#but i had to bring her immediately my poor girl was vomiting and had bloody stool and was so lethargic 😭

[twistedappletree]

i’ve been at the emergency vet for 3hrs and it’s a 1hr drive here and back and it’s 5am now and i’m so fucking tired omfg there’s no way i’m gonna be able to sleep for work today 😭

[falling-pages]

Fight for me: Hikaru x Renge

Renge tends to Hikaru's wounds after he gets in a fight to defend her.

-

Renge Houshakuji x Hikaru Hitachiin

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, first kiss

Warnings: None

-

Hikaru knew how to throw a punch, but holding his own against three men was above even his own skill level.

It was amazing he had lasted so long in the fight until Mori spotted him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, tossing him from the circle and finishing the fight himself. Those three upperclassmen didn’t stand a chance--yet he felt his blood run hot at the thought that he had to be saved when he was trying to save someone else.

Toui Kendarishi and his dumb fucking mouth just had to get under his skin, again.

A sharp scrub against his cheekbone jerked him back to reality. He hissed, going to swat at it, before the girl grabbed his wrist and pushed it back down.

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just trying to help you,” Renge grumbled.

Yeah, some help she was. With every dab of the cotton ball and slab of ointment he relived every moment of the fight, every right hook and gut punch and kick he had endured for her, and she had no idea. The only soothing thing about this therapy appointment was her nails scratching his scalp, but only to distract him from a bad bout of pain.

He only rolled his eyes, jerking away as she moved on to his mouth. “I know you didn’t just roll your eyes at me,” she said, tugging at his bottom lip. His top lip had taken the brunt of Kendarishi’s fists, and all he tasted was his own blood in the back of his throat. He was sure he was a monster to look at, blood staining his teeth and tongue. As it dried against his skin, Renge thumbed it away, smearing it against her hand before she took a washcloth to it.

“So observant,” he hissed, resisting the urge to spit at the taste clouding his senses. Sarcasm was his trusted defense mechanism, and he relied on it heavily now to distract himself from the feeling of her fingers playing with his lips.

A harsh scrub against the wound was her own way of backtalk. “Sass me again, and I’ll stop, and you can explain to Kaoru why you look like a fucking Picasso,” she said.

“Tch.”

But he listened. The blood and spit and pain rendered him essentially mute, much to her amusement, as she worked. His eyes wandered around her bathroom, impossibly pink and frilly for a college apartment. Like the rest of her place, it was like Paris had vomited itself inside, the chunk of the concoction muddled in the bathroom. A pink fuzzy rug was below him as he was perched on her gilded toilet, a gaudy shower curtain boasting images of the Eiffel Tower, and even her mirror was embossed with rhinestones. Everything, from the toilet paper pile to the cosmetics cases, were perfectly stacked and organized, with not a speck of dust or dirt to be found.

Geez. And he thought her shrill demands of perfection in high school were bad. Their host room was spotless thanks to her dictatorship, but this was on another level.

“Admiring the bathroom, I see,” she said, sucking in her cheek as she fiddled with opening a band-aid. Her nails, long and purple, couldn’t quite find the purchase to pinch the covering from the adhesive side.

His life and health were quite literally in her hands, but Hikaru couldn’t hold back the snicker from his bleeding lips. “It’s mental,” he said, reaching up to help her with the band-aid.

Renge ripped it away from him, glowering down her nose at him in the most egregious French expression she could muster. He hadn’t known her in France, but he imagined that was the look she gave every servant, every waiter, every busboy who didn’t fit her exact demands. “I’ve got it,” she spat, turning her back to him. Her shoulders shook, but because of the effort of unpeeling the band-aid or some unknown emotion, he didn’t know.

“Here,” she resumed, turning to face him, and Hikaru’s heart cracked at the tears welling up in her pretty brown eyes, the heaviness in her voice. It sounded so heavy, despite its usual nasal tone, and exhausted, defeated. What had she gone through when her back was turned?

He made her cry. He knew he could take the teasing too far sometimes, but bringing a girl to tears was childish, a middle school prank he had sworn to leave far behind him. But he had done it again, not even to a nobody, but to the girl who was fixing him up, his friend, whom he had grown up with and bruised two ribs defending.

As she leaned down to apply the bandage to his cheek, he tried to meet eyes, to apologize without aggravating his poor lips, but she evaded his glance, pursing her lips and focusing on her work. Her hands shook, lightly grazing his temple.

“Renge, hey, I’m--” he grabbed her wrist, and she jerked away, stepping back until she hit the wall. His voice forced more tears from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands as she sobbed, massive pink bow bobbing with every movement.

“Just stop, Hikaru, stop!” she yelled, muffled by her closing throat. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep stitching you back up when you snap, I can’t take how mean you are. We aren’t in school anymore, we’re adults, we’re in college, and you’re just puffing your chest like you’re invincible, picking fights and losing them.” She finally showed her face, anger and fear and… something he couldn’t place etched into the lines beneath her eyes. “You want to know what’s mental?” She gestured to him, waving her hand up and down his whole form. “This is mental. You getting into fight after fight and not learning a damn thing from them, that’s what. It’s amazing you didn’t break your nose.”

Blood and anger coiled in the back of his throat. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm again, firmer this time, and yelled out, “I did this for you! I got in this fight for you!”

Renge pressed further against the wall, but she stopped fighting. Her hands shook in his tight grasp. Eyes as big as a silver dollar gazed up at him, heart thrumming wildly in her chest. “What?”

“I got in a fight with Kendarishi, right?”

“Yes.”

“And who is he to you?”

Renge blushed, letting her eyes drift to his chest. She spotted a new bruise mottling on his collarbone. “My ex-boyfriend.”

“Exactly.”

Hikaru released her wrists and watched as they fell to her side, like all the resistance had been sucked out of her. “Every time I fight with him, it’s because he said something bad about you. And then he started saying stuff about me fighting for you, so I just can’t win. I just have a lot of motivation and a lot of anger.”

“Why do you care so much what he says about me?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes.

“Because it was some bad stuff, Ren,” he said. “And I know we haven’t always gotten along, but you’re my friend, and I’m not gonna stand there and while he calls you a ‘fucking French whore who screws every guy she meets.’”

She swung at him, but he blocked, whining, “Hey, he said it, not me!”

When he put his hands down, she was shaking, with rage and sadness and something that looked an awful lot like determination in her eyes. “Bold of him to call me a whore when he’s the one who cheated.” Her hands ball into fists, and her eyes scanned him again--with a less medical glare, this time, and more of a vengeance. “And he did this to you?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait!”

Hikaru grabbed her by the back of her shirt and suddenly realized exactly how Mori must have felt watching him fight it out on the academic lawn. Renge’s feet scrambled on the tile, but he held her in place, dragged her back in front of him to block her path. “What, so you’re going to go fight him now since he fought me?”

��That’s not a good enough reason?” she pouted.

“No, but…” Hikaru rubbed the back of his neck. “You were just lecturing me about fighting him. Seems a little hypocritical to me, Ren.”

“Don’t use words you don’t understand,” she huffed, leaning back against the wall. She didn’t fight him when he leaned in closer, securely caging in her body. “You were just defending my honor. Let me do the same.”

“Mori dragged me out of the fight, so I’d say he fucked them up good enough,” Hikaru said, and his heart thumped especially hard when she laughed. Oh God, it was like the tinkling of a bell, cool and clear and exactly what he imagined confectioner’s sugar to sound like. He felt himself dragged with a current, down the slope of a well, but he didn’t mind; he looked into her eyes and allowed the feeling to bouy him along. If he weren’t bleeding, he might have just kissed her, but he didn’t need her slap adding to his injuries.

Renge’s breath hitched when he leaned closer, resting his forearm parallel above her head. She was so busy in high school that she never noticed how soft his eyes were, almost golden, like the rising sun over a field of wheat. It reminded her of mornings on her family’s country estate, when she would meditate and do yoga and drink tea while the world quietly joined her in consciousness, when everything was soft and drowsy. Such beautiful eyes, bruised and marred and bloodied for her.

“Renge, I--”

“Don’t,” she whispered, lacking her usual venom. “Let’s enjoy what we have right now.”

Hikaru bit his lip, immediately regretting it as the pain surged back through him. When Renge laughed again, he couldn’t help it; he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, drinking in that sweet, drawled perfume that he so often used to make fun of her for wearing. She smelled like a doll, but she was anything but--smart, outspoken, a firecracker all wrapped up in that pretty pink bow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his hand to her hair without thinking. He caressed the silky locks, trailing his fingers down to touch her temple, tucking the stray hairs behind her ear. “And so soft.”

“You know I’m anything but soft,” she grumbled, but his touch was warm, and like a moth to a flame, she went to him, brushed her knuckles against the bruises on his collarbone. If it hurt him, he gave no indication; from the way he was looking at her, an asteroid could have hit earth and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Sound pretty soft right now.”

Renge rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Gonna make me?”

Never one to turn down a challenge, Renge pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed him, as gently as she could manage. In an attempt to avoid his wound, her mouth only landed on half of his, but he could still taste the cinnamon on her breath, the stickiness of her lip gloss on his skin. Some hell of a first kiss, but at least it was a kiss, so he didn’t mind.

He ran his hands up her sides, tickling her ribs above her shirt. She broke the kiss with a giggle, bumping his nose with his as she threw her head back in laughter. What a beautiful sight he had there, all at the expense of a busted lip and a bruised eye.

“Remind me to get in a fight more often, if this is the payoff I get,” he whispered, grinning at her pointed glare.

“Don’t you dare,” she ordered. “You need to let this lip heal so I can give you a proper kiss.”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a proper kiss?”

“No.” Renge lowered her eyes back to his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back in. “Once you’re healed, I’ll show you how the French really kiss.”

-

Kofi & Commission

[heliosthegriffin]

The Tarasque

On the night before the finals of the Vytal Festival, we find Jaune Arc. He leaned over the railing of the roof where he trained with Pyrrha, they hadn’t trained tonight, she needed to be in top shape for tomorrow.

Jaune didn’t though, and Jaune had come up to think dressed in his baby blue onesie. Smoking a cigarette in hand and breathing out the smoke into the clear night sky.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, letting the warm smoke fill his longs, holding it till it lost it’s warmth and expelled it. He spoke out into the night sky, “I’m really going to miss this place again, aren’t I?” There was no one to hear him question.

In his unoccupied hand was his scroll, a message ready to be sent to a group chat. Jaune looked at the scroll his expression mixed, his finger hovering over the send button. One press would be what it takes to summon his friends, they’d deserve an explanation at the very least before he left. He still hesitated before pressing the button, then he signed. “It’s never going to be any easier, is it?” Silence was his answer.

Several minutes passed before Pyrrha showed up, her normal, fake, smile still up, something was bothering the girl. He knew what Orville the poor child to due, and it only added to the list of grievance he had with the man.

“Jaune? Why are you calling everybody?” Pyrrha asked, her face full of worry. 

Her mind obviously wondering he could no longer take the guilt anymore, he’d nip that in the bud now.

“I’ll tell you when the rest get here. It’s more than what you think it is.”

The tone of his voice got her attention, but she nodded.

She had yet to notice the cigarette in his hand.

The rest came in the pair of Ren and Nora, and then the Team RWBY who came out in a dogpile on the roof. He snickered, he would indeed miss their antics.

The seven of them formed a semi-circle around him seeming to wonder what Jaune had to say. Jaune said nothing for a long second, taking one last long drag of the cigarette before exhaling.

That got Weiss’s attention, “Since when did you start such a repugnant habit, Arc?“ She asked with disgust.

Nora before Jaune could answer, “Oh, oh, oh, can you blow smoke rings Jauney, and hey wait, when you start smoking? I never smelled any  on you before?”

That got a small murmur going through the group of teens, bring a smile to his face.

Yang broke the silence, “So, what’s up VB? Come to have us look at you model your onesie?” She said with a snicker.

A sad looking smile came to Jaune’s face, he let the bud drop to the roof where he ground it under his slippers.

“I’m leaving Beacon, tonight.”

Any words that were about to come out froze in the seven teens mouths, not one had been expecting him to say that.

A series of ‘Whats?!” ‘Why’ ‘Are you for real?’ and so on and so forth, it all blended together to white noise.

It hurt him see his friends look so pained and shocked, but he needed to do what he needed to do. They were weights.

He clapped his hands, infusing his hands and arms to strength them, and then further empowered the shockwave as it left the hands causing a explosion of noise.

They all jumped up in shock, but Ren’s eyes narrowed at him, clearly noticing the aura trick he did.

He smiled softly at him, then at all of them. “I just want to say, thank you, thank you all, you’ve made the last hellish nine months in this place actually pleasant.”

Blakes eyes narrowed at his choice of words.

“I have had more fun here in my time with you seven, than I have had in the last couple centuries.”

NPR and RWBY’s eyes shot open, and before their eyes Jaune disappeared.

“I suppose you’re all curious what that means, but, I don’t have time to explain it all to you, I’m on a schedule you see, and you’re better off not knowing too. You seven have too bright future together, to change the world, to be dragged down into a shadowy conflict. Focus on your life and goals, not the mysterys in the dark. It’s been a pleasure, Ruby, Weiss, Yang, Blake, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren.”

Crocea Mors in hand, Jaune grabbed it by the sheath and handle pulling it with speed that not even the eyes of hunters in training could follow hitting Ruby in the back of the head before her aura went up.

Ruby hit the floor with a nary a sound, looking for the world like she just fainted.

Weiss and Yang stood to either side of Ruby, with Blake at the end of the semi circle next to Yang. Ren stood to Weiss’s side, Nora to Ren’s side, and Pyrrha at the other end of the circle.

Crocea Mors sheath didn’t stop moving after Ruby went down, Jaune turned the strike so the flat of the blade hit Weiss’s temple, eyes went wide and then rolled up into her skull, her aura failing to come up at speed to block the strike.

In all under a second Jaune had incapacitated Ruby and Weiss, in the next ten second the other fives fell to the ground knocked out, not a scratch on the boy, and in the next second Jaune let his expression fall, and suddenly Jaune didn’t look so young and weak anymore, his face going from soft to sharp looking, still young but closer to his mid-twenties than his late teens, but his eye’s held a weight and age to them that could not be measured. It was like looking at the difference between a puppy and a alpha beowolf.

Jaune looked tiredly at his former friends, and took out his scroll and hit another message to each of his former friends, a video personalized for each one, on how to improve their fighting style, semblance, and training, along with a personalized apology.

Then Jaune hit a app on his scroll, then any trace of Jaune Arc ever existing on paper was deleted, being replaced by John Ark who tragically died in a bullhead flight tonight.

The scroll was then broken like cheap plastic and tossed away. Jaune brought up a burner scroll, and called. “I’m ready, are the pieces in place?”

Ozpin’s voice could be heard on the other end. “Yes. Are you in position?”

“No, but I will be within five minutes, tell them to be ready sooner, if all goes as planned the infiltrators will be captured and brought to the vault in less than a half hour, if not, be ready to send them in to capture or kill them.”

“Roger, message sent, I will be waiting below.”

In a blur of speed the onesie was gone revealing briefly too things, a body that was covered in scars of all kinds, burns, pock marks, slashes, bruises, acid burns, a catalogue of wounds that if saw on a normal man would cause a doctor to question how they were alive.

The second was on Jaune’s back, a large Tattoo, one of a fearsome monster that stared off of Jaunes back.

In another Blur of speed Jaune was dressed in dark blues, and blacks, Crocea Mors at his side.

“Tonight the Tarasque hunts again.”

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Jaune stood outside of the dark hall way following the aura signature to a visiting students dorm, he could feel the Fall Maiden’s power inside. He was right on the money that it was the transfer student. She was far too old to be playing pretend... Or not old enough.

He sensed the Ace Ops patrols the outside and roof, Goodwitch down the hall, The Branwan skin-changed and waiting outside the window.

Jaune focused on the aura signatures in the room, four, all sleeping.

He took out a key and opened the door, and slipped in.

They never even noticed him stalking up to the fall maiden, and grabbing her by the throat, to her credit her eyes shot open immediately, but Jaune took the handle of Crocea Mors to her head.

Her aura blocked it, but she was clearly dazed, and could barely choke out a “H-help.” In a blur of speed and force he brought the handle to her temple again and again till her aura broke and her eyes rolled up, a dark bruise forming with a blood dripping down the side of her head.

He felt the movement behind him, and the attempt of an illusion to cloud his mind. He feigned falling for it, and let her sneak up with the blades. Just as the girl swung he backhanded her in the throat, she wasn’t expecting it and her aura wasn’t up, so she went out like light.

That’s two.

The half-legs and the woman-girl stirred. He took Crocea Mor’s to their heads, a trickle of blood all the proof he needed.

He went over to the window and opened it, letting the Branwen in.

He pointed at the half-legs and woman-girl, “Grab em’“

The Branwan knew better to argue with him.

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

The elevator opened with a ding, showing Jaune and Qrow with two unconcious bodies over their shoulders.

“Is that the culprit?” Ozpin asked with a thin frown.

Jaune nodded.

“Good, put her in the machine.” “No, Orville. I got a better way to do this.” Jaune said.

Ozpin raised a eyebrow, and Qrow looked intrigued. “What’s that Jaune?”

“This,” Jaune said raising his hand, it briefly lighting up the room before dimming revealing a pearlesque white hand.

Ozpin took step back in fear and surprise. “You completed it?!”

Qrow looked nonplussed, and raised his eyebrows. “What exactly is this ‘it’?” He asked with air quote.

“The highest form of aura manipulation I’ve achieve,” He shot a look at Ozpin. “When you have centuries of time on your hands, you either get good at what you do, or make plans for the future... I know what I’ve chosen.”

Ozpin let out a huff. “Well one of us has to make sure the world doesn’t explode.”

“Whatever,” Jaune said with a smirk, and then plunged his pearly white hand into Cinder’s chest.

Cinder awoke with a blood-chilling scream, her hands going to her chest, but then her body started thrashing like she was having a seizure.

“Yeah, I imagine having your soul invaded and having a piece ripped out isn’t very fun is it, yeah, well guess what?” Jaune said to a terrified Cinder. “Turn about is fair play, Amber was a good friend of mine, and you’re gonna pay.”

- Several bloody hours later. -

Ozpin looked mildly disturbed, while Qrow vomited in the corner.

“Dust, dust that was horrifying.” “Yeah, but I got the Maiden powers.”

“Are you going to do the same to Amber?”

Jaune nodded darkly. “Yes, but I’ll be much gentler with her.” “That does inspire much confidence.” “Well, excuse me if soul surgery isn’t exactly a very well explored field!” Jaune said to Qrow, then shot a look at Ozpin. “It would be much farther along if somebody gave me those prisoners, instead of sending me to kill super-heavy class grimm.”

“I find the survival of frontier villages and cities a more pressing matter.” Jaune shrugs. “Fair.” He then walks over to Amber’s stasis pod, a glowing orange ball in Jaune’s pearly hand.

It open and Jaune rams the orb into her, Amber’s eyes jumping open in pain.

It takes several screaming hour before Jaune is done.

“Well, she might be fine now.” “Might be?” “Very poorly explored field.”

Qrow looks over to the three accomplices, who woke during the soul surgeries, now looking very terrified.

“What about them?” “What about them? Their your problem now, as far as I’m concerned the only thing that’s my problem now is Amber, you two chucklefuck deal with the brats.”

Ozpin looked at the two children and Neo, “Soooo, anybody want some coffee.”

Edit: Forgot the Author’s note that would explain somethings, I kinda lost passion towards the end.

AN: This an AU where around a thousand years ago Ozma decided to do a mass aura awakening to see if it would bare fruit. Jaune seemed like he didn’t have semblance after couple years of training. But, come 80 years later, Ozma hears rumors of a lmmortal blonde... Jaune’s semblance is eternal youth.

[ilovefandoms102]

Oh Boy-Part 7

Summary: JJ and you try to plan a date when it backfires...

Taglist:

@ma10427 @lasnaro @certainstatesmantoadartisan @iamaunicorn4704 @riverdaleserpent04 @justcallmesams @sspidermanss @tangledinsparkles @jellyfishbeansontoast @hurricane-abigail

Part 6  Part 8 

edited by author

=====================================

=====================================

JJ and I were sitting in my room after a hard days work for the both of us. Me smoking a cig, reading some of my dads old findings, and JJ rolling a blunt (what a surprise).

It was a hot day in the outer banks and our air conditioning decided to go out. Neither JB or I had money to fix it, so we suffered through the heat. JJ strolling around shirtless with a pair of khaki shorts, and I in my bikini top and jean shorts.

If I had to run anywhere I threw on a cropped tee, but I wasn’t planning on leaving the chateau unless it was to go to the beach, or someone was dying. 

“Ya know sweets, we haven’t been on a real date yet,” JJ said, blowing a puff of smoke in the air. 

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, hoping he didn’t think he had to do anything fancy for me.

“I was thinking a day at the beach. Just us..no Pogues.” JJ suggested, looking over at me and shooting me his pearly whites.

“Sounds good to me, as long as you provide the beer,” I laughed.

“You know I got us babe,” he said, scooting closer towards where I was sitting on the floor, starting to play with my hair.

“When are we doing this?” I asked, looking up at him.

“You work tomorrow?” he asked.

“I work the early shift, so I get off around 3,” I said. 

“Perfect, we’ll go have a day at the beach after you get off then.” JJ smiled, leaning down to kiss my head.

“JJ, what do you think about the whole JB and Sarah thing?” I asked.

“I don’t know..I really don’t like the idea of her being involved..” JJ shrugged.

“I mean she’s already a Kook, practically has money falling out of her dads ass. Has never had to work a day in her life for anything, and she has the audacity to try and slither her way into this.” I said, getting up from my spot, starting to pace around the living room.

“Babe..”JJ sighed, knowing I was overwhelming myself worrying about my brother and his new found love with a Kook.

“Of all people JJ it had to be fucking Sarah Cameron, Princess of the Kooks. And I mean, what if we don’t find this gold? Then what? Is she just going to leave? God, John B would be heartbroken.She-” I rambled on.

“Sweetheart, you’re working yourself up over nothing.” JJ assured, coming to stand in front of me. He put his arms around me, hugging me to him. I buried my face into his neck, feeling my tears coming to the surface.

“You don’t know that J, people like us don’t get happy endings.” I slipped out, regretting it immediately. 

“Shit..” I whispered when I felt JJ grow tense.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” JJ asked, pulling away from me.

“I-” I started, but JJ didn’t let me finish.

“So how long were you going to let this go on before you cut me loose then, huh!?” he yelled.

“Baby, please, I didn’t mean it like that. It just slipped out!” I cried.

I couldn’t look at him knowing what I said cut deep.

“Don’t even baby me” JJ said through gritted teeth. 

“I’d take a fucking bullet for you, and you have the audacity to sit there and say we don’t get a happy ending?” he yelled, pointing his finger in my face, coming so close to me I had to take a step back. 

“JJ please! I’m sorry I-I didn’t mean it like that you have to believe me!” I sobbed, trying to reach out to him, but he back away with a disgusted look on his face.

“What because I’m not rich I’m suddenly not good enough for you? Is that it?” JJ asked angrily, his face becoming redder by the second.

“It’s because of me JJ it has nothing to do with you! I’m not good for you!” I screamed, now it was my turn to get in his face. 

“I have an insane amount of problems that will never go away! My mom left, my dad is dead, and my brother is on the same path. I have no money, no way of going to school, and I can barely keep this house now. I’ve got nothing going for me J..” I confessed, finally letting out what’s been bottled up for so long. 

“Sweetheart..” JJ whispered, realization hitting him.

He relaxed his shoulders, trying to put a hand on my face when I stepped back from him.

“Nothing in my life has ever gone right J..and I’m terrified every single moment that I’m going to lose you, my brother, the others..you can have any girl in the world you want. So why would your happy ending be with me?” I explained.

We started at each other for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t take it anymore and started to make my way past him to go to my room.

JJ’s hand shot out and caught my arm as I was about to walk by him. I looked into his baby blue eyes, he was so beautiful..any girl would be lucky to have him.

Not just for his looks, but for his heart, JJ has the kind of heart that when he cares, he cares deep. That’s what I love about him. He was perfect inside and out.

“I don’t want anyone else..” JJ said, staring deep into my eyes. “I want you, all of you, the good, and the bad...I want all of it baby...because it’s you” he said, staring intently into my eyes. 

“JJ-” I started, leaning my forehead against his.

Suddenly there was a big bang right outside the door, both JJ and I jumped at the sound. We waited for a second before someone started pounding on the door.

JJ started towards the door, dropping my arm in the process. I snatched his hand before he got too close to the door.

“Are you insane?! Have you not seen any kind of horror movie?! You don’t just walk to the door at a potentially dangerous situation!” I whisper yelled at him. 

Then we heard, “COME OUTSIDE YOU DIRTY POGUES!”

Kooks. No surprise there.

“Please tell me you didn’t leave the gun in the van JJ.” I said, squeezing his hand.

“Ok I won’t tell you,” he agreed, and I smacked him over the head for that.

“The one time we need it!” I yelled.

The banging got louder, we both stared at the door. We took off to my dad’s office since it was the closest room to us. Shutting the door, I locked it and stood with my back against it.

I called my brother, telling him we needed back up and to get here as fast as humanly possible. JJ was trying to get the window open, but was having trouble. I went and tried to help, both of us pulling with all our strength.

“Fuck, it’s not budging!” I yelled.

Finally the stupid thing caved and we got it open. JJ climbing out first, I followed behind. We took off towards the HMS, running into none other than Rafe and his goons. 

“Well, well, look at what we have here guys.” Rafe smiled wickedly.

“Why are you here Rafe?” I asked, grimacing at his creepy smile. 

“An eye for an eye,” he said.

“What the fuck does that have to do with us?” JJ asked, snatching my hand and pulling me behind him.

“You see, your brother little pogue, beat my boy Topper here pretty badly over my sister. So, I figured, what a better way to get back at John B than to come after who he loves most...and that would be you little pogue.” Rafe shrugged.

My eyes widened looking at each of the Kooks he had brought with him. I noticed Topper sporting some nasty scratches and bruises on his face. We didn’t have a way out with the Kooks surrounding us, I just prayed that my brother would get his ass here soon along with the others.

“So we’re not even going to do this fair and square? You had to bring your goons for one girl?” I taunted Rafe.

“If I had thought you’d be alone little pogue, I would had definitely came by myself.” Rafe said, looking me up and down. JJ took the few steps separating us from Rafe, their chests bumping together.

“You better watch your mouth talking about my girl Kook,” JJ said through gritted teeth.

Rafe just laughed and motioned towards his goons. Circling us in, two guys getting JJ in a headlock, and Topper and Kelce holding my arms. I resisted as much as I could, but trying to fight against two guys who were twice my size was not the easiest thing to do.

“Stop this Rafe! This is so stupid! I have nothing to do with my brother and your sister!” I screamed.

“I need you to be quiet, it’s very disrespectful to talk while someone is trying to hit a ball.” Rafe said nonchalantly, acting like he was lining up a golf club.

“Very brave of you Rafe! Five on one?” JJ sneered.

“Aw JJ ya know, you look really bad man. You’re starting to look more like your dad.” Rafe said laughing. JJ spit in his face in response. “Oh shit” Rafe exclaimed.

“Rafe please!” I pleaded.

“You just wait little pogue, I got major plans for you later” Rafe winked.

I fought the urge to vomit right then and there.

Then Rafe took his first hit at JJ, and I couldn’t help the tears that flowed. I screamed and pleaded with Rafe to stop. JJ not wanting to seem like it bothered him, taunted him more.

“Come on man is that all you got” JJ laughed, blood coming from his nose and mouth.

Rafe then took JJ by the shoulders and threw him on the ground. Rafe and the other Kooks holding him starting to kick and punch at JJ. My heart broke into a million pieces. I felt so helpless, I fought my hardest against Kelce and Topper to no avail. 

“RAFE PLEASE STOP! PLEASE! JJ!” I wailed. 

“Shut the fuck up you stupid bitch!” Topper yelled backhanding me.

My head snapped to the side, my ears starting to ring. I could taste blood in my mouth, and I turned back towards Topper. I looked him in the eye and spat in his face, the blood from my mouth splattering across his face.

This caused him to let go of me, and I took that chance. Somehow I managed to yank my arm from Kelce and sprinted towards JJ. I jumped on top of him, turning to look at Rafe.

“You’ve done enough Rafe!” I yelled, holding on to JJ for dear life. My poor boy was unresponsive to my touch, so I assumed he had to of passed out. 

I heard a car pulling up, hoping that it was my brother and the other Pogues. My prayer was answered as I saw my brother, Kie, Pope, and Sarah running towards us.

I looked down at JJ and lost my breath. His beautiful face was so bloody and swollen I hardly recognized him. I put my head to his chest and thankfully he was still breathing.

“JJ? Baby, can you hear me?” I asked, my tears falling onto his face. I brushed his hair out of his face. I sobbed harder, my shoulders shaking, I bent my head towards his. 

“I’m so so sorry baby, I never wanted this to happen to us. I hate myself for thinking that we couldn’t have our happy ending. This can’t be the end for us. I’m falling in love with you JJ Maybank, so please don’t leave me now.” I sobbed into his shoulder.

================================

Hope this was worth the wait! I loved how this turned out! 

[punksarahreese]

Blue | La Douleur Exquise

Nosdecember day 24 | @neworleansspecial

Hanahaki!AU; Sarah starts suffocating on her flowers at work

CW: Hanahaki disease, vomiting/coughing up blood, medical gore, child abuse mention

***

“Doctor Bekker?” Sarah called from where she stood by the nurse’s station. Ava was in treatment one with a patient, though she looked up at the call of her name. She must have excused herself to the patient’s family because soon she was standing in front of Sarah and the resident had to force a polite smile.

“You paged?”

“Oh, yes,” Ava passed her a tablet with a chart pulled up, “A girl came in with an arrhythmia, presumably from an undiagnosed heart condition. She flinches every time I move and is anxiously looking at her father for his consent before speaking.”

“So you’re thinking abuse?”

“Looks that way, I figured a shrink would know best.”

Sarah nodded, ignoring the way her chest clenched a little when the surgeon leaned a bit closer to zoom in on something on her chart. She knew by then that she was suffering from Hanahaki disease, caused by Ava herself, but she hadn’t told anyone. She felt foolish, knowing she should make an appointment with a specialist and schedule a removal surgery. Still, she hadn’t let herself even humour the thought. Removing her flowers would mean tearing out every feeling she had for Ava. She knew this would kill her in the end but she couldn’t bring herself to kill it first, not yet.

“A history of broken bones and her x-ray today showed calcifications on her ribcage that suggest untreated rib fractures.”

“Poor kid,” Sarah mumbled as she looked over the x-ray Ava pointed out, “You want me to speak with her or the parents?”

“I’ll deal with them, take them to sign something. You talk to the girl, just be gentle; she’s scared”

“Of course,” Sarah couldn’t help the sigh of relief when Ava left to go escort the parents to a conference room, feeling the pressure in her chest ebb away. She had quickly learned that the closer she was to the subject of her affections, the more pain her flowers caused. She had done research on the petals she had begun coughing up weeks ago, unnerved by the blood speckling the pink and purple flowers she didn’t recognize. Barberton daisies, google claimed, were native to South Africa. That made sense, especially since Hanahaki was often characterized by flowers significant to the patient’s love interest. Daisies were beautiful, they used to be one of Sarah’s favourite flowers, but now that she had seen far too many covered in her own blood she had begun to hate them.

With Ava out of the room, Sarah had no problem sitting down with their patient. The girl was no older than seven, far too young to be exposed to any type of violence. She was scared, that was obvious, and it took a fair amount of coaxing before she would speak to Sarah. Slowly, the psychiatrist did get her to open up and she hid behind her hands as she told her the truth in a hushed whisper. Her dad got angry, she explained, and mom wasn’t much better. She was punished for many things, pointing out her most recent bruise; a big red welt across the back of her thighs.

“I didn’t finish my dinner…” she admitted softly, as though she was afraid Sarah too would punish her for that. The doctor immediately reassured her that she did nothing wrong, waving in a nurse to call child-family services as soon as possible.

Sarah should have paid more attention, because it was at that moment that the girl’s father returned to the treatment room. He must have heard her ask Monique to make the call, since it wasn’t before long that the room was full of yelling.

“You stay out of my family’s business, bitch!” he was yelling at Sarah, quickly having her backed against the wall. When Sarah cried out because she ran into the sharps container mounted on the wall, Ava had already walked into the room. Mo ran off to call security, all of them worried about what this man was capable of. The patient was in tears, shrieking at her dad to leave the nice doctor alone because it wasn’t her fault. Ava had the guy’s hand pinned behind his back the second he looked ready to hit Sarah, dragging him towards the door.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on her, Mr. Klein,” she spat, “Or you will be escorted off the premises.”

That had the man shouting more expletives at her, cursing out every female staff member in the general vicinity. Sarah had managed to get away from the wall, thanking Ava quietly as she walked back over to the girl. She was breathing heavily, hyperventilating out of fear, and she looked ready to pass out.

“Hey, Lena, you’re safe,” Sarah promised softly, leaning over to turn up the oxygen to ease her breathing. A quick glance at her monitors had her concerned though, her heart rate was skyrocketing and her oxygen stats only decreasing.

“Ava?” she called, not thinking about the way the surgeon preferred to be on a title basis with everyone but Connor. She was too worried, knowing this father had sent his daughter into a panic attack and maybe triggered something more severe.

Doctor Bekker was by her side in seconds, checking the stats herself and calling for an EKG. Her blood pressure was oddly high for a young child, the child having trouble speaking and grabbing at Sarah’s hand for reassurance.

“Lena?” Ava leaned over her with her penlight, “Can you follow this for me?”

Sarah watched as she tried to complete a quick neuro exam, soon realizing that the child’s right pupil was sluggish and not reactive. In seconds Mo was paging a neuro consult, while Ava and Sarah tried to keep the patient calm and awake.

“A stroke?” Sarah rasped, struggling to breathe herself because of how close her and the other woman had been standing while tending to Lena.

“Something like that,” Ava nodded, “Transient ischemic attack maybe? If she’s been abused for a while she could have had an aneurism or bleed that was missed.”

“She’s so little,” Sarah breathed, giving the child’s hand a gentle squeeze when she noticed her eyes falling shut, “Lena, stay with us, honey.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how exactly she made it through the next few minutes. Her chest hurt more than it ever had before, her breath catching every time Ava leaned closer to check their patient or the monitors. She knew this was bad, it shouldn’t get in the way of her work, but she couldn’t help it. By the time Sam walked into the room, asking her to move so he could check the patient’s cognitive function, her vision was getting fuzzy. Ava must have noticed because suddenly the other woman was taking her hand and dragging her into the hall, which had Sarah’s chest clenching horribly at the minor contact.

“Sarah,” she never used her first name and it made the resident want to cry, “Are you alright?”

She could only manage a small nod, eyes focused on the hand Ava still had in hers. The touch burned, making Sarah want to rip her hand away but not having the strength to even think about doing that.

“Your lips are blue,” Ava pointed out, “And your hands. I think we need to get you into a treatment room.”

“I’m f-fine,” she rasped, “I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sick you shouldn’t be working; besides, you look like you’re about to pass out. Let me do a quick exam, please? Cyanosis with such a quick onset is a major cardio concern, Doctor Reese.”

That had Sarah yanking her hand from Ava’s grasp, ready to flee. There was no way she would let her do a cardiac workup on her, it would involve X-rays and scans so she would definitely notice her Hanahaki. Sarah didn’t want anyone knowing, but the thought of Ava in particular having any idea about it scared her more than surgery to remove the damn thing.

“I’m fine, Doctor Bekker,” she muttered, taking off down the hall before Ava could say another word. She rushed into the downstairs staff bathroom, sighing heavily when she realized it was thankfully empty. She felt déjà vu hit her hard as she stared at her reflection, the same place she always was during episodes at work, noting that Ava had been right about her being cyanotic. She was breathing harshly, gasping with every inhale because she couldn’t get enough oxygen otherwise. This was bad, she realized, as she felt like someone was squeezing her lungs so hard they would explode.

She didn’t even have time to grab onto the counter before she collapsed on the floor, her legs buckling without her consent. A sound of annoyance escaped Sarah, frustrated with how much pain she was in; all because of Ava. She didn’t blame her though, how could she? The other woman had no idea of her effect on Sarah, she just didn’t love her. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t return Sarah’s feelings, it was Sarah’s own fault for being foolish enough to let it get this bad.

She couldn’t suppress the rough cough that shook her body, ripping angrily at her chest from the inside. It was a watery cough and Sarah knew her palm would be bloodied when she pulled it away from her mouth. She was suffocating from the inside and she didn’t know what to do, cursing quietly when she saw the handful of petals that had come up with her forceful coughing.

Maybe it would finally kill her, she mused bitterly to herself. Dying in the hospital bathroom was not her ideal way to go but at least she wouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone.

[ladywinterwitch]

Run Away (Four - How fast the night changes)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You and Steve complete each other. Your love is that strong and devoted kind of love that pushes people to things like marriage, making a family. You couldn’t imagine that a baby would be something you really wished, until the possibility wasn’t your choice anymore.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, descriptions of violence, mention of blood, sadness, feels, fluff, the pov switches a bit in this one.

Word Count: 4211

A/n: Part three of Run Away. I’m already sorry for this chapter, but I’m also not :D Enjoy. Previous part and series masterlist. Is the title a tribute to One Direction? Damn right it is.

After talking to Steve, you decided that it was better that the whole team knew about it too. First, because you considered them family, second, to avoid baby jokes, that had already happened. And even if you were okay, it was still a sensitive topic for you.

You two had actually talked again about it, considering that now it was very much clear that you did want to have a family. So you started to consider the options, like adoption or a surrogate mother. Even if you were more inclined to an adoption, because as an orphan yourself, like Nat, you knew that unfortunately there were many kids that needed a family. But you were still thinking about it, considering. You weren’t in any rush after all.

But right now, two months later, it was probably the last thing on your mind. The team had been able to track down the same men that had committed that slaughter in Budapest, and found out that they had another base in Ukraine, where they were right now. Another facility, similiar to the other one. This time they were prepared though. And there were many of them. More that you expected. 

You found yourself surrounded by weapons and guns. You were teamed up with Wanda, Natasha, Thor and Bucky. Steve, Tony, Sam, Clint, Vision and Bruce, well, Hulk, were in a different positions. You were doing quite well, the men were decreasing quickly and the bruises were few and not severe.

At some point you four men surrounded you, you passed your gaze to each of them and around you, quickly thinking about a solution.

-Y/n!- Wanda called you, and before you knew it you were raised of a few feet above the ground, a magenta colored aura all around you. 

You stretched both arms and shot the men one right after the other, as soon as you were finished Wanda brought you back down on your feet carefully. You gave her a quick smirk and then returned back to work. A few shots and kicks after all men seemed to be dead or at least uncoscious. 

-We are finished here, what are your positions?- the norse God asked next to you. 

-We found some prisoners and their little plaything too. It seems they were playing the little chemist. We’ll analyze it at the lab.- You heard Tony say. 

-Basically, we can go home. I’ll call Maria to send some SHIELD agents to clean up. Meet at the quinjet in five.- Clint added. 

You and the others went outside the building as you were told, while Steve, Bucky and Bruce stayed inside . You saw Tony flying down carrying two people, same with Vision, while Sam was holding a woman. They all placed them down and Wanda and Clint went to check if they were okay. Suddenly you heard shots from the com.

-Steve? What are those shots? What’s happening?- you shared a look with the others, who looked panicked and without thinking twice you ran back inside.

You climbed the first two stairs levels and entered in a room. And then you felt it. A sharp and quick hit that took your breath away. Your mouthe went agape and your hands covered your stomach, you looked down and saw your hands soaked in blood. Then you looked up to your right, a man smirking wickedly at you with a shotgun in his hand. You tried to reach for him, but he escaped and you fell on the floor. 

You weakly touched yourself and you felt your suit soaked with blood, and felt three bullet holes. One on your right side, one on your stomach are and another one a little lower in your belly. Before you could try to talk, your eyes became too heavy and closed.

-

Hulk broke a wall, jumping down to the ground, Steve and Bucky on his shoulders jumped down afterwards.

-All okay cap?- Sam asked and Steve nodded.

-Maria said that the agents are on their way, so we can go home. Eveyone’s ready?- he asked while attaching his shield to the back of his shoulders. Natasha had just finished to do a quick bendage to one of the prisoner’s leg, when she came back to join the others that had just finished working too.

-Where’s Y/n?- she asks, her senses suddenly on alert. The captain shares a look with Bucky.

-What do you mean? She was down here with you. She should be.- he says, his heart starting to beat faster. They all looked around but she wasn’t there.

-Where the fuck is she?- he growled at Thor, the first poor victim that he found on his way.

-I don’t know, she went down with us but…-he stopped and Wanda talked.

-She heard the shots. She must’ve came back inside.- Steve and Bucky ran inside, while Sam and Tony flew up to check the now roof-less the higher floors.

As soon as the two men stepped into the first floor’s room they found a man, calmly sitting on a chair, a shotgun in hand. Both pointed their guns at him istinctively.

-What are you doing? Your companions are dead, don’t you have the good nerve to try and run?- Steve hissed. Bucky checked the room with his gaze, and he froze when he saw what was in the corner of the room, a few feet away from them.

-Steve..- he muttered.

-Answer, you bastard!- he screamed, not really hearing Bucky that didn’t lose any more time and shot the man in the head. His smug grin now an horrific mess on his mutilated face. At that point Steve turns to him and sees what he saw. His wife, on the ground in a pool of blood. They stumble and run to her, falling to their knees.

-No, no, no, what have they done to you?- Steve panicks while Bucky calls for backup, saying that they need a doctor immediately.

-Y/n? Baby, love? C'mon please don’t do this to me.- he cries and Bucky feels the need to vomit, but doesen’t leave his side.

The rest of the team arrives quickly saying that the helicarriers are landing right now. Everyone remains shocked at the sight. Natasha actually almost faints and Clint has to take her. Wanda starts sobbing while Vision tries to calm her down.

Steve takes her into his arms, picking her up but Tony stops him and takes her, flying out quickly. Everyone follows suit. When the iron man lands he founds Bruce, now turned human and a little lost. In the moment he sees Tony with the girl in his arms he orders him to put her down.

He does and Bruce immediatly zips down her catsuit, exposing her bra covered breasts. He places two fingers to her neck and feels pulse, weak, but it’s there.

-Tony go and take here the quinjet, right now.- he flies off. Bruce takes off his shirt and rips it into bands. The rest of the team arrives running.

-Steve, try to talk to her. Bucky, press here, Thor here and Nat here.- he indicates the three bloody bullet holes. They comply quickly, pressing down firmly. 

-Love, please don’t do this to me. Wake up, wake up, wake up.- he cries desperately and Bucky tries to calm him down, but he nearly growls at him like an angry wolf.

-Don’t fucking try to tell me to stay calm when my wife is dying.- he hisses with gritted teeth.

In that same moment Tony comes back with the quinjet and they take her on the veichle. They put her on a medical bed, then take off completely the top half of her suit.

-Okay, she’s losing too much blood and I have to take out the bullets. So, you two-  Bruce he points at Steve and Bucky, -Take off your shirts and put those into your arms. Nat, Clint, help them.- he orders.

They do as they are told meanwhile Wanda, Thor and Sam keep pressing her wounds.

-But how do we know if her type of blood matches?- Bucky asks franatically. He doesen’t even flinch when Nat punctures his forearm vein. Clint does the same to Steve and their blood start to drip in the transparent sacks.

-Because the super soldier blood is basically perfect, it adapts to everything. Now let me work. Tony, bring us home as fast as you can.- no one talks after that. Nat takes Wanda’s place. Bruce punctures both Y/n’s wrists and the two supersoldiers blood start to get to her.

Bruce first removes the first bullet, cleaning the wound, and leaving to Nat the stitching work while he starts to work on the second, and then the third. Now the only ones left are the two men, which didn’t say a word, especially Steve that was almost under shock, and Bruce that now was stitching the last wound more calmly.

He checked her pulse and sighed in relief. She had lost a lot of blood, but she was doing okay now that Bucky and Steve were giving her theirs. She was asleep, but her pulse was there, even if a little slower than normal. At least she was alive.

-She’s stable now. You two just have to stay here until we get home, I fear.- he says, tired.

-It’s not a problem.- Bucky answers. They were seated on each of her sides. Nat had taken off her ruined and dirty suit to clean her a bit with a wet cloth while Bruce was working on her wounds. Now she had only her panties on, the bra was taken off too because it empeded a complete blood flooding, which was the last thing she needed. Both Bucky and Steve looked away respectfully, even if the second was her husband and had seen here naked a ton of times. The only thing covering her was a thermal blanket. 

Bruce went out to have a break, he had worked for two hours and a half non-stop and in any case now he had done all he could.

-She’s gonna be okay, Steve. She’s strong.- the brunette says. But the blonde one looks in front of him with an empty gaze.

-I don’t understand. Why was she alone? Why wasn’t I there to protect her?- he said, guilt dripping from his words. Bucky’s heart shrinked. Between seeing his best friend like that, and his other best friend with three holes in her chest on a medical bed, he really was on the edge of a mental breakdown.

-It wasn’t your fault. Period. Just focus on her. She’s safe now.- and with that he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

-

Both Steve and Bucky were quite tired when they arrived home. Both from the travel and the fight and the fact that they had been giving away blood for nearly five hours, the quinjet’s speed reducing the flight from twelve to eight hours. Even for their superstrenght that was a bit much, so they couldn’t wait to rest, but Steve refused to leave Y/n’s side and Tony insisted that and immediate briefing happened, so exactly ten minutes after their arrival they all gathered in the meeting’s room. 

Tony had immediately called Pepper when they got on the quinjet and made arrangements for a medical room in the infirmary. So, ss soon as they landed Y/n was brought there. Bruce checked all the vitals, and demanded that she was left alone to rest after Nat and Wanda changed her in an hospital gown. Steve was very hesitant, but Bucky reassured him it was the best thing right now.

The team met, still in their suits. Bruce listed all the substances and the experimental files that they could find, then said two words about the identities of the men, especially the one that shot Y/n. Apparently he was one of the bosses. The reason why he decided to shot y/n and not run were unknown, but Tony guessed that he already knew tht he wouldn’t get out alive.

-So he said ‘well, let’s just shot one of theirs before going’.- Sam spat angrily. At that Natasha looked away, Bucky’s jaw clenched and Steve was fuming, but didn’t say nothing: he didn’t have the strenght.

-Bruce, how is she?- Thor asked. Banner sighed.

-It’s a miracle that she’s alive, honestly. Three bullets in her chest, abdomen and right side. She lost half of her blood. It was dangerously quick, but thanks to them- he nudged his head to the pair of super soldiers, -Her blood is almost  completely recovered. There aren’t internal bleedings, the medications are fine and she’s not as pale as before. I can’t say for sure when or if she’ll wake up.- he explained, almost breaking to the last phrase.

There was a moment of silence before Steve stood up, his chair schreeching, and went out of the room, the door slamming loudly.

-The meeting’s over. Get some rest, we’re taking a few days off.- Tony says lowly.

-

Steve went straight to the gym, punching the box sack. He had to cool off in some way. He was hitting, kicking and pushing again and again until he felt two arms closing around his middle. He was breathing harshly and that embrace almost seemed to break his rage, making him break down.

He turned around and saw Natasha trying not to cry. He hugged her tightly, and like that they were calming each other down.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, then the redhead noticed that his hands were a bad shade of scarlet, full of little cuts and were bleeding a bit.

-You idiot.- she huffed out leding him near the emergency box near the locker room. She sat him down on a bench and started to disinfect his cuts. He didn’t even flinch.

-I should’ve been with her.- he mutters suddenly. She shook her head, not looking up.

-It’s not your fault. She wasn’t on your squad. She should’ve been with us, outside. I didn’t even realized that she wasn’t there. I should’ve checked, anyone else could have.-

-I think that we’re almost too used to each other being able to take care of ourselves. It’s a little her fault, a little mine, a little of the team. But you fucking know who really has the fault here? That damned piece of shit.- she used a little too much force and made him hiss. She stopped, surprised by her lack of concentration.

-I’m-I’m sorry Steve.- she said softly. He shook his head.

-It’s okay. It’s over now. All that matters is that we’re here for her.- he breathed out. Natasha threw the cotton in the trash and washed her hands.

-

A week passed, and she still hadn’t wake up. Bucky went to her almost every day, talking a bit, telling what was happening. Natasha went every now and then, mostly to freshen her up. The others went two or three times, just to see how she was doing. Steve, after a week, didn’t see her at all.

He didn’t knew why he found it so hard to go see her. Nat and Bucky would encourage him every now and then, but he always declined. But today, he decided to go. It had been probably the worst week of his life, and he didn’t know if she would come back to him. He didn’t knew how he would go on at that point. Ha had lost so much, so many times. But he couldn’t bare the idea of losing you.

The captain opened the infirmary room door, and almost changed his mind when he saw her on that bed, all machines attached, still uncoscious. He swallowed and closed the door behind him, gowing slowly towards her, putting the bouquet of flowers that he had brought for her on a vase near the window. Then he sat next to her, on a chair.

He looked at her and actually felt relieved that she didn’t look that bad: her incarnate was healthy, her cheeks of a dusty pink as her plump and soft lips were. He noticed that her long hair were clean and soft, her eyes had a bit of mascara on, and he knew that probably Nat had done that knowing how much she hated to be completely without make up in public. Never the less Steve tought that she was the most beautiful creature in the world.

He took her hand in his and his heart swelled a bit when he felt her quite warm. Not a fever warm, just a…human warmth. Very different from when he held her the last time, bloody and white as snow.

-Hey doll.- he croaked smiling a little. -I’m sorry that I didn’t came before. I couldn’t do it you know? I almost lost you…and actually I don’t really know if I’ll ever have you back.- his words made his chest clench, but he refused to break down right now.

-But I couldn’t live without seeing my best girl.- he caressed her hand softly, making abstract patterns on the back.

-Life is quite boring now, you know? Everyone’s really concerned about you, baby. Bruce says you’re doing great  but…- he shook his head.

-I don’t know how much to believe it, honestly. I mean you’re still here and not in bed with me, you know what I mean.- he chuckled lowly. He cleared his throath.

-Uhm, I actually wanted to bring your Ipod, I’m sure you’re missing your loved music.- he smiled, -But I can’t find it. You’ve always been good at hiding things, not emotions though. But things…-he grinned laughing a bit.

-We should call Sherlock Holmes to find ‘em.- he shook his head amused.

-But, I promise that I will buy you a new one. I will actually buy you an entire planet, if you’ll wake up.- he brought a hand to his face, sniffing slightly to make the tears go away. He stayed silent for some moments, before picking up his album and pencil.

-In the last period I had in me a wired desire to draw again, you know? It’s been a while since I had the time. I remeber that you loved my sketches. You always praised them like they were the most beautiful art, when in reality it was probably just a flower vase or a fruit bowl.- he laughed again lovingly. -So yeah, I decided to give you some company, and maybe something good may came out of it, uh?- he said taking one last look at you. Then he made himself comfortable and started to let out his thoughts through the pencil.

He kept drawing for a couple of hours, the time passing like a flash. He looked at the clock and saw that it was dinner time and the team would be probably be waiting for him. So he closed the album, and took the pencil, shoving them both under his arm. Then he stood up from the chair, the wish of staying with her strong.

But in the end he just leaned in, kissed her lips softly, whispered an ’I love you’ and got out of the room.

-

He went to his room to drop off the album, then went down to the dining room. Everyone was seated and went quiet when he arrived.

-Wow, well good evening.- he spoke ironically. A wave of guilt washed over the team and everyone started to act normally again. Bucky leaned his head to his right side, with an empty seat. Nat at his side looking at him with a little smile. Steve went to sit next o him and served himself some food.

-I went to see her.- he said with a low tone. The couple stopped to look at him.

-That’s good, Stevie.- Bucky said squeezing his shoulder lightly.

-She looked good.- he said biting his lip nervously. Natasha nodded with a smile.

-She does, Steve. Trust me, I have seen people on a coma before, she does really look good.- she reassured him and he just nodded distractly before starting to eat.

The dinner went smoothly and he even did a little small talk with a couple of the guys. Then they proposed for a movie, but he politely declined and went to bed. He fell asleep almost right away.

-

Your eyelids fluttered slowly and it took you a few seconds to understand where you were. You sat on the bed and looked down at your wrist and and body, taking out the thick needle from her vein, hissing a bit. Blood started dripping from the little hole, but you didn’t care. You had an hospital gown on, but you understood that you wasn’t in a real hospital. You recognized the breath taking sight of New York from the window and the Stark Industries labeled machines.

You didn’t have any problem walking, you may have dared to say that you were feeling better than ever. The air was fresh and her lungs felt really light, she could see much more in the dark than it was normally possible and she felt really hungry, but good. She felt strong.

You found the interructor and turned it on, then took off the gown to look at you wounds, but remained shocked when you saw that instead of three holes, there were just three little lines, the scars already thin and almost invisible.

You wondered how much sleep you got to be fully recovered like that. Then You put on the robe again, but this time in reverse, so her back was fully covered. You latched it like a bath robe and didn’t care for the quite deep neckline that was shown, as long as everything elese was covered. As soon as you took the doorknob and bend it to open the door, a loud alarm made you step back for a moment, covering your ears with your hands, hissing at the loud noise but went out anyway.

-

Steve was harshly woken up by an alarm and cursed while getting dressed with a pair of sweatpants, still shirtless, but he didn’t give a damn. He looked at the time on his phone and saw that it was four AM.

He went out of the room and saw that the others were going up too, the alarm going off a few minutes later, making everyone let out huffs and words of relief. They stepped out of the elevator and Steve’s knees almost gave out when he saw what was in front of him.

Y/n was sitting on one of the couches, Tony stood in front of her, Bruce sat next to her with a hand on her back. She had the hospital gown in reverse on and a blanket on her shoulders. When she looked up from her glass of water, she saw him. She placed the glass on the table and stood up, making the blanket fall off. She walked quickly to him and then basically threw herself in his arms. He embraced her, with a couple silent tears of shock rolling down his cheeks.

-Steve- she said sweetly, and he could feel the emotion in her voice. He breathed deeply into her soft hair.

-You came back to me..- he murmured. She separated a bit and smiled at him, he cupped one of her cheeks with his hand. She leaned in his touch.

-You had doubts, captain?- he chuckled and suddenly a sob grabbed the attention of the room, until then focused of the two. It was Wanda, who was covering her mouth with a hand to not make noise. Y/n laughed lightly and went to hug her, comforting her. Then everyone took a turn, she asked if she could go to bed, but Bruce told her that he preferred to do some tests to see if everything was okay.

-Better safe than sorry.- he shrugged.

-Alright. But first, can I change? I’m feeling a little exposed over here.-  the gown reaching under her butt miraculusly, her breasts were barely covered, and Steve was getting quite protective, covering her with the blaket at every move.

Natasha went to grab underwear, a shirt and some yoga pants for her and brought them to Bruce’s lab. She and Bucky wento to sleep again, and Steve remained inside with you.

Banner did a few blood tests, sight tests, asked if you had any pain or headaches, then he put a band aid on the hole that was left from the IV.

-The results are gonna be ready tomorrow, now go rest you two. You both deserve it.- he smiled.

-Goodnight Bruce.- you responded sweetly.

You went back to their room not able to keep you hands off each other.

-I love you so much.- you said in between kisses. Now they were in bed, under the sheets and cuddling.

-I love you too. You don’t know how much I missed you.- kiss. -I almost lost you. Why did you went back on your own?- he asked.

-You were still inside and I heard gunshots. You weren’t responding and I kind of panicked. Then that man took me unprepared at my back and…- you paused, closing you eyes for a few seconds. -It was all so fast. I was so scared, I barely had the time to process what was happening.- you whispered. He had his brows knitted in sadness.

He hugged you closer to him and kissed your head. -It’s over now. I kinda want to kill you for how irresponsibile it was, but I understand. I won’t lie, I would do the same.- he confessed. There wasn’t a point in being tough and reprimanding you when he very well knew that he would’ve done the same. Now he just wanted to hold you and finally have a moment of peace.

Plot Twist :O  What do you think about what happened? Why did y/n become how she is? Find out in the next part. Hope you enjoyed it, and if you did maybe leave a feedback? <3

Taglist : @polarcrystall​  @a--1--1--3​   @silver-winter-wolf​

[smolstrawberrychara]

October Klance Prompts - 13/10 - Scary Movie

Never underestimate my power to turn an ordinary prompt into fluff

Scary Movie - horror actor Lance rushes home when his baby girl is ill ♥️

“Cut!”

Lance did not miss the way his co-star groaned at the call, rolling her eyes as she slumped off to get some water. Nyma always was a bit of a diva. But this time Lance agreed, throwing his head to the ceiling and stamping his foot. 

“Lance!” The director jogged over form his chair as tech milled around trying to re-put together the set. “What’s going on?”

“Argh Coran, I’m sorry, let’s just go again.” And before he could answer Lance already took position forcing his shoulders loose. This was an important scene. Killer clown facing off with the heroine for the last time. And Lance kept messing it up. 

But instead of calling ‘action’, Coran moved again, sidling up to Lance and placing a firm hand to his back. “Is something going on?” 

Lance sighed. “It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. Lance just needed to get this scene over and done with as quickly as possible and was frustrated that he couldn’t get any of his lines right, let alone not trip over the set. Killer clowns did not trip. 

Coran didn’t move. Instead he smoothed his hand over Lance’s back until he reached his shoulder and gave a tight squeeze. 

“You’re my top actor. You’re never off form. So when you struggle like this, don’t think that I can’t see you! Now tell me, what’s wrong?”

Lance sighed again. A longer one this time that seemed to deflate his body as he rolled his head forward.

“Keith called during the break. Sammie’s ill and he’s been called into work early so I’ve gotta go home and look after her which would have been fine but then I keep messing up this scene and it’s taking too long and Keith’s gotta go in like 10 minutes!”

What had started off as a simple simple statement had rocketed into stress and Lance was left huffing up at the clock. He was supposed to be home by now. 

“Ahh,” Coran noised almost in a hum, voice a smooth calmness he never seemed to lose. It was something that made him such a great director to work with. “So your daughters ill.”

Lance nodded. The image of his poor girl curled up on the sofa with a small frown on her face instead of reaping havoc like usual made his stomach hurt.

“How old is she?”

“Three next month.” Lance said easily. He could still remember the day the foster home called him to tell them the news they’d be getting a daughter. Lance had been nervous at the prospect of a baby, an older kid might have meant less broken nights. But when he held Sammie in his arms for the first time, he couldn’t bare the thought of putting her down - even Keith struggled to get a cuddle in that first day. And now she was old enough to go to nursery. And couldn’t leave her daddy Keith alone. Lance wasn’t jealous. But it was definitely because of the hair. Papa Lance didn’t have long hair and Sammie had a penchant for plaiting - a skill Lance taught her by the way!

“You should go.” 

Lance stopped his thoughts. He blinked at Coran, but the man just slapped him on the back again, hard enough to make Lance stumble. 

“You should go.” He repeated, before taking on a wistful glow “I remember when my niece was that age. Couldn’t bear to part with her, much to the annoyance of her father. So I understand. There’s more to life than the workplace. Go be with your daughter, we’ll reshoot tomorrow. Sound good?”

Lance couldn’t believe his luck. 

“Sounds great! Thank you so much Coran!”

The man simply smiled as Lance bounded off, rushing about the set to grab his things. 

“Let me know how young Sammie’s doing!” Coran called, still in place. 

“I will!” Lance yelled back over his shoulder, already out the door. If he hit all green lights he could be home in fifteen minutes. Keith would only be a few minutes late to work and Sammie could be sipping Lance’s classic homemade from the tin soup in no time!

As soon as he parked the car, Lance ran up the steps to the house, scrambling with his keys in his haste to burst through. “I’m home!” He called, slamming the door behind him and angling his head up the stairs.

“Hey- OH MY GOD!” 

Keith had rounded the corner from the kitchen, when he came to an abrupt halt, throwing his hands into the air and taking on the face of a startled rabbit. His phone clattered to the floor as his body froze, eyes wider than dinner plates. 

“What?” Lance yelped, whipping around to check there wasn’t a knife-wielding ghost behind him. Keith never got scared. Which meant mortal danger was imminent.

“What’s going on!? Are we okay!?”

Lance had expected Keith to switch into police mode then. Make a bunch of commands and kick ass. But instead, the man gave a sigh of relief slumping against the wall. 

“Oh thank god.” Keith breathed, hand clutched to his chest. Lance gave him a curious look.

From further inside, there was a ringing voice, curious too. “Daddy?” 

Sammie waddled out the kitchen, frowning at her dad. Then she noticed the phone and lost interest, crouching down to grab it. Sammie liked phones. She also liked sugary sweets. And her permanent sticky fingers were like cyanide to the screen. Keith immediately sprang back up in alarm. Lance was about to laugh but his worry was aimed right at Lance. 

“You’re still in costume.” He hissed. 

Lance was thrown. He looked down at his wrists to find mucky lace cuffs flouncing around his hands. Striking red polka dot sleeves led on from them, covered in rips and splatters of something darker. With an air of apprehension, Lance reached up to wipe his cheek. It was damp. And when he brought his hand back down, thick white paint covered his fingers.

“Oh crap!” Lance announced suddenly, “sorry Sammie!” 

And then he bolted for the bathroom.

Lance scrubbed hard at his face with a flannel, bringing away layer upon layer of paint. The make-up team always did a thorough job, and despite having a mini heart attack every time he looked in the mirror at work Lance found the never-failing standard impressive. The large blue circles around his eyes never faltered and the dripping black triangles down his cheeks were always in the exact same spot. Now they were grey swirls as Lance desperately tried to remove it with soap and cold water. He’d spilt he last of his make-up remover down the sink in his haste and now mumbled angrily to himself as he rubbed his skin raw. Water dropped from his chin and he had to tie the clown suit around his waste like overalls to stop it getting ruined. God, how did he manage the drive over here without causing mass hysteria!? No wonder so many people had let him go at the turnings. He was a living nightmare.

There was a knock at the door. “Can I come in?” Keith called, a little thud indicating he’d let his head fall against the door sympathetically. 

“Is Sammie with you?”

“No. I gave her some medicine and put her to bed.”

“Okay then.”

The door creaked open and Keith snuck in, smiling through the mirror.

“You could have told me you were busy. I would have phoned somebody else.”

Lance shrugged, throwing the cloth under the tap again. “Thought I’d finish earlier.”

He slapped the thing against his cheek, swiping at the white marks. Keith tutted, moving around to grab the flannel. 

“Can I?”

“If you want.”

Keith nodded to the bath and Lance sighed, flopping onto the side of it. Keith reapplied the soap, folding the towel into fours and putting it under warm water. Then he kneeled down, reaching up to gently slide the cloth down Lance’s cheek. 

“Better?”

“Better,” Lance breathed, letting his eyes slip shut. Keith’s touch was a lot nicer than the cheese grater Lance was treating his face with before. It was kind of like being in a spa. Or the early days of their relationship when Lance got ill and Keith would gently dab his forehead with a wet cloth, snuggling in close despite the risk of catching a cold. Lance relaxed into the bath, slowly leaning into Keith’s touch and humming to himself. 

“Don’t you need to go to work?”

“Shiro’s covering.” Keith said easily. “Said I’ve got a killer clown to deal with.”

Lance snorted. “Maybe a clown sure.”

“You’re not a clown.”

“Think I am.” Lance said with a sigh. Keith moved the cloth away and Lance let his eyes fall open. “I ran all the way here without even thinking about changing. We have a two year old!? I could have killed her with the fright!”

Keith laughed softly. “I don’t think she saw.”

“She better not have.”

It was quiet a moment, just the buzz of the extractor fan above them.

“But why did you run?” Keith asked finally, placing the cloth on his knees. “I could have called someone else to babysit. Hell, I could have just told Captain Kolivan I couldn’t come in.”

“But I wanted to,” Lance said, feeling the words right down to his chest. “When you said Sammie was ill I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even if you didn’t have work I’d still have wanted to be here. I was a mess on set. I kept tripping on the door I was breaking down and messing up my lines! It was so embarrassing! I don’t even know why! You were here! You had it under control! Me, on the other hand, I rush around looking like bloody murder!”

Lance huffed at the end of his speech. Keith had his head ducked, hiding small hiccups of laughter to himself. Lance would be mad if it wasn’t so infectious. 

“I’m a mess.” Lance said eventually. Keith shook his head. 

“You just care. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The man got to his feet, dumping the flannel in the sink and settling next to Lance on the tub. 

“It’ll get easier.” He said, knocking their shoulders together, “but Sammie’s still so young. And we’re still so new to this. We’re gonna make mistakes. But I think it’s okay when they’re because we care.”

Lance hummed. Then he leaned down to rest his head on Keith’s shoulder. He always did have a knack of saying the right thing when he needed to. And it made Lance’s tummy warm.

“How is she?” 

“Good. Says her stomach still hurts, but no vomiting since lunchtime.”

“Lovely.”

They sat quietly a moment. 

“You wanna go watch the first killer clown film and fall asleep on the sofa?” Keith asked.

“It’s only my favourite lullaby.”

Keith laughed softly, squeezing Lance into his side before leaving to get the film ready. Lance splashed his face with water. He did feel like a mess. But somehow, Keith made him feel like it was okay.

A few hours later, Lance woke up with a warm weight on his chest. The couple had fallen asleep tangled up on the sofa - Lance against the cushions, Keith against Lance. Two mugs lay abandoned on the floor, corner of the blanket trailing in one and the remote lying face down on top of the other. The TV still glowed in the background. Lance clutched Keith close and tried to manoeuvre around to grab the remote. Keith gave a pathetic noise of protest. 

“Just switching off the TV.” Lance whispered, ducking down to kiss his head before he froze. In front of the rolling credits was a shape blocking out the little white letters leaving the screen.

“Papa?” 

Sammie turned around where she sat directly in front of the TV, tiny fist rubbing her eye. Lance’s stomach fell through the floor.

“Yes honey?” He asked, voice becoming high in his apprehension. 

“I really liked that film.”

Lance had more problems on his hand than he thought.

[gukknj]

rebirth (m)︱prologue

summary: as you enter a completely new world, you realize that do-overs aren’t always a good thing.

pairing(s): jeon jungkook x feminine reader, park jimin x feminine reader

genre: vampire au

warnings: mentions of death, blood

Rebirth.

The concept in itself was a deep-rooted disorienting irony that not many could put into comprehensive words unless they were philosophers or nature-worshipping stoners. However, in this case, it was quite literal. To spend a long period of time gaining essential things to live; sight, taste, smell, touch, sound, and everything in between before being thrust into the world. To have a mother hold you in her arms for the first time, overwhelmed that she has created such a life. There were a lot of similarities, of course. But nothing was comforting about your predicament, if only the arms wrapped tightly around your body, squeezing in reassurance and support.

You took your first breath and it took all of your energy to do so, to breathe. You didn't remember breathing to be so draining, at least not to the point where you had to focus extremely hard to get a steady flow of oxygen in and out of your mouth. The air choked you until you were a sputtering mess, coughing up whatever your stomach couldn't hold down. Your eyes shot open as the retched substance continued projecting from your mouth, and you would've found the dark red blood spilling into the ground below you more alarming had your eyes didn't cause such a burning sting. It seemed as if everything inside of you was broken. Even the sounds of nature that you vaguely remembered, birds chirping and squirrels running, it was so grating and painful to your sensitive ears. 

"Fuck," a melodic voice cursed in a whisper to the right of you. That's when you noticed the hands on your shoulder, trying desperately to rub your pain away. It took much of your strength to turn and open your eyes to see the person. The vibrancy of her red hair shocked your corneas, you had to blink rapidly to finally get a true focus on the girl. She had small worry lines on her forehead and her pink lips were pulled into a frown, but even so, she remained breathtaking. If you didn't feel like you were in hell, you would've first thought of her as a sweet, cherubic angel. 

"It's okay, honey. It's okay. You're going to be fine." She assured in rushed whispers, still rubbing your shoulders and back to help you calm down. "I'm going to take you home, okay? It's safe there. I'm going to carry you now, alright? Don't worry, I got you." The redhead's soothing voice calmed you like a lullaby as you surrendered your body weight into her strong arms. 

It was hard to recall things. Your location, friends, family, name - they all slipped from your memory as a dream would. You remembered feelings, mostly. Feeling elated as you spent your last day with someone you loved. Feeling depressed after losing someone you loved. Feeling frightened in the final moments of your life. As your brightly colored savior carried you with ease, you used the time to zero in on her features and hopefully trigger a memory of her. Her skin shone bright like honeydew, healthy and without a blemish that you could distinguish. Her cheeks reminded you of a chipmunk's, fleshy and round but still incredibly endearing, much like her naturally pouty lips. 

You're sure that her image was burned into your mind as your eyes fluttered shut once again. You weren't asleep but you wished that you were, if only so you couldn't hear everything making noises around you. 

Why didn't you just die? Why are you here again? 

You barely had time to properly rationalize the ever so annoying stream of questions running through your mind. The girl came to a halt. You forced your heavy eyelids up, blinking rapidly to get yourself to focus. In the blur of your worldview and through the shadows of the night, you could make out a cottage style home and a man standing on the steps to the front door. You wished for the mental capabilities to decipher what his expression looked like. Did the redhead bring you back to face your demise a second time? A pang of fear shot through your heart, and it triggered another bout of blood to come spewing out of your mouth.

The girl sniffled and held your failing body closer. She smelled of strawberries and fabric softener, a combination that had you burrowing yourself into her right back. You didn't really understand what was going on, but there were lots of silent looks exchanged between the man and woman, lots of muffled words you couldn't quite make out and didn't care to as the girl carried you into the lodge. Your body was placed carefully onto a creaky table and left alone. You strained your ears to hear the conversation that began once they entered a different room.

"I don't fucking know what's wrong with her, Jimin. I - I was just trying to, you know, fucking save her goddamn life and she wakes up like that." The girl's sweet voice turned gradually manic, wavering ever so slightly. "And...and her body kept rejecting the blood, like, the blood wasn't working and then she kept throwing up and fuck, fuck, fuck, I think I really did something wrong." She cried. The man soothed her with soft reassurances. His voice was just as delicate as hers, if not more.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Something isn't right with her, we just don't know what yet. Do you know her name?" Jimin asked. Silence. "Do you know anything about her?" He continued. A huge sigh. "I need you to go to Eden and get Jin. He'll know what to do." 

"I'm not leaving her here with you. She's going to lose her fucking mind. she doesn't even know you."

"You're the only one of us able to access Eden without burning fucking alive, Chae. Being alone with me for a few hours is the least of this poor girl's worries." 

Their voices lowered to angry whispers and you could tell that there was a lot more push and pull before, five minutes later, the girl ("Chae") had run out of the door. You swallowed back a thick clump of bloody vomit threatening to shoot out of you, then allowed yourself to let the water building in your eyes fall to your ears. Small footfalls on the creaky, old floor were your only indication that you weren't alone anymore. 

"I'm not here to hurt you." He began. It wasn't as reassuring as he hoped it'd be because you snorted immediately. "My name is Jimin." He grabbed a stool and slid it beside the table to sit. Seeing your drained, puffy face made him feel even worse about your situation. "I know this is all very confusing, but I'll try to explain. You died." He put simply. You nodded at him, fearing how rough you'd sound if you spoke in comparison to his angelic voice. "My younger sister, Chae, brought you back to life. Not necessarily the same life, though. A new life." 

You coughed, trying to clear your throat in preparation for speaking. "Dying." You croaked, pointing to yourself. Jimin shook his head and his shaggy blonde hair shook with him. Even in the dim lighting, he was a dreamboat, clearly resembling his sister in more ways than one. 

"You aren't dying. Your body is just struggling to get used to its new form."

"Form?" 

He answered with an unhelpful nod. Form. Were you still a human being? The new bit of information shook you to the core. Terror is what you felt, and it reminded you of your death. You only remembered the feeling of terror taking over your body until you couldn't breathe anymore. Hyperventilating. 

Jimin quickly pulled the top half of your body up and wrapped your arms around him. Your sharp breaths wouldn't slow. The air was trying to suffocate you once again. 

"Hey, slow down. It's okay." He murmured into your hair. "Nothing bad will happen to you. I'm here to help. You know, I used to be scared of all this too. I used to cry and shake and beg for someone to kill me again." He whispered. You managed to slow down your panicked pants to listen to his words. "But, above all else...you're alive. Your first life isn't always a gift, it's usually harsh and eye-opening and depressing. Second life is a gift. It means that you can start over with all the knowledge you've previously gained in the last life. You're wiser and more attuned to your instincts, more than any human could ever be." You'd pulled yourself from his embrace to see his face. 

"We aren't humans." You wanted it to be a question, but his story was enough confirmation. 

"I don't think we ever truly were." He said. Before you could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, a sharp stinging pain hit your lower stomach causing you to cry out in distress. Jimin tried to soothe you. "It's going to hurt for a little while until we find a better alternative. I have an old friend, Jin, who knows all about these things. He's on his way."

One question still lingered on your mind. A question that both frightened and excited you. 

"Jimin," you whispered. He looked down at you, clear worry etched onto his beautiful face. "You can make fun of me if this is wrong...or call me an idiot or whatever but I have to ask." You fiddled with your fingers, pouting. You didn't quite know how to describe it. "Am I, like," hesitantly, you use your index fingers as prosthetic fangs and mock a hiss. You didn't want to say it because it sounded ridiculous. Granted, the goofy demonstration wasn't a better alternative.

It was the first time you saw him smile and his face scrunched up so adorably, his eyes turning into little crescent moons, not unlike a cartoon character. However, it was unsettling given the subject matter. 

"Cute. You're going to be a lovely little bloodsucker." He cooed. Your breath caught in your throat. Bloodsucker. Jimin smiled and you knew that no matter how your life was before, no matter what you did or how you did it, it was all gone down the drain and you'd never get it back.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Rabies

how’s Mags gonna live this one down

TW: Destructive stimming, vomiting

———————

        Aragon found the poor girl collapsed in one of the theater bathrooms, halfway huddled under the sink with blood oozing from a reopened bite mark in her wrist. The pure look of terror in Maggie’s eyes broke the queen’s heart and that natural motherly instinct inside of her flared, urging her to help this terrified child.

She wished she just would have gotten Bessie.

When she got close, Maggie flinching away and making a warning noise of sorts should have been enough for her to not push into her comfort zone, but Aragon’s maternal side wouldn’t let her leave. She reached out to try and get the girl to stop hurting herself, and Maggie lashed out.

In one jerky, but swift moment, Maggie is biting Aragon.

To be honest, the scene could almost be humorous if it wasn’t for the strength Maggie was clamping down with. She had the side of Aragon’s hand with the thumb in her mouth and looked as feral as a wild dog as she grinds her teeth in deeper. Aragon hissed in pain and grabbed hold of her wrist, like it would block the sensation from traveling to the rest of her body.

   “What the fuck?!” She cried on instinct to the absurd action.

That only made it worse.

Any thought about releasing Aragon was now gone. All Maggie was seeing was someone who hated her, who wanted to hurt her.

She had to harm them before they harmed her.

Aragon considered pulling Maggie’s hair, but knew it wouldn’t help at all. It would also make Bessie angry, and that wasn’t something the first queen wanted to deal with right now. So, she had no other choice but to stay calm.

   “Maggie,” She called out, “Maggie, let go. You’re hurting me.”

Maggie doesn’t respond. She isn’t even looking at Aragon, rather the floor with eyes too wide and too glazed over. It was like she was in a trance.

It was like she had rabies.

Aragon took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain that kept flaring through her hand. She released the grip on her wrist and inched closer, as the current position they were both in was a little awkward because of the distance. Maggie allows it and they’re soon facing each other, with Maggie having her knees to her chest and Aragon not really caring about where her legs went because her hand was in a kid’s mouth and that’s the only thing that mattered right now.

   “Maggie,” Aragon tried again, “Maggie, please let go. That hurts. That really hurts, Maggie.”

Nothing.

Pulling Maggie’s hair is back on the table, but as Aragon looks into Maggie’s eyes, she realizes the poor thing is just terrified. She was so caught up in being bitten that she hadn’t even realized how badly the girl was shaking or that she was making little whimpering noises every few seconds.

   “Maggie,” Aragon said, but this time her tone is much more tender and warm. It makes Maggie finally look up a little, “Can you hear me, love?”

Maggie nods a little.

   “Good. That’s good.” Aragon said, “Alright...do you think you can let go? Please?”

Maggie doesn’t respond. Her eyes flick down again. Aragon follows her gaze and realizes she’s looking at her own hand, which is bloody and bruised. The queen’s heart aches for the girl.

   “Oh, love...”

She felt hot tears drip down onto her hand. Maggie screws her eyes shut, a gargled whine worming out from her throat. Just looking at her like this makes Aragon feels bad for being angry at her.

   “Alright, Maggie,” Aragon said, “I just want to help you. Can I do that? Is that okay?”

Maggie hesitated and then nodded.

Aragon thinks for a moment and then extends her other hand. Maggie flinches away a little, but then pressed her head into Aragon’s palm like she was a cat seeking affection. Gently, Aragon threads her fingers through the girl’s hair, hoping the action would bring her enough comfort to calm down.

It seemed to be working. The grip on Aragon’s hand was starting to loosen little by little until the queen was able to pull herself free.

Such a jerky, sudden movement was very stupid.

Maggie bit down hard and Aragon couldn’t stop herself from crying out in pain. The fingers tangled in the girl’s hair tugged, only making it worse because that made Maggie even more frightened.

Aragon’s skin finally breaks open and blood starts to drizzle free. She watches as thin red trails drool down her flesh, and yet Maggie is still latched on like a leach. There’s visible nausea in her eyes, but she isn’t letting go.

   “Maggie-” Aragon grunted, her voice pitching a little when teeth grind deeper into open flesh. “Maggie, please. You need to let go of me.”

Maggie doesn’t hear her. Or maybe she ignores her. Either way, she doesn’t listen.

Aragon was sure her thumb was going to come off if she didn’t do something quickly. She started going over ideas in her mind and they all came down to one thing.

Hurt the girl.

It would work, but Aragon refused to bring harm to this poor child who was only scared. If it were Parr biting her, she would have never thought about something like that.

Looks like she had no other choice, then.

   “You’ve got me down on my knees

Please tell me what you think I’ve done wrong.”

Maggie’s eyes snapped up. She was now staring at Aragon expectantly.

   “Been humble, been loyal, I’ve tried

To swallow my pride all along.”

All at once, the eagerness to be sung to drains from Maggie. There’s deep shame and guilt in her eyes from the lyrics that hit way close too home with the current situation they’re both in.

   “If you can just explain

A single thing I’ve done to cause you pain, I’ll go.”

Maggie whimpers as tears start to flow from her eyes at a quicker pace. Her shoulders shake with the intensity of her sobs. She finally becomes aware of the blood flowing down her throat.

   “...No?” Aragon whispers.

Maggie’s mouth snaps open only because she had to run to one of the stalls to vomit.

Aragon immediately pulls her hand back to her, cradling it against her chest. She grabs some paper towels to wipe away the blood (which there is an alarming amount of). Then, she looks to the stall Maggie disappeared into and frowned. The sound of the girl’s sobbing and wailing practically rattled the entire bathroom.

Slowly, Aragon stands up. She washes her hand off first and winces at how deep the marks in her flesh were, but decided to ignore them for now. She had a guitarist to tend to.

Maggie was huddled over the toilet, coughing violently. Aragon peeked in just in time to watch as she shoved her fingers down her throat and she immediately leapt into action.

   “Woah, hey!”

Aragon grabbed both wrists, causing the girl to spasm like she was being electrocuted. She whined sharply, struggling but ultimately way too weak to break free from the queen. She hunches down, almost cowering beneath Aragon.

   “Shh, shh,” Aragon whispered, “Deep breaths, love. It’s alright.”

Maggie grits her teeth and jerked backwards. Her spine hit the toilet with a painful-sounding thud and Aragon has to tighten her grip to keep the kid from harming herself further.

   “Stop!” Maggie shrieked, “Stop!!”

   “I’m trying to help you!” Aragon snapped, accidentally raising her voice. “So just calm d-”

   “Let go!” Maggie cried, even louder, “Let go, please, let go!” She wildly whips her head around in every direction, kicking out her legs, but missing each time.

Aragon has no idea what she’s freaking out about until she looks down and sees the red oozing out from under her hand. She splays open her fingers a little and sees multiple bruises and bite marks she had been squeezing in what could have only felt like an iron grip to Maggie. Guilt pangs her heart.

   “Oh, honey...” She murmured, but mainly because the sight broke her heart. She couldn’t believe she had never noticed this before.

Maggie rips her hands away, scrambling backwards against the wall. She takes a few heaving breaths, but it doesn’t stop her oncoming panic attack. Her wide eyes dart everywhere until they land on Aragon’s hand. The bruise could already be seen, despite the queen’s darker skin tone.

   “Love, I’m okay,” Aragon said quickly, “You need to get washed up, th-”

She’s cut off by Maggie leaping to her feet. The girl apologizes rapidly, even cursing herself a few times, before fleeing. Aragon yells after her, but she could only watch the girl sprint out like a frightened deer.

Aragon wasn’t quite sure where Maggie went after she ran out, but she liked to think Bessie and her family comforted her. However, she did know that Maggie didn’t forget what happened between them.

It’s been two weeks and Maggie is still refusing to make eye contact. She flees by any means possible every time Aragon gets near and pretends to not hear or just ignores anything the Spanish queen says to her.

Aragon’s bruise is starting to heal, but more are just appearing on Maggie.

[ecotone99]

[FN] Decreptis the Inept

I was once convinced to start a DnD campaign with friends. We played one time and quit. But the character I created was meant to be fun and weird and chaotic. Working with what I had, I created an aged, angry elf who called himself Decreptis the Inept. I hope you enjoy the story.

​

A young man, full of wild expectations about his future. He meets a reckless, young girl with an adventurous heart and they marry. The Young Man works hard to save money for charter across the sea to a new life for them both. But the adventurous young girl grows impatient with his careful planning. Her heart-yearning has waited long enough. She tells him one day that she is leaving without him to join a crew of pirates that will show her the world and a life of adventure.

She mocks his tears - he is weak and will never leave the drudgery of his mediocre life, she thinks. When the Young Man composes himself some hours after she has gone, what was emptied out of him in tears is filled back up with purpose. He runs to the docks to convince her to stay and finds the pirates readying their ship to leave port. She mocks him again, as do the pirates. But he is not deterred.

To snub out his optimism and purposefulness, the pirates take turns with the young woman. Her mockery turns to enjoyment then quickly to terror. She screams for them to stop but it only intensifies the raping and the laughter. The Young Man is detained and forced to watch, his wife's pleading eyes and twisted face forever carved into his mind. When the pirates finish, they slit her throat and dump her overboard. The small patch of red on the water’s surface grows larger as the young man watches unblinking. The pirates then push him onto her body in the water. The taste of salt water and iron fill his mouth. They sail away as the Young Man cradles her body.

“Tell the world about Ladirost, the most ruthless pirate captain in the Elven kingdoms!” He heard one of them shout. The laughter of Ladirost’s crew fades into the setting sun on the horizon.

A Broken Young Man is filled with grief. He, overtime, transforms that grief into a passion for justice, then into religious fervor. He begins the process of becoming a paladin and learns religion for the first time. He thinks that, perhaps, the gods brought him through all his past horror because They intended for him to become a paladin all along. He rises through the ranks with a sharp and tempered purpose that he didn’t know still lived in him.

One day he is sent to investigate a missing elven bureaucrat and his family in a small city run by the bureaucrat. The Young Fervent Paladin’s group consists of 4 other paladins and a new recruit in training. When they arrive in the city, they’re disconcerted to find it abandoned. The only remnant of the residents are random blood smears on walls and floors and the occasional rancid smell as the group walks cautiously to the castle-like estate of the bureaucrat at the end of the street. The paladins prepare themselves for battle and the Young Fervent Paladin prays for his brothers, especially for the younger recruit. Cackling laughter breaks through the heavy air of death surrounding the estate.

“Come in!”

A voice, louder than should be humanly possible through the wood and steel of the giant front doors to the estate, rings inside each paladin’s head. The Young, Fervent Paladin steps forward from amongst his brothers; he is not deterred. He gallantly opens the front doors.

None of them had ever seen so much gore. The townspeople were piled into a bloody wall of flesh along one side of the Grand Foyer, and blood covered the flooring of every visible room, as well as both staircases, mirrors of each other, that curved together up to the second story hall. Red droplets fell in unison from each ballister of both staircases. Floating high in the air just below the Grand Foyer's chandelier is a blood-drenched humanoid figure chuckling to itself.

The Young, Fervent Paladin was still not deterred. Religious fury gives him strength - he draws from it. He focuses his voice to try and emulate the otherworldly beckoning his group heard from the other side of the front door.

“Vile fiend! We shall vanquish you here and now for the senseless murders of these poor people and the family that once resided here!”

“FOOL!” bellows the bloody silhouette of a man floating in the air. “This is my village to feast on; they were my family to do with as I saw fit!”

The bloody silhouette points to the ceiling above them all. Bodies are carefully arranged into demonic symbols, the wrists and throats gaping but devoid of blood. In the middle of the morbid amalgamation is the bureaucrat’s wife and three children, faces forever contorted into the same expression of horror the Young Paladin once saw on his wife’s face.

The recruit turns to flee. But his feet are no longer on the blood-slick floor. No one’s are. Screaming snaps the Young Paladin’s attention from the ceiling to the recruit, then to the reality that their group is floating. The screaming of the young trainee turns to gurgling, then to strange sounds that should not come from a person. The group watched the recruit’s flesh be squeezed by an invisible grip until all that was inside spilled in a glob out of him and splattered on the floor, and the twisted flesh pile that remained was slowly lifted up and added to the mural on the ceiling.

Constained by an unseen force, the group of paladins floated helplessly. One by one, the Young Paladin watched his brothers be added to the mural in the same way. His screams turned to silent shock then to cold acceptance. He turned his mind off and waited for his turn.

When all the gurgling stopped and the last pile slapped onto the floor, instead of a deathly grip he felt a cold caress of his chin that lifted his face to the bloody man still lofting above the staircase.

“You shall be a witness to what happened here. Let the world know of my arrival.” The Young, Helpless Paladin blinked and when his eyes opened he was outside of the estate. He was still expressionless. He turned back to the great doors he wished were never opened and noted the blood seeping out from under them. He made the long trek home alone, shivering though it was not cold.

He is greeted as a hero and finds solace in the familiar routines as a Paladin while the incident was investigated.

There is a knock on his door one night soon after. A paladin friend, eyes wide with fear, stumbled into his room and shut the door hard behind him. His friend explains that he accidentally overhead the paladin council lamenting over their agreement to send a sacrifice of paladins to the new Vampire overlord of the area.

“It’s heresy!” The friend shouted at the Young, Broken Paladin after several moments without response. More words were shouted at the Young, Broken Paladin but he didn’t hear anything more. Was it true? He did wonder to himself. Was I betrayed by my order to be slaughtered by this demonized bureaucrat?

Slowly, his fervor returned. Slowly his passion returned. He realized his friend had left. He will not confront the council alone!

He armed himself and ran through the darkness of dusk to the chambers of the paladin council. He burst through the doors of the chamber and found his friend’s headless body being carried away.

“What did you do!?” He shouted accusatorily at the council. The council knew the way he meant the question, but the leader chose to interpret it as surprise and addressed the Young, Fervent Paladin.

“I’ll dismiss your lack of respect. I know it will come as a shock to learn this paladin brother was a traitor to the gods and was secretly working with demonic forces to betray members of our order. He will conspire with evil no longer."

The Young, Fervent Paladin listened to the lies craftily woven by the council for several minutes. They mentioned trust, and faith, and the renown of the paladin order several times. They even blamed the deaths of his comrades on his beheaded friend. It was all a lie - the entire paladin order. The true power of the Vampire overlord made them all cower like children and quiver like virgins.

He held back the vomit and nodded to everything the council said. He left their presence and prepared in his mind to leave immediately just as the council plotted his death.

With each slow step he took toward his house, he cast off Paladin teachings. ”Honor the gods” - gone. “Bless those around you” - gone. “Be vigilant in your faith” - gone. “Trust the council as your overseers” - gone. He stood at his front door and went to open it but stopped himself.

He would start over once again. He would leave and never return. He had no real possessions except the armor and weapons he carried as a paladin - there was nothing of any value to him anymore inside his house; nothing but superstitious trinkets and dangerous dogma. He turned around and started down the road.

The assassin inside his home waited silently for an arrival that never came until sunrise, then returned to the council where his corpse would eventually add to the ashes of others betrayed.

A Well-Worn Mercenary looks out to the horizon and wonders what this day will bring. The enthusiasm and fervor of his youth was beaten and broken into callous hatred of religion. He still disliked his job as a hired hand, usually a bodyguard for some visiting diplomat or business owner, but at least it gave him purpose. It gave him some measure of freedom and power.

But rarely did he have the opportunity to protect his retainers. Much of his time was spent watching his employers drink, and whore, and bargain, and lie, and ramble on and on about themselves. He heard many of his retainers claim to have defeated some ancient dragon god - what was it, Titmeth? Titmouth? Tit…something.

So mostly he learned to use his perception to notice those around him and how buildings were laid out and what methods he could use to safeguard himself and his payday. He mindlessly escorted this person and that person back and forth around the city, much of his attention and mental energy focused on his surroundings. I could use that fruit stand for cover if needed. And that blacksmith has good wears that I could choose from depending on how many assailants there are. And there’s a weakness in the pillar holding up the roof of the baker’s stand that could easily collapse the entire building if needed.

Daily he practiced in his mind for a nonexistent threat. Until one day.

As he walked with his latest employer, an asshole human jeweler from some human city he’d never heard of, the Well-Worn Mercenary studied a sewage line that looked rusted and may come in handy should the need arise. His retainer blathered on and on some muck-filled banter about his great business deals and such. Typical.

Suddenly he stopped, so the jeweler stopped with him. In the street ahead of them were 4 men lined side-by-side blocking much of the street.

Finally, the Well-Worn Mercenary thought. A fight! The men made some demands of the jeweler, accusations of a bad deal in the past were hurled, some swearing was exchanged - the Well-Worn Mercenary didn’t listen to any of it and just waited for swords to be drawn.

When they finally were by three of the men, the jeweler stepped behind the Battle-Ready Mercenary and shoved him towards the men. “Well do something you sack of shit!” the jeweler yelled at him, a slight smirk on his face.

Resisting the urge to kill his employer, the Battle-Ready Mercenary kept to his commitments. He was defending a shit of a man, yes, but at least he could swing his sword at something other than practice dummies. This jeweler must’ve trusted him enough to not fear the four men - that’s encouraging I suppose. One of the men was unarmed and took a step towards them both. “Is it worth it for you to guard such a wretched weasel of a man?” he asked.

The Battle-Ready Mercenary didn’t feel like speaking, but also wondered if he could avoid killing them all. He sighed to himself - his desire for battle could not overwhelm his old ways of cherishing life.

“I’ve lived for ideals before. For dreams. For gods. For brothers. For honor. Now all I have left is my commitments to those that hire me.”

“That’s a sad way to live, my friend.” The unarmed man responded.

The mercenary noticed then that this man had no visible hands, but something glowed through his sleeves. A mage, he thought. His paladin training and elven blood made him resistant to many forms of mental magic, but he didn’t have much experience with combative magic.

Before he could decide what to say next, there was a sharp pain in his side that made him lurch over. The jeweler had stabbed him with the same dagger the Battle-Ready Mercenary gave all his clients to protect themselves with. In disbelief, he lifted up his shirt to see if the wound was really there.

“You’re pathetic. You were supposed to fight them for me. It would’ve been fun to watch. I’ll just take care of this myself.” The jeweler spat.

The jeweler, apparently a mage himself, began chanting an incantation and from his mouth spilled a cloud of roiling purple that flew towards the four assailants. But the cloud passed through the Well-Worn Mercenary first.

The pain of the dagger was like a splinter compared to what the rest of his body felt as the purple cloud enveloped him. Every muscle in his body convulsed at once. It felt like a razor was being grated across them all simultaneously. He fell to the ground in a shriveled mass. He could not control any of his body anymore, even his eyelids and bowels. His one open eye lay in the dust of the street beneath him, his legs wet from urine, his arms and feet flailed around like a marionette attached to a running horse. The only screaming was from the bystanders watching the spectacle as none of the men could control their own breath.

He could see the men in front of him performing the same revulsive hemorrhaging on the ground, their faces matching the same dreaded look that the Well-Worn Mercenary has seen so many times before. Except the unarmed mage. He was still standing unscathed and chanting something himself.

There was a commotion behind the Well-Worn Mercenary that sounded like the jeweler scuffling - he couldn’t quite tell, and the pain radiating from his body kept him from being able to focus on anything else for long.

Then the pain stopped. He took his first breath in what felt like hours and coughed on the dirt from his inhale. He couldn’t lift himself up at all.

“I’m sorry.” He heard someone say.

He could barely lift his head, but with the other eye not covered in dust he could see the words came from the unarmed mage.

“I hoped to stop him before he released a spell, but stabbing you was sufficient distraction. The jeweler is dead finally. I managed to stop his spell by killing him. But the damage has already been done I’m afraid.”

Damage? Did the mage mean my dagger wound? The Broken Mercenary thought.

He still could not use his muscles much, but he realized it was not simply because of the pain. He looked at his arms and legs - they were half the size of what they should be. His rib cage was exposed where once hardened muscle from paladin training rippled through his skin. His legs looked like those of a frail woman.

Adrenaline kicked in and he used it to raise his head up completely. The three other men in the group looked similarly - like beggars wearing clothing much too large for them.

The Broken Mercenary turned his head around to see the jeweler on the ground, his head at a perfect 90-degree angle from his neck. He was clearly dead, but this did not deter him.

He dragged his frail body over to where the jeweler lay. He could hear the mage in the background, "What are you doing?” He took the borrowed dagger from the jeweler’s hands and tried to stab the lifeless body with it. But his swing and grip were so weak that the dagger fell out of his hands instead.

The Broken Mercenary ignored those around him, who asked him questions but were afraid to approach where the dark magic had been moments before.

He mustered all his strength and gripped once more the dagger, this time stabbing the jeweler over and over again until blood spurted in all directions. The crowds stopping asking him questions then. Exhausted, the Broken Mercenary soon feinted.

A Frail Pirate Captain steps out into the sun from his chambers for the first time in a week. The sun was bright - it must be mid-day, he thought.

A handful of men scattered around the deck of the ship when they saw him. They didn’t know if he was even alive anymore, but they dared not disturb the captain when he threatened to kill each of them if they even cast a shadow on his chambers. It had been days since they’d seen him last.

The Frail Pirate Captain preferred it this way - no one liked him, and he didn’t need to care about anyone but himself.

After the incident with the jeweler’s dark magic more than a hundred years ago, the Broken Mercenary at first worked to regain his strength. But the mage had warned him that dark magic leaves a stain on those it touches - his strength could never be what it once was.

He lived in anguish for many years after that, teetering between suicidal and psychopathic.

The Frail Pirate Captain allowed nostalgia to bring him back to the moment that lead him to the deck of this ship.

It was long after dusk one night many decades ago that he went to a favorite Inn near the docks and spent his last bit of coin on a strong drink. He had become a Frail Broken Man and he eavesdropped on some pirates trying to one-up each other’s stories.

“I nearly split that dwarf whore in half! She loved every minute of it!” One shouted as the others reeled back in hoarse laughter. Another chimed in “I was so drunk once that I stumbled into the wrong house. Husband jumped out of bed with his wife to poke the inside of my ribs but I still had enough sense about me to stick him first. Their two little ones watched as I finished with the wife what the dead bastard started! Best fuck I ever had!” More hoarse laughter.

Their sex stories turned to treasure stories, then became horror stories. Many in the bar listened intently, some even drank near the pirates and made no attempt to hide their interest. The pirates loved the attention and told their stories with more and more embellishment - some thought to themselves that they were all bards just dressing as pirates for a more believable story.

Another pirate finished his story: “After the captain died, the rest of us stood there speechless. What the fuck were we supposed to do? We didn’t even see how he died. Then, suddenly, we all heard the most horrible, bone-crunching, gut-slurping sound you can imagine. The captain’s body started to shake…”

The pirate-bard shook his body to imitate the motion.

“Then a loud RRRRIPPPP!” he spat.

Some listeners leaned in, their elven ears twitching occasionally at a too-loudly-enunciated syllable. “The captain’s skin was splitting apart and his bones were jumping out of his fucking body like some kind of demon cocoon!”

“What did you all do?” a listener asked the pirate.

“Weeeeell, everyone was frozen in fear but me. So I used my wits and cut the barrels of ale loose. They rolled towards that skeleton demon so fast it couldn’t get out of the way. Some crewmen saw them coming, but some others were knocked off the ship along with the demon. Last I saw was a ship hand named Erus trying to crawl up the keel only to be pulled under by the bloody, skeletal claws of our deceased captain.” He smirked in the candlelight as he finished. He thought highly of himself, no doubt.

“Was it dark magic?” Someone asked. “Is that thing still out there somewhere?” Someone else commented. The other pirates just nodded their approval of the story.

“I’ve got a better story.” came a frail but firm voice from the corner of the bar. Everyone looked over. Those surrounding the pirates weren’t sure how they’d react to someone else being the center of attention. Part of the small crowd surrounding the pirates took a step back.

One of the pirates jumped up and invited the Frail Broken Man over to the table.

“Now listen - here’s the deal.” the pirate said loud enough for everyone to hear as he walked with the Frail, Broken Man. "You think you have a story good enough for our company. So if your story is good, you can join our crew and maybe clean our plates after a meal and our cocks after a good fuck. But if your story is shit, you die." His pirate mates chuckled.

The Frail Broken Man’s smile seemed insane to the pirates amidst all the gaping mouths of the now frightened audience of the Inn. “I agree to your terms,” he responded.

Not being eloquent with words, the Frail Broken Man fumbled over some details but told the tale of a Young, Fervent Paladin and his band of brethren and the bureacrat-turned-vampire as best he could. He told the group about the corruption in the paladin council. He told them that he can still hear the sounds and see the faces of his fallen friends. He finished and took a gulp of one of the pirate's ale.

There was silence for quite some time. The pirate that invited the frail man over was the first to speak.

“Well, you’re a shit story-teller, friend. But damnit if that wasn’t the best story I’ve heard in years! We need to teach you how to tell a story like a pirate.” He clapped the frail man on the back, which almost caused his head to slam into the table. The pirates laughed and scooped him up as they left the Inn.

The Frail, Broken man went with them to their ship. He had nothing else to live for. So what if I die? He thought. Perhaps death is the only adventure left.

After 80 years on a pirate’s ship, the Frail Man learned to compensate for his stolen strength with his perception and insight. He often saw things others didn’t and came up with creative solutions to impossible problems. He was at first pitied and abused on the ship, but soon he made a name for himself through his ingenuity and humorous disregard for others.

The pirate that originally invited him to their table at the Inn turned out to be the captain of this ship. The Frail Man almost respected him, but mostly hated him. This captain reminded him of the one that took his wife so many lifetimes ago.

But this captain pointed to the Frail Man one day to take the helm in his stead when the captain and some mates were to take a rowboat ashore to an abandoned island for a brokered deal to transport some magic artifacts to a foreign buyer.

The captain respected the Frail Man’s opinion on things and, the day before, sought his insight concerning the brokered deal.

It didn’t add up, the Frail Man had concluded to the captain.

“You’re about to be double-crossed.”

The pirate captain thought for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he said, “but I’ll try it anyway. It’s too much money to avoid.”

Idiot; he’s dead. Thought the Frail Man.

As if sensing his thoughts, the captain added, “I’m not that easy to kill and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been double-crossed. You think I’m that weak?”

“I think weakness and strength have nothing to do with anything. Your strength can’t stop a random leviathan from swallowing the boat whole this very second, or a random crossbow bolt from going through your skull as soon as you step foot on the sand of that island. It’s chaos - it’s random chance that you continue living or die a terrible death at any second.”

It was more than the Frail Man had said in a single sitting since he boarded the ship.

“Wise words. Then you’ll take my place if I die.”

The response took the Frail Man by surprise but he did not show that surprise outwardly.

“Fine” was his only response. The captain laughed.

“Then you’ll tell the world about my adventures and how cruel a captain I was, won’t you?” The captain laughed again, apparently amusing himself.

The Frail Man had hope again - a small piece of it. He overheard about the mutiny the night before. He knew exactly who would betray the captain and how they planned to do it.

He cracked a smile back to the captain but said nothing.

He didn’t share the specifics with the captain because he didn’t care. That he would be given command of the ship was reason enough. The last remnant of honor from his Paladin days broke away in that moment. The Frail Man felt it break inside of his mind. He didn’t know it was there at all, but was glad to be free of honor for good. No remnant of his past would influence his future anymore.

When the captain pointed at the Frail Man in front of his crew and announced that he would have the helm while away, some of the crew understood. Some shot jealous glances at the Frail Man, some planted murderous intentions in their hearts against him.

But the Frail Man knew which among them was involved in the mutiny. He spent the night before the captain's departure preparing for this. As the captain’s rowboat approached the beach, the Frail Man planted himself beside a large barrel of rice with three ropes for the main mast sails attached to the hull beside it.

He waited.

A conch shell resounded from the island - that was the sign of the mutineer’s to take the ship. One turned around to draw his sword on the Frail Prepared Man, but a bolt from a crossbow was already in the man’s neck. The crossbow had been hidden in the barrel by the Frail Man the day before. Three other men rushed him once the first fell over the side of the boat.

Without looking, the Frail Prepared Man snapped the first line of the mast sail. The sail followed the wind and crushed the chests of all three men. As they clutched their chests and slowly died, terrorized expressions on their faces were somehow comforting to him. Familiar, in fact.

His next shot was into the ankle of a seemingly uninvolved pirate standing at the top of the stairs to the aft. The bolt caused him to tumble down the stairs into another pirate that was truly not involved, both of them rolling into the cargo hold where carefully propped-up swords impaled them both. No one entered the cargo hold when it was empty but the Frail Man which gave him all the time necessary to prepare whatever death traps he wanted. Chaos, he thought.

Other pirates looked around nervously, afraid to move. The only ones that did move, died. And they all died by strange, imperceptible means. The last mutineer approached the Frail Prepared Man from the side of the ship and thought he wasn’t seen, but the Frail Prepared Man, right on queue, slowly untied the last of the mast ropes.

The rest of the remaining crew watched as the loosened rope dropped a barrel from a hidden spot above the mast perfectly onto the sneaking mutineer. A muffled insult sounded from inside the barrel “You bastard!”

The Frail Man pulled out a sword from the same barrel as the crossbow and slowly inserted it into a tiny hole previously caved into the barrel encasing the mutineer. The Frail Man watched the other crewman intently with a sly smile as he listened to the trapped man scream while the sword went into him over and over again. Even after the noises in the barrel had stopped, the stabbing and smiling continued.

“I am your captain now. Take up the anchor and leave the mutineer’s on the beach to their fate. There was never any deal."

The Frail Pirate Captain snaps out of his nostalgia as a port appears on the horizon. He shouts orders to his crew to prepare for docking.

A Seasoned Pirate Captain yells at his first mate through the storm to fire his last crossbow bolt into the giant creature destroying the ship.

The bolt had no effect. The slimy arm was at least 30 feet long and the same thickness as the main mast of the ship. The large hand on the end had five fingers like a elf. It made the Seasoned Captain’s stomach lurch, but he didn’t show it. The arm plucked the fifth crewman from the ship and in a flash dragged him under the water. The other 10 or 15 arms were ripping off planks of the ship, tearing at the sails, or searching for more crewmen.

Only 4 of us left, the Seasoned Captain thought. He had never encountered or even heard of whatever beast this was. It was hard to see what was killing his men at first through the storm, as rain and thunder kept all the senses busy. He managed to lob off several of the arms at first with his crewmen and some quick thinking, but each arm was like a hydra head and where one was stopped, two or three more would come up in its place.

“Do you know any fire spells?” The Seasoned Captain yelled to his first mate. He knew the crewman was somewhat versed in magic. He never cared enough about the man to ask until now.

“Uh...yes, but why the gods would I set the boat on fire?” The confused first mate retorted.

The Seasoned Captain took a step forward, undeterred and calm.

“We will kill this thing before it kills us first.”

The first mate stared at him amidst the storm and chaos around them. Then two arms grabbed the young elf at the same time and pulled him apart. Entrails spread at the Seasoned Captain’s feet and splashed onto his face.

“Well fuck.”

The Seasoned Captain watched as the arms took the rest of his crew under the water; contorted expressions of terror on each of their faces as they were plucked. Enough of the planks were removed that the ship was taking on water.

It’s actually quite beautiful, he thought. The rain pattering on the ship, his ship, and the lightning in the background glistening off the shiny sea monster’s arms. This is a good way to die I suppose.

One arm came right for him. He watched it intently. But it stopped just in front of his face. He could feel the cold from it but noticed it had no smell. Curious.

Then all the other arms stopped simultaneously. In an eerie split second, every arm suddenly slipped back into the sea. Another bolt of lightning lit up the broken deck. Was the ship tilting slightly from taking on water?

A bulbous form rose out of the water to the right where the ship tilted. It was the same color as the arms but was half the size of the entire boat.

A kraken?

Then two eyes came out of the water the size of the Seasoned Captain himself. They were human eyes, or at least appeared to be. A large maw followed after the eyes, crunching on the last member of the crew to be taken under.

The creature looked at the Seasoned Captain and smiled wide. The half-chewed crewman almost fell out of its mouth, but it quickly crunched again and the sound of bones snapping reverberated as loudly as the next thunder crack. The thing swallowed what was left.

“WELL HELLO” The creature uttered in a deep, guttural tone.

The Seasoned Captain lifted an eyebrow at the creature and smiled. “Ah! Here I thought you were just some awful beast eating my crew, now I see you’re a polite, intelligent beast eating my crew!” He had to shout to be heard over the storm.

The creature’s body shook a few times, rolls of skin rippled down its width into the water. Was it laughing?

The ship was definitely tilting now, but something, the creature? righted it. Then it’s massive body moved beside the ship next to the helm where the Seasoned Captain stood. He walked calmly up to the creature so they were almost eye-to-giant-eye.

“YOUR CREW SERVED ME WELL. SOMETIMES MY APPETITE CANNOT BE SO EASILY SATISFIED.” Its breath was like fetid meat left out in the rain for months combined with a wet dog.

“Glad you’re full. You’re an interesting fellow, aren’t you?” The Seasoned Captain shouted back.

“I AM THE RESULT OF THE MAGICAL TRANSMUTATION OF THE MIGHTIEST SEA CREATURE AND THE WISEST HUMAN ON THE EARTH. DEATH MAGIC FLOWS THROUGH MY CORPOREAL FORM, AND I HUNT AS I CHOOSE. I…”

“OH for fuck’s sake!” The Seasoned Captain snapped back - he saw where this was going.

“HOW DARE YOU” The creature snapped back in disgust and surprise at being interrupted.

“Let me fucking guess, you want me to go tell the world of your magnificence and blah blah blah. Fuck that! You’re just a giant ball of sea cum mixed with some octopus woman’s menstrual cycle.”

He waited for death. This was enough - he was finished. He’d go out on his own terms. I'm not being the harbinger for another godsdamned monster.

The creature reared up and opened its maw to consume him. As it did, its grip on the ship that was righting it, slipped. Instead of the Seasoned Captain going into its mouth, the front of the ship went instead.

Desperate to kill the Seasoned Captain that insulted it, the creature lustfully rammed its open mouth onto the ship, which sent the pirate bouncing off the kraken-man’s bulbous form over the side of the ship and into the water.

When he surfaced, he saw the creature’s numerous arms trying to pull out pieces of the ship from its mouth. But the creature couldn’t remove the lodged piece of pirate ship because of the damage already done to it. Instead of the whole ship coming out, only pieces at a time did. Loud choking noises spewed out of the creature. The Seasoned Captain watched as the hands moved slower and slower and the two giant but unmistakably human eyes rolled into the back of the blob’s head.

Soon after, the creature stopped moving completely. Both it and the ship remnant sank below the water. All that was left was a rowboat, which the Seasoned Captain crawled into and laid down in, letting the rain caress his face.

I live to piss off someone else, it seems.

An Old, Decrepit Elf sits alone in the corner. He listens to the bard’s song memorializing some band of heroes and gods and describing some monstrous threat to the world; good vanquishing evil and all that. He laughs quietly to himself. Typical bard, typical song, he thinks.

The more he listens to the Bard’s tales, the louder his laughter becomes. Soon the Old, Decrepit Elf’s cackling follows every verse. People start to yell. The bard tries to ignore the laughter at first but soon stops the song.

A drunken orc approaches the Old, Decrepit Elf. “I am Dragold, and I will kill you today for interrupting my drink.” The elf laughs heartily again, and Dragold rears back his mug in hopes of punching right through the damn old elf’s skull.

But the Old, Decrepit Elf sees what others do not. Dragold has no shoes on and several broken toes that seem to sprout from his foot in all directions like deformed gourds. His walk and stance make it obvious that his center of balance is terribly off, and one of his knees is buckled to one direction from what was probably a previous injury.

The elf waits until the orc begins his swing then ducks underneath it. The Old, Decrepit Elf pushes slightly on the orc's hip and simultaneously kicks the already-buckled knee. The orc’s knee snaps and the momentum of his swing and the direction of his center-of-gravity from his nudged hip lands his eyes perfectly into the antlers of a wall-mounted animal. He howls in pain for a second, then his body goes limp and slumps. The weight of his corpse rips the antlers off the wall. Dragold lays, contorted, on the floor with the mounted animal sticking up out of his face.

Someone screams, some stare, others run for the door. The Old, Decrepit Elf laughs again. The bard and many others take a step back from him.

“Listen bard, there is no good or evil. There is only chaos. There is only chance. One minute you’re drinking in a bar listening to some dumbass bard make music about prick deities, then the next you’ve got antlers in your fucking eyes. One day you’re walking along counting your coins, then a fucking dragon flies over head and takes a shit right on top of you. You die from drowning in superheated dragon shit. Is that good or evil, Bard? It’s neither.”

The Old, Decrepit elf steps around the orc, too large to step over, and moves toward the Inn door. Everyone moves quickly out of his way. The bard shakes off his shock and asks “what’s your name, decrepit elf?”

“Oh, are you going to tell the world about me, Bard? About how I moved out of the way and let the Orc bastard impale himself?”

“It was no accident,” the Bard replies. What an interesting man, the Bard thinks.

The Old, Decrepit Elf thinks for a moment, “just call me Decreptis the Inept."

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