart. As far as he knew it was the only way to calm the Cannibal Curse, to show it no fear, and hopefully no more blood. 

Cellbit stayed still, only his chest moving up and down in slow, steady breaths. Bad crept down from the log, reaching into his backpack to retrieve some bandages. The kid’s eyes watched his every movement. Bad kept talking calmly to him, telling him about the ingredients in the stew, and where they were, and how very very chill he was right now. Yep, Bad was not creeped out by this at all. It definitely wasn’t disturbing to see a Cursed kid staring into his soul with the demon’s own blood staining his teeth. Bad cleaned the bite wound and wrapped bandages around his upper arm. When that was settled he sat down where he was, only a meter from the kid.

Cellbit was crouched in the dirt. His hair was wild, mussed from sleep. Somehow his eyes had gotten crazier than his normal. Bad stared back at him, blinking slowly. Seconds passed, then minutes, and finally after about half an hour Cellbit was settled and awake. The kid groggily stared at the fresh dressing on Bad’s arm. His hand slowly rose to his mouth, and he twisted his body to sit back down on his butt. With dirty hands he wiped the sticky dark red blood from his lips— again, again, again he wiped. He couldn’t get clean, and he was frantic for it. Frantic for the demon’s blood to never have been spilt by him.

Bad wilted with sympathy, and handed the kid his water bottle. “It’s ok, I’m not mad, you do what you have to Cellbit.” Bad scooted over to sit next to him.

The wild haired kid laughed. “Never had someone have that reaction to me trying to eat them.” He took a big swig of water and spat it out. 

Bad smirked. “Never had someone try to eat me before. There’s a reason why people don’t choose the Cannibal Curse.” 

Cellbit’s cracked smile morphed into a sour frown. “Yeah.” He murmured.

“Hey.” Bad flicked his tail. “Once you’re out of here, you’ll be free, okay?” 

“Sure.” Cellbit growled. 

“I mean it, you point me at em and I’ll rip those bastards to shreds. You’ll never have to see this place again.” Bad clenched the dirt beneath him in his clawed hands. 

Cellbit leaned into his side, the kid’s head smashing against his heart. “I don’t know if I want to believe you.” He mumbled, then yawned. 

The demon was stiff with shock. The kid— besides the time just now when he’d tried to eat him— had never even brushed up against him. Muffins, had he like, imprinted on him or something? He didn’t know how kids worked! 

Bad patted Cellbit’s head awkwardly, cooing noises coming from somewhere deep within him. His fingertips brushed up against something hidden within the kid’s wild hair, two somethings actually. They were ears, two small, fluffy cat ears. Perched where Bad had expected human ears should be. The demon froze again, was this kid seriously also a cat hybrid? Bad looked up at the sky and cursed the universe for sending him the cutest little murder-muffin child ever. Cellbit fell asleep like that, and Bad could swear he started purring. 

When the sun rose, Bad was deep in meditation. His legs had long since fallen asleep but he didn’t dare move and disturb the sleeping cat hybrid. But as the birds started chirping, Cellbit blinked himself awake. The kid sprang away from Bad, embarrassed. Smoothly— the demon just ignored him and stood up to stretch. 

“Time to get going for the Feast.” Bad murmured, doing a quick survey of the fields around them. No players in sight, good. They were a good 1000 blocks out from where the drop would be, they needed to leave, now. Bad had his things packed up in a minute, and Cellbit was right behind him. The kid was oddly cheery given the circumstances, but Bad just accepted it. The games made everyone a little weird, even if that weirdness was being a morning person. 

The two of them trekked towards the coords, alert for danger. Their compasses pointed to people ahead of them, at least a couple. Bad readied his sword and advanced— Cellbit was about three meters back and at 4 o’clock, flanking him. The players came into view, one dashing by and the other ahead, in full iron. 

Bad signaled for them to focus the fully armored player first, they were the most dangerous. Cellbit nodded in agreement, and they crept up towards them. A lava pool sat to their right, and Bad circled around it, hoping to catch the player off-guard and knock him into it. Unfortunately they saw him. When the demon lunged, they met him with equal force, exchanging blow after blow. Cellbit came up behind both of them and body slammed the player into a nearby ditch. They scrambled to their feet and took off running. Bad and Cellbit took up the chase. 

Horns sounded, nearly knocking Bad off balance. He stopped running. Cellbit skidded to a halt next to him. “The Feast!” The kid cried, spinning around. The two of them focused on a thin beacon in the near distance, announcing the location of the large supply drop. 

“Let’s go! Go go go!” Bad shouted, sprinting off towards it. Cellbit whooped and followed. They dashed towards it, anxiety building the longer they were away from it. The horns meant that there was 40 seconds until it dropped, hopefully just enough time to get there— and kill anyone guarding it. 

Cellbit passed by Bad, terror spurring him onward. “There’s a full iron!” He called back once he reached the lip of a large circle of cleared terrain. The ground below was pure stone, inorganically dug out just for the Feast. Cellbit paused, staring down at it.

“Let’s get them!” Bad cried, running straight up to him and leaping down without hesitating. The two attacked the full iron player viciously, Cellbit taking on the bulk of the attack. The kid swung his sword over and over again, clashing against his opponent's iron chestplate. Bad helped him at his flank, getting in a few good hits before he was hit from behind.

A wildcat dragged him off his feet, sinking its claws into his shoulders. Bad twisted and stabbed wildly at it. “A Chameleon!” He cried out a warning to Cellbit as the wildcat shifted back into a player and ran off towards the middle of the circle. Bad ran after it, running directly into Cellbit’s fight. He took his chance and cut through the full iron player— wedging his sword in the slot by his armpit, shoving up and through the important artery there. Blood spurted around the iron blade as Bad uncaringly dragged it back out and the body collapsed. 

In just a split second Bad glanced up at the tower above them— made of spindly oak planks. Muffins, a player tower. He brought up his ax, calling a warning to Cellbit. Thunder shook his heart as he called down lightning— directly to the top of the tower. The wood was burnt almost immediately to a crisp, showering debris down on the both of them. 

Another lightning strike landed just a meter from him— and suddenly the Feast was here. A player jumped down and landed brokenly on one of the chests— desperate for anything. Cellbit dispatched him swiftly with a calculated slash to the throat. “He’s dead!” The kid called, giddy. 

Bad opened the closest chest to him and snatched the diamond sword within. As he was scavenging Cellbit called out warning him. Bad turned around to see another desperate player attempting to open another chest, Cellbit chased him off with a couple of well placed hits. It was a mad frenzy. As Bad took a second to watch, he saw another player run up out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Bad yelled, lunging and slamming the butt of his new diamond sword into the side of their helmetless head. The body crumpled immediately. Bad stepped over it to run and help Cellbit with one of his fights. But the kid had his teeth sunk in— and the player dead— by the time Bad arrived. They turned back without a word to the Feast.

Quickly they looted. Like deer, looking up every other second. Bad slipped on some diamond boots and gathered precious health potions into his backpack. The demon grinned as Cellbit slipped on a diamond chestplate. 

“I need boots!” The kid called and Bad spun, looking over the dead bodies around them. 

“That guy has boots.” He said, gesturing to the full iron player he had finished off earlier.

“Look out,” Cellbit warned, rushing over to yank the boots off of the dead player. “There’s a guy up there.”

Bad looked up and sure enough, on the lip of the circle was yet another player. This one waited, and watched. Bad switched between watching them, and the other player, who’d slowly been towering above them still. The demon shifted on his feet, anxiously holding his ax. With a cry he called lightning to hit the tower once more— another miss, more burnt wood and splinters. 

Cellbit and Bad stood back to back, ready, waiting. The demon aligned himself with the tower, and called down yet another strike. His teeth tasted weird in the back of his mouth, and he could see faint spots in his eyesight. But Bad felt on top of the world. “Die!” He cried, sending another, then another, until the tower exploded violently.

“Woah!” Cellbit shouted from behind him, the kid turned to stare.

Somehow the player was still alive. Not for long, if Bad and his undefeatable lightning had anything to say about it. The demon waited, aligning himself perfectly this time. “Die die die!” He laughed, lightning struck once more, and the player’s body slammed to the ground. 

“Nice one!” Cellbit called. Bad turned back to the Feast, ready for more. 

“Let’s clear these out.” Bad instructed, digging into the chests. Cellbit lay his chestplate on the enchantment table in the middle. Mere seconds passed. 

“Watch out! Behind us!” Bad jumped over the chests and sprinted towards a player who was headed their way. He hit them once, a slash deep in the shoulder, and they turned away. Bad returned to Cellbit, not wanting to lose anything good in the Feast. 

They stayed like that for a bit more, anxiously scaring off other players. They were gathering like hungry ravens around a kill, eyes dark. Bad and Cellbit burned any remaining items, and exploded the chests, before heading out once again. On their way they added yet another player kill to their list. Bad had lost count at this point. 

The sun had risen on a cloudy day in the snowy plains. Their breath turned to wisps of fog, and the wind nipped at their faces. Distantly small songbirds sang in the bushes, but nearby it was silent, scared. Bad pulled out his compass, looking for their next targets. They headed towards the swamp once more. 

But the demon’s compass pointed down, deep down. So they dug down as carefully as they could, passing by a spider spawner on their way. It was good for gaining levels, so they camped it and each enchanted their swords. 

Eventually they were met with an underground ravine, and spotted the player they had been searching for. Bad pulled out his tnt and raised an eyebrow to Cellbit. Cellbit stared back at him and then nodded once. The demon snickered, and placed it right above the player's head. He was lost in it now, as Thor Curse’s said, he was lightning sick. Bad lit the tnt with his flint and steel and backed up. The first missed, so he placed another, then another. And finally, their enemy was dead. 

Embarrassingly, on their way out— they got lost. The cave tunnels were winding and dark, with random torches placed by the player they had just killed. The two bickered and complained. It was a whole hour before they were finally out again. Rain was falling lightly on the swamp grass, but dark clouds and rumbles on the horizon forecasted a big storm. 

They searched for loners in the swamp, using their compasses and hefting their backpacks over their heads to keep dry. Cellbit’s ears kept flickering in annoyance at the wetness. Bad had such an urge to tease him about it— but something told him he’d be bitten again for that. 

A lone player they found was trying to hide in a small hole. Cellbit quickly finished them off out of sight of Bad. When the kid emerged he was wiping bits of flesh from the corners of his mouth. Bad’s tail danced in the rain, he didn’t care anymore— whatever it took to win. It was raining steadily now, and rolls of thunder made their ears ring. Lightning lit up the fields in the distance— the sun had set. 

They went after a team of two next, these players had also chosen to stay underground. Bad was cautious, ready for traps. He knew of at least a few that meant death for them, almost instant death. 

Cellbit found the players first, driving one of them— unarmored and defenseless right into Bad’s waiting sword. The demon cut them almost in half, sword sinking up through their ribs and lodging into their spine. Bad hissed as he drew his blade out— and wiped it on the body’s clothes. 

Next, the teammate. Bad found them first this time, as they quite literally ran into each other. Bad sprung back as they placed lava in between them. The demon sidestepped and stabbed at his enemy. He quickly disoriented them and spun smoothly to strike them from behind, killing them instantly with a blade through the back of the neck. 

Bad checked, four players left, two enemies. They could do this, they could actually win. Bad would let the kid take the win, and then they could both go kill his slavers together. The demon almost skipped at the fantasy. 

They went back up to the surface, compasses out and ran across the snowy plains hunting for the last two people. Eventually they came across a tower, and Cellbit groaned as the compasses pointed down once more. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” The kid moaned, throwing his head up. 

“Underground again.” Bad rolled his eyes, crouching down to pinpoint the location. The demon offered to dig down, and in a one by two hole, started his descent. Dirt turned to stone. Cellbit followed him down with a water bucket, and soon they were right on top of their enemy. Bad frantically mined through stone, teeth bared, ready for a fight. Cellbit broke through the rock first, jumping down to brutally stab through the poor player’s iron chestplate. Bad only heard a choked scream, and they were dead. 

Bad sighed, and backed up. The kid emerged smiling wide. “Good fight.” The demon murmured. Cellbit shrugged and started towering back up. Bad followed. One more person left.

Their compasses pointed right at them, off in the distance. They were on the hunt again. Red poppies stood tall out of snow covered grass. Scattered footprints scuffed the white powder, spraying it every which way. Bad and Cellbit thundered past. 

Bad looked down at his compass, swerving side to side to check if they were close. The needle barely moved, they were. The demon slowed down next to a pond, circling it. Cellbit was opposite him, also examining his compass closely. 

“Another one underground.” Bad growled— pocketing his tool. His tail lashed with frustration. 

Cellbit looked up at him, a quip forming on his lips. He disappeared. Just like that.

“Cellbit!” Bad yelled. Muffins, this wasn’t good. That meant only one thing— this player was an Endermage. The demon dug his pickaxe desperately into the earth, nearing the fight, not hearing anything besides his own desperate breaths. His kid was going to die if he couldn’t get there in time. He tore at the stone, lightning sparking in his eyes and mouth. He could smell the ozone— like burning plastic. 

Bad’s heart sank as Cellbit’s death message popped up. The demon screamed out in rage and dug even faster. Panic shot through him, he could be next, at any minute. There was a cool down— and five seconds of invincibility immediately afterwards— but it was still putting his life in his enemies hands. A horrible tugging feeling in his gut was the only warning he had before the demon was pulled through space. 

Then he was falling. One. Solidly hitting lava, screaming as he expected to burn. Two. Bad wasn’t burning, wasn’t dying. Three. Get up, get up, get up. Four. The demon screamed again, dragging himself out and onto nearby cobblestone. Five. 

The heat from the cobblestone hit him suddenly as the invincibility wore off. He was down in a ravine— lava pool right next to him, enemy above him. Bad crouched, backing up until he was hidden from sight by a large stone overhang. Good, the Endermage shouldn’t know where he was. His breaths came heavy as the heat sucked the oxygen from the air. Bad set his backpack down carefully— and withdrew his bow and quiver. He slung his quiver onto his back and then the pack after it. Carefully, the demon nocked an arrow, and swung up and around to where he’d last seen the player. He aimed, and fired. Bad didn’t know if he’d missed or not, but he nocked another arrow and waited three seconds. No retaliation. He popped his head out again, and shot once more. The player had built up a wall, blocking Bad’s arrows.

“Muffins.” The demon cursed under his breath. There was no other option besides chasing after them. Bad started towering up, building a wall at his back first so he couldn’t be knocked off. When he was level with where he’d last seen his opponent he looked over, a similar— but taller— walled tower had been built. Bad rolled his eyes. Now what.

The demon scooted over to it, sliding along a precarious ledge in the wall of the ravine. Grasping a handhold he leaned forward and placed two tnt, hoping one would launch the other towards the tower. Bad lit it and scrambled back to his tower. When he looked back— the top of the tower, and the player, were gone. He flicked his flint and steel desperately needing light, and spotted them just as they whipped around the corner on a ledge across from his.

Bad growled and bridged over the ravine as fast as he could. The demon crept quietly along the wall, sword drawn. He fought off a skeleton that blindsided him— but once he was done with that, the player had disappeared. The compass pointed down into the ground once again. Bad wavered, unsure of what to do. The player could have laid down traps, they could still Endermage him. And the Pit was coming up soon— when they’d be teleported instantly into a deep deep hole to fight to the death. 

Bad decided to follow the player down, parallel to their deep tunnel. He dug and dug, getting closer and closer. The compass in his hand was shivering madly. Bad could practically smell the blood already. He needed to get his revenge for Cellbit, needed to sink his teeth into the flesh of this player. 

That same tugging feeling was back, swooping his stomach out from under him. For a second he thought he’d been Endermage-d again. But when he blinked his eyes open and staggered on his feet— he could see the tall walls of the Pit surrounding him. Bad lashed his tail and spun around, ready to face his enemy. He twirled his sword once, gripped the handle tight, and raced over to where the player was desperately towering up the side. 

In a flash of brilliant thought, the demon whipped out his only enderpearl. Bad tossed it smoothly a few blocks above the player’s head— then he held his breath. Bad sprang into re-existence right on top of them, wrapping his legs around their neck, he leaned back into the wall and pushed. The player toppled off of the tower and the demon spun midair to catch himself on the lip of the tower. Bracing himself with his feet against the stone wall— he looked down at his enemy.

The player had staggered to their feet and taken a few steps— desperately trying to distance themself. Bad shook his head, grinning— and leapt off to land smoothly in front of them. He advanced, sword out. “Bring it buddy.” The demon slid his tongue over his sharp teeth and tensed. With brutal force and no time for his opponent to react— Bad stabbed his diamond sword through their neck and up into their skull. The thrust carved through flesh, cartilage and bone— settling the blade solidly into the body. Bad swung the sword to the side and sent it crashing to the stone floor. That was honestly a little underwhelming.

He kicked dust at the body— before turning and looking up at the sky. Bad felt the familiar instant drain— as the lightning left his blood and exhaustion swamped him. He always hated the silence right afterwards, how it made his skin crawl and jaw ache. Soon, he would be teleported back to the Game Hall, and paraded around in front of businessmen and server owners. The demon tapped one clawed finger against his palm— anxious, tired, and sick. 

He was looking forward to finding Cellbit. No doubt the slavers would be bragging about their prized third place catch. Bad would find them— Bad would probably meet them, shake hands with them and memorize their faces, as Cellbit was trapped somewhere, still wounded. Bad had talked to slaver’s catches before— those types of organizations had special arrangements to teleport their players right back to their cages. 

The demon stretched with his arms over his head, and yawned. The Game was over— but another one was beginning. Bad lunged to one side, then the other, working cramps out of his legs. His tail twitched. The pull returned one more time, sinking into his gut harshly and tugging him through space. Time to go rescue his kid. 

[introvertllux]

Chapter 1: Welcome The Waynes’

There I stood will an unbalanced posture, my left leg two steps below my right leg and torso twisted slightly—my left hand gripping the side of the rickety base section of the extension ladder.

:readmore:

 I remember Alan, the Direct supervisor of Gotham's Orphanage Volunteers, saying, "It's been a while since we've used this old thing." He said with a chuckle. The ladder had been very dusty and littered with cobwebs. It felt very eerie, unsettling, and uncomfortable to be using it, as it was locked away within the orphanage's cold, dark, and abandoned walls. I felt a sense of disrespect entering a building where people- children suffered and died. I had expressed to Alan that we should buy another ladder, something without a tragic history. However, Alan didn't share the same perspective as me, stating- "What's with women and all your emotions and overthinking, listen if it ain't broke, don't fix it." He said as he nudged my shoulder with his sharp and boney elbow. If I didn't need this job then, I probably would've broken Alan's nose and twisted his tiny little man parts until he began to get emotional and overthink his life choices. But hey, that was neither here nor there.

I knew it wasn't the best idea to stand so unbalanced on a latter that hadn't been used in over 10 years, especially with my stature. I was only 5'2, petite, yet there I was, the only brave soul who volunteered to hang a "1-year re-opening sign" to a 48ft tall ceiling. I guess I would use the term "brave" loosely. I really wanted to volunteer for the care sector of the volunteer department. I have always loved kids, which was why I had signed up for this position- it would help spruce up my resume. I needed to have the ideal resume for a child psychologist. However, I have always had an instant connection with kids and animals all my life- it was funny, too. I'd always dreamed of this nice cozy life with six children or more married, a nice picket fence, and a large healthy grassy green plot of land to call my own. Of course, this was my end goal, but unfortunately, this was a part of my start. Plus, one would think with someone like Alan as your boss, sexist, arrogant, and proud of it, he would let me have this opportunity, but no. He believed that children should be "free," as he called it, left to their own devices, running around, and figuring out life independently. This was why about twenty adorable children were running around in their Sunday best around the banquet hall of the brand-new orphanage. This was also why the banner I was assigned to hand up was a quarter of the way hung on the ceiling, as the rest was draped along the top of the latter, flowing down on my left shoulder, and the rest balled up in my right hand loosely. My attention was on the children ensuring they were safe, smiling, and feeling well. That was the least they deserved. I wouldn't be able to bare it if any of them had to suffer in the same way many of us Gotham Orphans had to. Even if most people were like Alan and didn't believe in the renewal slated to happen, I did, and I wanted to ensure I did everything I could to ensure we stuck to the word's true meaning.

"See, this is why I had you on banner duty!" I heard a grumbling and agitated voice say. I blinked once and let out a small sigh, "Well, someone has to ensure the children are safe." "Those little rugrats will be fine; I haven't heard any crying, whining, or seen any blood. What more do you want. But, my ass won't be fine if that banner isn't hung up before 7'oclok- and your ass is grass he said as I mouthed his well-known line, and I turned my body around, repositioning the banner to prepare to hang again. I waited what felt like centuries for Alan to stop micromanaging me before I turned back to my position, smiling as I saw the children run, admiring their abundance of energy. I turned my attention away from them to listen to the television, which was airing the 6'oclock news:

"Today marks the 1st anniversary of the attack on the City of Gotham. Many walk the streets of Gotham feel at ease knowing that the masked terrorist, known publically as The Riddler, is locked away in Arkham Asylum. Though today marks a day of fear and distress for many as they remember the horrific events that plagued our City only a year ago, along with feelings of unsettledness as many of the Riddler's followers still look in the shadows of Gotham. Today also marks a revival or renewal as The Prince of Gotham has decided to choose this day to honor his late father's plan to have an orphanage." The male new anchor, Samuel Brown, stated.

That's very true, Sam; the City's been talking, and everyone's been out and about making public appearances, including newly elected Mayor Bella Real and Commissioner Gordan, yet the man of the hour- Gotham's very own prince Bruce Wayne has yet to make any public appears in regards to the opening." The new female anchor, Lucy Smith.

That's Gotham City News, one-sided and judgmental, the opposite of real news- or maybe they're exactly how "real" news is. However, did have a point in saying Bruce Wayne was very low in appearance. A few months ago, I had only seen him from a distance when he announced that he would plan renewal for the orphanage. After that, it was almost like radio silence. It seemed odd that he had not appeared afterward. However, it was always said that he was a quiet and reserved person. Plus, one had to think it would be complicated for him to revive something that was once the idea of his deceased father. I mean, think about it, it was a media fiasco, then his parents were tragically killed, he then became the very description of who his father attended, he then hid away, rarely seen, and now he's trying to take his father's dream, make it into his own in a city full of people that respect, loathe, and are confused by his very existence. I'm sure he-

"Ms. Scarelet, watch out!" I heard as I turned quickly on the wobbling ladder. I gripped the banner tight as I heard a loud rip. I closed my eye as I fell from 30 or more feet in the air bracing myself for impact with the glossy marble floor. I waited for the impact, but it never came. I felt arms around me. Oddly enough, I felt warm? Safe? But I couldn't imagine how much of a sense this must have caused. Or how awkward this must have been for the person holding me. Or if one of the children was hurt by the ladder.

I opened my eyes nervously. My eyes made eye contact with an intense blue-eyed stare- it almost felt hypnotic. It felt as if it were just the two of us in this room as his eyes stared into my warm brown eyes. "Are you alright, Ms., Ms.-" He said as he began to help me stand upright, "Um... Ms. uh- Ms. Scarlet- Scarlet Taylor." I said, still feeling like I was in a trance state, and I began to regain feeling in my wobbling legs. My heart was still racing fast, not sure if that was due to the amount of adrenaline in my body at the site of the man before me. Not only had Bruce Wayne saved my life, but he was standing right before me. It was silly of me to think, what was he doing here, at his own event, but- what? "What are you doing here?!" I yelled out loud. I quickly covered my mouth, not realizing that my overthinking led to me thinking out loud as I often do. He looked taken aback. "I'm sorry -uh, Mr. Wayne." I could pass out from the level of anxiety and embarrassment I felt. "It's quite alright, Ms. Taylor." He said in a low tone, almost like a whisper, as he lifted me slightly. As I came straight on with his eye contact, my heart began to beat rapidly in my chest again. I quickly broke eye contact just in time as I felt a tug on my black and white oversized volunteer shirt, "Ms. Scarlett, Ms. Scarlett, Alex is crying! He feels bad because he ran into the ladder." I snapped out of my trance and looked down at Isabella, a beautiful ebony little girl with bouncy black kinky curls. I grabbed her hand, "Thank you, Izzy. I'm okay, now I promise; let's see Alex and cheer him up." I said as I began to turn to walk away. "Wait!" she yelled, letting go of my hand and running back to the spit we once stood. "Hey, you!" Isabella exclaimed. I turned around to see that she was yelling at the one and only Bruce Wayne. "Iz-" I started to say before I saw that she had dashed off. That was Izabella for you, always straightforward and bold, never afraid to stand her ground and say what she wants. As I began to go after her, I stopped abruptly seeing the interaction between Izabella and the mysterious heir to Wayne industries play out. Izabella, being the sass queen she was, had her hands on her little hips, ready to speak her truth. As I turned my gaze to Bruce, I noticed his slight shock as he looked down at the tiny human. They continued to talk for a few more moments until I saw Izabella put and her little hands turned into fists. I immediately jogged over, knowing that this would be either a moment of frustration or pure sadness for Izabella. As soon as I made it over, I slid behind Izabella, sitting on my knees, as I placed my hands gently on her shoulders and turned her around. "Hey, hey Iz, it's okay. It's okay." I said softly as I folded her body into a cuddle. I began rocking her slowly, "It's alright, let it all out, and when you're ready to talk, I'm all ears." I smiled up at Bruce nervously, "Sorry about that. I wanted to interrupt sooner, but Izzy matches to her own drum most of the time. It's kind of hard to get her to come back." I said. "It's funny; judging by her stature, she was giving one of Izzy's sass lectures." I said as I looked up at Bruce quickly and slowly lowered my gaze back to Izzy as I heard her whimpers dismissing. "You okay, Izzy-girl?" I asked. "Y-yea-yes." She said, still trying to get a hold of her voice. "Shh, it's okay; take your time." I said. "I-I just-" She said as she swallowed, "I was telling him that he's a hero!" She yelled. I snickered a little, "Yeah? And then? What got you upset?" I asked softly. "He said he's not a hero! But, but he- he-" Izabella stated as he began to get riled up again. "Shh,-Izzy, don't get so worked up. I gotcha." I said calmly. "Hmm.. maybe I can help?" I asked her as she nodded her head yes on my forearm. "Okay, let me know if I mess up; so you're frustrated because you believe this man saved my life, making him a hero. But he says he's not a hero." I asked, clarifying the story. "Mhmmn, I am frusurated because he doesn't get it." She said. "That he saved a life?" I questioned back. "Yes and no!" She yelled. "Yes and no?" I questioned. "Yes and no! He saved your life, he doesn't get how much we love you, and you we almost gone!" She cried out as she began to sob again, burying herself into my chest. Oh, Izzy, I thought to myself. I guess at the moment, I wasn't really thinking, "What if I died?" There was never a moment in my life when I didn't feel danger, was a part of it or even was the cause myself. I wouldn't say I didn't fear death, but I can confidently say I was desensitized. I began to stand, hugging Izzy close to me. I turned back slightly to see Alex crying but surrounded by other children attempting to comfort him. "I- I guess that my cue." I said as I turned back to face Bruce. As I began to turn around, I heard Bruce say, "Wait." I halted in my tracks, "I won't say I'm the hero here. I think you're the real hero; you were brave and stood up for what you believed in." Bruce said as he took a step closer to us. He then reached his hand out to Izabella, and she perked up slightly, tears streaming down her eyes still, and looked at his stretched-out hand. She then looked up at me in confusion. I encouragingly raised my eyebrows. Moments later, she stretched out her smaller hand. The two then locked hands, and they began shaking hands.

"WHAT!" Yelled a voice as baked chicken chunks started spewing out over the table. "Jason Peter Todd, cover your mouth before you choke, now!" I yelled. "I-I I'm sorry, mom, I literary can-can't breathe! There's no way in Hell you guys met like that!" He yelled out again as he was laughing. "Your mouth Jason!" I said sternly as I pointed my fork at him. "Hey, Hell is not a curse; it's a place!" He said matter of factly. Ahh, that's my Jaybird for you, confident, energetic, and strong, but man, is he a smartass, as his father likes to say, witty as Jace and I like to say. He probably got it from me. The cursing, though, I refuse to take accountability for, but the wit, yes. There was a great opportunity to say in response to his Hell is a place technicality, but saying, "Yeah, well, I have no problem taking you there if I hear you curse one more time." But that wouldn't have worked since- well, let's not go there.

"Yeah, mom, I have to side with Jay here!" I heard my oldest son say. "What, you finally agree with something I said? Well, Hel-" Jason began to say before I sent him an icy stare as he quickly retreated and went back to filling his fork with food. "You and dad had a meet cute like a real meet cute!" He said. I laughed lightly as I glanced over at my boy wonder, my responsible, caring, and sometimes a little bit overly idealistic. He may get that from me too. "I guess you can call it that! Your dad was like my knight in dark, brooding armor." I said with a shrug.

"Well, I think it's a miracle father even managed to get you Ommi with lines like that. Please, father, did you not understand my mother would never succumb to such cheat tactics." Ahh, Dami, that's my baby. My youngest would be so mad if I ever let it be known, but he is a mama's boy, and I love that about him. He's a spinning image of his father in both looks and intelligence. Very charismatic but very judgmental. "Well, Dami, it's lines like that that caught my interest at first, but what got me to stay was your father's intellect," I said.

"Yeah, but mom, comes on- I'm no hero. That's so cheesy! Plus, how is it that you and dad met that way? Meet cute or not, the rate that you would meet and fall in love because you were about to fall to your death?" I heard the voice say as I laughed out loud, Timmy, my logical thinker. Always thinking and thinking and thinking. I can't decide if that's rubbed off from me of his father. I love how thoughtful and reserved my Timmy can be. It really holds the balance in the family when everyone gets a little too crazy. But sometimes, I wish that he would see the more emotional side of things.

"Well, I think it's cute. Romantic even. How rare is it to meet the way they did, stay together, and have a family as big as ours? Plus, it's Gotham stranger things have happened. We're a family of masked heroes by night. How atypical can we get." Duke- he's like my twin. He's just like me. Very feelings based- which can sometimes take a turn for the worst. Still, he's so kind and nurturing to all.

"Alfred, is that really how it happened?" Tim asked. Alfred perked up, straightening his posture and clearing his throat before answering, "Well, master Timothy according to your parents, they seem to share the same perspective on the initial meeting...I believe it's what happened after. I think that may vary." He stated almost matter of factly.

"Alright Al, spill!" Jason yelled a little to excitedly.

"Well from you Father's reactions, it appeared that he had an instant attraction to your mother. He was unaware himself, but I could tell as he worked intensely, trying to distract himself; I suppose to avoid stating his true feelings. Many mixed signals, but I believe once your father was able to come to terms with his feeling for your mother, he changed." Alfred said, sounding proud.

"Changed how? He's the same branding old man!" Jason yelled.

"I agree; I see no changes from father." Stated Damien.

I looked to my left side, seeing my husband about to retreat into his shell, and he began to brood. I knew he must have been embarrassed; he was not one to show his emotions... sometimes his reserved demeanor comes off cold and distant which was enough to make me question, if he enjoyed the life we created together or...

CHAPTER 2

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Taglist!

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[aamaranthiine]

❛  where are you taking me?  ❜

( from random dialogue prompts. || for @vulpesse )

There had been no words spoken.

Glancing eyes met - dark, depthless violet unto the gleaming of golden sunrise - but the intent had been clear. Come with me. Softer than snowfall, just shy of an urgent autumn breeze, a flash of white between trees and dense, swaying ferns. Never still long enough to be seen clearly but there are clues, there are little subtle hints of her passing.

The shift of her shadow, a beam of moonlight between hazy sun beams streaming through the canopy. Was that the flick of a lion's tail? Or the whisper of an old satin gown? Not quite human. Not quite beast. Always utterly silent.

The forest knew her. Like it knew the pad of the wild mother's feet. Knew the sensual ruffle of her rampant tails. The trees and the soil, the wild beasts and birds; this lucid presence was as familiar to them as they knew themselves. She could weft and weave between the boughs without bending a branch or crumpling a leaf, but the slight shimmer of a butterfly's wing catches a reflection of seashell light.

Thicket's lull broken by rustling, quickened breaths of panicked, exhausted animals. The rasping bellows of two stags. Both half bowed in twisted mockery, antlers twisted and locked together in a brutal knot. Eyes rolling and nostrils flared, mouths open as they struggled to force the boney protrusions to break somehow but to no avail. Both doomed to a predator's wiles, lest they suffer the slower wasting of starvation.

She's there then, finally in direct sight, not quite human for the silky tuft of her doe-like ears and the long, slender bestial legs that held a woman's waifish torso. A tail swept and curled like a serpent behind her, restless in how it aided in graceful balance. She gestures to the deer; "Help me, help them." A gentle parley to the kitsune she had chanced across.

[february-salem]

Warmth

I have no idea how long I’ve been inside this twisted rendition of what It thought my home looked like. Everything is in place, yet it's all wrong. The wind swirls through the windows, mocking what music I used to listen to. Looking through the fragments, all I see staring back is a sky contaminated with dark clouds filled with lightning and anger. It knew I loved days where all it did was storm. Aside from the wind and the quiet rumbling thunder from beyond the windows, the home was too quiet.

“Is everything alright?” It queries. I turn to see It staring at me from the doorway. Its eyelids fastened shut with golden thread, yet I felt Its gaze fixated on my pale, clammy face. “If anything is wrong, I can change it immediately. Just say the word.”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m just lost in my thoughts again.” I sit down at my dark mahogany desk, staring out into the endless green valleys. Watching how the grass sways and dances with the raging winds. I feel It walk up behind me, comforting me with Its warmth.

“You’re cold,” It wraps a limb around my body, mimicking a hug. “Would you like a sweater?” I don’t get a chance to answer before I feel cotton threads slither across my torso, trying to weave a sweater from nothing but the cold air that surrounded me, yet it was the warmest thing I felt in ages.

“Your warmth is enough, my dear.” I gently brush the snake-like thread away from my body. I can feel It hum against my body as I lean back into It. It lays Its head onto mine and makes a noise that is almost similar to a chuckle. It seems almost human. If my eyes were sewn shut alike to It’s, I would know no better. I allow my eyelids to rest as It brings up one of the spindly hands It has and gently brushes it across my face in a way no human could ever replicate. It presses Its face against the hair on the peak of my head and I swear I can feel Its small, gentle smile grace the front of Its head. The ends of my mouth slightly curve up as I find myself mimicking the shape. It slowly traces a finger down my nose, memorising my features despite seeing them everyday. I feel the digit trace around my eyebrows, the heavy bags under my eyes, the many freckles–or “Stardust” as It claims it to be–that grace my face. The digit slowly falls down to my upper lip, tracing the freshly shaved hair and falling to my lower lip. I sigh, loving the way It croons my name with such love and recognition.

“Valentine.”

“Yes, my love?” I open my eyes again, gently bringing up my hand to caress Its thin, boney palm. It slowly retracts Its hand, leaving an almost burning sensation in its wake.

“Were you upset about being stuck in this home with me?” With a feather light touch, it lays its palm on the top of my head, preening and flattening the stray chestnut strands that had moved from their original place. After It finished, I gazed up at Its soft, concerned face. A face that no matter how hard I tried, I could never lie to. Not in any world.

“I’m just taking time to get used to it, my love.” I watch as Its face somehow softens even more. My heart fills with a heavy guilt. Is It upset? Its abnormal features sink into Its face, contorting perfectly to pull at my heartstrings. While others would find Its features to be grotesque or would even go as far as to classify it as a horror, or even a monster, I can’t help but find the beauty in Its twisted form. The way the golden thread that disappears into its warm umber eyelids glimmer in the soft light. The tight coils of hair that fall down Its shoulders that are so incredibly soft to the touch, it rivals the finest silk. The jagged rows of sharp fangs that are encased behind Its soft plush lips.

“Have I ever told you how utterly beautiful you are?” My hand goes up to caress the small specks of gold that litter Its cheeks, framing It’s sharp cheekbones and mirroring the very stars It loves to embrace me under. I watch as Its beautiful smile starts to rise again and the tips of its ears darken. A warm blush. A sight I can never grow tired of seeing. It chuckles, tenderly placing its hands onto each of my triceps. I feel it trace shapes into my skin, drawing miniature scribbles into my arms as an excuse to feel the small hairs and the goosebumps on my skin rise. I can feel Its heat radiating from under Its skin, the perfect temperature. Almost as if It were manually controlling its own internal temperature to perfectly blend with my chilled own.

“You tell me quite often, my Euripides.” The nickname drips from Its lips like liquid gold. Feeling my mouth curl into another smile, I gently press my lips to It’s tender cheek, right under the small mole on its semi-prominent cheekbone. Its skin grows slightly warmer, my delicate kiss fueling the comforting flame under It’s skin. Under my lips, it lets out a sound akin to a cat's purr, the rumble massaging my sore facial muscles. It smiles again, allowing me to gaze upon the first row of its perfect pearl white fangs.

“And I mean it everytime.” I whispered, staring at the glittering thread that weaved through Its eyelids. Not even the loud thundering from beyond the fragmented windows could drag my attention from the way the thread stood out against Its darkening cheeks. The rain pounded against the roof and the thunder roared loudly. Despite me staring at It like a lovesick dullard, It turns its attention to the storm rapidly approaching the small home.

“You need to go to bed, it looks like a nasty storm is rolling in.” It gently reaches up to run its fingers through my hair again. The way it gently massages my scalp, trailing its trimmed nails down to the base of my skull and drags them back up, it’s intoxicating. I no longer can hear the beating rain or the booming thunder, but the bright flashes of lightning keep me just on the edge of reality, not allowing me to fully lose myself in Its touch. I sigh and try to bury myself into Its chest, hearing Its many hearts beat in sync to distract myself from the claps of bright light. It takes a hold of my jaw and tenderly lifts my head back up.

“Bed, my love.” It whispers kindly. I sigh, allowing the air that has been trapped in my lungs to escape. I had not realised the way my neck was struggling to hold up my head and the way my knees were trying so hard not to buckle underneath my weight. I nod my heavy head and allow It to take my arms and lead me toward my bedroom.

It opens the door to the familiar bedroom. The queen sized bed in the corner with the dark stone coloured sheets and four pillows, the dark oak bed stand beside it with my cramped notebook and several pencils. The dark curtains pulled tight, blocking most light and causing the light gray carpet to appear as a dusty graphite. It pulls me over to the dresser pushed against the farthest wall and pulls open the drawer casing my sleepwear. I sit down on the soft bed, the soft mattress bending under my weight. As It continues to look for the sleepwear It no doubt already knows I want to wear, my drowsy gaze shifts to the dark curtains and the way they sway and shift with the aid of the semi-cracked window. I silently shift and reach out to the curtains, drawing them open to let the outside light in.

Beyond the window, the storm had calmed down to a light drizzle. The clouds rumble in a quiet growl and occasionally brighten and fade with curiosity. The grass no longer gets thrashed around violently but gently waltzes in time with the cool breeze. Small daisies and tulips brighten the dull fields and a cow, a beautiful caramel coloured cow trots through the field. Noticing my gaiety, It looks out the window as well.

“Cow.” Is the only thing I can muster to say. That singular animal is the closest thing to my own species that I have seen in so many years.I can feel the overwhelming emotion crawl through my body at rapid speeds. The cow looks up from grazing the grass to match my eye contact. Her adorable dark eyes blink slowly and her coat glistens everytime the clouds blink. She seems so happy in the light drizzle.

“Your favourite.” It smiles, handing me some warm pyjamas. That’s right. Cows were my favourite. I tear my eyes away from the darling animal to look at the pyjamas It placed in my arms. The warm wool grey sweatshirt that It had weaved together the last time I had the flu and my polyester black plaid pants. Feeling the material with and the way it just barely falls through my fingers, they're warm and they smell like a refreshing ocean breeze.

“Get changed, then we’ll go out.”

I freeze in shock. Turning to It, I silently question if I had heard it correctly. All It does is smile with those beautiful lips and nods. I watch as the coils bounce, the feelings of being overwhelmed quickly shift to being completely smitten with the ethereal entity in front of me. But even the infatuation couldn’t mask the bitter taste of dread coating my mouth when the word “out” leaves those perfect lips.

“Outside? You really mean it?”

“Of course. You’re not trapped here.”

Outside. Out of the home that It and I built, built to withstand the harsh hostility that pollutes the air beyond our loving little cottage—Was It insane? The damage that could be done by leaving this home is immeasurable! The harm that waits for us at the door like a wolf that smelt the fresh blood of an infant lamb. As much as I would love to feel the cool air caress my skin and the solid dirt underneath my feet, The danger prowls outside. Bearing its teeth to the damned one who dared enter its territory. I feel kind claws rest on my shoulders. It softly coaxes me to gaze upon Its face once more.

“I can feel your singular heartbeat beginning to race. Don’t worry. I’m right here by your side.” It mutters, placing its forehead against mine. I take deep breaths, taking the honour of breathing the same air as It. Two of my fingers snake around my wrist, pressing down on my pulse point. Feeling as the rapid beating slowly, steadily easing. Both of us keep our positions for what feels like an eternity. I feel completely and utterly exposed when It pulls away far too soon.

“Go change. We’ll go together. Okay? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Every step is a step together.” Its eyelids twitch ever so slightly, as if whatever did reside behind the golden thread was slowly trailing up and down my trembling form. Not like how a wolf would gauge the quality of its next meal, but how an artist would appraise the night's featured art piece. Not staring at my many imperfections. Appreciating the artistry it took to design my puny form. My grip tightens on the soft garments It handed me.

“I’m sorry– I’m still nervous–”

“It's ok, I know you are. You’re allowed to be. But I'm right here. I’m here to remind you that you’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

I take a deep breath and feel the air expand my worried lungs. It softly holds my face in two of Its palms, tracing Its digits around my eyes. I can feel my head clearing and my pulse return to its resting point. I can’t help but lean into the feeling again. How is it that It always knows how to sooth me in the quickest way possible? I break into a smile and retreat behind my folding screen. Through the small gaps near the hinges, I can see that despite the divider between us, It had turned around to face away. A habit I've always found silly, but charming. I slide the tweed blazer off my sore shoulders and carefully unbutton my wrinkles dress shirt. One after the other, my fingers deftly push the small buttons through the holes in the placket. I continue watching It through the gap near the hinge. Not once, even when I had changed my pants to the soft plaid pants, did It ever budge from where It was looking out the window. I quickly tie the string to fasten my pants to my waist and scramble back over to the window.

“Is the cow still out there?” I accidentally nudge It away from the window to see that the cow was indeed still at the side of our cottage, calmly grazing the well maintained grass. It chuckles and gently wraps two of Its strong, secure arms around my waist. The combination of the pressure in the hug and soft, warm material wrapping around my body, I could have fallen asleep right there if it wasn’t for the sound of the cow speaking outside of the window.

“Sounds like she wants to say hello,” It snickers, “Come on, let's go spend some time outside. You, me and our new friend.” I turn my attention to the large, looming front door past my desk in the living space. The melodic whistling from the wind leaking through the cracks in its dented, paint chipped frame beckons me closer. A haunting melody I have grown accustomed to. One foot, then another, It guides me towards the only divider between our small cottage and the vast valleys that expand farther than I've ever been. Taking a hold of my hand, we together wrap our hands around the dull silver doorknob. My hand trembles between Its solid hand and the rattling handle.

“You’re doing great so far, I’ve got you.” I let Its words of reassurance rest in my mind as we push the handle down and gently push the door open. I close my eyes, letting the cool, fresh air quickly fill my lungs. I take one step outside and feel as the wet grass caresses my feet. The cool air surrounds us but I can still feel Its warm arms around me like a shield, protecting me from what I may fear. Timidly, I let my eyes ease open, taking in the bright light coming from behind the breathing clouds and the wet residue left behind on the soles of my feet from the grass. Small little drops of water still fall from the skin, caressing my cheeks. Nowhere was the storm that rattled the windows of the cottage. Surrounding It and I was a serene feeling, one you can only find in the arms of the one you are destined to find at birth.

From the far wall of the cottage, the caramel coloured cow poked her head out, blinking a silent greeting. I want to back up, give her space. But It trails Its hand down my arm, guiding me towards her. Slowly, I am guided toward her, my arm outstretched. She does not move, does not panic. My hand finds the soft hair on her head, feeling it as she presses her head against my hand. It pets the sweet cow as well, using the back of Its claws to stroke down the side of her face. The cows eyes drift closed.

“She’s as tired as you are.” It smiles again, showing a bit more than Its first row of teeth. Despite that, the cow continues to lean into Its hand. The wind gently blows through my hair, playing with the strands. It brings up another one of Its hands to stroke my face with an open palm. Feeling the warmth surge through my cheek and around my body combating the light breeze and the cold drizzle eases my mind completely and I feel my eyes drift closed as well. I feel the cow start to lick my hand and press her cold, moist snout against my leg. She turns to a tree not far from the cottage and begins to trot towards it.

“Come on, I’m right here.” It holds my shoulder, I feel my legs begin to walk for me as we both follow the cow towards the large oak tree. The shape of the branches and the leaves serve as a natural umbrella and the grass near its wide stump was barren of any storm water. It wraps two of its arms around me once again and settles, sitting in the dry grass and leaning against the welcoming tree. It settles me between Its legs, snuggling me close like a child to their biggest gift on christmas morning. Like two souls who were separated at creation only now finding each other after lifetimes apart. Its chest slowly rises and falls against my back, betraying It’s proof of life. I lay my head against Its strong shoulder gently pressing my forehead against one of the pulse points in Its neck. A steady rhythm. The cow lays down next to us, her chin finding my thigh, and my hand finding the soft tuft of fluffy hair at the top of her head. It’s hard to say when I fell asleep, my mind occupied by petting the cow, feeling It behind me and glancing at the grass swaying in the timid breeze. What I do know, is that it was the best sleep I’ve had in ages. Out in a vast field of dreams surrounded by love and warmth. A beautiful change to the isolation I would find myself in. What used to be, now a distant memory. I drift off, into a warm, sweet dream.

fs

3051 words

09/04/24

[attic-club-sandwich]

To Ascend Again

Summary: After falling from the Celestial Realm, the seven brothers must rely on each other emotionally to cope with the loss of their sister, Lilith. Meanwhile, they are also trying to adjust to their new forms and heal both the physical and emotional wounds caused by the Celestial War. Their bonds become stronger than ever since the fall, and they learn to rise again from the calamity that befell them.

Genre: Angst/Hurt

cw: mentions of blood, mild descriptions of gore. Swearing.

A/N: Here is chapter 2, I hope you guys enjoy! Remember that all feedback is appreciated and reblogs are extra appreciated!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: The Reunion

Mammon’s eyes shot open wide as he gasped for air. He was laying face down in the middle of a giant, stone structure, which he assumed to be some sort of colosseum. It was completely dark, except for the moonlight shining through the opening of the dome above him. His head was pounding and he could barely think. He could smell blood, which made fear begin to bubble in his chest. What the fuck happened? Where are my brothers? Where’s Lilith?

He sputtered and coughed as he rolled himself over onto his side. The cold ground sent shivers through his body and goosebumps began to form on his tan skin. He looked down at himself and noticed he was completely nude except for what was left of the frayed material of what was once the intricate, white and gold sarong he wore in the Celestial Realm. He also noticed delicate, white lines now spreading down his bare torso and coming to an end just below his navel. Dammit. I’ve got to find the others… he gritted his teeth as he sat up, bones aching and sending shockwaves of pain through his body. Mammon groaned as he ran his hand through his hair. He gasped when he felt an unfamiliar sensation from the sides of his head. “W-What the…?” he choked out as he felt the newly acquired horns poking out from his white hair. They were short and thin, but he could feel the tightly coiled shape of them as they twisted up into a single, sharp point. He began to breathe heavily as he whipped his head around to see what fate his once beautiful, white wings had suffered. They sprouted from his lower back, and very much resembled wings of a bat. They were black in color, with a thin membrane of skin being connected by white boney-like appendages. No feathers in sight. His wings drooped behind him on the ground as he began to weep. 

His tears dropped onto the ground below him. He was almost too caught up in his own emotions to hear a second sob from somewhere behind him. Mammon’s head spun around to see his brother, Leviathan, in a similar state. “L-Levi!” he called out as he jumped to his feet. He hissed when he felt a wave of pain hit him but he persevered. He stumbled over to his younger brother. Taking in his appearance, he saw the now branched, coral like horns that protruded from Levi’s temples. Scales were now imprinted along the right side of his neck and he now possessed a long, winding, scaly tail. Levi grabbed Mammon’s arm, bringing his attention back on the current situation. “M-Mammon,w-where are w-we?” he choked out between sobs. “What’s h-happned t-to us?” Mammon winced. There was so much pain in Levi’s voice, and he hated it. 

He hated it so much. 

But he wanted to be strong for his brother.

 “I believe…we’re in hell.” 

***

The future Demon Lord and his butler made their way back to the colosseum. They’ve managed to gather all of the brothers but two of them so far. They’ve only searched the outskirts of the colosseum, as that’s where most of them were found, lying unconscious and in a very similar state to Lucifer. They only had one area left to check. “My Lord, I think I can see someone over there.” Barbatos said, motioning up ahead. 

Diavolo squinted, scanning the opening of the colosseum. He could definitely make out at least two figures sitting in the middle. “Very good, Barbatos. Let’s go.” As they made their way into the entrance of the colosseum, the two figures instantly whipped around to meet their gaze. Their eyes were glowing, one a golden blue, the other a deep amber-orange. “Now, now. There’s nothing to worry about, we’re here to help you.” Diavolo said, gently. Mammon and Leviathan held each other close as the two demons approached. “W-Who the hell are you?” Mammon hissed. “I’m Diavolo, son of the Demon King. I’m here to take you two back to the castle.” Diavolo gazed down at Mammon. His white hair, now blood stained where his horns protruded. The other, with indigo hair and an intense orange stare as his serpent-like tail flicked with warning. “And what exactly are ya planning on doing with us at this ‘Castle’?” Mammon questioned, suspicion edging in his voice. Diavolo couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why, based on your current state I would say you two are in need of some help. My friend Barbatos here is an excellent healer.” Barbatos bowed his head, hoping to gain the trust of the two fallen angels. Mammon dropped his gaze, the adrenaline of the situation coming down. He really should just accept the help. The pain was becoming unbearable as he leaned into Levi’s side. 

“Here, take this.” Diavolo shedded his jacket and offered it to Mammon for him to cover up. Mammon took it graciously and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Alright, fine. We’ll go with you…but only if you tell me where my other brothers are. And Lilith… She's our sister.” Diavolo’s face took on a grim expression. “I think you should come with me first before I disclose those details. But I assure you, your other brothers are safe.” he hesitated before continuing his statement. “...As well as your sister.”  Mammon swallowed hard. What was that supposed to mean?

They made their way back to the castle, slowly. Diavolo carrying Mammon with Barbatos and Leviathan in tow behind him. Both boys were now unconscious, the pain finally getting the best of them. As soon as they entered the castle doors, a booming voice sounded from the throne room. “DIAVOLO!” The young demon lord flinched as he and Barbatos quickly made their way through the long hallway and up one of the several staircases that winded and twisted above them. Diavolo hated ignoring his fathers shouting, but he needed to take care of the current matter at hand. “Quickly, we must get to the infirmary.” Barbatos murmured. Finally, they reached the infirmary where all of the other brothers lay in their respective beds, some of them beginning to stir awake. Diavolo carefully laid Mammon in his place, retrieving his jacket again and shrugging it back over his shoulders. “I’m sorry, for I must go tend to my father.” Diavolo whispered to Barbatos. The butler nodded. “Of course, My Lord. I’ll take care of the brothers.” Diavolo quickly made his way out of the room. Barbatos draped a blanket over top of Mammon and began to get to work on his and Levi’s wounds. 

***

“Oi! Watch what you’re touching, demon!”

“Mammon stop moving.” 

“For fuck sake Mammon quit whining.” 

“...I’m hungry.”

Lucifer’s head was still pounding when he woke. Was that Mammon? Of course it was, he could recognize his aggravating complaints anywhere. And were those voices the twins? His eyes began to flutter open and he turned his head over to where the noise was coming from. His vision was still a bit blurry, but he could see that Barbatos was leaning over his brother, attempting to stitch one of Mammon’s many cuts that covered his body. “Mmm…Mammon. Enough.” Lucifer mumbled as he attempted to sit up. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at their eldest brother. “Lucifer, please don’t move!” Barbatos shouted. All of a sudden, 2 small black forms were holding him down onto the bed. “W-What the hell?!” he gasped, but he didn’t have the energy to fight them off. The little creatures appeared to be demons, but took on a very different form than what Barbatos and Diavolo did. “Those are called ‘Little D’s’ apparently. They’re kind of cute though.” said a voice next to him. He looked over to see Asmodeus, who was sitting cross legged on his bed and sipping something from a mug. Lucifer noticed that his brother also dawned a set of horns, and 2 sets of small wings on his back. 

Asmo could feel Lucifer’s stare on him, so he kept his eyes on the little demons as they bounced away. Only one stayed behind to tuck a blanket around Lucifer’s bare shoulders. “Asmo…everyone’s here?” he asked, tugging the blanket further around himself. 

Asmo nodded, finally looking at his brother. “Yes, we’re all safe. All except, well…” he trailed off. Lucifer let out a sigh. His brother didn’t have to finish to know where his thoughts were heading. Lilith. Before Lucifer could reply, Diavolo entered the room. “Hello boys, how are we feeling this evening?” he said, cheerfully. Mammon rolled his eyes. “How do ya think? Your butler currently has a needle in my ass.” Diavolo crossed his arms and let out a loud chuckle. “My apologies, it seems I've come in at an unpleasant time.” Lucifer sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Don’t apologize, Diavolo, he’s just an idiot.” Diavolo smiled softly and made his way over to Lucifer, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Lucifer, there’s something I need to discuss with you privately.” Lucifer blinked at the red haired demon. Remember. Absolute loyalty. “Of course.” 

The other brothers were looking their way, obviously trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. “When we found you…and after the incident with your wings…” he whispered. Lucifer flinched. He was actively trying to forget about his embarassing outburst. “After you passed out…we found something. Or rather…someone.” Diavolo said quietly. Lucifer’s eyes widened. “W-What are you talking about?” The future demon king hesitated. “I could show you, if you’d like. I just don’t want to push you too soon.” Lucifer locked eyes with the demon. His voice grew louder. “Tell me what’s going on right now.” Diavolo didn’t even flinch at the sternness of Lucifer’s voice. “Come on in, Satan.” All eyes shot to the doorway of the infirmary. A small child with blonde hair entered. He had long, winding S-shaped horns and a black, spikey tail which faded into a bright green at the tip. 

“Uh, Lucifer…who the hell is this?”

Chap. 3 : The Avatar of Wrath

[ladyzee-oddityhunter]

((CW: References to drowning. References to death. Mild body horror. Abduction. A little creepy. ))

Part 1 Here

[When the stream returns, Zee is back where she began at the lake’s edge with the water turning gold in the sunset behind her. She’s kneeling and rooting around in her satchel]

“I was pretty sure I had one. Did I forget to bring it?”

[Zee seems to notice her stream has resumed and pops back up to her feet]

“Hello! You’re back! I was looking for my signal booster so maybe the stream would stop freezing. I must be juuust a little too far from town, but I don’t think I have it. Let’s just press on, and if it gets really bad I’ll just end the stream early and share the rest as a video, okay?”

[She begins walking the other way down the shore to where the trees cast more cool shadows over the sun gold water. It all looks very peaceful as a breeze blows through and sends gentle ripples across the surface.

At her heels, a small shadow moves in the water. It’s gliding in a close parallel to the shore where it’s too shallow for a pokemon]

“Aha! I think I see it. There, Deedee, see in the trees?”

[The camera turns away from Zee to focus on a small cluster of trees a stone’s throw ahead. It’s shadowed, but there’s a dull purple light flickering between the leaves and creaking trunks]

“It’s probably hiding from me because the sun is still up. Like most ghost pokemon, lampent don’t really respond to treats, but I may have an incense it’ll like.”

[The camera pans back to Zee as she rummages in her satchel. Behind her, there’s movement. It’s very subtle at first, possibly just dirt on the camera, or stirred dirt in the water.

Then the movement takes shape, focusing itself.

Large, boney purple hands emerge from the water. The long fingers press into the muddy shore and pull, and rail thin arms follow. Then a head. Shoulders. A torso.

Seemingly wreathed in dark purple mist, it’s dragging itself forward on its forearms. Hand over hand it crawls, thump thump slide. Thump thump slide.

It’s vaguely shaped like the torso of a human, hidden from the waist down by the now murky water. There is no proper face to speak of, but rather just enough features to imply a face. A twisted, gaping mouth hangs open, sagging low beneath where its jawline should end in a constant, silent wail. There are no teeth or tongue, simply implications of such shapes in oily black, framing the emptiness inside the throat. A single yellow eye with a rust pupil sits just above the mouth off to one side of the face, sloping down as if it may come loose and fall off. It’s fixed on Zee.

As Zee crouches to set down her bag, the thing slants away, thin elbows bent up like a spider’s legs. As it twists its head askew, the yellow eye never moves, facial area swirling around it like fog as the eye holds its position in space. The reddish pupil remains trained on Zee. It seems to be waiting for something, wondering if it will be noticed. It appears on camera, but she does not seem to see it despite its proximity.

Zee takes a step forward, fiddling with the small metal canister she drew from her bag. The thing follows. Thump thump slide. Thump thump slide. Hand over hand, inch by inch, it drags itself forward. Toward her.

Legs never appear. As the torso continues to crawl forward, the lower section of its torso stretches as if the hips and feet are anchored into the lake. The body strains, pulling longer and thinner until it begins to fray like wet tissue paper being forced taut.

Zee continues her explanation, blissfully unaware]

“I actually made this incense blend myself using purple nectar and a few other things. I wish you guys could smell it.”

[It casts no shadow. No indication that it’s there beyond its visage in the camera.

It reaches up, its arm and boney fingers stretching and fraying toward her head. Its flaking, bulging knuckles graze her cheek.

Now Zee looks up, eyes wide as she begins to instinctively raise her right hand toward her face. She halts, then pretends to brush a bit of dust from her hip.

Her left hand slips into her pocket where she keeps her coin. Her breathing goes slow and steady.

The thing twists its head to the other side, eye tumbling in its face. Then it reaches again, slowly, slowly pressing its fingertips into her temple. They sink in.

As a shiver runs through her, her body goes stiff. Her honey brown eyes squeeze closed. She bites her lip.

A minute passes, then another. Nearly stiff as a board, she continues to breathe careful, timed breaths.

The thing cocks its head again, the movement staggered as if it’s lagging. The hand slowly pulls away from Zee.

Finally, she exhales. Then, she begins a calm, purposeful walk away from the water’s edge.

The thing watches her take a step. Two. Three. Its single pupil constricts to a pinprick, and it suddenly lunges forward and up as if to grab her hair.

In a burst of light, Zee’s oricorio, Carmelita, surges from her pokeball, beating her silvery wings and screeching bloody murder.

The thing flinches, pressing itself into the ground. Its torso shape wavers and disintegrates, becoming a mere a sheet of dark mist on the shore. It begins to recede like a wave washing back from a beach.

Zee takes a leaning step forward, leaning into a run.

From the mist, a set of large purple hands burst forward. The thin fingers wrap around and around Zee’s ankles and rip her feet out from under her.

She hits the ground with a yell and an audible “THUMP”. Immediately she’s twisted onto her back, hands up for a fight and screaming and kicking against the unseen foe. Her retaliation does nothing. The thing holds fast.

Its eye narrows as it watches her, and the gaping mouth pulls tight in the upper corners. A smile. Satisfaction.

Carmelita zips about in circles, trying to find somewhere to aim without hitting her trainer as she’s dragged thrashing down the slope.

Zee screams and screams, tearing at the grass and scraping for her satchel now just out of reach.

She’s dragged down, down, down the slope and through the muddy shore.

The cold water bites at her heels. She’s going in.

Sinking her teeth into her lip, for one moment she goes silent, and she snatches her remaining two pokeballs from her belt. She hurls them as far from the shore as she can.

There’s a burst of light off screen as her pokemon are freed. Zee screams for them until she can’t.

Until she disappears into the lake]

[The stream freezes]

[The camera is suddenly shaking as Zee’s rotom phone flies to where Carmelita is still flying circles and shrieking. The dark water is still rippling]

[The stream abruptly ends]

[myhusbandsasemni]

Warlocks - Part 2: Bloody Streamers

Author's notes: Love these guys. I'm about to write part 3 and I'm trying to decide the order of some events, but either way it is going to be a very good time.

Content warning: Rather thoroughly described gore

Masterlist - Part 1

......................................

Leo didn’t sleep, watching over the group quietly and contemplating the situation as the soft sounds of monsters below filtered up to them. Besides, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He couldn’t curl up a sleep like Elio and Puck did on the other shelf with impunity in the face of spinal integrity. Keesha was tough enough to sleep on coals and needles and feel refreshed in the morning, so really it would be him and Tori feeling the effects of their night on the shelves. 

The sounds of the creatures below started to fade as time passed and, with the rudeness of a flashbang, the lights came on. 

Elio startled awake, though Keesha slept on unbothered, and with Tori laying under Leo’s jacket, she was shielded from the light so the two women stayed asleep. 

Puck woke but just rolled over, causing Elio to grunt and try and push them off. “Puck, you’re on my kidney,” he groaned. 

“Shouldn’t make it so comfortable then,” Puck replied. They yawned and stretched, getting up. “That’s a joke. You’re boney, Elio.”

Elio stretched in turn as Leo looked down. The things that had been standing and waiting, scratching at the shelves, had dropped their arms and slowly ambled away, as though they had no interest in them as the lights turned on. 

Leo breathed out a sigh as Puck called over, “Oi, Leo. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I’m treating this like a wilderness situation. We need food, water, and shelter.”

Keesha, finally woken up by the movement and talking rolled over and smacked her lips. “Yeah, I could use some water.”

Leo nodded. “We should look for the exit for about an hour, but if we still can’t find it, we’ll need to get something set up. I get the feeling those things are docile during the day, but not so much at night.”

Keesha nodded, moving to wake Tori up as Puck climbed down the shelf nimbly. 

Leo got up more carefully, already feeling his stiffening back complaining. He twisted to pop it as Keesha coaxed Tori carefully out of sleep. 

The woman sat up, looking disgruntled and unhappy. The effect was not helped by her smeared makeup. Keesha helped her up and Leo got his jacket back, which he happily put back on. It made him feel a little more protected. 

After they’d all made it back down to the floor, they started out of the aisle, trying to figure out where the exit was. They still couldn’t find any side walls, which was starting to make them nervous about finding a bathroom, but they found one eventually. 

“What the….” Leo muttered. It was a stand alone wall. On one side, there was just a blank wall with a bathroom sign painted on it. On the other was a doorway that led into a space that was impossible. The wall wasn’t thick enough to hold the bathroom on the other side. 

The wrongness kept most of the group back, though as usual Puck pushed the door open and went inside without a single thought. Once They called back that it was safe, the rest of the group headed inside, propping the door open in case it closed and locked them into a new purgatory. 

After going to the bathroom, cleaning up, and having their fill of water, they left, taking note of the landmarks before they kept going. 

After traveling for another 10 minutes, Keesha wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”

“What smell?” Elio asked. Keesha had the best sense of smell of the lot of them, a blessing and a curse, of course. 

“Like, something’s…. Oh.”

The group had turned the corner and quickly figured out what that smell was. There was a body on the floor, the head and limbs laying in a pile next to a torso which had been completely gutted. The intestines were strewn about like morbid streamers across the aisle. The eyes had been gouged out of the head and claw marks scored every piece of flesh. 

“Elio,” Leo breathed, horrified. That was so nearly their skinny nerd. He had come so close to being torn apart like this. 

Elio just stared, his pale face the color of soured milk. Keesha put an arm around him, guiding him back. “Let’s head over here, okay?”

“That’s gross,” Puck declared before They turned around as well. 

Leo looked on at the carnage for a moment longer, just to keep in mind what these creatures did to a person and how they killed before turning as well. He nearly tripped on Tori who had flopped down on the ground, sitting there and staring in horror. 

“We should go,” he said softly. 

She shook her head a little. “Leo, this place….”

“I know. We should go, though.”

“But he should be buried,” she said, eyes starting to shine with oncoming tears. 

“How are we supposed to bury him, dear? Come on.”

Tori allowed him to help her up and they went back to the group where they were keeping Elio calm. His hands flapped over his chest a little, eyes distant as he tried to gain control over a panic attack that was trying to set in. 

Leo put a steadying hand on Elio’s shoulder, getting his attention. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be way more careful, alright? You’re still here. You’re still breathing, right?”

Elio nodded. 

“Why don’t you tell us about Star Wars a bit?”

Life came back to Elio’s eyes a little and he nodded. He relaxed and said, “Do you know why Luke wears black in the movies?”

With that, Elio talked about the color theory of the movies and headcanons people had for the meaning of colors on Tatooine while they walked. 

Meanwhile, Leo could tell they’d all given up on any hope of finding the exit, so they moved now looking for resources. They’d found a bathroom, so there was a good chance they might find the food court that they knew was in this store. 

The endless halls and manmade items and shelves were starting to grate on them all, as Elio fell silent and even Puck seemed tense. 

Puck climbed up shelves to look out a bit, trying to find anything interesting to help guide them before sliding back down. On one trip up They called down, “I see the food court!”

“Thank Gaia,” Tori breathed, but Keesha frowned. 

“What’s wrong?” Leo asked. 

“I don’t smell food,” she said doubtfully. “I’m sure it’s just cause we’re still far away. Let’s hurry.”

Puck ran ahead, guiding them through the aisles until the empty food court came into view, just as unnervingly silent as everything else in this placw. 

The food court was just as disappointing as Keesha had made it sound. There had obviously been food here, but everything had been cleared out. All of the displays where food should be had been smashed open and empty, leaving only a few smears of grease and sauce behind. 

Leo hopped over a counter into the back, only to see the same thing in the fridges. There was no food but there were signs of things being here at one point recently. 

“I think this place has been ransacked,” he said, coming back out. “But someone, not those monsters if I had to guess. That’s a lot of food to try and eat so they might still have some if we can find them.”

“We should take a quick break here anyway,” Tori said. “I have some snacks we can all share before we continue.”

Everyone was perfectly happy with that suggestion as they all sat at a table and ate a little quietly. Elio didn’t really touch the food, repeatedly checking his ankle as though to be sure it was still there and that none of the wounds were festering. Seeing that body from earlier had clearly gotten to him. 

After that, they all used the restrooms in the food court and then continued on their way through the seemingly endless and wall-less IKEA. 

After another hour of just looking, Leo sighed. He was really feeling the effects of staying up all night and they still had more they needed to do. 

“You alright?” Keesha asked, hearing his sigh. 

“Yeah, just tired. I didn’t sleep.”

Keesha clicked her tongue. “We should find that place showcasing their beds and have a nap. 

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” Elio said, eyes still distant and haunted. 

“That’s okay,” Keesha assured him. “You don’t have to, but Leo should get some sleep while we start putting together a shelter.”

“I can help with-”

“You’ll get some sleep, old man,” Keesha said firmly and Leo sighed, rolling his eyes. 

So, as discussed and after more of this endless walking, they found the bed section where Keesha and Tori made a whole display of tucking him in and making sure he was cozy before they turned around to get to work on building some sort of shelter in the tops of the shelves. 

Sleep took Leo shortly and when he woke up feeling a bit better, he found that they’d had quite a time of it. Elio was putting together some actual furniture up top, muttering about weight ratings as Keesha and Puck fought a chaotic battle of getting another thin mattress up to the top of the shelves. Most of the changes seemed to have been made to two shelves so they weren’t all on one shelf. 

Leo smiled and rolled out of bed to see how he could help. 

That night, when the lights went out, they were on top of their shelves laying on thin mattresses with comfortable sheets and duvets as the monsters came out of hiding again. Despite Leo’s nap, he was still ready to sleep some more, though Puck was moving around so much on the mattress next to him it was starting to look like he would have to wait for the gremlin to pass out. 

“You don’t think the monsters will be able to tip over the shelves, will they?” Elio asked quietly.��

New fear unlocked. 

“They didn’t last night,” Leo said steadily, “But we’ll try and make the shelf a bit sturdier and harder to knock over anyways tomorrow, okay?”

Satisfied with that, Elio nodded and rolled over. 

Tomorrow… traveling in an endless IKEA. 

Leo suddenly had a very hard time sleeping.

Part 3

Warlocks Taglist: @scatteriskity @percy-frayer

[browseret]

Yes

~a Pigasus teaser

I wrote this little action scene for my silly toko series like, half a year ago. Considering that with my current pace it might well take a year or so before i actually get to the point where this scene takes place. I decided to just share it now. TW: graphic violence, murder, swearing

The assailant throws a fired-up punch at him. Zuko’s lucky the man’s clearly lacking proper technique, because he only barely manages to weave his head to his right and catch the incoming fist with his own hand instead. The flames dispersing as he does, but the sheer force is enough to strain his wrist.

“What are you?" Zuko jeers. "Made of steel?” It’s pointless: a vain attempt to distract his opponent and hopefully dissuade anyone who might be looking from questioning why the fire didn’t burn him.

He really shouldn’t have.

Zuko hears the crack more than he feels it. He’d been too focussed on the man’s freakish hands. But now he got his legs kicked out from under him and, for a moment, he sees white.

He hits the floor and gets not a moment to gather his bearings before he gets a kick to the ribs and that hardness isn’t human. Zuko glances over to the mans leg and it’s fucking metal, of course it’s fucking metal, maybe half a billion people living in the Koh-damned world and he’s fighting the one guy with a steel fucking leg.

Zuko heaves, because he can’t fucking breathe, because he’s picking a fight with guy that steel fucking leg. Next he’ll start bending his leg too, why won’t he. Zuko tries to scramble away, but he’s not fast enough. The man stomps his heel into his back pinning Zuko to the ground and if the kick from earlier hadn’t cracked his ribs, they definitely were now. 

Steel-leg-guy turns out to be a moron though, because despite having a steel fucking leg he’s pinning him with his flesh leg. Zuko can tell because despite the man twisting his foot into his back, there’s no metal carving into flesh.

It’ll be his last mistake.

With more speed than Zuko had at this point considered himself capable of: he swipes his knife he’d stashed in his pocket and pushes it into the man’s fleshy flesh calf and pulls it down towards the boney heel. Steel-leg screams and growls, but releases the pressure on his back ever so slightly. It’s all Zuko needs.

He goes for the legs and the man stumbles down. Immediately Zuko scrambles on top of him, mercilessly stabbing his leg and torso all the while, before straddling him. Valiantly the man releases fire from his freakish hands. But it’s too late, Zuko deflects the fire from the first hand and stabs the other. 

In one last hurrah the man lets a blood curdling scream from his mouth along with an ungodly amount of fire and all Zuko can do is clasp his hands together, point them towards the flames and hope it’ll be enough.

The flames do part at his fingertips, but the heat is enough to burn his skin. Soon after the stench of burning hair fills his nostrils and for a terrible second his sleeves catch fire. Zuko  screams, but does not break his form. Then the flames stop just as suddenly as they came.

For one horrible moment Zuko sees his face. It’s the face of a man that knows death is coming and is powerless to stop it. (It’s one he’d worn himself the last time he looked his father in the eye.)

But Zuko is not as merciful as his father had been that day and plunges his now red-hot knife into the man’s throat. There’s a splat of blood, some of which gets into his mouth, and then the man goes slack.

He stares at the firebender’s vacant green eyes. Then it hits him:, the man must have been a warchild just like everyone thinks Zuko is. Zuko takes out the knife, wiping the blood off of it. 

Never give up without a fight.

It had become his mantra these last few years. He'd never considered that the saying came from the Earth Kingdom before (he’ll never forget now).

“You’re a fire bender.” a voice speaks up, disbelief apparent even to him.

Zuko rolls off of the corpse, turning towards the sound. It’s his boss Lao, who’d apparently been content to hide in the corner while he fought for their lives.

Darkness takes him.

[kipxer]

Mammon's True Form

Obey Me! Mammon/reader - Alterous with face kisses at the end - No MC pronouns No warnings Note: Also this is like my first time posting fanfiction stuff since middle school lmaoo Masterlist

Mammon is not one to let his guard slip easily, always keeping his other forms under tight wraps.

You already rarely find him in his regular demon form. The most you've seen is just when he's taken you with him to his modelling gigs or when he's gotta fly somewhere real quick.

So when you ask about his true form after having an enlightening conversation with Satan, he's understandably a bit hesitant.

He wants you to feel completely safe and comfortable with him, and he worries that showing more than just his wings and horns occasionally, could be a bit too much for your human psyche.

However, after days of begging and bribing him, he finally caves in to your pleading puppy eyes.

But, he sets some ground rules first.

1. "No lookin' at the eyes. It'll make ya go crazy. Not like a weird romantic thing, it'll literally make ya crazy with my sin. I know Asmo's powers didn't work on you, I still don't wanna test that."

2. "No touching 'till I say so. If you get hurt and Lucifer finds out why, I'm gonna be hangin' from the ceiling for another millennia cause of your dumb human self."

3. "And... If at any point ya don't feel safe, you're free to use our pact to make me stop or do whatever ya need to be less freaked out or whatever."

You agree before sitting down giving his some room, an excited smile on your face.

He takes a step back and let's out a huff. "Ya really really sure?"

You nod, giving him an encouraging grin.

He looks away for a quick moment, shifting to his regular demonic form, familiar horns and wings curling out from him, while his manicured nails sharpen to claws.

He looks at you, as if triple checking one last time that you're ok with this, only to be met with your joyful gaze.

He gives a soft smile to you before his body structure begins to shift. His legs darken and turn to talons. His claws grow larger and darker as the black shadows make their way up his arms. The white markings on his chest spread into elaborate patterns around his face and torso.

His wings grow larger as his frame gets taller and taller.

The air feels almost electric with his presence. You sit there in static awe.

Feathers begin to sprout from his shoulders and make their way up his neck. He turns to look away from you, giving you full view of his back.

He slowly hunches over and spreads out his now massive wings. The base of them covered in soft down while the membrane between the boney digits glimmer.

His spine is decorated with golden crystalyne structures, sparkling like pyrite as he shifts his body.

He carefully turns back around, finally giving you the good look at his face you've been anticipating, but noticing that he's closed his eyes. You can see a glimpse of the golden light shining from the cracks in his eyelids before you quickly tear your gaze away to look at the rest of his face.

No longer even close to resembling a human, he has an almost prehistoric bird beak, with a few sharp fangs poking out. His ears are long and laid back, while his horns twist and curl away from his face.

He looks like a dragonic raven.

You stare in amazement, his aura overwhelming all of your senses.

The air smells thick of ozone as you feel the hair on your arms lift up from the static. It's as though you could be struck by lighting at any moment.

You really understand where all those myths of dragons and their hordes come from in the human world now, in their dark mountain tops surrounded by storm clouds and lightning.

Slowly, he lays down on his belly and rests in front of you.

After a moment of letting your heart calm down from both excitement and nervousness, you ask if it's safe to touch him.

He responds with an deep growl before gently bowing his head.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You go up to his head and gently place an experimental hand on top his nose. He lets out a soft huff before leaning into your touch.

Smiling, you use your other hand and hold both his cheeks before leaning down and giving a soft sweet kiss to his forehead.

You hear what you've gotta say is the loudest demonic whine you could possibly imagine, as he pushes his nose at your belly. You giggle before pressing a second, then a third kiss to his face.

Before he knows it, you're peppering his massive face in hundreds of kisses and he can do nothing but take the affection.

You watch as his body visibly relaxes at your love, all his worry and tension melting away. A familiar low rumble begins to get louder as he purrs, too low for your human ears to hear, but enough to feel under your fingertips.

Safe to say, Mammon isn't too worried about having you see his demonic form if this is what he'll get.

[littlefreya]

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down. 

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue) 

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution  

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs. 

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?” 

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure. 

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?” 

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body. 

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.  

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them. 

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.  

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately. 

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin. 

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them. 

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid. 

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug. 

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel. 

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently. 

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare. 

But her laughter soon dies. 

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint. 

“Time to fall, angel.” 

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death. 

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.” 

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker. 

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’ 

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station. 

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his. 

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.” 

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull. 

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache. 

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks. 

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction. 

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them. 

A true king among peasants.  

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright. 

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him. 

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.  

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.  

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in. 

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air. 

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she? 

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever. 

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades. 

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut. 

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them. 

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her. 

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms. 

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…” 

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids. 

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death. 

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.” 

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest. 

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?” 

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest. 

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips. 

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”  

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.” 

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will. 

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue. 

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.” 

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out. 

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision. 

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely. 

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her. 

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her. 

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.   

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god. 

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world. 

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.  

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave. 

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’ 

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming. 

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns. 

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes. 

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined. 

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.  

‘How is she even real?’   

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp. 

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky. 

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss. 

Epilogue. 

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump. 

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings. 

“Loki!” 

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose. 

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir. 

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles. 

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove. 

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.  

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck. 

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together. 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

[offda-rails-art]

Here is part two of “Lochlans spook” 👇

Again⚠️gore warning⚠️ this is a horror story

Not long after Lochlan made his way past the herd of deer another odd occurrence happened. The first thing he saw up ahead was a lone coyote racing out of the direction Lochlan was headed. The coyote seemed to be on a mission to get somewhere. The animal’s eyes bulged from its head, his mouth gaped open trying to take in as much air as possible, and every muscle in its body showed as it sprinted in the opposite direction it came. Lochlan was about to conclude that the animal was simply on a mission for a hunt. But then, more animals sprinted forward going the same way the coyote was headed. Foxes, rabbits, more coyotes and deer, even birds flew right past Lochlan. The big engine was the last thing the animals seemed to care about, they all ran in an almost harmonious fashion. They weren’t chasing each other but they were running away from something. Lochlan felt a pang of anxiety deep in the depths of his boiler. He had never witnessed something so strange, what on earth are they running from? He thought and as he traveled closer in the direction the animals sprinted from he felt something he never felt before, fear.

In his lifetime Lochlan had truly and honestly never felt fear. He was so big and powerful that what could he fear? And as awful as it sounds Lochlan didn’t have normal “engine fears” either. He didn’t worry about collisions like many feared. Many engines that collided often had died from either injury or impact, but Lochlan was so large that any engine that collided with him would be doomed and he himself would most likely be untouched. If anything others feared him because of his size and mass.

Lochlan was so shellshocked with the new feeling that he didn’t know how to react. Something was scaring him. He blanked out for a moment and then came to a screeching halt, his cargo slammed into him, his engineers were nearly thrown from their seats, and any product that was in the rows of cargo trucks was surely tossed around and destroyed. Lochlan stared blankly ahead, his headlamp hardly illuminating anything in the pitch black. Now that he stood still he listened to all that was around him. His anxiety got worse when the only sound around him was nothing. No crickets, no birds, nothing. Pure quiet. Something was out there, hunting.

Lochlans engineers took a moment to collect themselves from the sudden unexpected halt. “What the hell was that all about?” His fireman asked and rubbed his head in thought.

“I don’t know, but I’ll go see what the issue is. Perhaps Lochlan will let us know.” His driver said and hopped down from the cab and started a long walk to face his engine. Lochlan meanwhile stared ahead of himself he listened in as best he could becuase he could swear something was calling his name. His driver interrupted him. “What’s the issue big boy? Are you hurt? Is something wrong?” He asked.

“I don’t know sir. I just can’t go any further.” Lochlan replied never taking his eyes off the track ahead. He felt the air get cooler with each second. His driver seemed to notice that too, he crossed his arms over his chest and shivered.

“Can’t see squat out here in this dark. Alright Lochlan I’ll try and find the out-

“I think you should go back in my cab now. It’s getting to cold out here and there’s no sense in trying to solve a problem in the pitch black.” Lochlan interrupted. More dread bubbled up inside of him. His driver looked at him curiously, he held his arms tighter to his chest bracing in the cold.

“I suppose your right, goddamn why is it so cold? It’s the middle of summer.” His driver groaned then turned on his heels to rush back to the warm cab. Lochlan’s fireman poked his head out of the cab window.

“Is everything alright? What’s going on?” He shouted down to his colleague. He felt the bitter cold nip at his face and noticed his breath show up in the air.

“I don’t know, but it’s to cold out here and I cannot see an inch of light anywhere.” He hurriedly climbed into the warm cab.

“I noticed that too. Should we radio for assistance?” The fireman asked.

“Go ahead and try but I guarantee you won’t get any signal out here.” He sighed and plopped himself down in his seat. The two did try to radio but had no luck. After hours of trying to think of what to do they both decided to stay in the cab and wait till early morning when at least an ounce of light would come out.

Lochlan sat on the tracks never taking his eyes away from the pitch black ahead. He listened carefully and heard an unsettling sound. A low grumble mixed with what sounded like an elk bugling echoed around him. Elk calls could be eerie sounding but this was no elk call, what made him come to that conclusion was his name being called after each grumble.

“Lochlan?” The voice asked trying to get a response. Lochlan didn’t dare answer. He narrowed his eyes trying to see what called his name. “Lochlan?!” It asked again this time sounding agitated, a louder grumble followed. Lochlan nearly jumped out of his pistons when silence followed and then a loud “LOCHLAN!!!! LOCHLAN!!! LOCHLAN!!!!!” The voice roared. He still didn’t answer. Just beyond where his headlamp could reach a figure came into view. A buck stood on the tracks ahead, its dark piercing eyes stared back at him in a way no animal would. Lochlan gritted his teeth, he watched the deer and his eyes went wide when the animal opened its mouth.

“LOCHLAN.” The deer mouthed in perfect English. The four legged animal began to twist and morphe into a horrifying creature. It’s bones broke then dislocated growing massive upright legs, front legs turned into massive human arms along with a long skinny malnutritished human torso with ribs poking out. Flesh clung to its horribly mangled body and with each body part that morphed into place it grew and grew and grew until it towered over Lochlan. The flesh disappeared from the deer’s head revealing its skull with bulging red human eyes. A long tongue rolled from its mouth dripping drool and all. A skinny boney finger cracked, twisted, then pointed to Lochlan in a sickening beckoning motion. The creature stepped forward, it’s massive body lurched with each step. The low grumble noise came again, this time it shook Lochlan to the core. The creature’s jaw opened wide in a smile. “Lochlan?” It asked again seeming to want a response. Lochlan refused half out of sheer panic and the other part not being able to form words at all. He’d never ever been this terrified. The creature wasn’t satisfied with the silence it received, its jaw formed into a frown.

Lochlan watched each step it took, and now with the horrific creature just one foot away he did the only thing his body let him do. Close his eyes. The creature bent down lowering its face to Lochlan’s. “Lochlan?” It asked in almost a whine to get a rise out of him. No response and the creature grew significantly irritated. Lochlan felt it’s hot breath assault his skin, it’s breath stunk of rot. The whole beast itself was a massive rotting corpse, maggots wriggled around what flesh stretched over its body. The creature breathed in his face, it reached a hand out and touched Lochlans cheek. A sharp claw traced over the flesh on his face, Lochlan could swear he felt whatever maggots that were imbedded in the beast’s hand crawled out for a moment and graze his own skin. He still didn’t dare open his eyes. The creature sat there for what felt like hours, each breath it took a low grumble followed. Lochlan was terrified, his eyes refusing to open. Even when he felt a sticky wet tongue roll over his face. The creature got irritated and with a loud annoyed huff it got to its feet, gave one last loud bellowing screech and just like that it disappeared. Lochlan kept his eyes clamped shut the rest of the night, he didn’t open them until he could see a very small amount of light shine through his eyelids. Birds chirped and crowed and things seemed to be a bit normal. He kept his eyes opened and looked around.

Lochlan had started up with no issues at all, the incident that happened during the night when unnoticed by his engineers who had seemed to have slept through the whole thing. The two men looked their engine over best they could and asked how he felt before starting off back down the route. Lochlan rolled down the track cautiously still shaken up from what happened earlier. He frowned when he noticed on the sides of the track further down the line dozens of cattle spread out in the field. They weren’t laying down, they were quite literally scattered about. The scene was brutal, every bovine was covered in massive claw marks, many looked disemboweled, some missing limbs, some missing heads. Lochlan felt his breath hitch as he rolled by slowly. Two very confused cowboys surveyed the field of cattle. Lochlan’s engineers looked out the window of his cab and scratched their heads at the brutal scene. They chatted about what could have possibly done that but Lochlan knew exactly what did that.

“Well?! What did you think? Pretty weird right? I’d rate that on the list of odd things I’ve seen as a.... 3? Maybe 4? Out of 10 of course.” Lochlan said as he concluded his story. The group beside him looked horrified. Donner looked as though he was about to pass out or throw up, maybe both.

“Jesus Christ Lochlan?! You drop a bomb just like that on us?!” Red asked, his mouth agape still from shock at what was said.

“You wanted a horror story, yes?” Lochlan asked innocently.

“I’d just like to know what makes you rate that a 4 out of weird things you’ve seen?” Cracker Jack asked.

Lochlan only smirked.

End.

Thanks for reading💖💖 I hope you enjoyed.

[what-the-fic-khr]

it’s me, giving y’all an Among Us AU fic I wrote in November last year and couldn’t post bc it was long and gore and needed a read more anyway here we are

character/s: sawada tsunayoshi, cavallone dino

word count: 1,190

warnings: huh. so. blood, gore, body disfigurement, body horror, violence and injury, cannibalism (?? yeah??), vomiting, removal of limbs, self-harm, it’s nasty

prompt: dino was like his brother, and tsuna would always admire him for that (among us au)

Something in the air wasn’t right.

Tsuna couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was so stuffy, but it was also so cold. He almost found it hard to breathe.

He’d been pushed so hard these days to look after his crew, but now that he had free time, he almost didn’t want to be alone. It was too quite.

“Oh, Tsuna! There you are-!”

Tsuna physically jumped at the echo of another voice behind him, only vaguely noticing he’d been so out of it he hadn’t even heard their footsteps.

Dino snorted a little at just how skittish Tsuna was, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “You alright? I’ve been looking for you, and you’re off walking around on your own.”

The brunet blanched at this. His self-titled brother was always one who did like to poke fun at him, just a bit. But, he could always trust Dino.

“I’m fine, I’m fine... What are you doing here?”

Dino blinked his honey eyes, humming a little curiously at Tsuna’s question.

“Have I ever needed a reason? I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright!”

Dino proceeded to drone on and one about how Tsuna worried him, how he needed to ensure the younger was doing okay with his new title, make sure that everyone was healthy and doing well.

Still, the air felt so stale when he breathed.

The blond seemed to notice the blank expression on Tsuna’s face, trailing off to inspect him a little closer.

He squeezed Tsuna’s shoulder firmly, leaning down to try and meet his eyes.

“Hey. Somethin’ on your mind?”

It took a moment for Tsuna to zone back in, and when he did he was met with so much warmth and concern that he almost choked up.

Dino was always so wonderful.

“It’s just...” Tsuna shrugged warily, averting his gaze. “I’ve just got this feeling that something is off, but I’m not sure what it is...”

Dino’s usual sparkling hues blanked out into pools of umber.

Still, Tsuna waved his hands around and continued.

“It’s weird. Everything just feels so weird, and I feel almost sick, but...” The rest died on his tongue, feeling fingers dig so harshly into his shoulder.

His attention shot back to Dino, inspecting his features for a moment. He felt his stomach drop.

“Ah, Dino-san...?”

Despite the one hand on his shoulder, he could hear the cracking of bones and feel the drag of fingertips across his back until they met his other shoulder.

Tsuna had frozen. Sweat was accumulating on his brow, and he was too scared to turn his head to look to his side, afraid of what would happen if he stopped holding eye contact with the blond in front of him.

The shaky breath that left him seemed to set something off in Dino, and the brunet watched with wide eyes, horror keeping him glued to the spot as he watched his friend’s head snap to the side and hit his shoulder so harshly it made him gag.

With a low, deep creak that came from bones deep in his torso, his body shifted and his head shot backwards, now hanging limply.

Tsuna couldn’t help the short croak he let out, watching as his torso grew in height before the uniform at the left of his waist tore open, skin and flesh slowly tearing away to reveal row after row of razor sharp teeth.

The sight of flesh falling away and hitting the floor with a wet noise had Tsuna gagging once more before lurching back, further into the boney hold of Dino’s hand.

Slowly the rows of teeth started to open, widening the nasty stretch of skin against the force of it, tugging at his chest and twisting tattoos until they were no longer distinguishable.

Tears blurred Tsuna’s vision when a tongue poked out and ran over pearly whites, accepting the damage the sharp points did to it, blood flowing into its own mouth and down the hip of its host.

“I thought you were pretty good, Tsuna.”

It sounded like Dino, but it was so twisted that it made Tsuna flinch back and throw his arms up and over his face protectively. Finally, his body gave way and he started trembling

“But, you were too good. Too sharp. Look at where that got you.”

If he peeked through his messy fringe, his tears and his arms, he’d have been able to see the mouth open so far that it basically tore Dino’s entire torso in half, almost a disgusting and ragged split right across.

Maybe even worse, staring down at the ground to avoid the sight before him, he had to come face to face with the limp upper body and the face of his once brother.

Tsuna’s legs gave out the moment the monster’s ones cracked sickeningly to the sides before stretching like its hands, flesh pulling and ripping to make room.

“A-Ah...”

The drag of sharp, pointed fingertips dragging across metal had Tsuna hunching over and vomiting, unable to hold it in any longer.

Despite the stench, he kept staring down at his lap, tear unending.

He was going to die.

“Scared?”

It’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. He couldn’t stand it.

His lips pulled back and a pathetic whimper echoed back when it’s tongue slowly caressed the side of his face.

Disgusting, disgusting—

The monster watched curiously as the teen’s hands flung up to his cheek where he’d been licked, and dug his nails in as hard as possible, before tanking as hard as he could.

He scratched until his cheek was raw, and red, and kept going until he bled and skin piled up under his nails.

Disgusting.

“You’re losing it. I was hoping you’d last a little longer.”

Tsuna’s head shot up when one of his arms was gently grabbed, his mind reeling. This wasn’t meant to be happening–

“No, n-no...! No, no—!”

It hurt. His arm was being pulled on, with no restraint, and it hurt so bad. He could feel the joint starting to strain-

“Stop! Please, stop—!”

‘Pop’.

A sharp cry tugged from his throat, and his body lurched back while his free hand shot to his shoulder instinctively. But it kept pulling. It kept on pulling on it. It wouldn’t stop.

Everything was a haze after the initial breaking of his arm, but the burn he felt when his arm was removed was so indescribable.

He’d absolutely blacked out, for a short moment, in the sudden shock and pain of it all.

He wished he’d have stayed that way.

But his eyes betrayed him, and they opened, and they came face to face with the mouth of this monster, his own arm hanging out between its teeth.

The scream he let out was so loud and unhinged, he didn’t think he was even capable of making it. Now he didn’t think he was capable of ever stopping.

Despite all the cries of pain from Tsuna, the monster seemed to grin, muscles and loose flesh pulling tight with the motion.

“Thank you for the meal.”

[monpalace]

grim moves across from one of my shoulders to my other, looking at the cans of food a few aisles down. "henchman!" he exclaims, paw stretching out a paw as if it were going to get him closer to the selection. "i demand we go and get more cans of tuna!"

clarence chuckles as he picks the monster off of me and into his arms. "you heard the prefect, grim. we'll come back once we pick out all the furniture! aren't you ready for some better couches?"

"ain't no use for 'em if ain't no one use 'em," baron grunts. he wraps his boney arms around himself in order suppress a ghost chill. "even if it's used, it'd only be you two and them first years."

i stop walking to look at one of the beds on the display. the seams looked as though they were purposefully sewn to look like spiderwebs. it was black with purple accents, paired with a black headboard with a white cushion. it would match the aesthetic of the rundown dorm so i decide to go with it, grabbing one of the tags and watching as another got dispensed in it's place.

william sighs. "you forget we can 'em as well, you tool. all we gotta do is focus on it." he floats so he's now front of me, moving back as i move forward. "don't you worry, y/n. i'm sure your choices will make ramshackle real homey."

"i kinda have to," i scoff as i move onto bedside tables. "none of you know how to design a home."

baron opens his mouth to say something but is quickly cut off by clarence giving him a harsh elbow and william sending him a harsh glare. these actions don't stop grim though. "you shouldn't underestimate your master, henchman!"

turning on my heel, i raise an eyebrow at grim. "do you even understand interior design? do you understand how bad of a combination white, green, and purple is? do you understand how much we'll have to spend in orde—"

i'm cut off by clarence clearing his throat. "we get it, y/n. we should just butt out."

i hum in approval and continue on with my search that seemed to take longer than necessary.

shaking her head, the woman bows her head and extends one of her hands while the other lays across her skirt to keep it down. she looks down to i hearing grim and baron bicker with each other over the fire in the former's ears.

she jumps after her eyes lock with mine, averting her gaze to hide behind her large hair. "my apologies, little one." she murmurs.

"you're fine, ma'am. you didn't do anything wrong." i respond while bringing my hands up to my torso to wave them. "we apologize for being so loud."

the monster and thin ghost stand and float unmoving until william grabs their heads and pushes them down. "they just don't know how to control themselves in public spaces anymore."

shaking her head, the woman bows her head and extends one of her hands while the other lays across her skirt to keep it down. she looks down to view the tags in my hand. "those are quite a few items," she murmurs, leaning down to get a view of the items. "are you sure you four will be able to carry them all when they bring them out?"

i sigh and shrug. "these three won't be able to carry anything once we return to the twisted wonderland, so i'll just have to figure something out."

"i mean no harm but i doubt a human of your stature would be able to carry furniture for your own home in an entire day." she snorts.

"dorm." clarence corrects. "an abandoned dorm that's on the verge of collapse." baron whispers something into the larger ghost's ear. he gasps and covers his mouth and mutters a low sorry!

a flash of horror crosses the woman's face before turns into one of disgust. "and you willingly live there?"

our group moves forward as i shake my head. the woman hands her tags to the cashier and motions for me to hand my own to her. "no, the headmaster just shoved us in there. i couldn't though! i don't even know your name!"

"you could! feel free to call me madame despoinai, your own?"

william drags baron back and swings him around with a dreamy sigh, only to get shoved away by the latter. "they're flirting!" he wails as he wraps his arms around the boney ghost's neck.

"flirting?" grim asks from his perch on clarence's shoulder. "they're flirting." said spirit affirms.

"i've seen flirtin', that ain't flirtin'." the ghost grumbles. "that's just bein' friendly."

william rolls his eyes and watches as madame despoinai pays for all the items. "you've been dead to long! you wouldn't know what modern day flirting looked like even if it shot you in the head."

[anystalker707]

the famous living dead

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Genre: Fluff/Angst Word count: +- 4 000 Summary: [Corpse Bride AU] Gerard is suddenly married to a corpse Requested on Wattpad

[3rd person pov]

Gerard sighed in frustration as walking between the trees. If anything, the melancholic vibe of the woods matched his feelings exactly. Apart from needing to deal with the annoying bride, Eliza – who didn't do anything apart from complaining since they met each other earlier that day –, he couldn't memorize the vows, what increased his stress.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried repeating the vows just to mess up with it once more. Another frustrated breath escaped his lips.

The repeated fails left him in the verge of giving up, but Gerard was determined to get it right. A few crows rested on the old oak tree he stopped next to, pausing. Gerard took a deep breath before he started talking.

"With this candle, I will..." He trailed off, suddenly met with a blank in his mind that he wasn't ready for. Shaking his head, he sighed. "I will set your mother on fine," he finished in frustration, facepalming, and sat down on the fallen trunk that laid not too far from him.

Gerard took the wedding ring from the coat's pocket and stared at it for a moment. It didn't bring him any happiness and shared no differences with a chain, in his perspective. Remembering how annoying the bride demonstrated gave him great stress, certain desperation even, since it was clear he was going to be stuck in a predictably deplorable marriage for most likely the rest of his life.

Well, if that was going to happen anyways, he better do it properly.

He took a deep breath as standing up, the ring between his fingers like if he was to slip it in the bride's finger already. "With this hand," the words left his lips with confidence, in a way it even looked like he was in the ceremony already, "I'll lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine."

As Gerard spoke, he gradually gained more security, moving his hands and turning on his place dramatically. Saying it correctly brought him a momentary pleased feeling as he tossed the ring in the air before catching it again with a smile. He raised his eyebrows, nodding at himself with approval, looking around as the imaginary people – who were actually just the trees – praised him.

He leaned down as breaking a stick from a fallen trunk's branch.

"With this candle," Gerard said, pretending the stick was a candle and 'lighting it', throwing it aside right next. "I will light your way in the darkness. With this ring," he held up the wedding band, kneeling down in front of what seemed to be more dry branches, though in the shape of a hand. "I ask you to be mine." He slipped the ring on the dry wood, smiling with another wave of pride hitting him.

Reality suddenly hit Gerard again and he was slightly startled by the wind suddenly howling and the crows growing agitated. Worry started filling his chest with the birds weirdly observing him. Birds didn't act like that... did they?

His attention was held enough for him to not notice the 'dry branch' moving, but also enough to almost give him a heart attack when it wrapped itself around his wrist and started pulling him down.

Gerard gasped as trying to pull away from the grasp, not knowing if he should be more worried about it or the birds starting to fly around. In panic, he started trying pulling his arm out of the hole it had been stuck in and, when he finally did so, a terrified scream escaped his lips seeing how the hand gripped around his wrist, noticing it wasn't wood at all.

He shook his arm until the hand let go and Gerard's attention was suddenly snatched by the place where the hand had originally been in. The dirt moved like if there was something under it, making him freeze, terrified in anticipation.

[Your pov]

I struggle a bit to bring myself out of the hole, even more without half an arm, but the excitement motivates me into doing it. My eyes land on the guy who said the vows with certain anxiety and I contain a smile as looking down at his scared form.

"I do," I say, making him gasp and start backing away as I reach down a hand to help him up. Unfortunately, he continues too scared; he quickly stands up and starts running away. Well, it's not like he'll get out of here easily, so I follow him calmly, grabbing my hand back in the way.

The guy ends up tripping when going down a rock, his head hitting against the gravestone, but he doesn't seem to mind the pain, sitting up with his back against it. His wide eyes observe me walking after him with fear. He continues with the scared gasps as clumsily backing away until he's up to his feet again.

He runs. And hits a tree.

Seeing me approaching, he tries to run just to hit it again. Great job.

Our chase continues until he reaches the bridge, probably thinking I ended up losing him. The crows continue cawing behind him, more of showing me where he went before returning to the woods. His terrified face gains relief as he leans back against the wall of the bridge, looking around frantically.

A last sigh comes from him, calming down with thinking I really stopped chasing him. The look on his face, however, when he notices me right behind him is hilarious, but I say nothing, setting my hands on his shoulders and leaning in for a kiss.

.

"A new arrival," Frank says in amusement as Gerard's eyes open; a drink in hand as Frank stands beside me, observing the other intently just like me, Ray and Bert. Or maybe everyone else in the bar.

"He must've fainted," I add, like if Gerard was still out. Carefully, I reach a hand under his neck – his eyes go wide at my exposed bones. "Are you all right?" I question, worried.

"What-? What happened?" He asks, still looking around in panic.

"Oh, looks like we've got ourselves a breather." Frank comments in amusement. "He's still soft," he said. The poking on Gerard's chest scares him, sending the living man backing away once again, struggling up to his feet.

"A toast, then," Ray says with a lazy grin, raising his glass lightly in the air. A clinking sound comes from it as it touches Bert's, both grinning. "To the newlyweds."

"Newlyweds...?" Gerard asks in confusion.

"In the woods," I tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "you said your vows so perfectly." A smile curls my lips up as I show him the wedding band around my boney finger.

"I did?" He asks hesitantly before a wave of realization – or is it defeat? – hits him. "I did!" With a sudden motion, his hands hold onto the counter. "Wake up!" He tells himself repeatedly, slamming his head against the wooden surface.

From this, things just turn into a momentary chaos; Gerard starts walking around, bumping into the others, more gasps coming from him as he jumps like a scared cat. It earns him a few concerned glares.

"K-Keep away!" He stutters and, in certain desperation, tries to get the sword lodged across Frank's torso. Not being able to remove it makes him a bit nervous, but it holds it towards everyone the same way. "I've got a- I've got a... dwarf. And I'm not afraid to use him." He tries to point the sword to towards the people next to him, sending Frank stumbling. "I want some questions. Now!"

Frank's face goes from confused to annoyed with Gerard's words. "I'm not that short, y'know? And you actually want answers, you dumb fuck, not questions." He rolled his eyes, playing lightly with the stitches starting in the corner of his mouth and following up his cheek. He's got a weird habit of playing with the stitches.

Gerard rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Where am I? Who are you?" The last question is directed to me.

"Eh," I twist my mouth lightly, shrugging a shoulder. "It's kind of a long story."

"Yeah, a good story, tho," Frank nods, looking back at Gerard, showing him thumbs up. With a yelp, he immediately lets go of the sword.

~

"Gerard? Where are you?" I ask as walking around the city, looking for him among the dead walking around. "Gerard?" I ask again, sighing, but a smile makes its way to my lips when I notice him in the corner.

Gerard runs around frantically and, though he can hide, there's the advantage that I obviously know the city better than him. It's also easy following his scared gasps and cries. I chuckle and, noticing him climbing to the cliff, I already wait for him there. He gasps when noticing he grabbed my ankle.

"You could've used the stairs," I tell him with a chuckle, reaching down to help Gerard up. "It's beautiful up here," I say, extending a hand towards the city below us. "It always takes my breath away. Or would, if I had one." A laugh escapes my lips. "Come on," I take his hand in mine, pulling him along with me to sit down on a bench.

"Look," Gerard says hesitantly once we sit down on the wooden bench, still seeming disturbed. "I'm terribly sorry about what's happened to you and I'd like to help, but I really need to get home."

"This is your home now!" I tell him, stating the obvious.

"But I don't even know your name," he throws his hands in the air lightly, furrowing his eyebrows. The scared air continues over Gerard's features and in the way he jumps lightly whenever I do something.

"It's (y/n)." I say with a smile; he repeats it slowly, almost absentmindedly, while looking at me, like if finally taking in all the details of my face. It does make me a bit flustered. We're stuck there for a long moment with our gazes locked, until reality hits me again.

"Oh, I've got something for you!" I say with a smile, grabbing a box I've brought and handing it to him. "Consider it a wedding gift," I wink, not minding how tense he still seems to be.

Gerard hesitantly takes the box in hand and undoes the ribbon before opening the box. He grabs the pen, that's shaped like a bone, but probably doesn't understand what's it. "Erm," an awkward glance is thrown my way, "thank you...?"

I roll my eyes, "I found out you liked drawing and I got you this." Opening the box properly, I show him the sketchbook and the ink he ignored. "It's some sort of special ink and paper. You'll find out later when you use it." I smile, scanning Gerard's face to see if he liked it. There's a hint of happiness under all the confusion.

He took the ink flask in hand, removing the cork to take a look at it and smell the liquid briefly before returning it to the box. Then, Gerard grabs the sketchbook, rubbing one of the pages between two fingers as analyzing the texture – he lets out an interested hum. The items are certainly nothing like whatever he's ever seen. Well, in that state, actually.

"Mother never approved me drawing..." Gerard trails off, sadly. "But then again, she never approved of anything." His lips press together in a sad smile.

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, unconsciously mirroring his smile. "Do you think she would've approved me?"

"Heh," he shoots me a side grin as closing the box again. "You're lucky you'll never have to meet her." There's a pause and he hums thoughtfully, setting the box aside. "Well, actually..."

~

"Okay, so," Ray raises a hand to scratch his head, consequently getting a few of his curls messy – he looks at the strands with a frustrated frown, trying to fix them, but gives up and looks at the book in his hand again. "Are you sure you want to get up there? I mean-" He pauses hearing the sound of a pile of books falling, "Frank, I already told you to stop!" A grumbling comes in response from the same direction, but all Ray does is to roll his eyes.

"Ah, yeah, it's important for me," Gerard says with certain anxiety. "Us." He adds after seeing me looking at him, pressing his lips together in a smile.

Ray slowly nodded, shrugging a bit though he clearly seems to not understand the purpose of this yet. "Well, I've got something here. You just need to say hopscotch if you want to return."

.

"I spent so long in the darkness," I say with a smile as looking up with a smile, "I'd almost forgot how beautiful the moonlight is." A relieved sigh escapes my lips as I look around the place; well, it's not exactly that I missed the land of the living, but it's a nice place. Grinning, I take Gerard's hand in mine and start walking, but I'm forced to stop noticing he hadn't moved.

"Erm, hold on," he placed a hand on my shoulder, pushing me gently to sit down on the trunk of a fallen tree. His hand goes from my shoulder to my face, cupping it lightly, making me a bit flustered and kinda happy with it. "I guess I should prepare mother and father for the news. I'm going ahead and you wait here, okay?"

"Well, okay." I smile again, raising my eyebrows lightly. I've gotta admit it does make me a bit anxious.

"I won't be long," Gerard reassures me, observing me for a few seconds and starting to run off after I nod in comprehension.

And I wait. Wait. Wait.

Maybe... something happened? – The though crosses my mind as I look around, seeking for a sign that he's coming back, but I'm met with nothing. I guess I should check on him and it won't be that difficult with all the footprints.

Eventually, I find Gerard. He stands outside the door of a house, seeming to listen to what's going on in there before he goes to climb up the balcony. It takes me a bit of struggling, but I eventually do the same, a bit confused and kind of angry for being left there for so long.

Well, maybe I shouldn't be so angry. Gerard talks with two other people – his parents? – and doesn't seem to notice me just yet. However, my feelings return when I hear his faint voice coming from the inside.

"I- I don't really know what the fuck happened. It was unexpected, accidental, I swear," Gerard said in obvious desperation, tugging lightly on his own hair then throwing his hands in the air. "Suddenly, I'm married to a corpse." The tone he says it in isn't very... pleased; it makes my heart sink. "I- Damn, I don't know how the fuck I get rid of-" He freezes his eyes widening once landing on me.

Gerard obviously notices my angry gaze, what brings a worried air to his features. A few terrified cries echo in the room once I suddenly walk in, marching towards Gerard. He tries to stutter a few excuses, but hopscotch leaves my lips before he's actually able to do anything.

Suddenly, we're back to Ray's place, with the usual bickering in the background, of Ray telling Frank and Bert to not touch his things and more books falling to the floor.

"You lied to me!" I tell Gerard, throwing him away from me; he loses his balance, taking a few steps back. "You were trying to get away from me!" I say indignantly, sighing sharply as turning my back to him. Trying to not let my tears escape my eyes, I wipe them away before they can even fall, but it sends one of my eyes to the floor. Damn, I waited for so long and when I finally find someone, they try to get away from me.

A sigh comes from Gerard, followed by a few footsteps before he's right behind me. "You don't understand," he says softly, touching my shoulder, "this just can't work. The circumstances we're under..." He trails off, gazing at me expectantly, but I do nothing asides from taking my eye back. "We're different!"

"And?" I raise an eyebrow at him, "you should've fucking thought about that before you asked me!" I shoot him a glare, raising my left hand momentarily.

"Can't you fucking understand?" He snaps in disbelief, eyeing me amused. "It was an accident! I wouldn't ever marry you!"

His words are like a bucket of ice throw on me. I freeze, not knowing what to say nor wanting to say anything. Sighing, I just turn around to walk out of there, with my heart heavy in my chest.

"Look, I'm sorry for earlier." Gerard says regretfully, sitting down beside me. His voice is quiet under the piano notes as I continue to play the instrument, not wanting to hear whatever he's got to say, not even looking up from the black and white keys. A sigh comes from Gerard.

"I'm really sorry, I said that without thinking, I don't mean it," he insists. "I don't even know you properly and, by what I've seen, you're an amazing person." By the corner of my eyes, I'm able to see him smiling at me, his eyes flickering over my face, searching for a response to his words, as minimum as it may be. There's none.

Apparently, Gerard gives up on trying to apologize, his attention averting to the piano. He takes in a deep breath before starting to play with me. The new notes are like a perfect complement to the ones I play. I even let myself appreciate the combination of both for a moment before starting to play faster, trying to cut him off.

Gerard is surprisingly able to keep up with me, looking at me with a smile that I have to hold myself back to not mirror. At some point, my forearm ends up detaching from me, it goes down the piano, playing the notes I'm not able to reach from my place and crawls up Gerard's arm. He doesn't seem bothered by it, smiling as seeing my arm go the way up to his shoulder.

"Sorry," I say, kinda embarrassed, "I got a little bit too excited."

"It's fine," he chuckles, taking the part of my arm and putting it back on place. His hand goes down my forearm until meeting mine and holding it. "I like your excitement."

Again, Gerard's eyes lock mine in a strong gaze, though now he tries more of transmitting comfort than analyzing me this time. His gaze is kind of shy, like if finally allowing himself to act normally around me and know me; what I highly appreciate. It seems like he's about to say something, but someone shouting by the other side of the bar startles us, breaking the mood we're set in. Both of us chuckle lightly as moving away, our eyes lingering over each other before we look away.

"So..." Gerard starts, looking at me again with a smile. "Tell me about yourself..."

.

"And then he asked me to tell him about myself, we spent a long time talking and... Now here I am." I flash a small smile to the three, glancing at them before my eyes fall back to watching my hands on my lap.

We're sitting on the ground in the kind of alley behind the bar, talking with each other while having a few drinks. It's quite pleasing and calming, after all the stress.

"Things seem to be going on very well, that's amazing!" Ray smiles at me, looking up from his book for a second. "And to think he was throwing all that tantrum some hours ago..." He raises his eyebrows lightly.

"Damn, true, what the fuck." Frank says in an indignant tone, furrowing his eyebrows at the nothing as he thinks. "Though he was mostly scared and surprised earlier. It's a good thing he stopped to think and all, tho. He'll see you're an amazing person," he grins and I smile shyly as thanking him.

"Whatever goes through the living's heads, huh," Bert says, his voice distant as most of his attention seems to be focused on balancing a glass over his knee.

"Not like you weren't alive at some point," I reply, rolling my eyes with a chuckle.

"Eh, it's been so long," he furrows his eyebrows in frustration, turning to me. His intention of continuing to speak is ruined when the neglected glass falls from his knee, cracking as hitting the ground – all of us laugh at his pout.

"Happy ever after," Frank tells me after a few silent seconds. "Until death do you apart... Or something like this." His words make both of us laugh and, as the laughter dies, reality hits me.

"Well, until death do us apart..." I say thoughtfully and it takes a moment, but he understands it too.

"Ah, yeah, exactly this point that I wanted to discuss with you," Ray speaks up, adjusting his position as looking at me. "Well, you know the vows and since you're already dead, so... it kind of doesn't count, y'know...?" He says carefully, a bit awkwardly, like if afraid of my reaction.

A gasp escapes me after I reason it. "Oh, fuck, true." I curse, suddenly growing a bit desperate. "And how-"

"But," Ray cuts me off, "there's a way to fix it. To repeat the vows. The only problem is that... he would need to be dead." He raises his eyebrows with certain worry, though I think most of it is about my response.

"Eh, but- No, hell." I stutter, stumbling over my own words while trying to process it all.

"Oh, murder? Sign me in!" Bert says, not even paying proper attention to the conversation again. The comment earns him a slap on the back of his head coming from Frank – I would've laughed at them if my worry wasn't so overwhelming.

"That's too much, I wouldn't ask him to do it to himself..." I sigh, holding my head in my hands as looking down, my fingers tangling with my hair in stress. "He wasn't even happy with marrying me, I don't think he'd take it to this level..."

"Then I guess I'd like to surprise you." An awkward, new voice reaches my ears, making me tense up a bit. "I'm up to doing it. I'm up to marrying you, whatever it takes."

In the brief moment of silence, Ray, Frank and I look between each other – both of them shoot me rather happy, encouraging looks. Still a bit insecure, I look back to Gerard. He's about to continue, but pauses seeing Frank and Ray standing up to leave, dragging Bert along with them.

Gerard sighs before he carefully sitting down beside me. He takes my hand in his, playing with my fingers, until he starts talking again.

"I believe I should give you a chance because you're a wonderful person," he says, his eyes still not meeting mine. "Not to mention, I believe it's much better to stay here with you than anything else. My bride... Eh, not anymore. Eliza seems to be batshit crazy and no one I know understands me as well as you do, even if we haven't known each other for long." He smiles genuinely.

"You make me feel well, to a point I didn't even know to be possible, so..." Gerard trails off, finally looking up at me, though there's clear insecurity behind his eyes. "I'm staying. With you."

Knowing this makes me extremely happy, though I'm still a bit afraid it might not be the right choice. Before I'm able to question anything, I'm surprised – once more – by Gerard's lips being pressed to mine in a loving kiss that reassures me he's certain about his choice. I try to kiss back with the same feeling. I'm usually not able to feel cold and heat, but I'm able to feel how warm his lips are against mine.

"Thank you," I mutter as pulling away, grinning stupidly.

"You don't need to thank me," Gerard furrows his eyebrows lightly at me. He smiles before pulling me to another kiss.

[tiktrauma]

Choked Up (Murdoc/Reader)

Summary: What started out as a heartache has grown into something a bit more problematic.

Notes: Single draft story with no editing, so it won’t be going on Ao3. Consider it a tumblr exclusive. Contains angst and the fictional Hanahaki Disease. Also angst. A lot of angst.

This is all his fault!

You paced around your room, your belongings having been pushed aside for this very reason, a hand clutching at your aching throat. Your scowl was trained on the floor boards, but your mind was elsewhere. Part of it focused on the pain blooming in your chest, while another part focused on it’s catalyst.

Murdoc.

Even thinking his name caused a surge of pain to blossom in your throat. You paused briefly, a small coughing fit over coming you, and then you kept going, ignoring the small petals that fluttered to the ground behind you.

This is all his fucking fault! Egotistical son of a bitch, why can’t he just-

You had to stop yourself. Literally pausing mid-step, you had to quell your fervent mind, pushing down your anger. It would only make things worse.

Had you known that earlier, things may not be as bad as they were now. But there was no point in dwelling in the past.

Noodle had said this infection was rooted in your heart - in your very soul. It was feeding off your emotions, your hurt and anger only making it flourish. But even knowing that, it was hard to keep it down. Somehow, it made you feel more emotional, more vulnerable, and that in turn only made it stronger. It was a never ending cycle that wouldn’t stop until it killed you or...

Or…

Another surge, more coughing, more petals. You felt a small lump in your throat. With a bought of unattractive hacking, you managed to expel the foreign body, and a small, deep red rose bud sat on your hand. It was only half bloomed.

You were getting better at coughing them up before they fully bloomed, though it was a skill you weren’t especially proud of developing.

And just like that, you were back to pacing. To thinking. To brooding.

You wanted to hate Murdoc. He was partially responsible for this. With his flirting, his constant attempts to make a move on you, that one time you got drunk enough to make out with him on the couch, and then he just brings home another girl the next day, like you didn’t even exist.

That had been enough to trigger this disease. Not outright rejection, but enough to feed the seed that was planted in your heart long ago by some unknown force of nature.

You wished you had had the guts to open up to someone about this sooner. Noodle had to find out by complete accident when she heard you hacking like a cat with a hairball. Her solution wasn’t one you liked.

Tell him, she had said. It will only go away if he returns your feelings.

It wasn’t reassuring when she said it, and it wasn’t reassuring now. You could tell him, but what then? What if he really did reject you? The only other option was a surgery that, with how far along the disease was, you weren’t sure you’d survive.

The front door open and shut, slamming hard enough to alert you in your room. That could only be Murdoc.

Your heart pounded, sending another throb of pain throughout your torso. You gagged a little, tasting the bitter sweetness of more petals at the back of your tongue.

You spat them out and wiped your mouth dry. If that wasn’t enough to convince you, you didn’t know what would.

You wasted no time, rushing out of your room, fighting down anymore stray flower petals. Murdoc was only half way out of his jacket before you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the closest room. No ‘hellos’, no explanation, just a sudden dragging him into what turned out to be a bathroom.

“We need to talk.”

“What-”

“Now!”

You shoved him in, a little more forcefully than you intended, and slammed the door behind you, locking it just to be safe. Murdoc watched, his brow peaking as he watched you lock the door, before a knowing smirk crossed his face.

“Oh, Bird, how very… expected~” There was that flirtatious tone, the one that made you fall so hard for him. And to hear that pet name roll off his tongue in that tone, just like it had all those nights ago. It made your heart pound, your cheeks red, your chest ache.

“Murdoc, we… I need to tell you something!” Your voice was shakey, scratchy even. Hours of coughing superseding this making your throat sore. Even something as trivial as swallowing hurt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Not yet. “I think I-”

“Shh~” Murdoc was infront of you know, a boney finger pressed to your lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Bird. I can see what’s going on.” Your eyes widened.

“Y… you do?” Hope swelled in your chest.

“Of course.” His finger traced along your jawline until it reached your er, tucking a stray strand of hair behind it. “It’s clear as day. You think I wouldn’t noticed the looks you give me? How you blush every time I call you my little Bird?” He leaned in close. “Or maybe our night of passion~” You flinched remembering that night, and the drawls of pain that had followed the day after. When you saw him with... her.

“That’s... so great to hear!” You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh Murdoc, you have no idea what I’ve been through!” At that, Murdoc only chuckled. One hand moved to hold your shoulder, though his grip wasn’t as tight as yours was.

“I have an idea,” He said. “I’ve been in your spot before, worrying myself tired over someone else. It’s fine though, we can make up for lost time.”

Something about his words made you pause.

“Lost- what?” But before you could say anything more, you were cut off by your own throat. Something clogged your breathing passage, something small, hard, and horribly familiar.

You wrenched yourself out of Murdoc’s arms, pushing him away before another fit of coughs over took you, and you doubled over in order to expel the foreign body.

It wasn’t a bud this time, just a congealed mass of petals which had been sitting in your throat during this entire ordeal. You were able to catch it in your mouth, the sweetly abhorrent taste of roses drenching your tongue, almost forcing you to spit it out onto the floor.

The petals scattered, as if they were never stuck together in the first place, and you stare at them in abject terror. They fell to the floor so innocently, like they weren’t a sign of immediate danger.

“But... how?” Your gaze rose to Murdoc, who was in just as much shock as you were. His eyes were locked on the petals, not even glancing up to look at you. “M-Murdoc! I... I thought that-” A dry heave cut you off. “...You said you loved me...”

Murdoc blinked, your words the only thing that tore his gaze from your odd expulsions.

“What?” He sounded as confused as he looked, his brows knitting together as he met your horrified eyes.

“The disease!” You shouted, as if he was supposed to know what the hell you were talking about. He recoiled, like you had grown claws and lashed out at him. “Noodle said that if you-” Another heave. Another broken sentence. This time you coughed and sputtered, spraying spittle across the floor, finally stopping just to pant and catch your breath. “Unless... You...” Your words - your thoughts - came between ragged breaths, your eyes darted about on the floor, like you were trying to piece together an invisible puzzle.

“Bird, I don’t quite follow.”

There was that name again. It brought another wave of burning pain to your heart, and another flurry of petals were scattered along the floor. You didn’t understand. If anything, that name should’ve drove the infection back. It was a pet name, something people only used affentionaly. Affection meant love... didn’t it?

Then it hit you. Your eyes went wide at the realization, and you slowly looked up at Murdoc.

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracked a little, like admitting it hurt more than the roots twisting up your respiratory system. He never explicitly said that he liked you, but then again, he didn’t say he didn’t like you either, and yet here you were, horking up pounds of rose petals that only grew out of rejection. “But then why would you...”

Once again, your gaze went to the floor, back to that puzzle, back to why your infection never left - or perhaps why it started in the first place. He was acting as if he cared, just like he did months ago, just like he did when you were drunk enough to believe anything he said.

And how you were desperate enough to believe him now.

“Oh my god...”

It was that night all over again. You kissed him with such love and passion, believing fully that he loved you. That somehow, you were different than all the skanks he brought home from the bar. And then he had proved you wrong. So wrong that your heart broke, and in the rubble a seed of hurt found purchase and grew to a vital point.

Only now, that seed was almost fully grown. In the moment you meant to uproot it, it was only given more reason to be, more strength to take over your body - more strength to kill you.

“You were using me.” Your gaze met his, only this time your eyes burned with hostility. The infection amplified your anger, small tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “You’ve been taking advantage of my feelings!”

At that, Murdoc mirrored your scowl.

“Now that’s not true!” He snapped. “You really think I’m some sort of lowly shithead who preys on lonely women?”

You scooped up some of the petals from the floor and thrust them forward.

“Look at this! This wouldn’t be happening if you actually-”

For the last time, your lungs interrupted you. This time, it was a bud. You could feel the hard, round object in the bottom of your throat, and you spat it out at quickly as you could.

It didn’t stay half bloomed once it was dislodged though. This time, to your horror, the half bloomed rose spread it’s petals before your very eyes. The petals were speckled in a deep red liquid, one that almost blended in with the rose’s natural color.

It was growing, even when it wasn’t attached to you. His rejected was so stagnant it was feeding the infection outside of your body. There was no hiding it now.

“Get out.”

You words were soft, but harsh, venom seeping from each syllable.

“What?” He didn’t hear you. Somehow, he didn’t get the massage from that very simple statement, and that only made you angrier.

“Get out!!” In your fury, you grabbed the offending blossom and hurled it right at him. it hit him dead in the chest, though it didn’t do much other than leave a small splatter of your blood on his shirt.

Murdoc caught it on reflex, then just sort of held it, like he wasn’t sure what else to do. Still, he stepped away from you, backing towards the bathroom door.

“Get out! I never want to see you again, just get out!”

He did just that, hurrying out the door without a second word. He still held the rose, maybe not even realizing he had it. He had to fumble with the lock before the door was open, and it slammed behind him when he was finally out.

For a moment, you stayed how you were, on your hands and knees, panting, and staring at the door - the last place you saw him - with pure malice.

But then the tears started.

The tears before your eyes shut tight, then they ran down your face and fell from your nose to the floor. Some landed on the flower petals, even mixing with the blood spatter, and they were all heavy enough to make a small pat as they hit.

As you cried, the hiccups started, and soon after came the coughing. You handn’t noticed the ache streadily crawling up your throat. Maybe the cursed plants were attracted to your salty tears, or maybe the pain of the ordeal was finally sinking in, and the disease was starting to truly flourish. Whatever the case, you didn’t care anymore.

Leaves were starting to joint the petals. Small, spiny, scratching your throat and tongue more then the petals did. The blood also started coming more, a thick layer basting your tognue and sending a small trickle down your chin.

Your throat swelled out. Breathing became more and more of a chore, which wasn’t helping your pathetic sobbing any.

Eventually, your arms gave out, and you curled up into a tight ball, weeping and sputtering. Your head hit the floor pretty hard, leaving a swelling lump and a pounding head ache, but you didn’t care. The bathroom floor was a mess, but you didn’t care. The infection was over taking your respiratory system, slowly sucking the life out of you, but you didn’t care.

You just didn’t care anymore.