#but i'd need to do stretches that i don't remember or my legs will die

[taupewolfy]

i miss fencing so much....

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Exploring

13. Did you know this cave was haunted?

17. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Reader x Marko.

Requested by @katerinaval

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

"Where are we going?" I asked laughing, as he pulled me along through the empty streets of Santa Carla.

"You'll see." He looked at me, smiling as well. Still, he didn't tell me.

He had picked me up for a date as a surprise. He didn't tell me where we'd be going or what we'd be doing. All he told me was that I had to get ready and that we'd be leaving in ten. So, that's what I did. I got ready, quickly putting on some shoes and finding a comfy jacket - and out we went.

"Remember when you told me about your bucket list?"

I nodded. Of course I did. A week ago, the two of us had laid in the grass looking at the stars when I had told him about the things I still wanted to do in my life. I'd told him how I wanted to travel to every continent and how I wanted to visit every museum in New York. How I'd kill to see a band like KISS or Metallica play live, and how I would love to learn more languages. Above all, on the top of that list, was my desire to explore abandoned buildings, explore haunted places, and really get into the whole urban exploring thing. It sounded like an amazing adventure, and I would love to try it just once.

"You're taking me to an abandoned building?" I asked, enthusiastically.

"Not quite. There's a hidden cave system, further down town. We don't really come there, but I thought it would be a good place to start your urban exploring hobby."

I grinned, quickening my pace. "That's amazing! Thank you," I kissed his cheek as he led me down some rocks. As we walked further down, sometimes jumping and climbing, if the rocks called for it, we finally came upon a small entrance.

"This is it. Do you want me to go first?"

I nodded. If he went in first, he could already have a flashlight burning when I got there, and he could catch me if I were to fall. So, on both points, that was a definite win.

"Come on down, you'll love it!"

Carefully, I lowered my legs through the whole in the rocks, gliding in and falling down to the ground. A quiet yelp escaped me as Marko caught me, breaking my fall. The cave was cold, clammy - but between the rocks were tiny gemstones. They shimmered in the light of my lantern, glowing bright purple and pink. I smiled, looking around as Marko led me down further into the cave system. He didn't need the light to navigate, what with him being a vampire and all, but nonetheless, I was very glad I had a little bit of light.

"Did you know this cave was haunted?" He asked as he jumped down some rocks. I shook my head, shaking my lantern. The light was getting weak.

"What happened?"

"A couple of decades back, a group of explorers went missing. They were found a year later, crushed by the stones. They say they haunt this cave ever since."

"And you thought that would be a good place to start my exploring experience?"

"Well, it was the one that was closest by," Marko shrugged, "and I figured you wouldn't mind."

"I guess not. It is kind of unnerving, though. I mean, what if ghosts are real?"

Marko laughed at that, looking at me. "Ghosts aren't real."

"Are you sure? Next, you're going to tell me vampires aren't real either."

"Very funny, hon. Listen, we got to move a bit."

"Why?" Were they unstable? Would they fall and crash us like they did with the previous explorers of this cave? Why would he bring me here if it wasn't safe? I moved to follow him. The light in my lantern flickered on and off, and with a final weak little "bzz," did the light die down completely. I couldn't see anything.

"Marko?" I called, freezing in place. I waited for him to respond, but I got nothing. "Marko, where are you?"

My voice echoed through the cave, but I still got no answer. "Marko?!"

I shuffled forward, my hands stretched out in front of me so I wouldn't walk into a wall of stone.

"Marko, this isn't funny! I'm getting sca-" I screamed as my foot slipped. I fell down, deeper and deeper, until I roughly hit the ground. I cried out, tears streaming over my face. My whole body ached, and one of my legs laid in a very unnatural angle on the ground.

"Marko!" I screamed, finally getting a response.

"Babe? Where are you?"

"I fell, please - it hurts so much..."

Within seconds, he was next to me, pulling a small lighter out of his pocket. The flame illuminated a bit of the cave, and I could see his face. He looked horrified, scared.

"Is it- is it bad?"

Marko nodded. "Don't look, alright, just look at me. Shit, babe," he held me, noticing that I was looking more miserable with the second.

"I need to get out..." I said, whimpering as I moved my leg even a little bit. If we were to get out, I had to be carried. I couldn't walk. Marko looked scared - and I still wasn't sure whether it was because of me and my injury or because of something he saw. And that thought alone terrified me as well. I held on to him tightly, trying to forget the horrifying thoughts that played through my head. Trying to focus on the here and now and still trying to ignore my throbbing leg.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this."

I looked up, slightly confused. "What was?"

"Our date. We'd have dinner, after this. I'd ask you to become a vampire. To stay with me."

I froze. I knew what they were, what he was, of course. But I had never given it any thought. But to become like them? In theory, it sounded wonderful, the eternal life and the possibility to do anything. But could I really kill someone? Could I drink blood? And be okay with that?

"I don't know if I am made to be a vampire," I said quietly.

"You would leave me?"

"No!" I exclaimed, looking at him. "I would never, but I don't know if I could do it."

"That's too bad," his voice turned cold now, as he looked at me. "Because you don't have a choice anymore."

"What?!"

"You're bleeding out. Your leg is practically snapped in half. The only reason you're not passed out right now is adrenaline. If you want to live, you have to let me change you."

No, no - this couldn't be true. Right? But the more he spoke, the weaker I began to feel, the foggier my sight became, the stronger the ache in my head and chest. The more he talked, the foggier he became until he was a shapeless blur.

Marko bit me, fast and deep, forcing his vampire venom inside of me, forcing the change upon me. He forced me to drink his blood, to keep it down. He snapped my leg back in to place, ignoring my screams of anguish, when he continued to force me to drink his blood. I cried out as I realised what was happening to me, but then I lost consciousness. I welcomed the dark, falling into a deep slumber.

"I had no choice," Marko sighed as he laid down next to my body, "you would have died. And then so would I. I can't live without you."

[yanderes-galore]

Panther's Yandere Prompts

I wanted to make some myself you can use them as long as you reblog for credit :)

You can request from these, too! In fact I encourage it.

Edited - 11/21/22

Possible Trigger Warnings: Yandere themes, of course, Violence, Self harm implied, Blood, Murder, Obsession, Kidnapping, Possessive themes, Delusional behavior.

2.) "It's an honor for someone such as me to take you in and love you!"

-Vol.1-

1.) "I'd burn this world and everything in it for you."

3.) "You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

4.) "My heart belongs to you, I'll adore anything you do to it."

5.) "Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

6.) "A good partner must be willing to make sacrifices for their beloved! Don't you agree?"

7.) "All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!"

8.) "I could look into those eyes forever...."

9.) "The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

10.) "I've given myself all to you! Yet you call me a monster!"

11.) "I'd crush their heart in front of you if it meant you'd only love me!"

12.) "You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

13.) "So what if a few people have to die? It'll only bring us closer!"

14.) "It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

15.) "Please smile for me... don't make me force you...."

16.) "Do as I say or I may just have to press this weapon closer to your back...."

17.) "You look so cute in those clothes! I think I picked well...."

18.) "Kiss me! Kiss me like your life depends on it!"

19.) "Show me that I can forgive you! I need proof!"

20.) "I've been waiting too long for this...."

21.) "Photos and trinkets only do so much, dear!"

22.) "They never loved you. Only I love you."

23.) "You're crying... come a little closer, I'll make it all go away."

24.) "Don't you believe in fate? Fate wants us to be together...!"

25.) "They may be long gone now... but I'm hapoy they let us meet."

26.) "Look! We're bonding, just the two of us!"

27.) "Our aniversary is coming up... it's been 2 years now...!"

28.) "Do you know how hard it is to wear a facade? Just to get people to like you?"

29.) "I want to be this close... forever...."

30.) "Those lasting marks are signs of our love!"

31.) "I'd make you bleed just to get an even better taste of you...."

32.) "With a little effort, these bleak walls will be a wonderful home for the two of us!"

33.) "You ever think of our future children like I do?"

34.) "No one else understands me except you!"

35.) "Don't push me away, dear... I only want to be closer to you!"

36.) "I'd hate to hurt you but... if you keep this up I might have to."

37.) "We should get married! It's been long enough, hasn't it?"

38.) "My life has been so barren without you...."

39.) "What will it take to get you to love me!?"

40.) "Do you really remember nothing? It's me! Your partner!"

41.) "I made this mark on myself to show you how much I love you!"

42.) "Even if I have to break you... I'll never stop loving you."

43.) "Won't you be a good pet for me?"

44.) "Your tongue is so sharp... wouldn't it be a shame if I had to silence it?"

45.) "Stop screaming! I can't take it!"

46.) "Even monsters can love, can't they...?"

47.) "I'd die before letting you go!"

48.) "What's love without a little hardship?"

49.) "This is to solidify our love...."

50.) "If it means both of us must perish, so be it!"

-Vol.2-

51.) "I'll chase you down like an animal if I have to."

52.) "My world's covered in darkness without you!"

53.) "I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

54.) "Selfish! That's what you are!"

55.) "Now there's always a part of me with you...."

56.) "Come dance with me, it'll stretch your cramped legs."

57.) "You're stuck with me, like it or not."

58.) "One more mistake and I may just break something."

59.) "Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?"

60.) "You feel like you're being stalked? Tell me all about it...."

61.) "Being alone is worse than you hating me."

62.) "I must know everything about you!"

63.) "You're my everything!"

[mannatea]

32. What direction you wish this series would take? If no one's asked you this one yet. And it's okay if you've moved on to other stuff, but what would you *like* to see in a new FE game? And no need to be realistic. ;D

Oooh a daring question! I dig it!

And I appreciate the caveat that it doesn't have to be realistic. I fully acknowledge that the game series isn't made for me. I'm a very mediocre gamer and I'm objectively just...like, straight up NOT good at the game. I never have been. I don't play any other strategy games.

So while they've been really innovative in the last couple of generations when it comes to stuff like...you know...abilities and all that, I simply do not care. I liked Phoenix Mode or whatever it was called from FE14/Fates and if that carried through in all games I'd love it. I don't care about the battles. I just want the story stuff.

Actually, I wouldn't even be opposed to a "story" mode of the game.

Related, I liked how in FE7, in the "intro" chapters, people don't generally die, but rather, get injured in (fairly?) unique specified ways. I think I remember Kent's leg being the issue chosen for him. Yeah, it doesn't change the whole story or anything, but it was a neat little thing that let the characters not die while still also taking them out of the battle. And in that sense, it was really cool, just like...flavor text. If a fanfic writer inserted that detail into their story for whatever reason, even if it was just that Kent's leg was bothering him again, it would kind of give that hint at what happened earlier without actually having to come out and say it. I liked details like that, especially because they felt like they were used sparingly and most importantly, used well.

Also, the earlier games did a lot of stuff like special dialogue if you had certain units on the field for a particular chapter (for example, Kent and Sain both having dialogue if you put them out in the chapter you fight against Darin because they both feel it's their duty and obligation to, you know, personally end his life for what he did to Caelin).

I'm fully aware the newer games do some of this as well, but it feels less like a special little thing that happens every now and then and more of a tryhard thing?

It's hard to explain, and I realize i'm probably just being a bitch here, but the new games do this thing where it reaaaally feels like they're trying WAY too hard in EVERY area, and it has this effect, at least for me personally, of stretching everything in the game thin. Now the combat is really complex and confusing as shit. Now the characters have too many supports and half of them are honestly just the sound of clowns juggling whoopie cushions. Characters can reclass whether it makes any real fucking sense or not (I REALLY HATE THIS ONE ACTUALLY, IT TAKES AWAY FAR TOO MUCH CHARACTER IDENTITY AND YALL KNOW THAT'S MY THING). Now the story's really complex too but not always because the writers made it complex so much as the writers don't know how to write cohesive complex stories (laughcrying at Fates forever ngl).

I'm not just shitting on modern FE games, for what that's worth. I think they've made some good changes over the years. Byleth was about a thousand steps up from Corncob...i Mean coRRIN. At least she felt like she could theoretically be an actual person in the world.

But I still don't like avatar characters. I hate that they were so successful we'll never be free of them. I just can't. I tried to cope but all I can do is seethe. (I mean, I don't actually have the energy required to seethe but it sounded funny so I said it.)

All of this to say that if I could have my way IntSys would go broke because most of the things that made the game series wildly successful are things I'd remove or change. Feelsbadman. But I'm not too bummed out about it because in recent years I have come to understand that some things are just straight-up NOT MEANT FOR ME. Like I can seethe about my hallmark show going into the shitter but I also have to like, pull myself back and go "YOU ARE NOT THE TARGET AUDIENCE YOU DUMBASS" and I know I'm right so I simply disconnected from it. Sorta. Mostly.

Fire Emblem is much the same way. They really market the games as like this weird hybrid dating sim + self insert-ish avatar + really good strategy rpg game...and people eat it up. I have to recognize I'm just not the target audience anymore. (And I never really was, because I never cared about the literal main point of the games, which was, u know, strategy. LOL.)

So my ideal FE game would limit supports and make every one meaningful in some way, limit "marriage options" to characters that actually make some sense and have meaningful development, do away with an avatar character and just use an actual character instead (this is how I felt they should have really treated Byleth / I think Innes is basically the strategy character in FE8 and it worked fine), and try to incorporate little tidbits of info in the game in easy to get places. Also, no DLC. Literally none. Zip. Zilch. Perish.

I'd be okay with a more complex plot if the rest of the game followed those rules, probably because I'd be invested in the characters enough to really be invested in puzzling out the plot, versus getting dragged along by it.

[technodromes]

♞ ♗ They once used to be Brothers 01

Knight and Bishop are both professionals with no doubts raised when someone mentions their names. But when they're forced to work together? They're the very personification of one brain cell being shared.

"Knight, we're late already." Although Bishop's robot looks and sounds mostly gratingly monotone, there is a perceivable hint of distress in his voice now. He types something on his tablet while Knight is still hopping around in the backroom, trying to force his robot's legs into a pair of black trousers. "What made you even think this stupid suit is a good idea anyway? These pants are a pain in my artificial butthole!" He's hopping back to the left, loses his balance, and crashes into a clothes rack. It is now that Bishop looks finally up from his work and turns around, but his brother is nowhere to be seen. "Are you implying to not have a real butthole?" But the only immediate response he gets to his uttered confusion is a bunch of hissed Utrom vulgarities from somewhere in the backroom. Bishop sighs and finishes his work before putting the sleek device inside a black pleather case. So much for the necessary preparations, at least. "I know you're not particularly fond of the Norman Exosuit, but--" Knight joins Bishop before the latter is able to finish his sentence though, his robot fully clad in the exact same black suit as the other. The tie is still a mess, though. "Now that's a gross understatement! They're stupidly tight and uncomfortable. Honestly, I think I'm developing claustrophobia in here!" Bishop is rolling his eyes (both, the Utrom and his robot), before adjusting his brother's tie. "I don't really understand why they thought it would be a good idea to send both of us for this mission." "Yeah that's a sentiment I can agree upon, for once." Both leave their hideout in Bishops car and drive into a small park, not far away from their actual target location. It is their supposed meeting point and the spot where they're going to separate for now. But not without exchanging some instructions first.

"Okay, let's go this through again. You walk into the conference room, do your blabla thing, go out for lunch break and I go back in there for you while you're being sneaky? Sounds simple enough, except that I'll probably die a thousand internal deaths while playing your boring self." As unbelievable as it may seem though, Knight truly is outstanding at acting as someone else entirely. He already loved impersonating others as a child. But outside of that, he is a notorious pain to work with. Nobody knows that better than Bishop. "All I ask you is to take this seriously, brother. I have to find that file and delete it before someone here analyzes it. Our secret identity is at stake. We will meet here again in two hours. Remember to be timely, I have only thirty minutes to instruct you about the conference before you have to go in there to impersonate me." "That isn't difficult, really. Just go get your bland ass inside that security agency, to talk about all the futile human protection strategies while I figure out how to completely obliterate your reputation around here in two hours~" "KNIGHT!" "I was just joking. I'd ruin your reputation in under five minutes if I wanted to~" Knight rises from the bench they were sitting on and stretches. "You really need to loosen up a little. See ya again here in two hours, veteran bore." Bishop watches Knight wander off, and he can't help but get a strange gut feeling that this mission won't be as easy as his brother thinks it will be. He gets up as well after he went through his own role mentally for a short moment, and heads back to the car to drive over to the agency.

[cassandrajoybellbittner]

Taken - Blue Moon Series - Chapter 9b

*Warning Adult Content*

Elder Cyrus

"What happened?" I demanded kneeling towards him just about to touch his back.

Gale quickly swiped my hand away from him and growled viciously at me.

My eyes widened to find huge bared fangs and jet black eyes staring into my shocked face.

"Gale?"

"What part of go away... does no-one understand... Ahh," he cut himself off with a scream and hunched over grabbing his stomach.

Then it hit me.

"Either you're having the worlds worst menstrual cramps," this caused him to glare up at me with those pitch black eyes.

"Or your starting to get really hungry," I said slowly.

"Don't worry about it. I've got this. Just leave me alone and make sure no one else comes to see how I'm doing."

"When was your last feeding?" I asked ignoring his last warning.

"It's none of your damn business," he gasped hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Just tell me."

"You don't asked questions like that, Cyrus," he panted.

"Just leave, it will go away with time."

I was confused as to why I wasn't allowed to ask him that question when I suddenly remember a bit of a book I'd read about Vampire at the Elder academy.

It was considered indecent to mention anything about your feeding habits to others.

It was also considered an intimate transaction better left in the bedroom.

But for him to be this hungry it must have been a while ago and a hungry vampire was no better than a hungry wolf, if anything it was worse... a lot worse.

"You have to eat," I told him.

"It will go away"

"And that kind of thinking is what got you into this mess in the first place, isn't it?" I growled pushing him.

He was so weak that he just toppled over on his side and back.

I guess all the running we've done recently was catching up to him and somewhere deep down I felt a twinge of pity.

Dammit.

It was his fault I even experienced these moments of weakness for him.

"Come one Gale, tell me what you need?"

He turned his face away from me and I was glad slightly.

A least I wasn't the only one feeling pathetic right about now.

"Is it animal or human?" I persisted.

A long silence answered me and stretched on forever before I heard him sigh.

"Why are you trying to help me?"

"I don't know, quit asking stupid questions and just answer mine."

"Yours is a stupid question," he said and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I don't know jack about your species so forgive me if I ask any questions to try and help you," I countered.

"It's useless, any blood I take now won't last me long anyway."

His dark brown hair with its shining highlights in the sun made a huge contrast with his pale skin, which looked icy cold now.

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"The only blood to sustain me now would have to be my mate's blood," he finally said and I froze.

"Then why did you send Lakota away?" I asked slowly and he turned towards me.

"Because I'm starving. I'm not going to hurt him anymore that he's been through. I'd rather starve myself than feed from him in this condition."

His black eyes stared at me with an serious expression.

I watched him struggle to a sitting position with one leg bent up and the other angled on the ground.

"So you won't bite Lakota, even though it will sate you," I asked.

"No," he replied and I nodded.

"Then bite me."

This cause his head to snap up.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I don't joke, Gale."

He shook his head at me.

"Why? If you won't take from Lakota, then the next best thing is me."

"No," he forced this out in a hard tone and I felt a little offended.

"Well because of you, we're mated now too."

"And that is why I won't hurt you," he pushed to his feet.

"You don't understand. I'd rather die than take either of you at this moment."

"Well, I'm the best you got, Gale. Bite me," I demanded from him.

He staggered off pathetically trying to escape but I caught up with him easily.

"Gale. I'm not Lakota. You don't have to protect me or baby me."

He glared at me then.

"What makes you think I want..."

"Want my blood?" I interrupted him... feeling hurt.

He stopped then and turned to me fully.

"To treat you any differently than Lakota," he finished.

This made me paused before I sighed holding in the sudden emotions that raced through me.

Slowly I extended the nail on my forefinger and quickly without giving him time to react... I slashed the side of my neck.

Instantly his black eyes zeroed in on my neck as I felt blood begin to seep out the self-inflicted wound.

"I'm not going to let you starve because you're too scared to help yourself," I told him stubbornly.

I had no warning at his attack, one second he was a few feet away and then he was on me.

My back hit the ground and his teeth sank into my neck all in the same moment.

Gasping I could do nothing but let it happen.

The pain from his strike dissolved into a euphoric pleasure that totally consumed my body from head to toe.

It was then I was aware of everything about him.

His heavy weight, his scruffy jaw as it continuously ground against my skin sensually as he drank, his tight grip on my hips were painful and delicious all at the same time.

He was rough and gentle all at the same time.

His constant growls echoed in my ear as he sated himself on my blood.

I could hear and feel my wolf's tension fade away as we lay there accepted Gale's fangs.

I felt Gale suddenly loosen his jaw and I shifted a bit to see if he was done already but my movement just made him panic and reinforce his dominance on me.

I've never been the type to be dominated but for some reason my wolf let him have his way, which was highly unusual.

It was then I knew there was nothing I could do about him, there was no way I would be about to fight him for much longer.

Gale's knee slide up my thigh, spreading me wide for him.

Laying over me Gale began to grind his pelvis into mine and I could feel his shaft rub desperately against me.

"Gale," I groaned unable to keep it inside.

"Hmm..." he moaned through gulps.

Then his hand slid from my hips and traveled up my waist, caressed up my chest, nails scratching me over my nipples before traveling back down.

His thrusts against me became more wild and fierce.

It was as if he wanted to rub the barrier of fabric between us out of existence and finally feel my skin.

Not long after that thought I heard the sound of fabric tearing.

My eyes snapped open and the morning's cool breeze caressed my now free member.

"Gale," I breathed a warning.

His cold hand grabbed me and I jerked my hips up in shock.

He pulled at my neck at the same time as my shaft.

His other hand slid down my thigh, trying to touch me everywhere he possible could.

"We shouldn't," I wavered as his hand threw me into oblivion.

Again I was jolted into surprise when I felt the soft yet hard feeling of his own member braced up against mine and together they were rubbed in harmony.

I threw my head back letting the air catch all my cries of pleasure, giving a damn about who heard me.

My wolf was on the edge unable to hold back from immersing himself completely in Gale, letting him take everything he wanted.

My body seized abruptly, the combination of his hands, his soft fleshy shaft and his essence threw my body into a tsunami of pleasure and we both peaked in unison.

Gale finally let my neck go as he cried out with me and our bodies erupted between us, completely spent.

Gale rolled over on his back beside me and we said nothing, we just listened to the others erratic breathing.

Our spent fluids lay on my stomach cooling, mind racing, unable to comprehend what we just did.

All I could understand was that my wolf was purring his heart away, sated.

"Are you full?" I asked softly.

"Utterly and happily," he responded sounding calm and satisfied.

"Good."

I shot to my feet and tore my tattered pants off, using them to wipe away the evidence of what just happened from my stomach.

"Cyrus?" Gale question leaning up on his arm.

"I have to get back."

"After what just happened, you're going to try and ignore it?" he sounded slightly offended.

I closed my eyes before turning my back to him.

"I just need to be alone for a while. Okay?" and with that I shifted and took off through the tree line and found my way back to Lakota.

Even though I said I wanted to be alone I found myself wrapped around Lakota anyway.

If I was honest with myself... I loved every delicious minute with Gale but somewhere in me knew that it was missing something... something important.

'And that something... was Lakota,' I thought as I snuggled my muzzle up under his furry neck and immersed in his earthy scent.

[worldsover]

The Yarn We Spin ft. Gyuri

length ✦ 5687

genres ✧ first-person address; kinda melancholy; some good dicking down anyway; ex-fwbs!Gyuri

You're a close vastness, a far proximity: an immeasurable distance. I shouldn't have tried. We’re under the same blanket but a wall doesn’t just divide us; it launches you up into the ink of space, blistering past the threshold, past our observable two-dimensional universe. I don’t claim to be more real than you but this elusive perpendicular axis makes you merely a character in my eyes. Distances can be broken down with time—the wall between reality and fiction can't be breached the same.

What a paradox. You’re a character but your life couldn’t possibly be a story. Don't take offense. Most people’s lives aren’t blockbusters. Good stories have a good arc with a good ending, or at least an interesting one. Yet absent closure, these stories will be written anyway because people will wake up, work, eat, then sleep, without a hand to author their plot. In addition, no matter how boring they might be, these narratives intertwine in their own unique way. Nobody’s life can be recounted without at least one other person.

You told me about your mother’s story after all. It’s not the same story as mine, but it’s a story we, and everyone else, have. There were tales about the rest of your family, your friends, and your coworkers. These minuscule strands define our lives, weave into the ropes of humanity then fray. Sure, people die but they also break up, they move away, maybe they just disappear. I’ve never found that sort of thing sad. Maybe its inevitability makes me too objective about life. If I don’t move on, then I’ll never move on, and then I’ll be stuck.

It’s dark. Even the light that passes my eyelids doesn’t make me want to open them. So I didn’t move on. So I am stuck. But I need these empty words, these preambular paragraphs of stories about stories that don’t mean anything. More than nothing, something that pretends to be anything is actually less than nothing at all. This something leads to a cruel, self-feeding doubt. No matter how much I want the silence, this story will be written anyway.

“Gyuri.” Your light voice and lighter touch on my neck breaks down walls, finally frees me from my somnolent musings. How indulgent of me, that’s all the wall was—an insecure construction—for now.

“Thank you.” The words clear a scratch in my throat.

“Thank you? What for?”

Spring air through the open window hits all my bare skin and makes me clutch the soft blanket fabric. An amused breath from my nose. “I dunno.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” Hug me tight, and I hug you tighter. The simple, obvious things you do keep me away from those rambling thoughts. They tend to devolve.

“By the way...” My voice peters out in a low fry. “You remember Jungmo and Yumi?”

“From the acting class?”

I nod and stretch my arms up. “Mhm. They broke up.”

“Oh.” Gather some blanket back for yourself. “I had no idea they were dating.”

“That’s why you should’ve stayed in the classes.”

“I dunno, it never really clicked for me.”

“Yeah. I figured.” A final squeeze in my embrace before I roll out from under the sheets and sit up. My hair’s a wavy mess. “I need to shower by the way."

I see your playful sniffs. You’re just trying to get a closer look at my body. "Yeah, you smell like it."

"Pfft, alright stinky, you're one to talk." A bit of evidence from last night spills between my legs. You run to get some tissues. "Thanks."

When you kneel to help clean up, I love your little awkward smile, both corners half-raised. I love your face, your hair, your body, your personality. Without much thought, since those are what makes you, I'd be saying I love you.

I guess I do since no friendship exists without love. With a kiss on your forehead and a restored pep in my step, I head to the bathroom.

Sprinkles form from my fingertips as I let water find the trails of my body that it wants to follow, like little trains that forge their own tracks. The mist comforts me enough that I could fall asleep again, or at least my brain could. Not a good thing, I would start to overthink once more.

You don’t have to knock on the door, I would never be mad at you barging in. But thanks anyway. There is little pretense of washing ourselves. At once, we twist together, so that even if my soapy wet skin lathers yours, neither of us would mistake it for a quick clean.

"Fuck." A simple utterance when you take one of my nipples in your mouth. The suddenness shuts my eyes then careful teeth lock our embrace tighter. For an ounce of air, sometimes we untwist. The pace is like our rope. Whenever one of us found a partner, the other kept their distance. Now we’re the opposite of distant, spinning our yarn together. It’d save water if we were bathing. Your tongue takes its precious time up my chest, up my neck, until our eyes meet. Your lips taste good, you know? It’s nothing so grand, just a bit salty, a tad addicting.

“So, should I clean you up a bit more?” you ask when you pull your head back. I crease my features, perplexed.

My perplexity slips like your two fingers inside my pussy, replaced by a soft instinctive whimper. That’s when I realize there’s still some of your sticky white still sloshing in me from last night. The fingers within me move like they’re stirring, while your thumb works on my clit to escalate the automatic sounds from my mouth, recaptured in your lips.

You make a loud “mwah” as a point when we separate once again. Your eyes promise the world in them. I can’t ever let myself be fooled. Instead, I fall into my body’s desire again, arms less active in holding your back. I don’t really need to since you’ve pushed me up to the wall now.

“You, nnuh, having fun there?”

A pointless question, your smile answers it. With the other free hand, hold me up by the waist. My limbs grow slack as you continue to circle and thrust at the same time. While the warm water washes away the increasing sweat, I still notice your hand getting messy with your own semen from my pussy. You’re so focused. Even when I look away, you’re still telling promises you can’t keep with that intense gaze.

“I think, I, I think, you’re gonna make me...” I shut up when you lean your head in, but instead you tip a bit to the side for a chaste smooch to the cheek. “Wha—”

Then I really shut up when your lips follow the trail that your tongue makes. “Have I ever told you how good you taste?”

“All the time!” I whine. I like to think it’s uncharacteristic, but the skill with which you touch me always pulls me out of my mind. It makes me think less of the real world, into some near dream state. My walls swallow you, as though they have a mind of their own, and they suck you in like your mouth does to my neck.

I have to. I need to. I reach for your cock. Wet with water, I try to spit on it but miss. You don’t seem to care though, like my fingers are just an added bonus to the replete pleasure you give me.

But only a few pumps in, and the dizziness that your fingers induce comes to its natural resolution.

This kind of story, some simple smut, is so repetitive, but fuck, I love it. You have so many ways to pen my climax.

“Gyuri, that’s it. You’re going to cum on my fingers.” Water bogs down our heavy breaths. The statement is sure as day, like my orgasm is a given.

This one flashes me between the real and the surreal. That dream state slams me back out of the deep, to watch your unfailing fingers. It was a quick lesson for you a while ago—when I'm cumming, don't you dare stop.

My body reacts to the orgasm with every little sudden motion.

My cum and your cum (whatever's left) flows from between my legs like a stream of consciousness. How apt; my brain drips out its thoughts and leans back to irreality as you press forth. Time is a timid thing, not allowing me to understand only seconds pass in real time. Your story orbiting mine is chaos like two incalculable pendulums, too sensitive to initial conditions.

Then, out of my own body, I see you. Trying to catch your own breath, while I throb all over your hands. I see the shower, my apartment, the city, Earth, space, then true space with its ever present vacuum. And like a vacuum, I'm sucked back and you're holding me with a smile and a more delicate clutch. Well, not that delicate, your hands quickly lower back to my ass.

"That was good."

It’s not as though I need you to praise me while you pat my head. If anything, I want to thank you for that climax, but you’ve heard enough of my gratitude.

Actions over words. Fingertips over the tip of your dick, a meeting of the most sensitive nerves. The simple act of wrapping my fingers already makes it difficult for you to stand.

I spit on my hands, taking wetness from my pussy. I try to tease your cockhead on my clit, but a sharpness shoots up from underneath. It’s too sensitive. I shouldn’t have done that.

So I spin you around—pretty easy to manipulate a guy when you have him cockfirst—until your back is flat against the wall.

One hand with a massaging, kneading grip, a thumb underneath the tip, the other hand massages your balls. Then we really start. This is where I have to take advantage of every advantage I have, because I know how much you jerk off with your own hands. My stiff nipples rub up against your chest, tickling you and moving vertically much like my fingers around your cock. Sometimes, I have both hands around the whole thing and you jerk your hips to pretend like my hands are my pussy. But they aren’t, so I give my whole eye contact—much easier to do when you aren’t filling me and substituting my brain with dick—as I spin and rotate and circle my thumb around your tip. A little more spit, a little more pre-cum and I have the texture to really make that dick shine.

Signals for your orgasm are clear to me. A higher moan from the top of your mouth and nose, I guess when you lose footing and slip that’s pretty obvious, but there’s also your eye contact shakier than usual, and your hands that grab onto whatever they can. Of course, even in the heady prelude to your climax, you still reach for my ass. It doesn’t matter where you grab on though.

When you cum, I almost have to hold you up by the cock. It’s like those spurts contain all your strength. You leave your own body, one arm around me, one hand behind you on the wall. Your words falter to primal noises too. It’s hypnotic, every streak that flies in there, the twinge and tingles and swells of your shaft as it sends those streaks and you release your sticky self onto my tummy.

“You’re the best,” you say breathily.

Your head reaches down to immediately kiss me while more of your cum drips past my tummy to the shower floor but I stop you. “Now what?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“You know how quickly my energy comes back. Especially with a gorgeous girl in the shower in front of me.”

“Oh shut up.” I put my hand on your chin and squish your cheeks, thumb on the right, index on the left. But neither of us can stay silent, a little giggle from our lips. I watch yours, you look down at my mouth the same.

Asynchronous heartbeats louder than the shower.

There’s no reason for tension. We had sex last night, we just gave each other orgasms, yet somehow, the glance of our lips fluxes my heart, tells it to leap off its seat in my chest. Every single time. This is why our story sucks. We never tread any new ground. However, that selfsame lack of progress holds a richness of ecstasy. Prods turn to pressure, then turn to tongues so familiar with each other as to forgo all communication. I don’t need to tell you to let me breathe, or for you to tell me to stroke your hair. We both work in our kiss, to strive for more futile desperation than each other, to siphon a hair-raising buzz in a prurient loop, like the feedback of a microphone in front of a speaker. With the hope to come out on top, sparing gasps of air punctuate longer stretches of suction and tongue trips into the mouth. It’s slipshod, it’s overlong, it doesn’t matter.

I’d tell you to fuck me—what’s the point in talking when it’ll all be written anyway?

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Everyone else is waiting for some train to arrive. Love, dreams, that very ending for which they’ve spent decades planning. I’m on the other side of the station, feet as tired as my eyes that stare at my own train. When people look at me, I feel their glares, judgemental like mine. It’s because I’m watching a train yet to leave—no, it’s because that train is empty.

It’s a strange metaphor to be stuck on because I’ve already left. Living on my own wasn’t worth it, any of it. The money, the responsibility that turned into a hassle. I couldn’t have an apartment just for us to have a place to fuck. In the whole scheme of things, a four hour drive, an hour’s flight, that’s nothing.

Our circumstances brought us together, nothing more. What did we share other than kisses? Fluid? I know why you like me. Same reason I like you, we get physical gratification from each other. Makes us sound like machines, I know.

I appreciate that you only let circumstances pull us apart slowly. Every couple weeks, you take that long drive, then bring me back to your place just to fuck. Eight hours of round-trip driving. In a sense, that’s a level of trust from me and a level of commitment from you that I’m not sure couples have unless they’re married.

Thanks for being my friend.

It helps me not fall in love when your dick plunges in and out with the same timing as your smooches. You’re too good at this, but I know how practiced you are at this point. Faint moans travel up, echo back down the height of the hotel staircase. I told you to take the stairs with me, knowing full well your patience.

You leave enough of a mark on my chest, groping it clumsily underneath my shirt when you thrust up into me, and enough of a mark on the wall, at least that's how the force of those deep plunges feels. We run up the stairs and barely make our toes in the door before we make out again.

“Can I take a breather, Gyuri?”

"I needed one too to be honest."

"Oh thank god. I don't think I've been up that many steps in a while. At least not that fast."

"Yeah." I giggle. A mirror by the entrance. I wipe a bit of smudged lipstick off the corner of my mouth. My hair's disheveled. I'm all sweaty. "I need to—"

"Shower?"

After my nod, you give a knowing nod in return and I take a much quicker one than usual. I can hear your thoughts past the jet pressure of the shower, or at least your heavy breaths, the tapping of your feet. I know you well. You're weighing between taking a shower yourself and jumping my bones the moment I open the door. That choice makes my chest leap out of itself, I know myself much less assuredly.

You gave me a prologue, a synopsis of your hunger bending me over the railing before you took me against the wall.

I could dress myself again. Synapses burst.

Your jaw finds company with your restless feet when I walk out in a towel alone instead. I don't know if it's genuine anymore. We've had sex so many times. Yet here you are, sharpening your knife.

I am the conflict, I am the resolution. I don't know myself well, but do I like that?

You cut short my time to think with your hand grabbing mine, pulling me right in front of you as you sit on the edge of the bed. I stand with a new but old hesitation. It’s so embarrassing, especially when my towel slips and I’m before you nude while you at least have your dress pants on. You drink the sight of my body in. It’s not like I’ve done anything in particular for today, I’m the exact me you’ve slept with every time before, but you sit with anticipatory anxiety.

“What do you… do I just stand here?”

“I miss you Gyuri.”

“I’m right here.”

“You’re right here now,” you say before a sigh. Now with both hands holding each of mine, you bring me onto your lap and reflexively, my arms and legs wrap around your torso. Without prompt, I take in your muscles and strive to keep their texture in my memory. “I miss when this was a near daily thing.”

“But does that really mean you miss me?”

“What? Of course it does.” As I examine closer, the naivete in your pupils is genuine. I never doubted that, explicitly at least.

“Okay.” There’s nothing I could do but take you at face value anyway.

I start grinding.

You start kissing.

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” I say, leaving my own dark stains on your pants.

“I want to. I want to leave marks that’ll stay until we meet again.”

“What if we don’t?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, your tone soft as though you’ve never considered the possibility.

I gulp when your lips hold my neck deeper like you’re trying to get something out of it. “Never mind. That’s enough.” I slink down to my knees. Candles. I wish we had them right now. The warm, soft ceiling light isn’t the worst.

Not sure what compels me to give you the blowjob of your life. Foreshadowing, perhaps. I want this suction to haunt your dreams.

I want you to have a goddamn story about this.

I’ll give you the best blowjob of our lives combined.

This is my revenge, for every time you made my heart skip looking at me. I pull your jeans off then let my tongue fall out, missing your shaft when I lean in (a difficult feat with its length) and I lick your tummy instead, tickling you.

Your dick… Well, it looks like a dick. An ideal size for me to enjoy, a tantalizing bend. But it’s matte, as skin normally is. I only make the observation because I take the soft thing between my lips, and that first inch becomes glossy. Your eyes roll, and so does your head around your neck when I polish the next inch, tongue dragging side to side at that sensitive ridge under your tip. Then I pull back out.

“Gyuri, fuck. Stop teasing me.”

My tongue follows your vein up the side of your cock, but it’s not enough. It needs to shine in the light, it needs to lube up my throat, it needs to be fucking sloppy. Turns out a circle has an infinite number of sides. So I collect all the spit I can and at the sight of the strings and frothy slop on the head of your deck, your legs wriggle. But I know you can smell the desperation, the sweat and saliva. My tongue goes up, then back to the base of your shaft, and I rotate around until it’s even. Of course, nothing is perfect, so I get lost in this cycle until I’m bobbing down on your cock like I’ll find my reward at the bottom if I look hard enough.

I keep looking. The back of my throat engulfs and tightens around the head of your dick every time I gag, but my eyes close and I’m not really looking. I don’t need to anyway. My hands that explore your torso go from pinching your nipples and fondling your muscles to treating your balls like a plaything. Your fingers find repose in my hair but I give your dick no such calm. A gag in, then a gag out and each time your cock’s tip reaches my lips, I wrap it air tight once again.

Right before the throbbing takes you away—I can even feel the pulses in my mouth—you pull me by my hair, shocking me as I’m too caught up in the fellatio.

We both stand, you turn me around and spank my ass, then tease my pussy with your length. My lips are a bed for your shaft to give a few rubs. But this isn’t the way you want to take me.

Shove me face first onto the bed. We’re both carnally hungry, so you don’t even have to give my butt another smack for me to get on my knees. I’d say fuck me hard doggystyle, but you’re going to be thrusting so hard that I have my face down on the mattress anyway. The heat approaches my pussy from behind, you’re lining up, and then you insert.

“Hmmn,” you groan out. I probably make a similar sound but the mattress catches it in its softness. You’re anything but soft though, as you split me apart, as though this were the very first time. That’s the fascinating thing, every time we fuck it’s a special occasion. With every push forward which sends your cockhead into my needy cunt, I recoil back like it’s a law of motion.

One of your hands takes my hair, the other stops slapping my ass over and over to trace up my sides. I’m a little ticklish there, but I can’t laugh, all I can feel is a senseless high from the friction of your cock. That other hand goes up my arm and grabs it, pulling it back and turning my whole body into a lever. That angle you send your dick is so perfect, it’s so stimulating on my walls that the imagined heat in my head spreads out from my core.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna...”

You stop fucking me.

Sighs between gasps. “That’s not sexy you know—”

Flip me over onto my back then you pull a pillow underneath my head. Missionary. I can’t read your mind. I don’t know your intentions. But that was the very first thing you did, putting a pillow under my head before you made love to me, before that lovemaking turned quickly into animalistic ravaging. We’re probably going to be skipping that first step, aren’t we?

Your head obscures the hotel light. I don’t need any light at all, closing my eyes instead. Your lips pounce on mine, your tongue lunges inside, but your cock eases in with more dexterity.

This is almost real. Opening my eyes back up, I scan your face, needing answers. “Look at me,” I say. It’s the first time I have to remind you.

When you focus back on me, I realize, I don’t know. I don’t understand anything. This is almost real, almost as if you weren’t just a perfect character in my story.

In and out.

It’s that feeling of wholeness. Every word I want to say becomes replaced with a mote of lust in my spinning head.

I regret the decision, telling you to look me in the eyes. The emotions are too rampant. Back and forth, your dick goes. So do I.

“I love you. Gyuri, I love you. Please… Fuck, this can’t be it, this can’t, this...”

Tears fall in reply. You’re silent, I’m silent, and slick noises overtake our breaths as you speed up and I tempt you to speed up with my motions, making sure that I’m taking the full length of your cock.

“Hah, hah.” Your breaths are loud. “You know I haven’t had an orgasm for so long.” Good. Good. Change the topic.

“Not, nuuuh, not gonna last?” Tease you. I’ll just do that. Yeah. That’s it.

“Don’t care. Feels like I’ve been fucking you, for forever. Hmmh,” you say.

So we’re the same. This isn’t news to me. We’ve always connected on this physical level. “M-make forever into now.” That’s a new one. Does that even count as dirty talk? Why am I getting self-conscious? You're thrusting your soul into me. My dizzy head wanders, then flies—maybe I’m just trying to give that soul back—and I feel each throb clench your cock and each beat out of time takes seconds to pass the heat of pleasure throughout my core to the outreaches of my limbs.

Then, your end nears the same, because my cumming pussy is just too much. Through the blackness and visibility and cycles between which orgasm causes, you pull out, cum flies and covers my whole body. As much gets on my pussy as it does on my face, with a skillful line that etches my abs and cleavage.

Drag your cock up, covering it in your own cum, and you sit as delicately as you can on top of my chest. I clean your shaft enthusiastically, and after I lick you all up, I want it to be over, but you’ve never had a problem kissing me. Maybe that should be obvious, but it’s one of those changes of pace I’ve yet to become used to. Instincts tell me this unfamiliarity is good.

We both fall over on the hotel sheets, tired and sweaty. You help me clean up.

We cuddle.

We fall out of the cuddle when we sleep.

It’s all so fast for how slow it is.

I feel blank.

There’s no point in planning for an empty resolution. To spin a yarn is to lie, so when we lie together, we must lie to each other.

“We’ll always be friends.”

When you told me that long ago, I assumed the lie was in your discipline, that one day, you would confess your deeper emotions to me, that you didn’t just want me: you needed me. It turns out that lie was the same as when I say it now as we lie next to each other in this bed.

Hotel mattresses never feel right to sleep on.

The train leaves, lurching forward with huffs and puffs like its engine is steam-powered, with screeches of metal against metal that tires my ears.

Finally.

It might catch up to the real me.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

We are actors with no script.

I don't have one but I felt like I was living life reading one, until I moved back home. That shift was what I needed.

You never needed one, even if your words often sounded like you were fed your lines, like every sentence was a clever punchline (or an attempt at one) that your author wrote.

The scriptlessness is obvious: our story doesn’t have much of an ending. I guess it’s a bit amusing, I can remember your breakups just as well as I can remember my own. It’s always such a defining moment to break up with someone you’re dating. That’s not how it works with friends right? It’s not like I’ve ever broken up with my friends—I know some people that have, though they’re the overly dramatic exceptions—but that doesn’t mean I’ve kept every friendship since I was a baby. Minuscule strands in the end. I don’t mean to tear them apart, certainly neither do you. Right? Who means to untangle their rope? That’s why it’s a lot harder to remember the final time you talked to a friend.

“Hey Gyuri, remember those first few days we were really texting?” Sip on your latte as you scroll through your phone.

I mirror you, though I’m just tapping on my screen. That gets pretty mundane, so I watch the people pass by outside the cafe window. Glancing strings, deeply woven cords. All types of stories. Probably more interesting ones.

“Those turned sexual quickly.” You chuckle to yourself when your finger stops swiping down.

“Wait, do you still have those pictures saved?”

“Oh, I never saved them, it’s just in our chat, look.” You turn your screen towards me and my hands rush, nearly slamming the phone onto the table.

“Chill! We’re in public.” A sigh breathed between my lips. “Keep them, I don’t really care anyway.”

“I know, the mask. I wish I could see your smile in them.”

“You’re saying my tits aren’t good enough?”

You urgently shake your head. “No, no, not at all—”

“I’m kidding, jeez.”

“And that first time, you weren’t kidding about making a mess of your sheets.”

“Did you think I was?”

“I thought you were exaggerating a bit maybe, you know, for effect. But you really had my tongue and chin dripping.”

“You seemed thirsty enough.”

“Wow,” you say, drawing out the vowel. “Thanks.”

“Isn’t it funny how we always just end up talking about sex?” I ask. Funny isn’t the word I mean.

“True. We don’t really share much else to be honest.”

I realized that a while ago. Part of what makes friendships special is the blurriness of memory. It’s fine. I really don’t mind that we keep repeating the same moments. It all blends together and in that recounting of those moments, the warmth resurges. Not the same as the original experience but… good enough. Right?

“Besides. That’s everyone, right? When you distill it down,” you say.

Out the window, that couple, they’re probably talking about the bills they’re late on. The annoyed looks, that man with his hands up, a wallet in one of them, her hands on her sides. That’s not happy, is it? But it is a cord.

“Sure,” I say, my lips a little tighter.

“Then after all that texting, we finally saw each other in person and you were even prettier than I expected.”

“Pfft. Nice try. Too late for compliments now.”

“No, I’m serious. Barely made it out of the restaurant without our hands all over each other.” Yours scoots towards me on the table, like your index and middle fingers are two little legs that waddle over before they stop by my cup. “Finally, a smile again.”

“Didn’t even realize I wasn’t. No, those were great times.” I lower my voice. “You definitely made me cum the most I ever have that night.”

“Wait, so you were faking it the other times?”

“I dunno, those times kinda blur together. Doesn’t really matter how many, I always felt good no matter what.”

“Maybe after this we could, you know, feel good one last time.” You’re so sure it’s the last time too, but I’m not. Earphone cords used to get tangled in all kinds of funny ways. Most people don’t bother with wires anymore.

“That’s what the hotel was.”

“Oh…” Look down. “You’re busy?”

“I guess.” I shouldn’t have said it like that.

“So you’re leaving now?”

“No.”

“What do you have to do later?”

“Work.”

“Mmm.”

"So yeah." I put my hands on the table and stand up.

"Yeah." You mirror me.

I adjust my watch.

Run your hands through your hair.

It could've been my hands instead.

Maybe my hair.

This isn’t a good story.

But at least it’s a true one.

Right?

“And we’ll talk again?” one of us asks.

“I’d love to,” the other replies.

"Tell me. When you're in the city again."

"I will. Will you?"

“I will.”

Does it matter who says what?

We both know when we’re both lying.

Just as stories are deceits, so are the people in them. The yarn we spin is your smile; my finger that brushes your fingers; and our glances which promise one day, this mutual lie will evolve into truth somehow.

You walk away first. I hope you catch your train.

The cafe window becomes a mirror.

Or at least I hope you feel the same way about me as I do about you.

Because I will write my own story, pretend you never were but as the words I type down.

I hope I’m just another character in your story as well.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

[txciaz]

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

[one-boring-person]

Requested by: @80s4life

I hope you like this!😊💛

What I Did To You.

Snake Plissken (Escape From New York/LA) x reader

Warnings: violence, injury, swearing, gun use

Masterlist

I have my gun levelled at his head before I've even closed the door properly, my face drawn into a fierce scowl, eyes blazing with anger. Every muscle in my body goes tense, my hand unwavering as I hold the weapon up, my leg throbbing in memory pain. Across from me, the intruder remains stood silently, his eye fixed on mine, his own hand still resting at his hip, ready to draw his pistol at any point.

"Hello to you, too." He greets me in the quiet way he always used to, his lips barely moving.

Frown deepening, I push the door behind me closed without looking at it, keeping my gun aimed at his head as I look him over. Not for the first time, he's covered in a light layer of grime, his brown leather jacket darkened in places by the dirt and lightened in others by the fraying, his boots caked in dust from the wasteland outside. His golden mane of hair is slightly dulled from exposure to the unforgiving sun outside and falls into his eyepatch, flicked out of the way every so often by a jerk of the head. A shadow of a stubble covers his chin, as it always has, disguising a few new scars I've not seen before...as well as one I know very well. Other than that, Snake Plissken has not changed at all.

My eyes narrow, grip on the gun tightening.

"Leave." Is all I say, shifting my weight onto my other foot.

"You used to have such nice manners." Snake's lip curls, the soldier taking a step towards me.

Instantly, I flick my thumb over the flintlock.

"Leave." I repeat, pulling the hammer down as the gun makes a dull clicking sound.

"No." He moves closer, standing so the gun is inches from his chest.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming here." I growl, oh so tempted to pull the trigger, "I don't know why you don't keep your distance."

A cruel smirk creeps onto his lips, eye narrowing as his head tilts to the side.

"Trust me, I didn't want to come here, either." He reassures me, "But I have no choice."

"I'm giving you a choice. Leave, or I'll introduce some lead into your diet." I retort, ignoring the burn in my arm from holding it outstretched. At this point, it's the only thing keeping us separated.

"I'll pass on both." Snake snorts, shooting a dismissive glance at the handgun pointed at his throat - now that he's standing closer, my aim only really comes up to his chest and neck, "Put the gun away."

I nearly laugh at him then, another surge of anger going through me.

"You're in no position to order me around. Not anymore." I practically snarl at him, keeping the gun where it is.

"Suit yourself. I came to ask for your help, the least you could do is be civil." He replies coldly, glaring at me now.

Again, the urge to laugh in his face goes through me.

"You came here to ask for my help?" I repeat, cocking my head in disbelief at the sheer balls of the man, "You really need to leave before I pull this trigger."

"(Y/n), we both know if you wanted me dead, I'd be bleeding out on the floor already." He points out, unimpressed.

"Maybe I'm waiting for an apology first."

This seems to catch him off guard.

"An apology?" He repeats, frowning in confusion, "For what?"

It takes all I have not to lunge at him and throttle the handsome bastard's neck in my hands, my leg flaring up in pain at the reminder.

"You know damn well what for." I growl at him, shifting off of my leg again, rubbing at it unconsciously.

Snake's eyes follow my movement, realisation dawning on him.

"I already apologised for that." He says quietly, clearly remembering back to the time I'm referring to.

It still plagues me, that one last operation we'd had to do together. Three years ago, back when we were still working together on jobs, good at what we did, the perfect partnership...except for Snake's tendency to protect his ego. It had been horrible that night, rain pelting the ground as we moved on the abandoned construction site, mud slicking our boots and trousers, foggy air making it impossible to see anywhere. I had told Snake we shouldn't go that day,  that it would be better to wait until another, clearer night, but he insisted on the raid. He'd told me that he'd "been in worse" and that this was nothing, so we took our guns, knives and other equipment, and headed out into the wastelands to deal with the threat.

At first, everything had been fine: we'd managed to get in with no problem, creeping around the perimeter, taking out guards as we went, bodies sodden and filthy now, freezing under our light jackets. It was only as we moved to go further into the site that disaster had struck. Suddenly, gunfire was tearing into the ground inches away from us, driving us back behind an old container box, flashes of light appearing in the milky fog around us, our vision obscured by the sheeting rain, the mud making it hard to retreat. We later found out we'd been ratted out to the terrorists occupying the site, and they'd set up a trap for us, hounding us from the place with rifles spewing bullets at us the entire way. We had been close to escaping.

Then I slipped on a landmine.

All of a sudden, I was flying forwards through the air, agony erupting in my left leg as the flash of light and flames exploded behind me, my body crashing to the floor seconds later. Winded and incapable of moving thanks to the pain lancing through me from my leg, I had screamed out to Snake, hoping for him to return to me, the smell of burning flesh soon flooding my nostrils as my foot caught in the blaze. Howling in agony, I had tried to pull myself out, my fingers scrabbling at the slick mud in desperation, only for the pain to become too overbearing. I had looked for Snake, only to see the back of his head disappearing towards our getaway vehicle, paying no mind to me. It was then that I blacked out, my heart drowning in betrayal and hurt.

For a week or so, I'd been held captive by the terrorists, tortured sometimes, my wounds left to fester, bones shattered and out of place, burns turning ugly over the time. Eventually, another team had been sent in to rescue me, the group getting me out before it got too far. Taken to a hospital, it took me weeks to recover, every muscle and bone in my left leg needing to be reformed almost completely, surgeries being done near-daily to realign them all, the skin basically unsalvageable. I'd had four different skin grafts from various parts of my body, only to leave the limb looking twisted and mangled, basically useless to me until I was encouraged to learn how to use it again. That entailed another half a year of time spent working on getting it to full use again, and even now I can't go nearly as far as I used to. Every so often, the leg throbs, memory pain still hounding me since the day I got the wounds themselves, but I suppose I got off lucky: the surgeons hadn't expected me to make it through.

All of that because of Snake's ego.

His apology? A note sent to me whilst I was unconscious in the hospital.

"You and I have a very idea of what an apology is. Especially for something that kept me bedridden for months." I bite out, heart aching now at the memory, "Especially for someone who left me to die."

Snake purses his lips, swallowing tightly.

"I thought you did die." He says, much quieter now, eye roaming my body guiltily.

"You heard my screams. There's no way you didn't." I reply harshly, reminded again of the raw-throated shrieks for help.

He winces, looking down at his feet now, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I didn't think you'd make it. If I went back, I wouldn't have gotten out." He murmurs, sounding somewhat saddened by what he's saying.

"You wanna know how long it took those fuckers to get to me? Fifteen minutes. Fifteen! There was more than enough time!" I spit at him, face twisted in anger.

Once again, he winces at my words, only now realising the extent of what he did.

"And even when you knew I was alive, when I was in hospital, you couldn't even be asked to come and apologise in person. You sent a damn note." I shake my head, looking at him in disgust, "You're a coward. A spineless coward. Why didn't you at least show your face? Why? Why did you leave me to face the pain on my own?"

"Because I couldn't face it! I couldn't face seeing you there, lying in a hospital bed, all doped up, cut-up and bruised because of me! I couldn't face seeing you nearly crippled because of my stupid fucking pride!" Snake finally snaps, voice strained as his eye returns to my face, pain clouding the blue depth, "I thought I got you killed, (Y/n)! I could barely live with myself because of it!"

"Then why wait until now to find me? Why not come sooner?" I question, voice tense.

"I didn't think I'd be able to face you so angry and upset. I cared - care - so much about you, (Y/n), you have no idea how hard this is for me. I've lived with this guilt for so long." He fumbles for words, unable to voice his feelings as he always has been.

"How hard this is for you? Do you have any- argh!" I cut off in pain. As I was speaking, I'd stepped forwards, my leg sending a shock of agony through me as I'd done so, making me stumble forwards.

Snake moves closer, catching me before I can connect with the floor, his arms secure around me as my hands come to rest on his muscular chest. Blushing at the proximity, I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, pushing off of him to sit on a nearby chair, dropping the gun to the floor. Stretching out the affected leg, I sigh in frustration, the anger residing into the same loneliness I've always felt since I got the wounds that have left me like this.

Snake watches me silently, expression pained as he finally speaks.

"Can I...can I see? Please, I want to know what I did to you."

Surprised, I give him a sceptical look, before I hesitantly start to pull my trousers down over my legs. His eye widens at the sight of the limb, lips parting slightly.

Gnarled scar tissue crawls up my leg, discoloured and tight, appearing somewhat ghostly in the light of the room. Snake stares at it in horror, grief swiftly clouding his eye now as he falls to his knees in front of me, hands lifting to hover over it. He flicks his eye up to me, asking for permission, to which I nod, gasping as he removes his gloves and gently places his hands on the sensitive skin, a shiver going up my spine. Ever so carefully, Snake runs his palms over the scars, feeling them over with hesitant fingers, his expression becoming more and more open.

After a while, he looks up, pained eye meeting mine.

"God, (Y/n), I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry..." He grasps my hips, pushing his head into my abdomen as he wraps me into an awkward embrace, murmuring apologies over and over. Shocked, I hesitantly place my hands on his head, threading my fingers through his soft hair. An old tenderness springs into life within me, reminding me of why I used to stay with him, and what his riendship used to mean to me. Over the years, I had tried to forget it, but it's impossible - as he holds me close now, I realise I've missed him more than I'd ever let myself admit.

Snake pulls away after a few more minutes, caressing my hip as he looks up at me, thoughtful now.

"What job was it you needed help with?" I ask him quietly, twisting a strand of his hair between my fingers, "I'll work with you, if you drop the ego act."

He looks surprised and glad, a smallsile pulling at his lips.

"Of course." He promises, looking away again bashfully, "I only kept it up to impress you."

I blink in surprise.

"To impress me?" I repeat dumbly.

"Yeah, I, err, I've always felt the need to. Wanted to impress you so you'd consider going out with me." He admits, blushing furiously.

I blink again, head tilting in curiosity.

"Wait, what?"

"I always wanted to go out with you. Always." He chuckles, swallowing, "I've always loved you."

"You...you love me?!"

"Yeah, I do." Snake nods, biting his lip.

"Wow..." My voice trails off in surprise, unable to compute what he's saying, "I wish you'd told me sooner."

He frowns.

"What do you mean?"

I smile sheepishly at him.

"I've always had a thing for you, too. I just never thought you even liked me full stop."

"Really?!" He looks astonished.

"Yeah, really."

He's quiet for a moment, until a cunning smirk crosses his lips.

"In that case..." Snake leans up and connects our lips, kissing me softly but passionately.

A quiet moan escapes me, my lips moving instinctively against his, kissing him back in relief. His lips are chapped, but I can't find it in me to care as I pull his head closer to me, smiling as he pulls my body into him, his chest pressed firmly against my abdomen. In his arms, I can feel the pain of the last few years starting to slip away, still hooked deeply into me but starting to lessen, my eyes falling closed with the movement of his lips.

He finally pulls away, a content smile on his face, eye taking my expression in.

"So what's this job?" I breathe out, stroking his hair.

He grins lazily.

"Ever thought about going to LA?"

[apocalypticgargoyle]

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

I've heard that on TV shows all the time, but hearing it with my own ears is new. I'm scared.

"Hello, hi, uhm." What do I say? How do I do this? "I'm on interstate four, right by the exit to route 408 and I just watched a car go over the side." It feels not real, feels like I'm watching an action movie or one of those dashcam tiktoks that find their way onto my for you page from time to time.

"What interstate four, northbound or south?"

I look to the sign, forgetting that I've driven on this road a million times, still reeling. "North- northbound on four."

"I've dispatched emergency services to you. Can you see the driver?"

I can't even see the car, just the chunks taken out of the concrete barrier where the car hopped it, can see the brake lights still though. "Not where I am but I'm- I pulled off to the shoulder, I can get out and go see if they're okay."

"You don't have to do that, ma'am." A million things are running through my mind, but one sticks out.

"I'm, uh, I'm first aid trained, and I took an EMT class for extra credit in college, I might be able to help?" I turn my keys in the ignition, make sure to keep my hazards on and pocket them, dig through my glove box for the bare bones first aid kit I got when I got the car last year.

"Emergency services are 5 minutes out. I can walk you through helping and give them a better picture if you go over there, but you don't have to. Help is on the way."

"I'm going to see if I can help." Opening the driver's side door seems much too scary, with cars whizzing past going well over the 65 miles per hour speed limit. It's 3 in the morning, and there are no speed traps on this stretch of the interstate. People speed, and they go way over. Instead, I opt to climb over to the passenger seat, careful not to accidentally turn off my hazards, and start over to the crumbled concrete and brake lights. I can hear the driver before I see him, yelling for help. I call out to him.

"Thank god, can you call 911?" He yells, and then I see him. He's laid up between the dash and a cracked but not shattered windshield, curled to see me through the passenger side window, which is gone.

"I'm on the phone with them now, they're, how many minutes is it, 911 lady?"

"Gigi, two minutes out. Can you see the driver? Does he have any visible injuries?"

"Two minutes out, yeah, he's got cuts on his face and his arms, and-" It registers then, that I can see the bones of his arm jutting out of his elbow, and his leg is bent at an impossible angle, and his nose is much too bloody to still be intact. "I think a couple broken bones, too." It's then that I hear the sirens, loud honking, and look to see flashing lights moving down the road. "They're almost here, dude, just keep hanging out."

There's really not all that much distance between where he went over and the ground, so it's easy to clear the wall and land on the ground. Up closer, I can see the puddle of blood he's laying in, bubbling steady out of a large cut in his leg. A flash of my EMT class comes through, it's an artery, somewhere in his leg, and you need to tourniquet it, like ASAP. The truck is still honking, backed up in the saturday night orlando traffic and people pulling to the side to let them through and while I can see and hear it, there's a good half mile wall of bumper to bumper pulling off to give space. No clear path.

"Hey, are you, how do you feel?"

"I feel like shit for crashing my buddy's car, but that's about it right now. Why?" Asking that after you hopped an embankment crashing a car seems kinda weird, but ok?

"I think I need to, like, help you with your leg? Can I?" He nods. I close the distance between me and his car door and manage to open it enough so I can get in the car. It's awkward and there's no real good footing, but I manage to wedge myself in enough to get in a stable spot. "Let's see if I can remember how to do this. I need-"

Ever the helpful phone call, Gigi reminds me. "You need to tie something just above where he's bleeding, tight as you can. A cut seatbelt, a t shirt, something like that." There is nothing like that in my immediate vicinity except for my own shirt, which, I can give up my shirt for this guy, there's another one shoved somewhere in my trunk. It gets stripped off quickly and Gigi helps with directions all the way through. My hands shake vigorously, but I manage to get it to the point where I can't visibly see volumes of blood pour out of him, so I count it as a win.

I look at the truck, still pretty stuck where it is, but the ambulance is getting through, still huge but better able to work through the gaps between the large quantity of cars.

"Am I going to die? Is that why you keep looking to see where they are? Cause I'm going to die?"

"No." I speak firmly despite the panic coursing through my veins, the fear that I might be lying right to his face. "No. The paramedics are almost here and they're gonna help you and get you to the hospital and all that. You're not gonna die." I read somewhere once that in that situation you have to reassure people. They don't fight to live if they think they might die.

The stretch of time that passes before there's an EMT in front of me feels like a lifetime, even if it's only a couple of minutes. And the first thing I notice is that his gaze travels down my body, catching at my chest and oh, yeah, I gave my shirt to the bleeding guy and should probably get out of the paramedic's way. I make to go back and get the extra shirt I know I have in my backseat but I get stopped on my way by another EMT who wants to check and make sure I'm okay.

"I wasn't in the car, I called it in." I wave my phone, which still has 911 on the line, but the paramedic insists, points to a cut on my arm I hadn't realized I'd gotten. I get led to sit on the tailgate of an ambulance, watching firefighters run past from the truck that finally got through carrying loads of stuff, heavy equipment with ease. Nimble fingers clean out the cut before deciding it's not deep enough for stitches, just using steri-strips and wrapping it in gauze with gentle hands and a reserved smile.

"Jade, we need to get going with him!" The first EMT I saw calls while running with a gurney, the guy from the accident strapped against a yellow board with my work shirt still tied around his leg. The paramedic helping me jumps into action, ushers me into the ambulance and helps the guy get the gurney in.

"Sit down, buckle up." He says, looking at me. Jade turns and gives me a bit of a sympathetic look.

"He's always like this. You have to get that checked in the ER still." Oh. Okay. I sit down, strap into the seat, and the ambulance starts moving before the doors are fully closed. They get the car guy all hooked up to all kinds of machines and fuss over him, till the monitor beeping with what I assume is his heart rate steadies, and then the EMT guy visibly relaxes, eyes landing on me again. I cross my arms over my chest, much more self conscious of my state of dress with his gaze on me. He's, unfairly attractive, wavy blonde hair and toned skin, wrapped in an unbelievably tight uniform.

"D'you- here." And then he starts unbuttoning his uniform shirt, and I'm sure my eyes go wide. There's another shirt on under, just as tight with the fire department logo emblazoned on the chest of it. He shrugs off the button down and pulls the t shirt over his head and dear lord, why the hell do men feel so called to wear wife beaters under their clothes, I wanna see how fucking hot he is. The t shirt gets tossed into my lap. He really just- gave me the shirt off his back. My gaze locks on to it, only being torn away from the offending garment when he clears his throat and I snap back up to see him, button up back on his shoulders but undone, face sheepish and what I'd guess to be a blush tinting his skin further in the half dark of the ambulance. "You looked uncomfortable."

It's my turn to go red, flush covering most of my skin and incredibly visible. "Thanks." It takes a moment of maneuvering to get the shirt on with the seatbelt, but it's warm and smells of laundry detergent and a hint of cologne.

"Dream, only fuckin' you." His head whips to the other EMT.

"Only fuckin' me what? Huh?" Jade just laughs, head shaking from side to side.

"Only fuckin' you would give the first girl your age on a call the shirt off your damn back." If he wasn't blushing before, he is now, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Sorry if that's weird."

"No, it's- I appreciate it." I do.

"Good work, with the tourniquet. He'd be dead by now without it." Is that really the best thing to say while the guy can hear us? Maybe not. Speaking of the guy,

"Is his leg supposed to turn blue like that?" The relaxation in his face vanishes that instant as he hauls up, moves to where he can look up close at the leg, tearing up the leg of the guy's pants.

"Jade, I need to set it so he can keep the leg, can you keep him still?" A distinct yes, and then I get to watch as his muscles flex, hands gripping tight to the broken leg of this guy, and then an audible crack resounds through the small space of the ambulance as he pushes his body forward. The car guy's closed eyes shoot open, mouth gaping in a yell of pain underneath of an oxygen mask. I'm sure that probably hurts like a bitch, and suddenly I am very grateful that I've never broken a bone.

There's not much left in the ride. The two EMTs, Jade and Dream, mainly continuing to work on keeping his monitor from making the erratic beeping it has been letting out from time to time. The ER is a blur of people bustling around the guy, but I get led from the ambulance by a doctor to check the cut on my arm before he comes to the same conclusion that no, I do not need stitches, but that I do need to change the dressing once a day and gives me some disinfectant cream to put on it when I do. While he cleans the wound out, he asks in a lilted british accent. "Did you really tourniquet the guy with your shirt?"

"Yeah, I did. The one thing I remembered from my EMT class, really came in handy." I joke, and he laughs.

"Well the guy is lucky you did. You're an EMT?" I shake my head, and wince a bit when he presses a bit too hard.

"Nah, I wait tables at the Waterfront in South Orange. Took an EMT class for a summer course cause I thought it'd be fun." He hums, turning to grab more bandages to rewrap my forearm.

"Well maybe you should look into it. Quick thinking like that would get you far there."

"I might." It's a real possibility. My accounting major proved to get me the single most boring desk job ever, and I've been looking into other career paths recently. He smiles at me when he finishes wrapping, pulls a card out of his pocket and a pen, scribbles something on the back of it.

"Put me as a reference if you decide you want to." That's, incredibly nice.

"I will, thank you, uhm," The name stitched into his coat is hard to make out. "Doctor Davidson?"

"George. You're good to go, just need to fill out a little paperwork and then you can leave." He walks over to grab a clipboard and a form, brings it back to me, and then heads over to another bed with a little girl in it, pulling a curtain closed behind him.

A week later, I find myself outside of the massive firehouse on Central Boulevard. There's a couple guys in shirts that match the one in my hand outside washing a firetruck, and one notices me and comes over. He's cute. Dark hair that's a little longer than a boys regular, scraps of facial hair on his cheeks, and brown eyes that crinkle at the edges when he smiles.

"Y'need help with something?" His voice confirms the fact that he's young, and it takes me a minute to pull my eyes away from the way his sleeves are tight around the muscle of his arms.

"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for Dream?" I hold up the shirt and the brownies I made as a last minute addition for the firehouse.

"Ahh, shirt girl. Follow me." He heads into the building through one of the massive garage doors, and it is remarkably clean inside. He heads up some stairs to a balcony that overlooks the firetrucks, and both of the paramedics who had helped me are sitting there, talking over plates of pasta. The guy leading me clears his throat and they both look up.

"Hi." I say awkwardly with a small wave. "I brought your shirt back." Dream flusters, standing up to take the shirt from my hands with a thank you and I give him the brownies, too.

"Dream, cough them up, I want one."

"Sap, shut the hell up, here." He places them gently on the table.

"Okay, what's with your guy's names? No way his name is Sap." All three of them laugh.

"They're nicknames." Dream laughs. "My real name is Clay, and his is Nick. Jade is just Jade though, haven't gotten a nickname for them yet." He looks over his shoulder back at his coworker. "Coward." I feel like there's a story here that I don't know, but I don't press for it.

"I mean, I told you my last station called me Storm, so unless you can top that you can call me Jade and nothing else." I like Jade. Jade's funny.

Clay just rolls his eyes, no real malice behind it. "It's gotta be one we give to you. I'm thinking something about you being our getaway driver."

"Dream if you make a baby driver joke right now I swear you will not live to see tomorrow." He laughs, hard and wheezing, sounding nearly painful.

"Fine, fine." He turns to me. "Thank you for returning this." There's a distinct red flush creeping up his neck, but his smile is genuine, green eyes bright with it. Shit. Why do they have to be unfairly attractive? Who's idea was it? Huh? "I'll walk you out."

He walks me all the way to my car, standing awkwardly next to the door of my car.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work. You got lives to save."

"Wait," He says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm sorry if this is too forward, but could I get your number?" Oh. Oh.

"Yeah, of course." He hands me his phone and I punch in my contact, handing his phone back to him. "You should text me so I have yours."

The smile on his face is fitting, full of white teeth and bright happiness. "I will."

I don't think I put my phone down for a week. Clay and I text nearly non stop, and I learn a lot about him in the process. He has a cat (a beautiful tabby named patches who purrs very loudly), he's from Orlando (born and raised, baby.), he wanted to be a firefighter because his dad was one, but his mom who's a nurse had him take EMT training instead (I owe her everything for that), and that he's off work this Friday and wants to head out for drinks with a couple of his fire station buddies and me. I also start getting snapchats from that cute coworker of his, Nick.

I can't tell if Nick intends to be flirting with me or is just trying to get to know the girl his "best fucking friend" is talking to, but... I am definitely feeling some type of way about both of them. It's great, the attention is nice, until Nick invites me out to drinks with them on Friday night not three hours after Clay does.

I feel like my best bet is to be honest with them. I'm not one for lying. And then a new groupchat shows up on my phone. It's got Clay and a number I don't have saved in my phone, and there's a message sent, and then another. I'm scared to open it.

I expect it to be both of them mad that I'm talking to the other and instead it's not? There's a message from Clay and it's-

Dreamie

Hey, I just talked to Nick and wanted to make this groupchat with the three of us. I'm not mad you're talking with him, and he's not mad you're talking to me. We both really like you, and are open to letting you make the decision for yourself if you end up with one of us. Just wanted to communicate that with you :)

And another from who I'm assuming is Nick that says:

Unknown Number

its up to you what happens and if your not ok with this then just tell us and we'll back off.

It's not something I've experienced before talking with two guys at once. Talking with two guys at once that know and work with each other with their consent? Never would have imagined it in a million years. But this is probably the best way to go about it.

Three more days pass before I see either of them in person, still having plans to go out for drinks with Clay on Friday. I end up sandwiched in between the two of them in a both of some firefighter bar on the south side of the city. I feel awkward tucked between them until I get a bit of alcohol flowing through my veins, and then conversation comes like second nature. It's not crazy eventful, feels like I'm hanging out with close friends rather than basically strangers, and it's nice.

The night passes quick, but it's still fun, especially when Clay drives me home and drops me at the bottom of my apartment building with a promise of more plans and a quick kiss that leaves him blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

In the morning, I wake up to go into work and see a text from Nick, inviting me to dinner with him tonight. I shoot back with a sure, I'd love to. Getting off work at four so that's perfect. and he just sends back a :) and an "I'll pick you up at 7." that makes my shift drag on and on. True to his word, he's outside my apartment building at 7 pm sharp in a button down with his hair brushed neatly behind the wheel of a toyota corolla.

"Where are we even going for dinner?" Nick just shoots me a smile and fucking winks at me.

"You'll see. It's a surprise."

It ends up being some hole in the wall chinese restaurant with what Nick claims is "the best moo goo gai pan in the city". It's fucking amazing, that's for sure, a steaming wok full of it in front of the two of us with plates of fried rice to go with it. It's not an experience I've had at a restaurant before and it's insanely fun. Nick pokes fun at my inability to use chopsticks, tells stories about his friend making fun of him for not being able to use them and learning how at three o'clock in the morning. We're constantly laughing between bites of amazing food, and this easily makes my top three first dates of all time. He refuses to let me pay for my half, but he does let me get the tip after I insist several times that its the least I could do. 

We're halfway through a really good conversation about something that doesn't matter when he pulls up to my apartment, and, not wanting that to end, I invite him upstairs with me. 

"Oh? It's my turn to come up with you?" He teases, and I'm confused for a second before I realize, oh yeah, I'm essentially talking with him and his best friend. 

"What do you mean turn? Clay didn't come up with me, he-" It's probably not the best idea to say he kissed me, I don't want to make Nick jealous. "He dropped me off at the door and he said goodbye." It's not- a lie, per say, but the second it passes my lips I feel guilty, knowing that we need to be honest for this to even have a shot at working. "He kissed me goodbye though." Honesty. We need honesty.

I don't really know what to expect as a reaction from him, but it's not a smile, cocky as ever. 

"Does that mean if I go up with you that I get a kiss too?" Nice, easy, no drama with honesty. 

"Maybe. You'd have to come find out." The grin he's got stays plastered to his face the whole time we're in the elevator, the whole time he's talking mindlessly about the distinct lack of fire safety in the building, the whole time I'm fighting with the works half the time lock on my door. "It's probably too late for coffee, but I have tea in the fridge or coke, or water if you want it." I say, turning to close the door behind us. 

"I'm all good, thank you though." The smile's still there, crinkling his eyes and baring white teeth. "Could go for a kiss, now that I think about it." I shake my head, but still, I laugh. 

"What is it that they call it?"

"Kissing? Lip locking? Smooching?"

"One track mind." That one earns a laugh, a hearty one from deep in his throat.

"You're funny." He says, grabbing my hand and gently tugging me to come sit on the couch with him. "And cute." He sits, pulls me with him so I end up sideways in his lap. The hand he led me over with comes up to brush some of the hair out of my face. "And unbelievably pretty. How could I think about anything else?" 

Smooth. Smooth as fucking butter. Smooth enough for him to earn a quick press of my lips to his own. I can feel him smiling before I pull back, but he chases, returning with a kiss just as chaste before leaning back into the couch, looking like the cat who got the cream.

"I'm winning. I got two kisses." I roll my eyes.

"Isn't it quality over quantity?" He hums, eyes playing from my lips to my own. 

"Why not both?"

"Haha, funny." They're playful, his eyes, as we talk. His bottom lip juts out in a joking pout, and I lean in to kiss at it. He moves at the last second, though, closes the last little bit of space between us when he moves forward to kiss me, soft and slow. His lips are slightly chapped, ever so gentle as the press against mine. My hands press into his thighs to keep me up as his hands come to wrap loosely around my shoulders and he pushes further into the kiss before pulling back. 

"Quality?" 

"Need more data." I say before our lips meet again. He's sweet with it, the way he kisses me. It's nice, easy, feels familiar even though it isn't, not yet. One of his hands moves to rub soft at the nape of my neck. 

I'm just getting comfortable in it when he deepens the kiss, tongue soft against the seam of my lips. It draws a gasp, just what he needs to push further, licking into my mouth before catching my bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it. He's a good fucking kisser, hahh's into my mouth when I bring my hands up to tug at the dark strands of hair on the back of his head. 

But like all good things, it must come to an end. Unfortunately, that end is when my phone starts blaring the insanely annoying ringtone my friend set it as that I don't know how to change. 

"Nick, I gotta-" 

"Yeah." His arms drop, letting me stand so I can grab my phone and answer whoever is calling. 

"Hello?" 

"We have new information regarding student loan repayment in your area." Is loud in my ear, so I just pull back and press the red end call button.

Nick laughs a little. "Not important?"

"Spam call. Can't be assed to get put on the do not call list right now. I was doing research."

"Yeah? You happy with the results you're getting?" 

This motherfucker I swear.

"This motherfucker I swear." Is also the first thing I say in the morning when I wake up for work and there's a fat hickey on the side of my neck, dark purple and blatantly obvious. I send him a snap of it, just saying really? and he sends back a picture of himself and Clay sitting on the tailgate of a ladder truck with a :) and I am instantly worried that one, Clay saw the snap I sent him and two, that I won't be able to cover it for work. Pushing the first thought out of my mind to focus on the second, I try to get it as normal looking as I can before my shift. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it's good enough.

I'm riding the high of not getting comments on it at work when that first thought comes back, catalysted by a snapchat from Clay, a picture barely of his hair with the geotag from the gym down the street from the firehouse with text across it that says "purple looks good on you." I don't know how to respond to that, just send back the floor in front of me. oh come on now  pops up in the chat, and he's still typing. not mad. excited for my turn.  Right.

sorry  I shoot back. this is all pretty new to me

trying to be careful cause i dont wanna mess this up

The little bitmoji he has attached to his account pops up in the corner, lurking for a moment before he starts typing

having these chats is what makes it work. I don't go bragging to Nick about what you and I do, and he doesn't do that to me, but we don't lie about what happens. 

its alot, and none of us have done this before

but keeping communication open and honest is how it works

and that means feelings talks 

He's right. 

youre right

He is. I don't want to make them jealous of each other and that's probably the best way to combat that.

we also have to keep things fair ;) so i get a date too

That has me smiling like an idiot at my phone.

yeah? you got one planned?

not exactly. you doing anything rn though?

I was going to make a sandwich and watch She's the Man for the third time this month.

was gonna watch a movie if you wanna join?

I get a sure, would love to  and a could i trouble you for a pick up from the station?  that has me grabbing my keys and jogging to the elevator faster than I would like to admit.

When I get there, I head inside to say hi to Nick and collect Clay after both of them have assured me that I'm allowed to do so. I don't see Nick when I first walk in, but I do see Clay and jesus, mary, and joseph his hands. He's working over a slab of what seems to be silicon with those massive fingers moving with the utmost precision. When I get a little closer I can see that he's making sutures to close gashes and holes in the mat. I'm impressed with how uniform they are, each a perfect match of the one before it, and with the speed that his hands were moving, I'd say its even more impressive. I'm- not a perfect person, and the thought of what those hands could do to me has me flushing. 

He's pretty wrapped up in what he's doing so I don't want to bother him, but I'm watching so intently that I don't notice Nick come up to me until he hugs me from behind. It makes me jump.

“Shit, Nick, you scared me.”

-gg w the 911 au update

Gg I'm 😩😩😩 you are an amazing writer 🛐 teach me

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Rated G for Gosh Dang Near Everyone except people who don't like hurt/comfort sickfics

Word count: 1373

Summary: Winry insists on getting her covid shot as soon as Central offers it. Ed worries for her, even though she's fine. Until she's not.

A/N: written for @darkpersonapeace several days ago when she was recovering from her covid shot day-after yuckiness. Disclaimer though, I am not a medical professional, nor is this meant to be a realistic depiction of the typical side effects of the COVID-19 vaccine. This scenario is simply based on what my roommate experienced, and my side effects were far tamer. Let's kick covid in the butt, guys!

When the first COVID-19 vaccines made their way to Central City, Ed knew that Winry would want to be one of the first in line. Because that's how she was, after all. She always prioritized the needs and safety of others over the possible risks to her own well-being, especially when her automail patients were involved. It was one of the many reasons he'd married her.

However, Edward worried that she might develop some of the more drastic side effects, so he decided to accompany Winry on the train ride from Rush Valley to Central. After all, who knew what could happen if she was on her own, stranded hours away from help?

"Now, Winry, you know you can change your mind at any time, right? I'm not going to try to steer you away from this if it's what you're set on, but you know your patients and I would still respect your decision if you wanted to wait to make sure the vaccine doesn't cause any long-term damage to you, right?"

"Edward Rockbell," she frowned with her hands on her hips, doing nothing to diminish his pride in the name, "I could care less about some hypothetical damage if I even have half a chance at keeping my patients healthy and you know it. And besides, you never had such a high opinion of possible damage when you were involved." She raised an eyebrow.

"When I was involved, sure, but never when it was you, gearhead," he said softly, pulling her in for a hug. His hand held her head and ran down the length of her hair.

"Well, I'm doing it, Ed," Winry said into his shoulder. "Like it or not, I'm trying to protect you, too, even if I have to wait hours in line to do it."

"I could barely figure out what the heck you said between the mask and my shoulder, but with the way the line's going, I don't think you're gonna have to wait very long."

"Hm, I guess not."

"Now, I've researched this. You know you have to stay in the monitoring area for fifteen minutes afterwards, right? You know to stretch your arm so it doesn't get so sore, right? You know to keep your vaccination card…"

*****

Much to Edward's relief, Winry showed no signs of any negative side effects. They went out to dinner (unfortunately, at one of the restaurants the Colonel had recommended), and the train ride back to Rush Valley would have been almost boring if Ed hadn't entertained a child by drawing a transmutation circle that made a loud, garish toy when the child activated it.

And then they got in the car.

Winry cranked the car and made a stop at the nearest gas station while they took turns going to the bathroom. Two minutes down the road, however, the blood began to drain from Winry's face.

"Winry, are you doing alright?"

"I'm fine, Ed. It's not like I can't drive or anything." Several seconds later, Ed spoke again.

"Are you sure? Because you look like you're about to throw up."

"I'm—" she blanched.

"Winry Rockbell, pull over or I'll pull over for you!"

Thankfully, she obeyed and put the car in park.

"Now, don't move. I'll come around and get you."

"Ed, I'm not that bad."

He opened her door and pulled her out. "Get some fresh air, Winry. I'm gonna help you to the passenger's side, okay? This is why I came with you."

"I don't need—" she stumbled, cutting off the rest of her sentence.

"You were saying?" Ed chuckled after catching her with the arm that was already around her.

"Oh, just drop me in the car, will you?"

Fortunately, it was only a half hour drive to the other side of the city, but Ed feared that Winry's condition might worsen drastically in even that short a time frame.

First, he noticed her breaths get shorter and faster.

"Winry, do you need me to roll the window down? I'd help you on your side if I could."

"Y-yeah, maybe."

A few minutes later, he heard her whimpering quietly. He laid a comforting hand on her thigh. "What's happening? Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know. I should have known this would happen. Even a normal flu shot wipes me out the whole next day, plus I hear it's worse if you've had covid before, and who knows, maybe I did, and—" he squeezed her leg, and she added in a small voice, "Maybe you could hold my hand?"

"Of course I'll hold your hand, hon," he smiled for her sake, adding under his breath, "and maybe speed a bit so we can get you home faster."

A few more minutes, and her whimpers grew louder. Winry's hand gripped his like a lifeline.

"Ed, I can't do this," she panted.

"You're so freaking strong, Winry. Just hold on a little longer. Squeeze my hand as tight as you want."

Her bone-crushing grip renewed his sense of urgency.

"Help me," she pleaded.

"What can I do, baby?"

"Help me," she echoed. "It hurts. It hurts so much."

"I'm getting you home as fast as I can. You're amazing, Winry."

She only moaned in response.

"I wanna die, I wanna die, I wanna die," she wept.

"Shh, I love you too much for that. You're my wife. You're my strong, brilliant, amazing wife, and I'd give up my entire body before I'd let you die. You hear me?"

"Mhm."

"Hey, do you remember when I said your hands are meant to give life?"

"Mhm."

"Well, keep holding my hand so that my hand give you life. We're so close. Just hang in there."

"I still wanna die," she sniffed.

"I'm gonna do what I can, okay, baby?"

Ed did his best to keep his hands from trembling. He had to stay strong for Winry. But what if this was a rare side effect? What if she actually was dying? No. No. It was just a vaccine. It'd be ridiculous if she was actually dying, but it didn't keep him from wondering if she needed to see a doctor. But please, he prayed to any deity that would listen, please let me do something for Winry.

So he sang. He sang her the lullabies of Trisha Elric. He sang her the old, cheesy love songs she had a soft spot for. When he ran out of those, he sang an oddly gentle version of some pop punk songs he listened to. He sang anything he could think of, from classic musicals to popular songs that Winry danced to, even if he thought they were trash.

Although her moans and whimpers didn't grow any quieter, she mewled, "You sing really pretty, Ed. Why don't you do it more?"

"If you make it through this, I'll sing for you whenever you want, Mrs. Rockbell. What song do you want next? We're almost home, and then you can lie down and I'll get you whatever you want. Does that sound okay?" He pressed a kiss to her hand, keeping his eyes on the road. He'd probably regret his promises to sing, but right then, he couldn't care less.

Ed took her song request and parked in front of their home shortly after. Walking over to the passenger side, he carefully pulled Winry out and carried her up the stairs past her shop to their apartment above it. She curled into his chest until he laid her on their bed.

"Equivalent exchange," he kissed her burning forehead. "You've taken care of me when you and Granny had to give me life-saving surgery after I lost my arm and leg. Now I get to look after you when you need me."

Winry smacked him weakly. "Alchemy freak."

"Gearhead," he laughed softly. "Try to sleep, if you can. I'll be right here the whole time if you need my hand again. Just tell me if you need anything, and I'll get it."

She smiled, then crumpled with a moan. After several seconds, she turned her head to look at Edward.

"Even if I want a purple polka dotted hippopotamus?"

Ed laughed. "Even if you want a purple polka dotted hippopotamus."

[amethystpath-writes]

Revenge of The Two Weeks (3)- that's right. We named it, folks.

Continuation of this original story.

Continued directly from here!

@tears-and-lilies @whatwhumpcomments

If anyone would lile to be added or removed from any tag lists, plz let me know! I don't mind either way!

Heed the tags.

******

The flaps of Hero's tent flapped in the wind, distracting him slightly from the task at hand. The commander was testing his strategy; he was testing all of the mens' strategy, trying to figure out who might gain his own title when he retired- if he ever retired.

Hero picked the tip of his finger up off of the map, replacing it with another finger on his other hand while he moved his first to the right side of the parchment. The commander was wanting to expand to the eastern part of the lands. Problem was the number of geological obstacles: craters, hills, ponds, and mushy swamp-like areas galore.

Sighing, Hero threw his head back. It seemed impossible. He eyed the blue flag closest to his right finger, picked it up, and threw it over the shoulder. There, he thought, Get rid of the bloody pond. If only it worked that way.

There were three blue flags, all within several hundred meters- realistically speaking- of one another. Very little room for our legions. Hero debated whether or not to fight on horseback. As great and obedient as the horses were, they were large and clumsy in close proximity. With little space, there was too much room for error. So no horses. That fixes that problem.

One yellow flag. The marshes. A big ole stretch of hard-to-walk-through mush, at least for a human. So yes to the horses. Or no? God, I don't know. The swampish lands would result in more army and artillery men's deaths than if a few horses fell into the ponds. Keep the horses. And that would allow for the use of their bows, which would presumably be an advantage.

The horses will require resting breaks. What would happen if they exhausted a bunch of them? Men would have to walk, which would exhaust them. That was better than all of the men exhausting themselves at least.

Hero bounced a fist off the table. This was so frustrating. He thought, now, maybe he wasn't cut out to serve under the commander's- and certainly not the king's- name. But he had to. Because fighting was all Hero could do. He wasn't good at anything else, but if he failed in this test of strategy, he was done for. He'd be demoted, become one of those scavengers of the army who were responsible for picking up dismembered body parts and burning them. How disgusting. How lowly. How vile.

"You kept the dagger."

Hero gritted his teeth together, jaw askew. He didn't need to turn to know who that was. "Yeah? It's my dagger. Just because you stole it from me then gave it back doesn't mean it hasn't always been mine. Of course I kept it."

The tent flaps were quiet, Hero realized. Villain must have been holding them still. It was with this information that he began reaching for his dagger, saying as a distraction of sorts, "Do you remember Grandad?"

Villain laughed. "Don't try to settle me with your old stories. I don't care about them anymore."

"You used to." Hero swallowed, adjusting the handle of his dagger until it felt just right.

Spiders crawled up his spine to the base of his skull. He spun, dagger held with the blade outward. This hadn't been his plan. First, Hero's plan had been to launch the dagger at the wooden tent post, just close enough to scare Villain. But now he was in front of him.

"Cute," his younger brother commented, and pushed Hero's wielding hand aside. "But I have my own." He hummed. "You give into me so easily. You ought not to, for your own sake. To me it's fascinating, but who knows when I might actually decide to slit your throat?" It was with this that Villain brought his own dagger to Hero's neck. "And what would you ever do to stop me? You already had the chance to both throw a blade at me and stab me with it. You've done neither."

Hero rolled his eyes. Villain was shorter than him which only aided in the harshness of the sharp dagger on his neck. His brother was pushing up at a cruel angel, one that Hero had to avoid swallowing against.

"What do you want me to tell you? You're right, okay? You're right. I have guilt and I hoped that I'd never see you again because of it. But you're alive." He took a breath. "It's up to you what you do with your life from here. You can chase me around crazily as you have been, thus driving me to continue ignoring you every chance I get. Or," Hero ventured, "we can work on reestablishing what lost relationship we had."

The knife cut in. Hero squeezed his eyes shut, let his nostrils flare. A warm trickle slid down his neck into his uniform. "You might not want to maim a trusted person of the Guard and Commander."

"Oh, I don't think that matters much." Villain cocked his head to the side, peering at the map left on the table behind Hero. "If anything, I'd replace you. The Commander likes tough boys, isn't that still right?" He sighed. "I know I overstayed my two weeks in the woods, but well..." Villain laughed. "After a wolf tore my friend and a six year old child apart before eating them, the woods actually welcomed me. I'd tell you where I stayed, but I promised the boys I wouldn't compromise them."

Hero's breath caught. "Some of them still live in the woods?" He tried to pull back, away from the blade, but Villain pushed it forward as Hero pulled back.

With a shrug, Hero's younger brother- who had been gone, presumably dead, for five years said, "Sure. Not all of them felt like returning to a place that couldn't accept them as they were. They found new families, ones that fought to keep them alive. They became brothers to one another."

"How poetic." Hero scoffed. "They should be brought back. They're not safe out in the woods."

The dagger slashed through the air, away from Hero's neck, but not straying at all from his shoulder. Hero hollered out, but Villain clamped a hand over his mouth before anyone else could hear. Not that it mattered. Like Villain said before, the worst that could happen was Hero lost his position, which Villain certainly didn't mind. Still, he wanted to torture his older brother this way for a little longer before he did anything too drastic.

"Funny," Villain spat, stance like a cobra ready to strike. "You didn't say that when you led us all to the woods before. Do you know how old the youngest was?" His voice was venom.

"Six."

"No, that's just the one who died. My friend who was also killed by the wolf was sixteen- just to give you a little perspective."

"Five, then."

"Three or four." Villain explained, "He didn't even know his own age." And then he turned to blame, "You left him in the woods. You took him away from his family, and you are the reason he's going to grow up always overexerting himself to please others, only to feel like he's never enough."

Villain bit his tongue to stop himself, but then said it anyways. "I'll be surprised if he doesn't kill himself in three or more years. He feels like a disappointment to himself, Hero, because a man he was supposed to look up to told him he wasn't enough and then sent him off into the woods- where he watched every horrific image you can think up happen."

"I don't know what you want from me!" Hero roared, and this time he finally did move to fully strike a blow on his brother. He shoved his shoulders hard enough that Villain nearly fell on his bottom.

Lucky for Villain, he was able to balance himself out before that could happen.

"I'm sorry, alright! I'm sorry that I failed the four or five of you-"

"Seven of us."

"-and that I was too cowardice to see for myself if you lived or died. I'm sorry. But I can't do anything to fix it except offer myself to you now. So that's what I'm doing, Villain. I'll be a better brother this time around. If you're looking for something, some sort of closure though...you're not going to find it another way. Because no matter how much you torture me, you'll never be satisfied knowing that I left you. That I created memory after memory with you just to leave you to packs of vicious wolves and hungry, lonesome bears.

"I fucked up, Villain, I know I did. But I can't fix it now. I was- and am still- just as scared as you were in those woods. Different scenario, but same, same hot-coaled fear. I'm sorry I wasn't as brave as I made myself sound. I wanted to be a role model to you, but I- I don't know, brother." Hero sat on a cot in the tent, put his head in his hands for a moment before looking up again.

"The Commander is a daunting man and I found myself cowering. You haven't seen him, Villain, haven't endured the training he puts us through, or the screaming he does- like we're prisoners of an enemy kingdom and not soldiers of his own. I'm not making excuses for myself; I know I was wrong. I know what I did is unforgivable, but I'm begging you, brother, please-" Hero kneeled, throwing his knees to the floor, tilted his head to the ground with eyes closed "-please try to understand."

A hand landed on Hero's soldier, but he kept his head down. He wished he would have opened them before, for a new pain bloomed in his shoulder. His mouth became gaped and he choked on the feeling, especially as it spread.

Villain twisted the dagger with a sick satisfaction. "I'll understand when you walk yourself into the woods for two weeks."

Twist. A sharp gasp. Ragged breathing.

"When you hear the deep growl of a wolf- deeper and more impactful than thunder."

Another twist. A pained holler and cry.

"When you watch the person who did everything they could to make you feel at home dies as he's immobilized by razor teeth in their leg. And when the teeth finally rip into the throat of a boy who doesn't want to die after minutes of fighting."

A plunge of the dagger. A wordless scream. A limp body- still breathing, but in so much pain that it can't even think of moving- against Villain's leg.

"When you wake up with your own bloodied fists and two piles of bones and drawn out, tattered rags beneath you- because you slept on a branch in a tree to avoid getting eaten yourself. When you spill every ounce of fluid in your body out into a creek because you're so traumatized. When you suffer the way I did...when you spend just the first week in the woods like I did, maybe then I'll try to understand."

As a finish, Villain yanked his dagger from his brother's shoulder and said, "You don't get to keep this one." He wiped the blood off on his pant-leg and walked out.

******

@badthingshappenbingo

Original Work

Knife to the Throat

[707sblog]

Campus Murders

Fratboy!Jungkook x reader

Warning: mentions of murder, yandere themes.

A/N: Enjoy the story!

Light shined through your curtains as you yawned and stretched flinging the covers off of you. Sitting up you grabbed your phone seeing a message from Jungkook

Having a party later at my place. Your invited.

Smiling to yourself you let out a giggle. Your heart fluttering. You begin to get ready for the day and then head to work.

_________

The bell rings above the door as you walk into the coffee shop walking to the back. Listening to the silent whir of the ceiling fan you slip on your apron.

"Did you hear about the party!" May shouts.

"Of course I heard about the party"

May laughs handing you a coffee.

"This is for the young gentleman over there." May gestures.

You smile and nod turning to hand the coffee to him. Handing it to him he lifts his hat smiling to you.

"Hey Y/N I forgot you worked here." Taehyung laughed.

"Yeah I'm here every day." You snorted.

Taehyung smirked while taking a sip of his coffee.

"gonna be at that party later?"

"of course." You blushed.

"Good. See you then." Taehyung smiled.

You watched him exiting the shop the bell ringing to signal he left.

You shook your head turning around to pour another coffee.

"I think he knows you like Jungkook." May whispered.

"At this point I think everyone except him knows." You mumbled.

"Did you hear there was another murder on campus?" May whispers.

"No. Do they know who it was?" You ask.

"Some poor girl. Isn't this the sixth one this month?" May asks.

"From what I heard. They really need to catch whoever is doing this." You breath out.

"I agree. Let's get back to work." May says.

Your entire shift your thoughts kept drifting to Jungkook and his cute smile and adorable doe eyes. Sighing you looked at your watch.

"My shift is over. I'll see you at the party May."

"See you then!" May waved.

_________

"Guys seriously can you help me set up the party and stop playing that stupid game?" Jungkook whined.

"Hey! It's your party set it up yourself!" Jin yelled.

"You should come play with us." Jimin suggested.

"Yeah or are you too chicken." Taehyung joked.

"I'm not chicken." Jungkook crossed his arms.

Taehyung smiled gesturing to the chair next to him.

Jungkook let out a groan. Dragging himself to the table and sitting down.

"I'll go first." Taehyung smiled sending a knowing look to the others.

Jungkook sighed leaning his head on his hand.

"Jungkook. Truth or dare?" Taehyung asked.

"Dare."

"I dare you to ask Y/N to be your girlfriend." Taehyung smirked.

"Fine I will at the party." Jungkook huffed.

"Ah there's more." Jimin smiled.

Jungkook let out a long sigh leaning back.

"while your at it... stop her heart." Jin laughed.

"what?!" Jungkook sat up.

"Or are you scared?" Taehyung questioned.

"I'm not scared. I'll...do it at the party." Jungkook mumbled.

"Good."

Taehyung stood patting Jungkook's shoulder and standing up.

Taehyung and Jimin walked out of the room. Jin patted Jungkook's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it." He muttered

"The first one is always the hardest." Namjoon sighed walking past Jungkook.

Hoseok grabbed Jungkook's shoulder turning him to face him.

"Remember if you want in you have to do this." He let his shoulder go following the others.

Jungkook sighed turning and facing Yoongi who still sat at the table. Upon closer inspection Jungkook noticed the spots of blood on his shirt.

"Make sure she doesn't scream. You wouldn't want to get caught. Would you?" Yoongi said looking up from the table.

Jungkook felt a shiver go down his spine and he nodded quickly. Gulping silently as Yoongi stood and walked past him.

"Come on let's set up this party."

_____________

You and May pull up to the frat house. The music blaring you see groups of people outside. Cups littered along the yard. Looking to May you raise your eyebrows.

"Looks like the party's already started." You say.

"You know it. Come on let's go."

You and May make your way to the door. Opening the door the bass meets you full force. You plug your ears shouting to May.

"Wow it's really loud!"

"I need to take you to more parties!" May shouts back.

She grabs your wrist leading you inside. May drags you to the bar area and hands you a red solo cup.

"What is it?" You ask.

"Just drink it!" May laughs.

Hesitating you bring the cup to your face. Smelling the concotion. The smell of tequila and rum hitting your senses. Pulling it back holding your nose as tears spring to your eyes you try and hand the drink back to May, but she shoves it back to you.

"Come on. Just drink it!" May whines.

You take a sip cringing. Trying to resist the urge to spit it out.

"See it's not so bad." May pats your shoulder.

She lets out a shriek as Jimin begins to walk over.

May turns to you.

"How do I look!" She shouts adjusting her top and running her hand through her hair.

"You look sexy. Go get your man!" You push her towards Jimin.

May walks the rest of the way to Jimin. When she reaches him he wraps his arm around her waist bringing her into a heated kiss. May turns to wink at you as Jimin drags her through the throng of people.

Sighing you shift your feet uncomfortablely. Looking around hoping to spot someone you know. Feeling a tap on your shoulder you jump turning around. Coming face to face with Jungkook.

"Uh hi." You smile.

"Hey." Jungkook smiles back.

"How's the party?" Jungkook asks.

"Wonderful!" You laugh.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" Jungkook blurts.

You stare at Jungkook in disbelief. The boy you've been crushing on since you arrived on campus wants to be your boyfriend.

Jungkook waves a hand in front of your face. Giving you a shy smile.

"So?" He asks.

"Yes. I- I'd love that." You stutter.

"Cool let's get out of here then." Jungkook grabs your drink setting it on the table.

He grabs your hand and you can't help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach and notice the warmth of his hand against yours.

He drags you through the crowd of people and up the stairs. He opens a door and gestures for you to enter.

"Is this your room?" You ask.

Jungkook nods and you walk into his room not noticing Taehyung dragging his finger across his neck. Jungkook nods and walks into his room closing the door.

"Wow your room is really nice." You say.

Looking around Jungkook's bed sat in the middle of the room, perfectly made. A desk sitting right in front of the window. Everything perfectly aligned.

"Your really organized." You turn to Jungkook.

"Yeah I like everything to be super neat." Jungkook smiles.

"Let's sit I have a surprise for you." Jungkook mumbles.

You nod and turn walking towards his bed to sit. Jungkook turns and quietly locks his door.

You sit and the bed is soft and light. You sink into and you let out a sigh feeling the tension melt from your body.

Jungkook sits next to you rubbing his hands together nervously. He looks at you and smiles wide.

"I've liked you for a very long time and the reason I asked you out was because Taehyung knew I liked you." Jungkook confesses.

"Well I better thank him then. I've liked you for a long time too!" You laugh.

Jungkook laughs with you, but you can tell something is wrong.

You cup his face turning him to look at you.

"What's wrong?" You ask.

"Can I kiss you?" Jungkook asks.

"Of course." You sigh.

Jungkook leans forward. Pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft and warm. Just like you imagined. You let out a sigh and wrap your arms around his neck. You feel Jungkook slid your hands down his body and to your sides. You begin to pull away until you feel him push you gently back into the bed.

Jungkook slide himself between your legs. You go to wrap your arms around his neck, but he grabs your hand and shoves them above your head. Using his other hand to hold them down. He pulls back and looks at you.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Sorry." Jungkook mumbles.

He leans back in to kiss you and you try and turn your head, but he uses his free hand and grabs your face turning it to him. Pressing his lips to yours hard. You feel his hand slid to your throat. You shake your wrists trying to loosen his hold, but Jungkook has a firm grip. He uses his free hand and begins squeezing against your throat. His lips silencing your scream.

He pulls back from your face and continues squeezing your throat as you thrash and try to pull away from his hold. Your screams cut off.

"I didn't want to hurt you." Jungkook cries.

You struggle for oxygen and your vision goes blurry.

"I'm sorry." Jungkook cries harder.

You finally begin to stop fighting and let out a final breath.

Jungkook let's go and leans back. His hand brushes hair out of your face.

"I wanted to love you." Jungkook sobs.

Jungkook climbs off his bed and pulls the covers back moving you under them and making it look as though you fell asleep.

Jungkook wipes his tears and walks out his door finding Taehyung in the hallway leaning against the wall.

Taehyung laughs lowly standing up and walking towards Jungkook.

"I can tell you did it." Taehyung chuckles.

"Y-yeah." Jungkook nods looking to the ground tears falling down his cheeks.

Taehyung grasps his face making him look up wiping his tears away with his thumbs.

"It's okay. She needed to die. You did the right thing and on the bright side welcome to the frat house." Taehyung whispers.

He lets go of Jungkook walking down the stairs.

"Party's over!" Taehyung shouts.

___________

Jimin walks May to her car.

"Seriously I should wake her up and take her home." May argues.

"Baby I'll make sure she gets home. Your the last person here and it's late. Go home." Jimin says sweetly.

May slumps her shoulders pouting.

"ugh ok. I'll leave."

Jimin smiles and kisses her sweetly pulling back and opening her door.

Standing and waving her off he watches her car pull away and when it turns the corner he rushes inside.

"Everyone is gone!" Jimin shouts closing the door behind him.

"Good. Get rid of her body." Yoongi ushers Jungkook to his room.

"What?! how?" Jungkook shouts.

Hoseok lets out a sigh. Rubbing his temples.

"Dump it in the lake." Hoseok exclaims.

"Wear gloves!" Jin shouts as Jungkook walks away.

The entire drive to the lake Jungkook nervously kept looking out his window. When he arrived the only light was the moon. Softly lighting the water on the lake. Jungkook exited the vehicle walking to the trunk and pulling you out. Making sure only his gloves hands touched you. He dragged you to the edge of the lake. Pressing his warm lips to your cold ones and he laid you down. Brushing hair from your cheek.

"Sorry I just wanted to give you one last kiss." Jungkook chokes back a sob.

He pushes you into the water and watches you float away to the bottom. Out of sight. Jungkook stands and looks out into the water. A dark look coming into his eyes.

___________

The bell above the coffee shop rings.

May turns to see Jimin walk towards her.

"Did you hear about Y/N?" May cries.

"I know. Tragic." Jimin chuckles.

"I can't believe there's been seven murders on campus this month." May shudders.

"It's crazy." Jimin sighs.

"Hey May?" Jimin asks.

May wipes away a tear looking up.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to be my girlfriend?" Jimin asks.

"I would love too!" May giggles.

"Awesome. You should come over later. I'll have a surprise for you." Jimin sings.

May nods handing Jimin his usual.

"See you then." Jimin smirks.

[sophi-s]

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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

Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I  P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body… 

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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

It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : On ao3 I've got a comment telling me the slow burn was killing them, well... I hope this is killing yall too lmaooo

Warnings : fluff ;)

Chapter 8 : And I'm ready to suffer, and I'm ready to hope

Victoria has never found a more peaceful place than Osferth’s house before, it’s so far from London’s constant noise. Here the night is silent, occasionally interrupted by sounds of animals, which she sometimes finds scary enough to wake up Finan who’s sleeping on the mattress next to her bed in the living room. He usually answers her what wild animal is howling, enhanced with Irish curses as he tries to fall back to sleep. 

“Ya’re goin’ to know the sound of all the animals of this forest soon.” He comments one morning when she sits in front of him at the kitchen table.

She chuckles quite uncomfortably, guessing he’s starting to be annoyed of being woken up in the middle of the night. “I’m a city girl.” She shrugs innocently and Finan shakes his head.

Even if he’s grieving his friend’s loss, Finan keeps a rather good mood, which she supposes is due to Osferth. She regularly finds them laughing together, undoubtedly remembering old memories, which warms Victoria’s heart. She also gets to learn a lot about the monk who reveals to in fact be King Alfred the Great’s bastard son.

“So you’re royalty!” She exclaims, her fork falling back into her plate. 

“Not really.” He answers, looking down as he is ashamed of who he is while Finan is chuckling at her shock. 

“But, if you were a monk and a King’s son, how did you end up fighting for Uhtred?” She asked, the same curiosity she used to have for Finan growing for him. 

“My uncle used to fight alongside Uhtred.” He explains, his forks forming circles in the air. “I wanted to become a warrior like him.”

“And let me tell ya, that was a hard row to hoe.” He jokes at Vicky’s attention, pointing at Osferth who’s now pouting. “I've never imagined t'was so hard to hold a sword.” He giggles before taking a mouth full of vegetables while the monk blushes. “But we finally succeeded to make a good warrior of him after all.”

This time, the two men look at each other with pride, a small knowing smile gracing their faces. 

“I'd like to learn.” Vicky interrupts them suddenly. 

“What? To use a sword?” Finan frowns at her. “It's a little useless nowadays.” 

She rolls her eyes which only makes him smirk as he eats. “I'd like to learn whatever could help me to defend myself.” She explains with such determination that even Finan stops smirking to stare at her intently. “I don't want to be as useless as in London if something happens to us.”

She straightens her shoulder while holding Finan’s gaze, feeling the need to show him that she can be stronger than she looks. She thought of it a few times during the night, not dying is one thing but it still isn’t preventing her to be taken, Finan wouldn’t have been here that night, she’s sure she wouldn’t be standing here right now. And she even less wants to be a liability to the two men if anything has to happen.

She notices the flicker of hesitance on Finan’s face at the way the corner of his mouth tilts. “Please, Finan.” She insists and he finally sighs, lifting his head to the ceiling. 

“Alright I’ll teach ya.” He accepts, starting to eat again and only staring at her broad smile from the corner of his eyes. “But don’t imagine I’ll be easy on ya.” He warns her but she’s too happy to take in the warning and doesn’t even notice Osferth’s grimace at it. 

However, she soon learns that she should have taken it seriously. Vicky had a lot of sport teachers during school, more or less rigorous, but undoubtedly, none were matching Finan. He is very patient, able to show her movement a hundred times without getting annoyed, though, the lesson won’t end until she does it perfectly. He teaches her how to punch and kick correctly for a whole afternoon, her legs and arms aching at the end. She’s so exhausted that she doesn’t even wake up during the night because of animals and Finan is more than happy to finally have his sleep undisturbed. 

The next morning, after her training, Sophie comes to Osferth's place and gives a worried look to Vicky as she finds her sprawled, arms crossed and forehead resting on it. “Are you alright?” She asks, putting her hand on her back and then grimacing when she realizes she’s all sweaty. 

“Finan killed me.” She grumbles, her voice muffled by the caged formed by her arms. She finally straightens, stretching to try to make the discomfort of her painful muscles disappear. “I asked him to teach me how to fight, and I’m starting to regret it.”

Sophie laughs, sitting on the chair next to hers. “Osferth told me he was a ruthless teacher.” She explains to her and Vicky sighs in despair. 

Since they are here, Sophie comes everyday, and even stays some nights, erasing any of Victoria’s doubts about their relationship. She doesn't know the French well, but she does appreciate her already, another woman's ear always likeable. 

“I found something that could interest you.” Sophie says, taking her phone out of her pocket and opening an application before handing it to her. 

Vicky grabs it carefully and lets out a short breath at the newspaper article she's showing her. She reads the text surrounding the picture of her explaining where the police stand regarding her disappearance. She can't tell if it relieves her or not that they are clueless about it. Which for sure disappoints her is that they are as clueledd as them when it comes to the men who attacked them. She doesn't raise her eyes when she hears the front door opening nor when footsteps approach. She only looks away when she feels Finan's breath near her ear making her shiver as he leans over her shoulder, his hands clenched around the chair's back.

“What's that?” He asks, meeting her eyes briefly before staring at the screen.

She swallows and hands him the phone so he can read. “A record on what happened in London.” She explains as he straightens. “They don't know more than us.”

“Good.” He says, scrolling down the article and when he looks up from the phone, he is facing Vicky’s confused frown.

“But we could have learned more about their intentions.”

Finan shakes his head, giving her phone back to Sophie. “And by this, they’d get interest in us and it is the last thin’ we need.”

Vicky leans back in her chair. “Alright, but how do we get to know who they are and what they really want? Even if we hide, we are exposed because we don’t know our enemies.” She voices a relevant fact that even Osferth agrees with as he walks into the room, stopping to rest a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “We need to do research about them.” 

“With what?” The Irishman huffs. “All we have is a piece of paper and a revolver.”

Feeling the tension rising between Victoria and Finan, the French clears her throat. “Maybe, there was something that could be…” She searches a word, gesturing in the void. “Particular. An accent maybe?”

“They didn’t talk a lot but they were sounding English.” She answers leaving Finan’s eyes to give all her attention to Sophie. 

Finan does the same, crossing his arms. “They were fine trained men, if there’s more, it must be the case for them too.” He exchanges a serious gaze with Osferth, a silent conversation working between the two men. “We should arm ourselves, just in case.”

This time, it’s the two women who exchange an anxious glance. “I still have guns in the basement, a little old and in need of a good cleaning, but it’s better than nothing.”

On those words, the two old friends decide to spend the afternoon on restoring Osferth’s weapons. Victoria stares with wide eyes at the amount of them resting on the kitchen table, dusty revolvers and rifles. Sophie left earlier with a list of materiel to clean them and Victoria supposes they won’t have finished until nightfall at least. Her eyes instinctevely search for Finan, which she has realised doing more and more often, in the room and finally turns to the monk when she understands he isn’t here. He answers her that he is still in the basement, so she decides to join him, though she’s also curious to see what there is in it. She climbs down the ladder and jumps on the stoned floor. There isn’t much light, a simple old oil lamp allowing her to see Finan who’s staring intently at a sword he is holding. Vicky approaches him and can’t help but let out a sound of amazement as she admires the weapon, the flicker of the flame making the blade shine and a piece of amber ornamenting the hilt. 

“It’s a beautiful sword.” She says looking up to the Irishman whose eyes are glittering under the light. “Finan?” She calls him softly, her hands finding his arm. 

He blinks a few times and the tears have disappeared to let him smile. “It’s Uhtred’s sword, Serpent-Breath. I’ve never seen a better sword.” He explains with admiration.

He hands her the sword and she takes it carefully, surprised by the heaviness of it, wondering how it was possible to fight with this. But she must admit that it really is the result of a fine work, the blade, old and not as sharp as it must have been, but nonetheless impressive. 

“You have a sword too?” She turns to him again.

“Aye, but I’ve lost it a long time ago.” He shrugs sadly. 

She gives him back the weapon and lets him hang it on the wall. “What did you call it?”

He chuckles lightly before smiling broadly. “Soul-stealer.” He answers with a threatening tone but it only makes her raise her eyebrows as if she isn’t impressed at all.

“Terrifying.” She breaths, pretending to be scared. 

“Ya know, men used to call me Finan the Agile because I was a really good swordsman.” He explains, heading back to the ladder.

“Oh? And what about women?” She asks him with a teasing tone that definitely should have been thought about twice. She can’t help the rise of blush to increase as he just winks at her with a mischievous smirk before climbing up.

She curses herself for the sudden warmth in her belly as she wonders what his gesture implied. She shakes her head to make it vanish. When Sophie is finally back, they start restoring the guns, Osferth showing her how to clean a barrel correctly. She can’t help but wonder how many people have been killed with this gun as she holds one. It seems so easy to pull the trigger, in a second one is ripped of its life. She thinks back to the fight in her flat, at how Finan cold bloodedly killed the three men. Will she become like this as well if she learns how to use one? The question remains stuck in her mind until the night when Finan asks her what is troubling her. They are just the two of them in the living room as he sits next to her on the bed to remove his shoes.

She shifts uncomfortably, twisting her fingers. “What do you feel when you kill someone?”

Finan freezes at her question, still bent to unlace his shoes. “I feel bad.” He answers finally as he straightens. 

“Each time?” She asks him with an inch of surprise that makes her tone higher. “Even when they are bad people?” 

“No, it's not like that.” He turns his head to her and even in the dark she is fascinated by the intensity of his gaze. “The first man I killed was a Dane. I was still in Ireland, hunting with my father. He came out of a bush and I acted without thinkin'.” He scratches his beard before his hand slides down to grip what she supposes is the pendant hanging at his necklace. “No matter how many times I've heard people call them heathens or demons, when I saw his frightened eyes as life was leaving his body, I realised he was just a man. And I wondered who I was to take a man's life so easily.” His grip tightens, fisting his shirt as he sighs.

His hand drops on his thigh and he is close enough so his elbow brushes slightly against her arm. He looks down as if he is suddenly ashamed or scared of what she'll think of him and it makes her heart squeeze. In a little time, they both have reached a level of confidence with each other that Victoria didn't expect. Despite his lie, she finds herself unable to judge him. And it reassures her to know that after all he isn’t as insensitive as she thought. Her hand slides on his forearm until it reaches his wrist, her fingers tracing the swollen skin of a scar slashing his palm. Their proximity makes her face warm and she's glad that the darkness can hide it, so she leans to the side until her head rests on his shoulder. 

“Why did you ask?” He whispers, his breath brushing her forehead. 

She feels her heartbeat getting stronger and faster as she thinks of the right words.”When you fought that night, you did it without any hesitation. You just acted when I just stayed away utterly afraid. Now that I don’t want to be so useless anymore, I wonder if I’ll be able to act like you did, without thinking.”

“Ya don’t have to be like me.” He replies immediately, making her look up to him. “In fact, I’d prefer that ya weren’t.” He admits. 

“But one day I will. One day I’ll have lost all the people I care for and I’ll have suffered as much as you did.” She says and the way her heart aches at the simple idea makes her throat tighter. 

Finan shifts to better face her, his hands cupping her face and his thumb caressing her cheek even if there’s no tears to wet them. His eyes are staring at her with such softness despite how deep and dark they are, she feels like she could melt now and then. 

“I’ll keep ya away from that.”

Her heart misses a beat and her breath runs short. She can’t argue with him about the foolishness of such a promise, destabilized by how close his face is to hers, and because deep down she wishes he could be able to protect her from the pain. Him and no one else. His hot breath caresses her lips, making her whole body feel warm and for a brief second, she wonders how it would feel to have his mouth pressed against hers, how his beard would scratch her flushed skin. 

But before she can have an answer Finan moves away, breathing heavily. “I think we should sleep.” 

She barely has time to breathe a small ‘yes’ that he is lying in his own bed. She does the same, her hand pressed against her chest as her heart finds a steady rhythm again. She stares at the ceiling for long minutes, feeling suddenly so empty and cold. 

Tag :​ @for-bebbanburg @osferth @maggiescarborough ​ @finansarms ​ @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby @solinarimoon

[neo-culture-mafia]

그림자

last chapter

"'sup bitches." Hyuck called, walking in the front door with groceries in hand.

"Duckie, I have told you 9 separate times to not greet like that." I spun around in the swivel chair, "it's rude." I reasoned and he took his sunglasses off his face, holding them in the same hand as his motorcycle keys. "Whoops?...I guess." He chuckled, strutting over to where I sat at the living room desk.

I turned back around to look at the paperwork spanning across the wood surface. "What's this, sunflower?" He asked grabbing the first paper he could grab. He flicked his brown curls from his vision to have a good look at what was taking place in black ink.

"Money flipping?" He asked me, with a cocked eyebrow and an unamused look. "Yep. Just for a little while," I winked and snatched the paper back. I sighed, setting it back down on the desk, "just until we have enough for an apartment in the city."

He groaned and walked down the hall to the kitchen. "We have everything we need here." He called as I knew he was emptying the contents of the grocery bags into the respectful places they belonged.

I leaned my arm on the desk, laying my head in my hand and staring at the Polaroids above the desk. Some were of us: me, Mark and Hyuck, and some of the rest of the boys...now just a distant memory is what they felt like.

483 days...483 days since we last saw each other. On that damn night. That dreadful night that me and Mark were turned away and shunned like we were dogs.

Then we traveled back to Seoul to find Duckie. After he was missing for 3 weeks, I ran into him by chance in an alley. We actually had gotten in a first fight till his hood fell back and I was met with the melanin enriched skin that made my eyes weep.

I told him to leave, go back, that he was welcomed there. But, he didn't want to leave me or Mark. We lived in the shit shack eating nothing but crackers and water for a couple months, sometimes we opted for sleep as our daily meal.

Until Mark came home with money. He had gotten that damn tunnel door open by the grace of a higher-being: filled with cash to the brim.

Us 3 bought a 2 bedroom farm house in the somewhat country where we were best friends with our retired neighbors; their thoughts and whispers of us being in a 3-way relationship being the talk of the small farming town. We didn't care. We knew what we were doing here and what we needed to do in the future.

"Oh honey. I'm home." Donghyuck called through the house and a door opened to a wet Mark who was towel drying his hair in nothing but sweatpants. "Did you get me the stuff?" He asked all serious, and I looked down the dim hallway to see Mark's blonde hair being tossled by his towel.

Hyuck gave him a flat face, a hand on his hip and another holding him up on the counter. "Yes, Mark. I got you your 'stuff'." He rolled his eyes, going away and returning with a big ass watermelon.

"Yesss," Mark took it and automatically held it to his ear, knocking on it like it was a heavy wood door. "you picked a good one." Mark looked lovingly at the fruit in his arms as if it was a child.

I laughed as I looked at my wacky friend. "Why can't you be obsessed with something usual. Like beer, or poker."

The curly headed boy asked as he walked back down the hall towards me. Taking his thick jacket off and throwing it over the arm of the couch; sitting down he unlaced and unzipped his boots, throwing them by the door.

You watched the conversation play out like a terrible teen-sitcom. "Cause I'd rather die by watermelon overdose than alcohol intoxication-" Mark was cut off as he walked slowly to the front room where Hyuck and I sat. "Yeah yeah yeah. Too many big words for this early in the morning." Hyuck put his arm over his eyes and laid back.

Mark looked at me and we both looked at the clock. "Sweetie, its 3 in the afternoon." I giggled and he whined. "It's so early." He said and stood up.

"I'm getting changed and I'm gonna chill." He said looking at Mark who still clutched his watermelon to his bare chest, damp towel thrown over his shoulder.

"And?" Mark asked. "Why do I care?" He asked and the younger boy just shrugged. "Also...your night for dinner." Mark reminded him and Hyuck whined louder, running down the hall and smacking into our bedroom door.

"Donghyuck!" I jumped up, wanting to check if he was okay. He just kept on whining as he opened our door and went in, closing it.

You could still hear his shrieks as he was probably running around getting changed into comfier clothes.

"Then there were two." Mark sighed as he set his watermelon on the kitchen window, and plopping onto the long couch on the opposite side of the living room.

"I need to redo your hair soon." I said getting up and laying on the ground next to his couch. "I might let it grow up to a ponytail." I sat up quickly. "Uh. No you're not." My voice was harsh and he laughed.

"Girl you need to chill. I was joking." He chuckled, stretching and yawning.

Something that Jaemin used to say to me atleast once an hour. My smile faltered and I became more solemn.

"Do you miss them?" I asked and he just stared at me for a moment. "Who?" Was all he said and I knew that he knew exactly who he was talking about but it still hurt a little bit.

"Your boys." I said and a faint smile was broadcasted over his facial features as he stared into what seemed like distant space but was really just the dark TV.

"Of course." He exasperated and he looked back at my face who was just searching for reassurance that this path was the right one to take.

"But I am so thankful for the two of you, right here, right now." He smiled and my heart was put at ease.

"Alright I'm back. I sensed you guys missed me so I returned. Just for you guys!" Hyuck said as he sat down next to me and leaned back on his arms for support. "Oh yeah. 'Cause we were literally dying without your presence." I said sarcastically and he shrugged.

"Exactly. That's what I just said." He said as serious as possible and me and Mark laughed. "Oh you think you're so funny." Donghyuck said picking me up and pulling me on his lap, his hands reaching for my sides and tickling.

My shrieks and laughs radiated through the house as Mark watched on in admiration. He felt blessed that he made it this far. He also never failed to tell us atleast once a week. We were all each other's life and support systems.

Once hyuck stopped his evil act, I just laid there across his lap trying to resteady my breath.

"What's for dinner?" I looked up at him and he shrugged. "I haven't really looked to be completely honest." He said yawning.

"Well let's go see and then we can make it, eat, clean, and then chill for a while." I said getting up and putting my hand out for him to take.

He groaned but obliged at my request.

He was in some shorts and a basic hoodie. The scarring on his legs reminding us all of a dark period. A painful time that sometimes still follows us.

I have a scar on my back from that night. I don't remember anything of the tunnels but the burning pain in my calves, wanting to stop sprinting through the dark and lonely concrete jungle.

Him and I stood infront of the cupboards in silence.

I suddenly felt so tired and out of it. Like a heavy weight was on my chest and it wouldn't budge.

"Oooo. Spaghetti." He said stretching and reaching the noodles and sauce on the top shelf. I shrugged as he looked at me for my reaction to his suggestion.

"You okay?" He asked and I could only shrug and try to give a convincing smile.

"Yeah. Just thinking about stuff." I shrugged once more and he understood.

"Can you help me with dinner?" He asked and of course I agreed, wanting to get my mind off the looming darkness in the corners of the house.

"Alright. We need 2 pots and then you can figure out some sides we can have with it." He said and I was already grabbing the 2 pots.

I set them on the stove top and he began doing his own thing. I rummaged through the cabinets and fridge before feasting my eyes on what seemed like the perfect pairing.

"Salad?"

~~~~~~~~~

Trying to sleep that night was rough. It was just tough and not even the usual cuddly nature of the sleeping Hyuck next to me could lull me into dream land.

The dark feeling still followed me through dinner and to bed.

I tried staring at the wall but even then the small cracks started freaking me out. I turned towards Hyuck who's curly dark hair framed his face perfectly.

Don't get us wrong. We're not a thing. We're just close. Once we found each other again he has stuck to my side in hopes of fulfilling what he thought he didn't in the first place- protection.

I don't mind. We've always been close and now we've just gotten closer. Was sharing a bedroom in our plans?...no...but we didn't want to put up with Mark and his farting so he was blessed with having his own room.

We're just making do with what we have.

My finger lightly traced shapes on his arm tattoos, trying to pass time and get myself to sleep.

I groaned and his eyes opened. "What's wrong?" He asked looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

3:29 AM

He turned back to make sure I was okay. He sat up on his arm and just looked at me for a moment. "Are you hurt?" Was all he asked and I shook my head no. I wouldn't know how to explain the hurt I was feeling anyway.

"I just need water." I said getting up and crawling to the end of the bed. "Be back in 5 minutes please." He said grabbing his phone. I mumbled my recognition and opened our door.

I strided down the hall and grabbed a water bottle. I walked into the hall where the corridor meets living room. Hyuck's phone lit one end of the hall in our bedroom while the other was illuminated by the moon light.

1 sip.

I breathed and looked out the front window at the old couples house across from ours.

2 sips.

I can hear my heart beat as I try to drown it out with gulps of water.

3 sips.

I have a sudden urge to sprint up and down our street to try and rid the shakiness of my body.

4 sips.

I'm not even cold but my anxiety makes my bones sound like wooden spoons and my body go cold with shivers.

And that's when I see it.

The shadow.

It moved on the front porch.

"I'm going crazy." I spoke in a monotone.

"What?" I heard Hyuck call out, now sitting up in the bed.

The shadow came closer to the door, an arm raised, as if it was going to bash in the glass.

"That's not real." I said louder, my water bottle now dropped from my cold hand.

I heard a thud and a swear along with an opening door.

"Mark. Up, now." And a pair of feet come closer down the dark hallway.

The shadow just seemed frozen now as Hyuck stood right by me.

"What is that?" He muttered and Mark now was coming closer, trying to see tiredly through his glasses.

The arm went back and forth a couple of times. "Hyuck go get your gun." Mark said lowly but I wanted to fight this thing head on.

I walked straight to the door before any of their hands could grab me. I threw the door open as my heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest.

I was met with bleached blonde hair, a blood splattered face, a cold stare, and a muscly build that held ink and a face of an old someone I used to know.

"Jeno?" I choked out, wanting to vomit as my body went numb from shock. This wasn't real. I was dreaming. This wasn't happening.

I held my hands out towards his face, moving ever so slowly until his own hands held my own.

The boys behind me became silent as I knew one of them held a gun, still on edge for this too good to be true situation.

I threw myself at him and just held onto his muscular frame. His arms held me tight in a grip that I used to miss.

The metallic smell on him made my nose scrunch up in disgust but I was just too wrapped into the moment to care.

My body was yanked back forcefully and I was thrown back into the living room at the feet of a shell shocked Mark who could nothing but stare forward.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I thought Donghyuck was losing it as he cocked his gun and held it at the face of his once brother.

"Duckie what are you doing?" I asked getting up and grabbing at his arm.

Jeno just did nothing but stare down the metal barrel in front of his face, his hands being raised next to his head.

"I did a sweep of the surrounding place and it's sketc-" another body came walking up our porch.

The tall boy still seemed lanky but had glasses this time. His hair was now a lighter brown and it seemed like he had grown another 4 inches in the span of a year.

"Jisung?" I muttered and he was still met another gun barrel.

This time from Mark who had shoved me back again.

"Please don't shoot." Jisung pleaded, scared setting into his features.

"We need help. Please." Jisung begged but Jeno still held his stare with Hyuck.

"Everyone is gone." Jisung pleaded.

"Please." He whispered, his eyes were threatening to spill.