#had her blood frozen in an act of torture

[mandaloriandragontrainer]

No one had a good time, but these two definitely suffered the most.

[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.

Word count: 6352

Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)

AO3 LINK

She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out. 

The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!

Plug it up, you thought.

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.

She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.

One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you. 

Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”? 

Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.

 The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.

“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?” 

As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep. 

You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live? 

By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.

He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.

He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.

Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this. 

“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.

He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.

“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.

“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.

She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing. 

“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.” 

It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.

She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.

“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.

You were someone.  You were anyone.

You couldn’t help her.

“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared. 

He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little. 

“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered. 

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”

“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.

By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.

—

“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.

“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”

Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.

It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”

You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.

“Better than nothing, right?”

Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.

Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now. 

He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.

It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.

Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.

Hell, if by some miracle  you could write home, how would you even word the letter? 

“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”

The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item. 

“What’s funny?”

You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended. 

He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?

Which one of you would get the ax–literally?

But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?

“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”

“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. 

“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”

Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”

“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…

“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…” 

You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.

“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”

Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.

“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat. 

You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.

“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you. 

–

She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.

Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness. 

Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.

“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”

Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.

“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.

Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it. 

One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.

Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them. 

But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.

“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”

She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light. 

He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.

“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.

Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page. 

Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted. 

No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined. 

She didn’t act right away. 

You could have said something. You could have called out a warning. 

But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.

He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.

The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.

It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.

His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind. 

You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you? 

“Ren.”

Not loud enough.

“Ren.”

Still not loud enough.

“Ren!” 

Before you knew it,  you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.

The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.

Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.

“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away. 

Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.

Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it. 

“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords. 

Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.

But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t. 

And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”

He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor. 

For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent. 

Strade was dead.

Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears. 

Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”

Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.

“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.

He turned back towards you, curious.

You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”

Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.

Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist. 

“No pulse,” said Ren.

Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

He was dead. Truly dead. 

Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.

“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.

And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.

Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.

Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now? 

“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand. 

His collar. It was… off. But how and–

Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways. 

You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.

Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?

“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…

But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table. 

Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said. 

The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.

And Ren…

You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.

After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.” 

He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out. 

Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.

And Ren could go home. 

And the nightmare would be over.

For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms. 

And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.

Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments. 

Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.

“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain. 

Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”

Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage. 

“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you? 

You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down.  “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–” 

Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.

“We could stay here.”

Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.

“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”

Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.

“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side. 

When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”

“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”

His ears perked up and his smile came back.

“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”

Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…

“Don’t be stupid.” 

The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”

The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.

Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.” 

The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.

“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?” 

Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here. 

It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”

Ren grinned hopefully.

“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you. 

“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.

The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.

“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now. 

Freedom was confusing as hell. 

“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”

Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle. 

“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink. 

You stared at him, perhaps for too long.

“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied. 

You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun. 

And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.

Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.

Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.

You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.

But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.

He said your name again.

You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.

[myabsurddreamjournal]

Fate

(part 1)

Soldier Boy x Fem! reader

Summary: Reader is a scientist who is forced to work at lab that they keep soldier boy frozen, she talks and cries to him when she is alone, thinking he can't hear her but he hears everything.

warnings: None, im a ace so my character and story is going to be asexual💜

she slowly approached to cryo where they kept him frozen. it has been a while since she had a opportunity to do this. Since she was taken here they always kept an eye on her, watching every move, punishing any sign of disobedience. It didnt take long for her to learn to be silent, be obedient. scar on her arm reminded her to keep her mouth shut every time she wanted to question something they do. She still remembered the pain. It was her second week here, and she made a mistake of asking why they kept him frozen for almost 40 years. She got the scar for her mistake. The sound of her bone breaking... She could still hear it.

Teardrops started to fall from her eyes as she opened the door of cryo, whenever she was alone she was crying now. It almost became a ritual, sitting on floor with her head hanging low while confessing and apologising to him. Who looked like a statue of a almighty god.

"Hello Ben" she opened her mouth. It made her feel weird hearing her voice saying something other than "yes", or "sir"

"its september 19 today, your birthday isn't it?" she was crying harder now. "i read your file other day. It says you had a rough childhood, me too you know, and now we are both prisoners here. What a fate huh?" she looked at his face as she said that. He looked pale, too pale for human. Well he was in this damn lab for almost 40 years...but deep down she liked the thought of him being something other than a human. Humans always hurted her after all.

After watching the torture tapes she learned he experienced pain and anger just like her. (she threw up all night after seeing the tapes for the first time) he had a life once, he was a child, he had a family. favorite food, favorite drink, he even smoked weed which made her a bit shocked when she read it on the files. But in time she found out he was a lot different from what they made him seen. She saw the few unaired interviews where he acted strong and confident as usual until he was asked about his family or childhood. His eyes getting teary for few seconds, Then his hard expression getting back. His mouth twitching every time journalists made a rude remark.

She knew he was a human. But him being alive after all things human did to him told her he was also something other than human.

and it made her feel good.

"i never wanted to be here, i never wanted this, she said. "i wish i could save you. If i had a powers like you, i would burn here to the ground. And kill all of them. But im so weak. Im so sorry Ben. Im so sorry." She waited there for few minutes. Her head between her hands. Until tiny beeping sound from her watch made her flinch. Telling her it was almost midnight. She needed to get up. Too many work tomorrow. Another day as a prisoner here

She cupped his cheek before closing the door of cyro. It was so cold, but still soft. She couldn't help and kept her hand there while looking at his face. His closed eyelids, then freckles on his nose. Still remembering the first time she noticed his freckles, it was one of the days where her legs hurted for being on her feet for so long. She was taking his blood for monthly test. And she saw them. He had freckles on his nose! They were never shown in his movies or pictures, always hidden behind makeup or his green-gold mask. But they were here. She found them adorable. Never showed it of course. keeping hidden behind her cold emotionless expression.

But she often find herself thinking about him when she tried to sleep at night in "room" they gave her. what else he was hiding under all that persona? What made him happy or sad before all this happened? was it true that he never cried? She tossed and turned at night. Sometimes thinking about him and sometimes thinking about her life. The similitaries between them. Humans hurted him just like they hurted her. They stole their life. She usually fell asleep with this thoughts. And in her dreams it was always end of the World. Everything burning in flames and she watching it from distance with smile on her face.

with a deep exhale she withdrawed her hand from his cheek. "see you tomorrow Ben." she whispered. And she was gone. Not knowing that he heard every word.

that night, she dreamed of something else for the first time since she was captured. Pair of green eyes. They were looking at her. Their shade reminded her a small lake she saw everday when she was a little girl. It was on the right side of the road that she used while walking to school. She always loved the way water moved in small waves. After 2 years, for the first time, she woke up with a warm feeling that morning. it felt like gentle morning sunrise.

[chokememaximoff]

You can't hide from the shadows part I

g!p Natasha Romanoff x Reader series

Abstract:In "You Can't Hide from the Shadows," join Y/N on a thrilling journey as she finds herself ensnared in a dangerous game of survival, hunted by a relentless foe. When Natasha Romanoff, the enigmatic Black Widow, enters her life, Y/N's world is turned upside down, leading to an unexpected and intense love affair amidst the shadows. Together, they must navigate a treacherous path of love, danger, and self-discovery, all while attempting to escape the ever-encroaching darkness that threatens to consume them both.

TW: violence, including physical altercations, injuries, and gun violence, along with depictions of abuse, torture, kidnapping, and captivity, explicit sexual content, mentions of mental health issues, pregnancy and childbirth, and strong language and mature themes.

The air hung heavy with tension, suffocating every corner of the dimly lit room. Y/N Y/L/N stood in the center, her heart pounding like a trapped bird. Her father's presence filled the space, an ominous figure seated on a worn armchair, his features distorted by a twisted mixture of anger and malevolence.

"You're worthless, just like your mother," his voice dripped with venom as he spat out the words, each syllable slicing through the air like a blade.

Y/N's breath hitched, her gaze cast down, her hands trembling at her sides. She had heard these words before, too many times. She dared not meet his eyes, for his gaze held a power that could shatter her fragile resolve.

His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, his looming shadow casting her in darkness. The scent of alcohol clung to him, mingling with the acrid smell of fear that clung to Y/N's skin. His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her hair, forcing her to look at him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he hissed, his grip tightening, his fingernails digging into her scalp.

Y/N's eyes met his, her own a mirror of pain and defiance. She refused to let him break her, even as his fingers dug deeper into her flesh.

"You think you can defy me?" he sneered, his fingers releasing their grip on her hair only to strike her across the face with a force that sent her stumbling back.

Pain exploded across her cheek, her vision blurring with tears. She tasted the metallic tang of blood as it filled her mouth, a cruel reminder of the world she was trapped in.

The room seemed to close in on her as her father advanced, his anger escalating into a frenzy. Each blow landed with a sickening thud, each word a venomous lash that tore at her soul. Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps, her body aching, her spirit fraying.

But then, amidst the torment, a surge of something unfamiliar rose within her – a fire ignited by years of suffering, a primal instinct to survive. As her father raised his hand once more, a primal instinct took over, a desperate fight-or-flight response that pushed her beyond her breaking point.

With a surge of strength she didn't know she possessed, Y/N seized an object from the nearby table, a heavy glass vase, and swung it with a force that was as much a cry for liberation as it was an act of self-defense.

The vase shattered upon impact, its shards raining down around them like deadly confetti. Her father's eyes widened in shock, a mixture of disbelief and pain crossing his face as blood oozed from the wound on his forehead. He stumbled back, collapsing against the wall, his strength ebbing away.

Y/N stood frozen, her chest heaving, her hands trembling. The room was silent save for their labored breaths and the crackling of shattered glass beneath her feet. The weight of what had transpired settled upon her shoulders, a heavy burden that threatened to suffocate her.

Her father's labored breaths grew quieter, his life slipping away with every passing second. Y/N's heart raced, the reality of her actions crashing down upon her. The man who had tormented her, the source of her pain, lay broken before her.

With a final, rasping breath, her father's eyes closed, and his body went limp. Y/N's eyes remained fixed on him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. Fear, relief, guilt, and an unfamiliar sense of liberation battled for dominance.

She tore her gaze away from his lifeless form, her mind a maelstrom of chaos. Without a second thought, she fled the room, her feet carrying her through the dimly lit corridors of the house she had longed to escape. The night outside welcomed her, the moon a cold witness to her desperate flight.

Y/N Y/L/N ran, her heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of her footsteps. She had done what she thought she could never do – she had broken free from the chains of her tormentor. But as the distance between her and the house grew, the weight of her newfound freedom settled in her chest, mingling with the weight of the past that she carried with her.

In the darkness, with the shadows of the forest embracing her, Y/N Y/L/N was alone, adrift in a world of uncertainty. The echoes of her father's abuse and her own actions reverberated within her, and as she vanished into the night, she left behind a life that was tainted by darkness, stepping into a future that was shrouded in uncertainty.

The forest loomed ahead like a realm untouched by time, a sanctuary where the echoes of Y/N's past could finally begin to fade. The trees whispered secrets as the wind rustled their leaves, and the distant call of a bird carried promises of a new beginning. Y/N's steps were hesitant at first, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had done, yet a glimmer of hope tugged at the edges of her thoughts.

Deep within the heart of the Russian woods, hidden by the dense foliage, stood a cabin that only a select few knew of – a cabin that had once belonged to the man whose presence had cast a shadow over Y/N's life. It was a place that had been both her father's sanctuary and his hidden treasure, a secret he had guarded fiercely.

As Y/N approached the cabin, her fingers trembling, she was struck by an odd mixture of familiarity and detachment. She pushed the heavy wooden door open, revealing a space that held a lifetime's worth of memories. The air was musty, tainted by the years of disuse, yet there was a stillness that offered a respite from the chaos she had left behind.

The cabin's interior was surprisingly well-preserved, a testament to her father's meticulous nature. The walls were adorned with hunting trophies and faded photographs – a stark reminder of the life he had lived beyond the shadows of their home. Y/N's eyes lingered on a picture of a much younger version of herself, a fleeting memory of a time when innocence hadn't been replaced by scars.

She moved through the cabin like a ghost, her fingers trailing along the surfaces as she explored the rooms that had once held secrets she could only guess at. There was a sense of melancholy in the air, a bittersweet realization that this place was, in a way, an extension of her father – a part of him she had never truly understood.

In the bedroom, Y/N found a bed draped in heavy blankets, untouched by time. She sank onto its edge, the weight of her exhaustion crashing over her like a wave. Her thoughts swirled, a chaotic blend of regret, fear, and a spark of something she hadn't felt in years – the stirrings of hope.

With a deep breath, Y/N allowed herself to envision a future that wasn't defined by her father's cruelty. She could feel the chains that had bound her for so long slowly loosening, the scars of her past beginning to fade. Here, in the heart of the forest, surrounded by the whispers of nature, she could begin to heal.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N settled into a routine. She repaired what needed fixing in the cabin, tended to a small garden, and learned to find comfort in solitude. The forest became her confidante, its rustling leaves a gentle reminder that life went on, that healing was possible.

Her days were punctuated by moments of introspection, as she grappled with the enormity of her actions. She had taken a life – a life that had been a source of pain and fear, but a life nonetheless. Guilt gnawed at her, a constant companion that reminded her of the finality of her actions.

---

The forest was a familiar ally to Natasha Romanoff, its shadows weaving tales of secrets and deceit. She moved through the undergrowth with a grace born from years of training, her senses attuned to the subtlest of changes in the environment. But this time, her hunt was personal, driven by an obsession that burned within her like a relentless fire.

Natasha's fixation on Y/N Y/L/N had been consuming her for months. She had watched from the shadows, her expert surveillance skills unveiling the intricate layers of the girl's life. Y/N's existence had been a symphony of pain, a tragic tale of abuse and cruelty at the hands of her own father. Natasha's fascination bordered on the macabre, a dark obsession that defied reason.

As Natasha approached the secluded house, hidden deep within the forest, a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. The houses existence had been a well-guarded secret, a sanctuary for Y/N's father where he could escape the world's prying eyes. It was here that Natasha had believed her prey would fall victim to her relentless pursuit.

But the scene that greeted Natasha shattered her expectations. The houses door stood ajar, and the air carried a scent of death, mingling with the forest's earthy fragrance. She stepped inside cautiously, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon the lifeless form of Y/N's father. Blood stained the floor, a testament to a violent end.

A low chuckle escaped Natasha's lips, the sound carrying a chilling undercurrent. "Impressive," she murmured, her voice laced with a perverse pride. Y/N had taken matters into her own hands, severing the connection to her tormentor with a final, fatal blow. Natasha's dark eyes regarded the scene with a mixture of morbid satisfaction and an eerie admiration for Y/N's resolve.

But Natasha's focus quickly shifted from the corpse to the room itself. She scanned the space, her keen eyes seeking out clues that might illuminate Y/N's whereabouts. It was a twisted treasure hunt of sorts, a quest for the next chapter in this macabre story.

A photo caught Natasha's attention, tucked beneath a stack of papers. She picked it up, her gaze locking onto the image of a younger Y/N, her parents standing beside her. Her father's sinister smile contrasted starkly with Y/N's innocent expression. In the background stood a cabin Natasha was quick to decipher the location of.

The realization hit Natasha like a lightning bolt – this cabin held a significance beyond being a secret refuge. It was a piece of Y/N's past, a place imprinted with the memories of a family torn apart by darkness. The landscape in the photo, the surrounding forest, held the key to Y/N's possible location.

With a calculated movement, Natasha gathered the photographs, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. "Well, well, Y/N," she murmured, the words tinged with a twisted affection. "You've left me a breadcrumb trail, haven't you?"

As Natasha stepped out of the house, the moonlight filtering through the trees illuminated the photos in her gloved hand. She studied the landscape captured in the images, her mind racing with the possibilities. Y/N's desperate escape had become a tantalizing challenge, a game of cat and mouse that Natasha relished.

With the photographs tucked safely away, Natasha's gaze turned skyward, the stars above glittering like shards of obsidian. The darkness within her matched the shadows that surrounded her, a reflection of the obsession that had consumed her very soul.

In the distance, the forest whispered its secrets, and Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, answered with a promise. She would find Y/N, no matter how deep into the darkness she had retreated, and in doing so, she would complete a chapter of this twisted tale that had captivated her so.

----

The evening sun cast a warm golden hue across the forest as Y/N Y/L/N moved through her small garden, her jacket pulled tight around her frame. Her hands worked with a practiced ease, plucking the meager harvest of vegetables that had managed to flourish in the greenhouse. The scent of soil and growth filled the air, a reminder that even in the midst of her solitude, life persisted.

Her fingers brushed against the rough leaves of a carrot as she heard a rustling sound nearby. Y/N froze, her heart racing as she turned to face the source of the disturbance. Her gaze darted around, searching for any sign of movement, any indication of who might be lurking in the shadows. But the woods remained still, the only sounds the gentle whispers of the wind.

With a dismissive shake of her head, Y/N convinced herself that it must have been an animal, a rabbit perhaps, darting through the underbrush. She chided herself for letting her imagination run wild, for succumbing to the unease that had been gnawing at her. She focused on her task, determined to gather her food and retreat to the safety of the cabin.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky shifted into hues of orange and pink, Y/N's unease grew rather than abated. A growing feeling of being watched clung to her, casting shadows across her solitude. She moved with caution, every sound magnified in her ears, every rustle of leaves causing her to tense.

Night fell, casting a blanket of darkness over the landscape. Y/N's irritation swelled alongside her unease. She had lived in isolation, finding solace in the silence of the woods. But now, that very silence seemed to mock her, echoing with an eerie emptiness that fed her growing paranoia.

Fueled by a mixture of annoyance and determination, Y/N snatched up her hunter knife – the one weapon she would allow herself to carry. The blade gleamed in the moonlight as she stepped outside, her voice echoing into the night, "Come on out! I'm not scared!"

A heavy silence answered her challenge, and she could almost hear the echo of her own voice reverberating through the trees. But the shadows remained impenetrable, the presence she felt refusing to take shape.

Back in the cabin, Y/N huddled in her jacket, her nerves on edge. The cabin's walls seemed to close in around her, the darkness outside becoming a living entity that whispered secrets and fears. The wind carried with it a sense of impending danger, a dance of shadows that danced just beyond her vision.

Unseen by Y/N, Natasha Romanoff observed with a twisted smile. Her laughter, a soft undercurrent of amusement, mingled with Y/N's challenge. "Poor baby," she murmured, her voice a siren's call of menace. "You think you can stand up to me?"

The darkness concealed Natasha's form, her eyes gleaming with predatory intent. She knew that Y/N's bravado was a mere facade, a mask that hid the vulnerability within. With a mixture of sadistic pleasure and relentless determination, Natasha continued to toy with her prey, the anticipation of the hunt coursing through her veins.

The night air was frigid, its cold fingers creeping through every crack and crevice of the cabin. Y/N Y/L/N stirred, the chill waking her from a restless sleep. Her eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dimness as she reached for the blanket that had slipped off during the night. Her fingers found only air, the blanket lying abandoned on the floor.

With a grumble, Y/N reluctantly pushed herself out of bed, her breath forming misty clouds in the cold air. She moved to the fireplace, intent on rekindling the dwindling flames. Her fingers worked deftly, coaxing the embers into life, but just as the fire began to regain its strength, it flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness once more.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, frustration tinging her tone. She pushed herself to her feet, grumbling as she made her way to the wood shack just outside. Y/N's steps were heavy with weariness, her eyes half-lidded as she retrieved her warm clothes and strapped a knife holster to her side.

The moon cast a silvery glow over the landscape as Y/N stepped outside, a flashlight and a bucket in hand. Her movements were sluggish, her mind still foggy with sleep as she ventured into the woods, determined to gather enough wood for the night.

Y/N's steps were slow and deliberate, the crunch of leaves beneath her boots punctuating the stillness of the night. But then, as she walked, a sound cut through the silence – a distant rustling that sent a jolt of adrenaline through her veins. She swung the flashlight around, its beam slicing through the darkness, revealing nothing.

"Must be my imagination," she muttered to herself, trying to shake off the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. The words were a mantra, an attempt to rationalize the fear that was beginning to gnaw at her.

The forest seemed to close in around her as she continued to walk, the sound of her footsteps amplified by the silence. She found a spot where smaller pieces of wood could be salvaged, a decision born from a desire to stave off the cold and fatigue that tugged at her.

Just as she reached down to collect a piece of wood, a sudden noise shattered the night. Y/N's heart raced, her eyes darting around as she swung the flashlight in every direction. Nothing. The shadows clung to the trees, revealing no secrets.

"I'm just tired," she muttered, her voice more for herself than for anyone else. She inhaled deeply, exhaling a shaky breath as she tried to steady her nerves. But then, as she took another step, her foot landed on something unexpected, and the ground seemed to disappear from beneath her.

Panic surged through Y/N as she found herself hanging upside down from a tree, her foot ensnared in a tight rope. The world spun around her, dizziness threatening to overcome her. She struggled, her hands reaching for the knife in her holster, the blade glinting in the moonlight.

Desperation lent her strength, and with a surge of effort, she managed to twist her body, the blade slicing through the rope. She fell to the ground with a painful thud, her breath knocked out of her lungs. Coughing and groaning, she tried to catch her breath, her heart racing.

But then, another noise – louder, closer – shattered the night, snapping Y/N into action. She grabbed her knife, her instincts taking over as she sprinted blindly through the woods. Fear lent her speed, her steps fueled by an urgency she had never felt before.

The footsteps behind her seemed to draw closer, a relentless pursuit that fueled her determination to escape. Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurry as she darted between trees and shrubs, driven by a primal need to survive.

In the darkness, Y/N Y/L/N ran, the forest a labyrinth of shadows that offered no respite. Her breath burned in her chest, her muscles ached, but she dared not slow down. The unknown danger that pursued her was a relentless reminder of the darkness that lurked beyond her sanctuary, and in this terrifying game of cat and mouse, her only hope was to outrun the shadows themselves.

Y/N's heart thundered in her chest as she sprinted through the darkness, the echoes of her own footsteps chasing her through the night. Her breath was ragged, her body aching from the exertion, but the fear that propelled her forward refused to relent. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to keep running, to escape the danger that pursued her.

But as her footfalls pounded against the forest floor, the sound of pursuit grew closer, a relentless drumbeat that matched the rhythm of her panic. Her thoughts were a jumble of desperation and survival, the darkness swallowing her every step, her surroundings becoming a blur of shadows and uncertainty.

And then, as if from the depths of the night itself, Natasha Romanoff materialized before her. Y/N's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and terror as the older woman lunged, tackling her to the ground with a force that sent shockwaves of pain through her body. She landed awkwardly, her hand bearing the brunt of the impact, a sickening crack resonating through the forest.

Agony exploded within Y/N, the pain radiating from her broken hand like a burst of white-hot fire. She screamed, her voice echoing through the trees as she desperately tried to push Natasha off of her. But each movement sent fresh waves of pain shooting through her body, her efforts only serving to make Natasha's grip tighten.

"Hello, kotenok," Natasha's voice purred, a chilling contrast to Y/N's cries of pain. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

The words were a cruel taunt, an eerie reminder of the twisted connection that had bound Natasha to Y/N. As Y/N struggled, the pain in her hand intensifying, she managed to summon a surge of strength, pushing Natasha off and scrambling to her feet.

Ignoring the agony that radiated from her broken hand, Y/N stumbled forward, her steps unsteady as she resumed her frantic escape. She yelled back, her voice tinged with anger and fear, "I don't even know who the fuck you are!"

Natasha's laughter followed her, a haunting melody that seemed to merge with the rustling leaves. "Be careful, my little prey," Natasha's voice carried on the wind. "The forest is filled with traps, one worse than the other. I know where they are, but you don't. And I will catch you, no matter what."

Y/N's breathing was ragged, her heart pounding as she forced her body to keep moving. The forest seemed endless, the shadows closing in around her, the darkness itself becoming her adversary. The pain in her broken hand was a constant reminder of her vulnerability, the haunting echoes of Natasha's threats driving her onward.

With each step, Y/N's determination battled against the terror that threatened to consume her. Her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of desperation, her movements driven by a fierce instinct to survive. But as the forest stretched on, a labyrinth of darkness and danger, Y/N's hope wavered. The pursuit was unrelenting, a twisted dance of shadows that showed no mercy.

And as Y/N fled deeper into the woods, her ragged breaths and the relentless pursuit of an unseen predator became the haunting chorus of a nightmare that seemed to have no end.

Every gasping breath was a searing reminder of her desperation as Y/N Y/L/N fled through the labyrinthine forest. Her footsteps were erratic, her vision blurred by fear and exhaustion. She was a creature of instinct now, driven solely by the primal urge to escape the relentless danger that pursued her.

But as her feet carried her through the darkness, her escape was abruptly halted by a searing burst of pain. Agony shot through her as her foot landed on something solid, a force yanking her to the ground with a brutal force. She cried out, a piercing scream that echoed through the night as her ankle was ensnared in a cruel trap.

Tears blurred Y/N's vision as she struggled to comprehend the reality of her situation. The trap that held her was a grotesque contraption, chains interwoven with daggers that clung to her ankle like a vise, tightening with every futile attempt to escape. Blood dripped from the wound, mingling with the dirt and leaves beneath her.

Her trembling hands fumbled for the knife holster at her side, a desperate hope that she could free herself from this nightmare. But her heart sank as her fingers found only empty air – her knife had been lost in the chaos of her flight. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind as she realized the depth of her vulnerability.

Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps as she fought against the pain, her mind racing for a solution. She attempted to pull on the chain, but it only tightened further, the daggers digging deeper into her flesh. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the dirt and sweat, her cries of agony a testament to the torment she endured.

In the haze of her suffering, a desperate idea formed. Ignoring the pain, Y/N forced herself onto her feet, determined to try and run. But with each step, the daggers embedded in the trap dug deeper, causing a fresh wave of agony to crash over her. She stumbled, her cries of pain echoing through the forest as she crashed to the ground once more.

The forest seemed to close in around her, a cruel reminder of her helplessness. Her body trembled, a mixture of exhaustion, pain, and terror coursing through her veins. The realization that escape was impossible settled over her like a suffocating blanket, snuffing out the last embers of hope.

In the shadows, Natasha Romanoff observed with a sinister satisfaction, her dark eyes glittering with sadistic pleasure. She watched as Y/N's struggles intensified, the girl's cries like music to her ears. She had orchestrated this intricate dance of pain and terror, her traps closing in around Y/N like a spider's web.

Y/N's torment was Natasha's triumph, a twisted testament to her obsession. The forest whispered its secrets, the darkness a canvas for Natasha's cruelty. She reveled in the power she held over Y/N, the thrill of watching the girl's spirit shatter under the weight of her own design.

As Y/N's cries filled the air, Natasha's laughter danced on the wind, a haunting melody that reverberated through the night. The hunt had reached its climax, and in this dance of shadows, Natasha held the strings, manipulating every step of the gruesome ballet that unfolded in the heart of the unforgiving woods.

Y/N's world seemed to collapse around her as the pain of her broken hand and the brutal trap overwhelmed her. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with dirt and blood as she sobbed from both the physical and emotional agony. Her voice was raw as she screamed into the night, her words a torrent of anger and desperation. "I did fucking nothing to deserve this! I got rid of the one fucking person who tortured me, and now this? What kind of a sick person are you?"

Through tear-blurred eyes, Y/N saw Natasha Romanoff approaching, a sadistic smirk dancing on her lips. Despite the pain that seared through her ankle and arm, Y/N's determination to fight remained unbroken. She lunged, her body propelled by sheer willpower, but Natasha evaded her with an almost casual grace, a gun suddenly in her hand.

The barrel of the gun was a menacing presence, and Y/N froze, her hands held up in surrender. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of terror and defiance warring within her. Natasha's command, delivered in Russian, cut through the air like a blade. "Get down on your knees, pretty girl."

Y/N's breath hitched as she realized the cruel irony of her situation. The pain in her ankle was excruciating, every movement causing the daggers in the trap to dig deeper. But she had no choice – the threat of the gun and Natasha's sadistic pleasure left her no room for resistance. Slowly, painfully, she sank to her knees, a scream of agony escaping her lips as the movement intensified her suffering.

Her gaze locked onto Natasha's form, her eyes filled with confusion and a lingering spark of recognition. She spoke, her voice wavering with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "Why is the Black Widow trying to kill me? My dad was Hydra, yes, but I never had anything to do with it! I swear, I literally paid with torture for that from him every day!"

In a swift motion, Natasha lunged, pinning Y/N to the ground. Y/N's cries of pain filled the air as Natasha's weight pressed down on her, the world a blur of agony and confusion. Natasha's voice was a cold whisper against her ear, a chilling reminder of the power she held over Y/N. "You never ever refer to me as Black Widow. I am Natasha to you. Or Daddy. But we will get into that soon enough."

Y/N's sobs mingled with the forest's whispers, her fear and pain a symphony that echoed through the night. And then, Natasha's voice shifted, the words spoken in Russian. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to make you mine."

The declaration hung in the air like a weight, a realization that shattered Y/N's understanding of her tormentor. Confusion battled against fear, and Y/N's sobbing intensified as her mind struggled to process the implications of Natasha's words.

The darkness enveloped them, a shroud of uncertainty that masked Natasha's true intentions. Y/N's world had been upended, her pain and fear now overshadowed by the enigma of Natasha's presence. As Natasha loomed above her, a puppeteer pulling the strings of her fate, Y/N felt a new kind of terror take hold – the terror of the unknown, the terror of a future dictated by the whims of a woman whose motives remained shrouded in shadows.

[crownedinmarigolds]

Her head turned at the sound of the door opening. Her beloved Nythanel entered the room, one arm linked with the man of the hour himself: Raymond Mulder. Raymond was a middle-aged hunter of the supernatural they’ve made acquaintanceship with over these last few years as they've slowly laid the groundwork of their Empire. Her Kingmaker, she secretly called him. He was very tall, relatively handsome, though he seemed always exhausted. No doubt were she to take a sip, it would be cheap coffee instead of blood. He was very no-nonsense and took his… community service very seriously. In exchange for helping him with cases, he supplied the ash - or perhaps if they were lucky enough, the vitae - of the kills he and his partner made. His partner in crime no other than her beloved older brother, Joaquin. They both had believed the other dead for nearly two decades, reunited at last... forced to act distant and aloof with the ever watchful though thankfully clueless Raymond acting as Joaquin's chaperone. Tonight the hunter would be giving them his latest loot, Joaquin no doubt sitting in the car again. Maybe Nyth would distract Raymond for her just a bit, and she could slip downstairs for a brief moment… Nyth smirked, letting go of Raymond and walking quickly towards her. In Spanish he cooed, “Joaquin is absolutely pouting down there. Miserable as always.” Of course, her darling knew exactly what she was thinking. He always did. Her hand quickly went to her mouth, covering her smile as she tried and failed to hold back her laughter. It was so exciting to think about Joaquin suffering without her beside him. Him thinking about her and wanting to be with her, tortured by their lack of touch despite being so close again. Their separation renewed her affections like crazy, and it also renewed her absolute delight in him being miserable - at least when it came to their being apart. His loneliness made her own loneliness worth it. It turned the room into an inferno every chance they got to meet. It was like being home in Mexico again… It won’t be so much longer now. As Nyth drew near, her hands reached out. And then, his forehead bloomed.

She felt the impact of viscera against her before she realized what had occurred. The follow up crack of a gunshot rang throughout the room. Glass was shattered behind her, the bullet somehow missing her. She felt a twisting pit in her gut as a silent scream wracked her body, and she tried to rush forward to Nythanel but she wasn’t close enough. Her best friend’s corpse hit the ground like a doll and she wanted to tear herself apart in grief as she stumbled to him.

As if granting her wish, she felt the deep impact of something sharp stabbing into her chest, its aim true as it struck her heart. She had never experienced paralysis before, and she felt panic and terror as her entire body refused to obey. A prisoner trapped behind muscle and bone. She immediately fell forward thanks to the locking of her legs, and landing nearly face down the stake was pushed further inside of her. Every inch thoroughly felt. She wanted to scream and call out and cry at the agony, but who could help her now? Somewhere downstairs was Joaquin, would he even know what happened? Will they ever be together again? She had never expected her spirit to fare well whenever she finally achieved Final Death. Her frozen, outstretched hands landed with a thump inches away from Nythanel, who now was missing half of his stunning face. The eye unmarred by Raymond’s gunshot stared back at her with a milky distance. Her own eyes were held open by the paralysis, and though they couldn’t move she could still see enough. The blood seeping into the vinyl, a blurry form of the Hunter in her periphery.

There was silence. Agonizing silence that made the air thick with awful anticipation. Then she could hear Raymond finally exhale, hear him messing with zippers and making the wait even more unbearable. She wished he had just granted her the gift of a quick death like poor Nythanel. They could be together sooner if he had. But no, he didn’t seem to want to grant her that luxury.

“They are not people. They’re monsters.” She heard him mumble to himself before she could hear the sloshing of liquid and quick steps. There was the sound of an unscrewing lid, the awful and familiar scent of gasoline. Oh God. Oh God. Inside of her body she motionlessly, wordlessly screamed. Her Beast as trapped as she was, it felt like it was trying to rip out of her skin but it was no use. Animal! Animal! You’re going to burn me and I have to watch and feel every moment of it, you bastard! Bastard! It made her entire body want to tremble and shake as she felt the liquid pour over her, the awful scent burning inside of her head, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t move and it was painful! It burned her eyes and poisoned the inside of her mouth and singed her nostrils. Even with a body not living it soaked and stung and hurt. Her rage was so strong, her terror so real. Not even the stake could hold back the tears she wept as blood dripped down her cheeks and mingled with the gasoline. The gas, the blood, poured onto the floor and mixed with Nythanel’s cooled vitae - its watery black color staining her arms and dress and soaking her She could not look up at his face, but Raymond’s shoes stopped dancing around and the pouring also ceased. She couldn’t even grit her teeth in anticipation for the fire as she waited for the noise of a lighter. The striking of a match. Instead, she got something worse. Justification.

"I…" His voice warbled slightly, he couldn’t even kill them with confidence and it made her sick. Her vitriol was absolute and deep, and she wanted to rip him limb from limb. Dead forever. Obliterated. I hate you Raymond Mulder. I hate you! “We both know what you are. I don't know how much of it is your fault. What is the beast controlling you or you acting on your own. But that doesn't stop you from being what you are, and I'm sor-" In another moment nearly as fast as the gunshot that took Nythanel, there was a thundering and sickening crack as Raymond’s speech was cut short. He landed with a satisfying, dull thud on the floor beside her. His legs were slightly twitching, she could not see his head still, but she could see another pair of legs now that Raymond had fallen. The new person wasted no time taking their weapon continuously to Raymond’s upper body. Over and over again they grunted and spouted obscenities as they hit and hit and hit. Her tears continued as she recognized the voice. Joaquin roared furiously at Raymond’s now lifeless corpse, pulverized like butcher meat. His strikes still not yielding. “You bastard! Motherfucker! How dare you! Bitch! Motherfucker- Fucking piece of shit motherfucker - fucking -” She could not call to him, and in her silent atrophy she waited for him to calm down and work it out of his system. Still forced to stare at bloody shoes and half of Nythanel’s face. Soon the weapon, a piece of scaffolding pipe it seemed, was thrown to the ground and her body was jerked upwards off of the floor. He turned her over, the lamplight directly in her eyes as he frantically looked her over. His face was streaked with blood splatter, his eyes were wild and his hair was matted, one of his large hands pushed her sopping hair out of her face. He was beautiful. “Fucking Christ Noa. Oh Noa-”

Wasting no time, Joaquin leaned in and kissed her. She was covered in brain matter, in gasoline, in blood, in bone, and his lips still desperately tasted her. Her blood red lips would strengthen his affections even more, thanks to whatever quirk her Embrace gave her. He may never let her go now. The moment would have been so delicious were it not for every other awful thing this night has thrusted upon her. The stake, Quino. The stake! Take out the stake for God’s sake! Nythanel has been shot! Free me! There's no time for this! He pressed his body against her and slipped his tongue between her parted lips, and there was a brief moment where she thought he would actually have her here and now. But the wood handle of the stake poked him in his own chest, and he was pulled out of his feverish stupor. “Shit, fuck, okay let me just-”

They both knew stakes didn’t kill, and he tried to be gentle as he wrenched it from her. Her body reacted violently as complete motor functionality returned. She shook and she trembled as if seizing and she let out a loud and inhuman scream, slowly feeling herself react to her brain’s commands again. Her forehead touched to the floor and her hair covered her like a soaked blanket as her fingernails dug in and she felt everything primal bubble up and overflow. She screamed more, and more, and more, and when she was tired of screaming her gaze went to Raymond’s corpse. A pancake for a head now. But it wasn’t enough. That wasn’t punishment enough! “Fucker!” She roared, the words escaping her that she hardly spoke. Vulgar and crass. She leapt at the body on all fours, her manicured nails digging where bone had split skin. Tearing at him and beating him and biting him and draining with her mouth what still warm blood was left, but lacking the real satisfaction of his pain. He was dead, he was no more. Joaquin stole her kill. Joaquin stole it. Her eyes looked to Joaquin who had scarpered to the other side of the meeting room’s table. He was frozen in place, his expression stoic as he waited for her to calm down. He stole everything from her. How much of her now wouldn't be if not for him twisting her and twisting her and- “Noa. We gotta go.” His voice was so gentle. Her body continued to shake, and she wanted to lunge at fresh blood. Giving someone real suffering was so close. She wanted to inflict this agony onto someone else SO badly. “I hate him!” Her voice was ragged, ruined, childish. She was sobbing and her legs were barely able to hold her up. Her Beast like a little girl who couldn’t get her way. The feeling of being utterly helpless. Of true paralysis. Nythanel's injury. It was all her fault. All of this was her fault. Nythanel was hurt and it was all her fault.

“He’s gone now. He's dead. You’re safe. We have each other now. For good this time. No hunters. No family. Us.” Joaquin reassured her, staying back and speaking softly. “You’re safe. I love you. I love you.” He kept repeating I love you, it made her want to collapse. “I- I just...” She looked down at her bloodied feet, saw her best friend, her soul mate, half blown away. Her Beast seemed to roll in on itself as she tried to will it back. There was just so much to do. Her beloved... Maybe there was still time. "Joaquin, we need to call Julian. We need to call the Family. I need to fix this."

[beskarinhyperspace]

A Ripple In Space

This was a new kind of power, and he couldn’t get enough of it. 

More Chapters | MASTERLIST

3. Leather And Blaster Dust 

*Mature, Explicit, NSFW*

Kylo Ren x fem.reader

wc  4.3k

+ Italics are thoughts. + 

He takes a moment watching you get escorted before turning his heels back inside. He had a meeting with the council today. One he painfully doesn't want to attend. Especially since he can't seem focus at the moment. He felt angry and agitated but didn't understand why. Nervously, he paced around the living room. Nothing was working like he’d hope and feeling stupid for the way he was acting with you. So reckless and impulsive, just like a child. You were simply a poor girl coming from a random planet nobody had heard about. Why was he so curious about you?  

He takes a series of deep breaths attempting to calm himself down. I must stay focused, he tells himself. I need to know who she really is. He grunts, pushing the side of the com-link on his arm, ‘’I need someone to interrogate prisoner 226 and keep an eye on her. ‘’ Receiving a single beep as confirmation, he doesn't waste time and gets ready to leave. 

_ 

He was trapped in endless meetings all morning. His day was getting worse by the hour. He finally gets a moment to himself as he's now navigating the corridors leading to his office. The council kept telling him that he grew weak since the previous attacks on the First Order base. Pressuring our supreme leader to put a stop to this nonsense before it's too late. He needs to learn more about the rebel's operations and tactics. Hopefully the interrogation he set up with you will be fruitful. He knew that they were right. Something was off and it was troubling his mind. He could sense it. The rage was consuming him more and more every day ever since he met you. Normally that'd be a good thing but this, this was torture. He had almost lost control of himself twice with you now. How could he let that happen? His mind was slowly drifting back to his morning with you. The way your doe eyes were looking at him. Lips shiny and trembling. She's so beautiful and I'm.. Urgh, I'm so stupid, she's, my prisoner. what was I thinking?? He rolled his hand into fist, annoyed that his first kiss was with someone who hated him, but he couldn't resist. How could he? You were there, just being so good.. He knew the implications of joining the dark side, especially in his rank. He knew that he couldn't really be with someone and didn’t care about those types of connections anyway. So why was he so taken with you? Lost in his thoughts, he hears a scream coming from the end of the hallway. 

‘’I told you, I’m no one!’’ he hears the woman shouting. 

“We know you're a jedi, tell us the truth! ‘’ followed by a synthetic voice, 

‘’I’m not. I told you, you have the wrong person. I just own a shop that’s- Arggh! ‘’ 

Recognizing the familiar voice in distress, our supreme leader walks towards the interrogation room with a pinch inside his chest. Opening the door in a quick motion, he immediately draws his mask on a stormtrooper now frozen in place. The guard had his white gloves smeared with fresh blood. With the pinching becoming more apparent, he moves his eyes to you. Seeing you on a platform with both wrists and legs tied, he quickly noticed the pain in your red glassy eyes followed by the deep cut on your arm tearing the light fabric of your shirt. Rage starts to boil inside him and within a fraction of a second, he snaps. Extending his arm to strangle the man. Levitating him almost to the ceiling. ‘’What are you doing !?’’ his voice sounding deeper than usual through the modulator. 

The trooper was in shock, not knowing what he did wrong. ‘’I’m ju, just following orders.. ren.. sir..’’ trying to respond with his lungs begging for air. 

‘’I never mentioned torture, not only are you are torturing my guest but you’re also taking decisions on them without my permission!’’ Taking his grip off the guard, makes him fall to the ground. ‘’Let it be known that I’m the Supreme Leader and I decide what goes on my ship!’’ stating as he moved his hand, dragging the soldier across the floor and into the hallway. The soldier quickly gets back on his feet before running away as fast as he possibly can. Meanwhile, you could see the supreme leader moving two fingers across his chest in your direction. Followed by a strong click from the restraints unlocking as you watch him turn around. 

You were in confused, what just happened? Did he just save me from his own men? You follow him while still being careful. Staying a few feet away, afraid of his explosive temper. He was hard to read. Especially with his helmet on. His body was rigid and stiff as he was urgently moving through the corridors. His cloak grazing the ground behind him as he carried himself like nothing could touch him.  

Recognizing the path, you're quickly moving back to his quarters. Once inside, you could only see his back while a hand unclips the weapon on his hip. The one that you’ve learned to avoid and fear. What is he doing? You wondered, and as if he could hear your mind, he extends his arm in a quick motion before powering it. The red vibrating beam was reflecting its light onto the walls. He grabs the lightsaber with both hands before letting out a loud grunt. With a single movement, he effortlessly slashed the couch in front of him. The action was not anticipated. Making you gasp with fear as you stumble on your feet walking backwards.  

Hearing something behind him, he abruptly turns around. In a split second, you feel the radiating heat of the blade that is now pointed straight at you. Seeing the terror in your eyes, he closes the weapon quickly. ‘’Why are you following me?’’ 

You looked up to him, still sitting on the ground as you try to swallow and come back to your senses, ‘’you dismissed my guard, I-I’m a prisoner..’’  

He stays silent, simply staring at you from afar. Being too scared of him, you don’t dare to move from your spot. After a moment he begins to walk slowly to you, giving you his hand to take. As you do, he pulls you slowly back on your feet. “You’re not my prisoner, you’re my guest.’’ he says voice low and calm. He didn’t know why he stopped the guard from doing his job. However, he knew he didn’t want to see you hurt or scared again. Something was pulling him to you and until he figures it out, he needed to make sure you were safe. ‘’You can stay here.’’ saying as he tilts his helmet slightly, ‘’no one ever comes here except me.’’ 

Confused, you asked, “here?’’ 

‘’Yes, this my place, you will be safe. You can do as you please, I don’t spend much time here-’’ 

Intrigued you have your questions, ‘’what about when you are?’’ 

‘’What about it?’’ 

‘’Well, where are you going to sleep? Last time-’’ 

He cuts you right off, “I will not overstep again. Like I said, you are safe here.’’ 

You raise your eyebrow, ‘’enhen..’’ 

‘’What?’’ he asked sounding slightly annoyed. Your eyes move to the gutted couch, and he does the same before looking back to you. ‘’Look, I simply request that you come back here.’’ 

‘’What do you mean by come back?’’ now this is getting interesting..  

You could see him nervously fidgeting with the tip of his gloved fingers. ‘’You are free to roam the ship as you want but, I want you to come back here whenever you’re not. It’s the only place I know no one will..’’ 

‘’Fine, I'll do it.’’ Thinking it’s a pretty good deal.  

He nods and you both stay in silence for a moment not knowing where to go from here. He's a strange man indeed you tell yourself. You don't know where this new ‘freedom’ will lead you but you're sure as hell happy to have it. 

Looking at your arm, he points his finger to your cut. ‘’You should wash before it gets infected.’’ 

Lowering your gaze, you noticed the tear in your sleeve covered in blood. The adrenaline wasn't totally gone yet. Barely feeling the pain of your injury. ‘’I'll go take a shower.’’ You say louder than you would've liked as you walked clumsily to the fresher. 

- 

After your shower, you’re thinking about your new deal as you put your clothes back on. You knew you were not really a guest here. That you were just an inmate with an upgrade but for now, this was good. Really fucking good. Walking out the bathroom, you spot a bottle of bacta spray sitting on the counter. As you go to reach it, you see him sitting on the couch. Grabbing the bacta, you spray your wound before moving in his direction, ‘’can I sit?’’ You asked timidly. He turns his helmet slowly to you before turning it back to silently stare at the wall in front of him. Taking it as a yes, you sit. “What happened?’’ your voice was soft and compassionate as you try to make sense of his outburst.  

He turns to you, taken aback by your sudden interest in him. It's quite unusual for people here to ask questions about himself. It genuinely surprised him that someone like you would want to know more about him. At the same time, if he talks to you, maybe you'd trust him more and maybe, even give him the information he needs. He sighed, ‘’Rebels are attacking our base; the council needs me to take care of it.’’ He looks to you as he breathes in deep, ‘’Some are saying that the jedis are at fault, tweaking their way slowly in using the rebels. It happened in the past.’’ 

You try to keep an open mind. Although, you were not really a fan of the first order. Especially since they literally kidnapped you and kept you imprisoned on their ship. But you also figured that if you were on his good grace, maybe it would make it easier to escape.. You nod, trying to be understanding. You didn’t know what to say or do and so, you gently place a supporting hand on his thigh. Giving him a genuine smile from the corner of your lips. He clears his throat as he nervously adjusts himself in the seat. The movement is subtle but gives you the opportunity to smell him. Leather and blaster dust you tell yourself closing your eyes to the scent. He noticed, tugging his gloves off before gently putting his bare hand on yours. Feeling it warm and damp from the trapped heat. 

Maybe it’s the proximity or maybe it’s the curiosity, but it makes you feel the same electricity you felt earlier this morning. Even if you know it's probably a bad idea, you give his thigh a soft squeeze, which makes his legs twitch in response. Moving slowly closer to him, you test the grounds carefully, but he doesn’t stop you. With hesitation, you bring your hands underneath his helmet. Shyly pulling it off his head. You didn’t know how to act around him. He was truly unpredictable. Still, there was something so strange and strong pulling you to him. You didn’t know what it was, but you couldn't ignore it any longer. 

As you removed the helmet, his hair was a little flatten on the top while strands of it were framing his face. He looked at you almost scared. His small eyes searching for yours, unsure of what to do next. Maker why is he so gorgeous.. 

The truth is, he knew what he wanted. He just wasn't sure if you wanted the same.  

You noticed his chest moving more rapidly as you lean forward to his plump lips. Still thinking of his previous failed attempt, he doesn’t dare to move. Giving you the space to make the first steps. Well, that's what he wanted to do, but upon seeing you wanting him this way wakes something new inside him.  

Moving forward, he grabs your waist pulling you onto him. His hands were now digging into your flesh. Gripping your hips firmly as if he was afraid, you'd run away. Lips slightly parted, your eyes were anxiously staring at him. He was quite a tall man and with that came the rest. You were literally being swallowed while his arms were wrapping your body whole. You could feel the muscles of his arms and chest, twitching and contracting as he holds you in place. ‘’Have you ever..’’ your blood ran cold as you asked the question. In a simple movement he shakes his head making you reply, ‘’me neither.’’ 

A curve on his lips forms a muted smirk, moving his gaze back on your lips. He leans forward, brushing them softly with his. Immediately, you close your eyes to his plush pout pushing against yours, hearing him breath harsher and heavier. His fingers come to knead your flesh as he gave in more. You couldn't resist bringing your hand to his chest. Feeling his warmth coming through the thick fabric of his uniform. Smiling slightly, he continues to discover you. Slowly bringing his hands to your belly before fully going under your shirt. You gasp feeling his thick fingers passing carefully on the sides of your rib cage. Going higher to hold both of your tits in the palm of his hands as he massaged them gently. You keep your eyes closed while he opens his. You were already feeling waves of pleasure coming in between your legs.  

He couldn't take his eyes off you. Studying your every expression as he lightly caresses his thumbs over your nipples. You feel him twitch and getting harder on your mount as you're getting lost in pleasure. As a result, you slowly start to grind yourself on his hardness. Although, all that friction only makes him want you even more. Hearing him exhales sharply at the motion before he stops you mid stroke. Holding your hips in place, he moves his upwards as he strokes your pussy over the clothes with his length. He lets out a few short breaths before taking a hold of your thighs. Pressing them tightly to his body as he rose from the ruined sofa.  

“Woah-” You instantly open your eyes wider, gripping yourself firm on his arm and shoulder to the sudden action. He doesn't stop. Kissing your neck as he brings you to the bedroom. Once inside, he crouches down in front of the mattress, dropping you smoothly on its edge to unclip his cape. 

Oh, it’s really happening..  

You were now observing him unbutton his stiff jacket. Swallowing dry as you wait for him to come back to you. You couldn't stop looking at his chest. Now noticing the definition of his muscles through the thinner fabric. He moves down, looking into your eye as he removed your bottom. You follow by coming forward to his waist and begin to unbuckle his belt while he takes a deep nervous breath through his nose. Moving his hands anxiously to undo his pants, you bring yours to roll his shirt up. You can sense his stomach contracting as you pull it completely over his head. At this point you know where this is going and so you just remove the rest of your clothes. As you remove the last piece you notice that he hasn't moved at all. Maker, why is he looking at me like that? His eyes were glued to you. You can't help but feel small as he's staring in silence. There's nowhere to hide from your shyness.  

He seemed to notice your nervousness. Passing the tip of his finger on your cheek. “You're, so beautiful..” he says, bringing both hands to his waist to remove the last piece of clothing covering him. You were a little stunned. It was bigger than what you imagined but you don't have time to react as he comes closer to grab your waist. Pushing you further into the bed before hovering you. You can feel his hair tickling and dancing on your cheek as he's kissing you tongue deep. Humming with anticipation he brings his hand back to your breast. Automatically, you close your eyes to his big hand squeezing and massaging your tit with his fingers. Slowly getting more comfortable with his touch on your body. You feel them going down, grazing alongside your stomach before abruptly stopping to your mount. You can sense how nervous he is in his halt. Smiling softly, you take his hand as you guide him further down. Giving him permission to touch you however he wishes to.  

His bottom lip twitched as he pulls himself back slightly. Wanting to watch you as he caresses and explore you further. He lightly brushes his thick fingers on your swollen lips, observing you with his mouth slightly open. You look so good, so perfect in his hands he thought to himself. After what felt like forever, he slowly pushes his fingers at your entrance. Making you instantly embarrassed on how quick you were coating them. They were gliding against your walls so effortlessly, sucking them in as you begin to let out some low vibrating moans. He pumps them a few times before passing them in between your folds. “T-that, feels, so good..” you purred out unable to control your breathing.  

“Yeah?” His eyes were locked on you as he watches your body twist with pleasure under him. This was a new kind of power, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Coming closer, he puts his arms on your sides before placing himself in between your legs. You stared at each other nervously when you feel him push the tip of his cock against your entrance moving slowly in. Making you inhale sharply at his length entering you. 

“Is this, okay?” He asks voice dry, almost out of breath.  

“Yes please, I want to” you answered half in pain, half begging. Not making you wait any longer, he begins to move slow as his eyes were admiring yours. It doesn’t take time for your juices to cover his length fully, making you both pant harder to the wet, hot, gliding sensation. His cock was so soft and thick, filling your pussy full like it was made for it. He comes back to kiss you while he begins thrust in and out in a faster pace. His tongue coming through his plump lips, caressing yours desperately. As if he needed this, needed you. He wants to know more of you, all of you.. Now growling low, he grinds his hips harder. Your moans are becoming louder as you feel the electric waves inside your belly. And then it happens again, the pulsing energy around his shape. It’s faint, like a breeze passing through your nerves. His voice trembles, “can I-’’  

You nod, cutting him off. Knowing exactly what he’s going to ask, “-yes, yes please..” 

He moves his face into your neck, sucking lazily on it as he now pounds in harder. Meanwhile his hands were holding the side of your face and hip. Not being able to hold it in any longer, you whine as you finally cum around him. Feeling gusts of air in your neck. He pants himself to his sweet relief. Cumming with an explosive grunt in your ear. 

He brings his hand to your face. Looking at you from the side while his head still rests in your neck. He brushed the tip of his fingers lightly over your lips. Making you naturally open them slightly to his touch. ‘’You’re truly beautiful’’ Hearing him say low and raspy. 

Moving to face him, you slide his cock out before resting on your side. He holds the side of your face in his hand, coming closer for a kiss. As he’s breathing in hard though his nose, he moves his hand to your waist, “Come” he says pulling himself up before taking your hands to help you rise from the bed. Guiding you to the fresher.  

He gets two towels out of the cabinet and turns the shower on. You were enjoying the water running on your body. Sensing an arm grabbing your waist from behind as he moves the other to take your breast. You instantly drop your head back to his chest, giving yourself to his touch. His body was steady, and firm compared to his soft fingers caressing your body.  

He wanted to make you feel good, knowing it might be the first and last time you ever let him touch you this way. His thick fingers now moving lower, he grabs your poured out slick to circle your clit. Making you part your legs to let him play with you better. You let out some whimpers as he's passing his now fully coated digits in between your folds before entering you. You gasp with your mouth fully open to the sensation as he glides the tips of them on the top of your walls. Pumping them as his thumb is still caressing your clit. The noises of your pussy sucking them in is embarrassing. You were a mess as your voice was becoming uncontrollable. Twisting yourself in his grip while feeling his chest rigid behind you. “I’m gonn-” trying to not sound too desperate.  

‘’Do,” he replies, cutting you off. He leans to the back of your neck. Giving you a gentle kiss as you whine and start losing balance. Grabbing you in time by the waist, he holds you more firmly as you bend in his grip. You hold yourself onto the shower walls as you feel your legs going numb. Cumming once more on him, breathing harshly as he continues to push in slow a couple more times. Passing his fingers gently up and down to your folds. He changes his grip as he hears your breath shaking. Giving you another kiss on the back of your head before turning you around to face him. His eyes were observing you as you pass the back of your thumb on his jaw.  

Wanting to take full advantage of the limited time he has with you. He turns around to grab a washcloth before lathering soap into it, ‘’can I?” 

You nod in response, staying still as he brings the washcloth to your body. His touch was careful and gentle as you let him discover you another way. This felt somehow more intimate than what you just did. Feeling smaller than usual but not in a bad way. Definitely not in a bad way.. He takes the shower head to rinse your body while you took another washcloth, doing the same he did. His muscles were contracting as you pass the soapy square over his chest. His breathing was heavy as you examined his skin. Which was full of small cuts and scars with some newer than others. He didn't like that, closing his eyes he squeezed his hands into fists. He was trying hard to be as compliant to you as you were with him. Being so tall and broad, you needed him to move around to be able to fully wash him. You looked into his eyes asking timidly, “can you turn?” He doesn’t move or speak as he stares at you seriously. “Please?” you finally ask softly.  

He pursed his lips without a word before turning around. Giving you now full access to it. You inhale sharply seeing the fresh cut across his back. You're trying to breathe through your nose. Slowly remembering who he truly is. Not knowing what to do or say, you stand still. Feeling your ghostly touch, he knows very well the nature of your hesitation. He turns around, taking the washcloth from your hands. Washing himself quickly before going fully under the water. Wetting his raven hair in the process. He gets out of the shower without a single eye contact. Carelessly dripping everywhere as he grabs one of the towels on his way out. 

You just knew he was hurt but you also didn’t know what to do. You get out to dry yourself, wrapping the towel around you. Walking to him calmly while he sat on the gutted couch. “I��m sorry.” You finally let out trying to be as sincere as you possibly can, but he doesn’t move. He remained still while starring to the empty space in front of him. “Please Kylo, I-I..” you plead, trying desperately to have him interact with you. He shifts his focus to you, being surprised to hear you speak his name. Now having his attention on you, you bend closer, taking his hands into yours. Gently pulling him so he would stand up. After a few tugs, he slowly follows you. You tilt your face up to meet him. “I’m sorry, I was taken by surprise” you repeated with a soft smile. Dragging him forward and back to the bedroom.  

As you get into the covers, you extend your arm, inviting him in. He takes a moment simply admiring you in his bed. Bending down, he searched through the piles of clothes on the floor. Putting on his underwear before coming to put his large shirt on your body. You give him a kiss on the cheek as he comes to lay on your side. Closing your eyes to his warmth, you settle your head on the pillow.  

He stays silent. Simply watching you get comfortable beside him. Wondering how he ended up here with you. I lost control again; he kept repeating to himself. As much as he likes being close to you, he knows it's wrong and can't keep it. No matter how much he wanted to.. 

--

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[ohtobeleah]

My Nightmares & You // A ToE Blurb

Summary: Jake is struggling with a reoccurring nightmare after the death of Bob Floyd. Amilia makes it so that Jake shouldn’t ever have to feel alone. Helping to release the stigma he so desperately wanted to shake.

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, eating disorders. Jake Seresin x Original Female Character. Mentions of death. Dark sense of humour surrounding mental health.

Word Count: 4.4k

-> Transport into the Terms of Endearment universe here. Read yesterday’s ToE blurb (Sticks & Tones) Here. & Rhett’s eulogy here.

“Don’t act so tough, Seresin.” Jaidyn scoffed as he pulled Bob up by his collar. “You already made your choice, remember?” Jake's heart sank as it all played out. Within seconds Bobs was lying in a heap on the floor as blood soaked into the cream carpet. The gunshot made Jake flitch in utter fear. Your terrified screams echoed off every wall it came into contact with. Bouncing left to right up and down. 

“Remember this Jacob?” Jaiydn asked as he held the gun towards Jake's chest. “This was the part where you killed Robert Floyd.” 

“I didn’t—“ Jake croaked out as tears ran down his face, mixing with blood that poured from his own ear wounds. 

“Oh but you did Jakey boy, it was you who made it clear he wasn’t worth jack shit.” Jaidyn was ruthless as he stepped closer and closer to where Jake stood frozen, unable to move in his terrified state. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t save them either.” 

In the blink of an eye Jaidyn turned and fired a single bullet your way. Jake watched you fall to the ground in agony as Jaidyn turned and fired at Bradley—then Odette. 

“NO—!” 

In the middle of the night Amilia woke with a dastardly fright as the man who slept soundly beside her amongst a mess of bedsheets and pillows stirred and shouted into the darkness that encompassed them. 

“NO—!”

“Jake?” She mumbled as she sat up and held the covers up to her chest to ward off the chill of the night. “Jake you right?” 

“You couldn’t save her Jake—“ Jaidyn snarled as Jake fell to his knees completely heartbroken. His entire life had been torn apart at the seams right before his very eyes. “You couldn’t save them.” 

Reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp that made her bedside table its humble abode, Amilia sat up in the dim orange hume to assess the situation going on beside her. 

“Jake, baby? Open your eyes darling you’re dreaming—“ Jake laid in a pool of his own night sweats, shaking like he were as cold as ice. “You’re alright.” 

“And you wanna know the best part Seresin?” Jaidyn laughed as minimally as he could as he lowered the gun—pressing it against Jake's temple as he closed his eyes. “The best part is that you’re the one who pulled the fucking trigger!!!” 

In his nightmare, when Jake opened his eyes Jaidyns gun was in his blood stained hands. 

“NO—!!” 

“Jake! Wake up!” Amilia tried not to shake the six foot something aviator too aggressively but her heart broke in her chest listening to his whimpers. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks and settled in the stubble present and prominent on his cheeks. “You’re okay, you’re dreaming.” 

The second Jake woke from what had been a reoccurring nightmare ever since that fateful day— he held in a breath so desperately full of fright that he just stared up at the ceiling, trying to coax himself away from the metaphorical ledge he was ready to jump off. 

“Jake?” Amelia's sweet and gentle voice broke through the fear and soon enough Jake was turning to face the woman he’d fallen asleep next to. “You okay? Looks like you had a bit of a nightmare?” She was full of concern as Jake ran a casual hand through his golden locks and reached up to pull Amilia down into his sweaty but warm embrace. Amilia let out a soft “Oof—“ as she collided with Jakes exposed chest. She could hear the way his heart raced with adrenaline from the nightmare his subconscious had concocted to torture him with in the depths of the night. “It’s okay, I get them too.” Amilia admitted without hesitation as she held Jake in the embrace she knew he needed to ground him. 

“I’m good—“ Jake grumbled as he let out that heavy breath that had been crushing his lungs. “I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Jake?” Amilia wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t press him to talk about it. Not now—not when sleep was pulling her back. “I can leave the light on, if you want?” Was all Amilia said as she yawned and kissed Jake's sternum. 

“I’m good Oz, it was just a dream.” But it wasn’t just a dream, it was a reoccurring fuck of a nightmare Jake couldn’t shake and it was beginning to mess with him. “I’m fine—“ Amilia knew if anything that  Jake was trying to convince himself that he was fine. “I’m fine.” Because he kept repeating it like a mantra. “I’m fine.” 

“You need a dreamcatcher.” It was the middle of the night, Amilias eyelids grew heavier and heavier with every passing second as she laid her head on Jake's chest. Listening to his heartbeat settle. 

Jake thought about the image of you and your little girl, Bradley and Bob all laying bloodied and dead before him as he held the very gun that killed you all in his hand. It terrified him to no end, that nightmare that had him in a vice grip. 

His own subconscious was reminding him of his worst and greatest fear. Losing his family: 

“I’ve already got one.” Jake tried to hide the way his voice shook as he held Amilia just a little tighter. Afraid if he let her go she’d be ripped away from him too. “Got her right here with me.” 

***~***~***~***~****~****~***~

Javy Machado loved Chelsea Fitch’s chicken parmigianas with his whole ass heart. Every Wednesday night was Chicken Parmigiana night, with a chopped salad, garlic bread and homemade chips to go with. 

Javy would race home from work, shower, change and head on over to Paybacks place with a six pack of beer in hand and a bunch of flowers for Chelsea. He appreciated her so much and the effort she went to to include his single ass in the Fitch Family Wednesday night dinner. 

Soon enough it wasn’t just Coyote that was joining in on Parmi night. Amilia had officially moved into the spare room and had begun to make the space her own. You can call it a coincidence if you want but there was nothing coincidental about the way Wednesday night Fitch Family dinner went from an affair of four, to five, to six within the space of three weeks. 

Because once Amilia Fisher had made her mark on Jake Seresin, there was not an excuse under the damn sun he wouldn’t use to spend more time with her. 

So Chelsea Fitch’s Chicken Parmigiana’s were suddenly Jake Seresin favourite meal—and he suddenly wasn’t a Wednesday night regular at the Hard Deck anymore. 

“Hey guys.” Chelsea cooed as she made herself busy in the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready, just waiting on the garlic bread.” Coyote leaned in to kiss the four foot nothing woman who stole their friends heart on the cheeks. She knew it was coming, so with a gentle grin and a side hug she accepted the warm gesture. 

“As always, a beautiful bouquet for a beautiful lady.” Javy Machado was a flirt, that much was true, but the way he flirted with his friend's wife was as innocent as could be. Payback knew it was full of admiration for the woman who made her house a home with an open door to anyone. 

Chelsea smiled ear to ear as she accepted the flowers she already had a vase set aside for. It was her favourite thing in the whole world. Those beautiful flowers she got every Wednesday as a show of appreciation from her husband's best friends. 

“Thanks Javy—“ It wasn’t hard for Jake to see the similarities between Amilia and Chelsea, from the way they had the same intoxicating smile to the way they both seemed to twirl fabric between the pads of their fingers when they were thinking silently. Jake would watch Amilia do it with her bar apron—the same way Chelsea would do it with her dress. “Amilias out the back lover boy.” Chelsea chuckled softly as Jake came back into the conversation. 

“Who says I’m here for Oz?” Jake tried to puff his chest as he greeted Mrs Fitch, towering over her with no trouble at all. “I’m here for you and your Parmigiana’s Chels, ain’t no ulterior motive.” 

“Mmhmm, sure Hangman, I’ll bite.” Chelsea tapped his chest three times as he kissed her cheek, again, nothing but a loving gesture but the second Jake's lips were pressed against Chelsea cheek Payback was rounding the corner with a freshly showered Chase waddling beside him hand in hand. 

“Hey, get your hands off my wife man—I don’t know where you’ve been.” Payback teased as Chase came running up to his mother. Tugging on her dress before she reached down to collect her four year old and sat him on the kitchen counter top.

“I know exactly where he’s been.” Chelsea turned to Jake and suddenly his cheeks were as hot as the surface of the sun—maybe he wasn’t as discreet as he thought he’d been leaving Amilias room this morning . Maybe it would have been a better idea if she had come to his. Perhaps that way he would have felt a little less awkward about his not so casual night terror. He’d been a little less than radio silent today—usually Jake would call or text whenever he got the chance. But after last night he had rendered himself speechless.

How exactly do you say sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night, I had a dream I killed everyone that ever meant anything to me. 

“Again, she’s outside.” 

“I’ll be right back.” Jake pressed his lips together into a fine line and headed in the direction of the backyard. He could see Amilia laying in the afternoon sun that was slowly starting to disappear over the horizon. 

Everytime Jake saw Amilia his heart skipped a little beat inside his chest—he’d never felt that before. That little flip. They’d only been an ‘item’ for a few short weeks and yet Jake knew he was falling in love. Something he’d never been in before. It was all uncharted territory for him and it scared the ever living Christ from him. He wasn’t in love yet, but he could very much see himself hurtling uncontrollably in that direction. 

“Hey!” Amilia had seen Jake standing in the sliding doorway out to the back patio before he even announced his presence. He’d gotten too caught up staring at her—wondering how to approach the situation he found herself in. “I didn’t know if you were coming over this afternoon or not.” Amilia admitted as she sat up from where she’d been lounging. The book she’d been reading was quickly discarded at her side. “You okay?” 

That was the all important question these days wasn’t it. If Jake was okay—to be perfectly honest Jake hadn’t felt okay in weeks. Not since Bob. Not since he got Bob killed. 

“Couldn’t get much worse I don’t think.” Jake shrugged as he stepped out to the back patio and shut the sliding glass door behind him. “So yeah—I think I’m okay.” 

“I don’t think you should be in the business of tempting life, Jake—“ Amilia patted the space beside her on the lounge chair as an open invitation for Jake to come and sit beside her. He did without question or hesitation. “I’ll tell you something about tempting life—“ 

“Oh pray do tell Oz.” Jake smirked as he nudged at the woman who had come into his life in a whirlwind. “Pray do tell—“ Amilia smiled up at Jake as he sat beside her, pressed as close as he could be as they watched the sun disappear into the late afternoon sky. 

“The first time I tried to kick my own bucket—“ Oh fuck this was not what Jake thought it was. “I decided to hang myself up in my closet like a new sweater—“ Amilia took a moment to pause before she continued, watching as Jake listened intently to what she was saying. She could tell he didn’t know how to react. “And the rack broke.” Jake didn’t mean to laugh, but the way Amilia said it had him letting out a little chuckle that he caught with a hand over his mouth and wide eyes to match, fear evident from the lack of empathy he failed to show. But that fear quickly softened as Amilia laughed too, she mimicked Jake's initial reaction almost instantly. “So then I had depression and an eating disorder.” 

“Oh my god—“ Jake didn’t know how to react. “Oz—“ He and Amilia had spent many a night together talking about everything that made them uniquely themselves. “That’s so messed up.” The one thing they had in common that shocked the both of them was how they’re struggles with depression were so similar. 

But the one thing Amilia had that Jake Seresin didn’t—was a dark sense of humour that helped her crawl her way back from the depth of her own personal hell. 

“It’s okay you can laugh—“ Amilia nudged at the man who had stolen her heart from the moment she met him on the steps of the Miramar police station. “I laugh about it all the time, but the lesson still remains the same, don’t tempt life—it’ll just backhand you back—you think it can’t get any worse and then damn, you're still alive and afraid of carbs.” 

“You’re just a plethora of knowledge aren’t you?” Jake shook his head as he reached around to pull Amilia into his side, his hand fell to her hip casually as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “But noted—don’t tempt life.” 

“I’m gonna ask you again Jake.” Amilia already knew the answer, after the incident last night she knew that answer as clear as day. But she wanted Jake to tell her the truth. “Are you doing okay? Because I just keep noticing little things here and there that I'm a little concerned about.” 

Jake paused as he let out a deep breath, the question his girlfriend asked lingered in the air like a bad taste would linger in your mouth. But ultimately—he told her the truth. 

“No.” Jake shook his head as his shoulders slumped. “Yeah no I’m not doing too good.” Again there was a silence that lingered in the air. 

“You wanna talk about it?” They were genuine and sincere questions. “I reckon Chels wouldn’t mind if we took those parmis to go?” It was a tempting offer that made the corner of Jake's lips pin into his cheeks. The idea of it just being him and Amilia, Amilia and him? Was far too enticing to refuse. 

“Yeah, yeah I’d really like that.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“What do you mean you’re taking yours and Jakes to go?” Chelsea huffed as she dished up dinner like a pro. “Ams?” The only thing Chelsea got as a response was a look. A single look that Chelsea knew all too well, someone was spiralling— but the deep pit in Chelsea’s stomach told her that out of the two souls who stood side by side like love drunk teenagers asking to stay out a little later on a school night. She knew it wasn’t Amilia spiralling this time. 

Not after the gut wrench shouting she heard Jake Seresin doing in the middle of the night last night. It had been loud enough to wake both Chelsea and Payback. 

“You should go see if he’s okay Re—“ Chelsea whispered to her husband worryingly. All Reuben did was shake his head and pull his wife close. 

“If I know one thing about Hangman it’s that he’ll only talk to who he’s ready to talk to.” Reuben explained as he kissed his wife’s temple. “Something tells me that’s not me.” 

“Okay—“ Chelsea huffed. “Fine, but please don’t come barging in at all hours of the night.” It was more of a whine than a gruff. “I got a kid who’s got ears like a Hawk.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Jake smiled as he watched Amilia shovel off the neatly organised food that Chelsea had made into two Tupperware containers she’d fished from the cupboard frantically. “We won’t, scouts honour.” The way Jake held his hand over his heart and swore to Chelsea Fitch they would sneak back in at all hours of the night made Amilia chuckle as she worked to collect their food. 

“I'm gonna pinch a fizzy drink too–” Amilia added as she opened the fridge, Jake frowned for a split second when Chelsea instinctively took it from Amilias grapes and scratched at the label–peeling the sunkist logo right from the clear plastic bottle. Leaving it naked. “We’ll share?” Amilia asked as she looked at Jake, he simply nodded–still trying to figure out the label situation in his mind. 

“Thanks again for dinner.” Jake made sure his appreciation for Chelsea was known one final time. “Really.” 

“My pleasure, now go on before it gets dark and the sand flies come out.” The mere mention of those pesky things had Amilia darting to the medicine cabinet for an antihistamine or two. She was mildly allergic. “Drive safe, for the love of god—and by drive safe I mean Jake drives—!” 

“I’m not feeling suicidal Chels.” Jake teased as Amilia deadpanned him. The joke was getting old already but it was justified. Amilia wasn’t the best driver around, especially when all the road rules were flipped on their axis. “Sorry—“ Jake cooed. “But I’m driving honey.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

It wasn’t all that cold down by the beach, but there was an awfully present breeze that would pick up from time to time that made Amilia shiver. Jake—with his warm blooded furness like self, offered out his jumper to the woman who couldn’t have been more supportive of him even if she tried. 

Jake would later grab the spare jacket he kept in the cab of his truck. He was feeling the brisk breeze too—but he knew Amilia liked that particular jumper and it smelt like him too. 

“How long have you been having nightmares for?” Amilia asked softly as the waves carved on the shore, Jake didn't answer right away, he simply stared out over the horizon, just above Amilias head. He could smell the familiar notes in her shampoo–Strawberries and vanilla and just knew he was safe in every way there ever was to be safe. Amilia was his person. 

“I think the first time I had it was a week after–” Amilia had never heard her jake sound so vulnerable before, but he was being honest, open, and oh so raw. It was a side to him he didn't let anyone see. The vulnerable side. The side his dad would have called weak. The side his mother would have told him to build a brick wall around. The side he never wanted you to see because how would you ever come to him with your problems if you thought he was struggling with his own. “It's the same damn dream, every time.” 

“You never did tell me what happened.” Amilia knew what she had been told and was able to glue the broken pieces together to create a broken mosaic image of that fateful night. “And you don't have to if you don’t want to.” She added. “But if you do wanna talk about it, you can trust me.” 

Again, Jake didn't answer right away, but the silence was comfortable as the gentle crashing of the soft waves lapped at the shoreline. The push and pull of the moon's force mimicked the caring nature Amilia approached his current predicament with. 

“No!” Jaidyn snapped. He was spiralling out of control quickly. “No, I want you to choose Jake! Choose one of them because either easy its your decision that chooses who lives and who fucking does and she ends up hating you anyway.” Not a day went by that Jake didn't hear play in his mind. It was stuck on an endless loop. 

“He wanted me to choose–” Jake finally spoke. He wasn't sure how much time had passed the pair of them but he was grateful that Amilia didn't press him. She sat between his legs with her back to his chest drawing unidentifiable objects into his jean clad knee. “Between Odette and Bob.” Amilia didn't know what to say, so all she did was listen to what Jake had to say. “I told him to shoot me.” 

“Bold Strategy Seresin.” Amilia couldn't see it, but there was a soft smile that for a millisecond, crept across Jake's face as he leaned in to kiss the top of her head and took a deep breath in of the comforting aroma of strawberries and vanilla. “You dream about that choice?” 

“Yeah–yeah and in my nightmares it's all of them, Bob, Fe, Bradshaw, even Dot.” Jake choked out as he tried to hold in the tears his eyes threatened to spill. “I can’t save any of them and every time I close my eyes it's all I see. Bob and his blood all over my hands.” 

“Jake–” Amilia saw it as a good a time as any to shift between Jake's legs to face him. She moved so that she sat cross legged between Jakes. Cupping his face to pull him close. “You didn't kill Bob baby–Jaidyn was always going to do what he did.” 

“I could have stopped him if I did more.'' Jake shook his head, it broke Amilias heart to see the man she’d started a relationship with break before her very eyes. But his tears were as pretty as he was. “I should have done more–” 

“When you pray for rain you gotta deal with the mud too.” Jake chuckled as he sniffled up a sob. He needed his notes app right now. 

“What the hell does that one mean?” Amilia smiled at the way Jake tried his hardest to keep himself from falling apart. Sitting this close face to face she noticed just how dark the bags under Jake's eyes really were. How tired he looked. 

“It means that I think even if you had done more, someone still would have gotten hurt.” Amilia explained as she wiped away the tears that had fallen freely down Jake's cheeks. “It very well could have been Dot if you hadn't gotten the hell outta there when you did.”

“Rhett still hasn't spoken to me since.” That much was true. Rhett hadn’t really looked in Jake's direction since Bob’s funeral. Jake thought it was because Rhett blamed him, but it was because Rhett didn't know how to say thankyou for doing all that Jake could. 

“Yeah well judging by Rhett's eulogy baby he's on his own path of trying to figure all this out.” Amilia smiled softly as she leaned in the press a gentle but all loving kiss against Jake's lips. She could taste the tears. It broke her heart. “Rhett doesn't blame anyone but the person who deserves the blame.” 

“You reckon?” All Jake wanted was another kiss, his wish was granted as Amilia nodded and pressed her lips against his once again. 

“I don't tell fibs Seresin, you’re just gonna have to trust me.” 

“Do you trust me?’ Jake asked softly as he drank in Amilia's features. She was everything Jake thought his soulmate would be. If he ever had the chance to find his that was. Looking at Amilia now he thought he may have been the luckiest guy on earth. 

“Eh–I did meet you on the steps at the police station so I may need a little more time to decide.” Amilia teases as she bit her bottom lip, Jake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, leaning in and over to kiss her deeper than she had kissed him. “Yes, yes I trust you.” 

“You trust me enough to tell me why your sister pulls the labels off your soda?” it was Amilias turn to not respond right away. She froze for a moment but ultimately decided if Jake could open up about the nightmares plaguing his subconscious, then she could open up about the nightmare she was living. 

“It's so I can't count the calories.” Jake knew about Amilias struggles with food, she’d been pretty open about her past. But for some reason Jake thought it was just that–in the past. “It's just something our mum used to do when I was younger–so I couldn't spiral out of recovery and into a replace.” 

“My dad used to make me a protein smoothie for breakfast every morning when I was a teenager–” Jake didn't know how to relate to Amilias struggles but he thought sharing his own, it may give her a sense that she could trust him just a little more. He wanted to know everything about her. “It had like two thousand calories in it with fifty grams of protein.” All her weaknesses and her flaws, along with all the beautiful things about her that made her, her. 

“I'm sorry to tell you that your body would have only digested about twenty, twenty five of that fifty grams.” 

“That explains the shitty digestive issues I had back then–.” Jake chuckled as Amilia looked up at him with her head in his lap as he looked down at her. “He used to do it because he thought I was a scrawny kid, thought he was helping, but it wasn't. If anything it just gave me a bad case of body dysmorphia.” 

“Oh I know that bitch all too well.” Amilia scoffed to herself before the conversation died down to nothing. To a point were both Jake and Amilia just at and listened to the waves in a comfortable silence, falling deeper in love with one another than they had ever loved anyone before. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The next afternoon as Amilia made her way into work, Penny was sending her a smoke from behind the bar. It looked playful enough, so Amila bit.

“I got shit on my face or something Pen?” 

“Lover boy left you a present.” Penny explained as she cleaned the top of the bar. “Said he’d be back a little later, but dropped this off before he dashed.” With intrigue, Amilias heart began to beat a little faster inside her chest as she looked at the small box of chocolates sitting on the counter. A card with Jake chicken scratch handwriting sat atop the box. 

“Thanks for the therapy session last night Sigmund Freud, see you later–much love Hangman.” Read the card. Amilia could feel the heat rising to the apples of her cheeks as she tried to hide her smile. As she turned the box of chocolates over Amilia raised a brown in surprise. 

The nutritional information had been scratched away.

Jake had listened as intently to her as she had listened to him.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

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[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Murder in the Age of Enlightenment: Essential Stories

By Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, translated by Brian Karetnyk

"... having fallen as far as this, they had already been so wearied by the many tortures of Hell that they no longer had the strength to cry out." (The Spider's Thread)

"At any rate, if you want to rob a man of his woman, it's only natural that you're going to have to kill him. Only, when I do it, I do it with a sword. People like you don't use swords. You gentlemen kill with power, with money, sometimes with words alone - all on the pretence of doing a man a favour. True enough, no blood is shed. He might even live well. But you've killed him all the same. It's hard to say whose sin is greater - yours or mine. [An ironic smile]" (In a Grove)

"When it once pleased His Lordship to joke, 'You appear to take pleasure in all manner of unsightly things,' Yoshihide's unnaturally red lips creased into an unnerving smile and he replied haughtily, 'Yes, My Lord, it's true. Other more frivolous painters lack the insight required to perceive beauty in what offends the eye.'" (Hell Screen)

"'As a rule, I'm unable to paint anything I haven't seen. ... I have seen a man bound by iron chains,' Yoshihide said. 'I have made a detailed sketch of another being tormented by a monstrous bird. Thus, it cannot be said that I do not know the tortures that sinners endure. As for the wardens of Hell . . .' here the corners of Yoshihide's lips rose sinisterly, 'as for the wardens of Hell, I have seen them any number of times in my dreams and hallucinations. Devils with bulls' heads, with horses heads, with three faces and six arms. Almost every night they come to torment me with their noiseless clapping hands and their voiceless gaping mouths. No . . . They are not what I am unable to pain.'" (Hell Screen)

"The fleeting moments I have left impel me to set down my story, to describe the motives that brought me to commit the murder, the act itself, as well as the strange state that gripped me after the deed was done. And yet - O! and yet - even now, how keenly I am aware of my breath warming the frozen ink, of having placed this sheet of paper before me, and, with fear and trepidation, trying vainly to master myself. After all, to examine my past and set it down in writing means nothing less than to relive a past life. Once more I hatch my plan, once more I commit the deed, once more I am made to suffer the torments of this last year. Can I really have the strength to endure all this?" (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"My state of mind then was such that a Japan without [her] had become utterly foreign to me. Rather than eke out the existence of a broken man in a country that was no longer my own, I thought it might be better to take a volume of Childe Harold, travel to some remote, distant place and, having roamed the world in lonely solitude, bury my bones in the soil of some foreign land." (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"It seems that deep within my soul there lurks a monster incomprehensible even to myself." (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"As the time passed, however, little by little I inched closer to the most despicable temptation of my life, and to a destiny with which I would ultimately have to reckon. By no means do I have the courage to recount how fierce was the battle I had to fight, how step by step, it pursued me to the brink of death. No, even now, as I inscribe these lines, I must enter into mortal combat with this hydra of temptation." (Murder in the Age of Enlightenment)

"... he contemplated death and war. But not even the faintest glimmer of wisdom came of it. After all, dying was still a wretched business, even if it was for the Emperor. As for war . . . Well, he didn't even hold war to be a crime. Next to war, crime, rooted as it was in private passion, was almost understandable. But war mean one's duty to the Emperor, and nothing else. And yet, he - but no, it was not just he, for more than two thousand men, from every division, had been selected for the White Sash Unit, and they too, whether they liked it or not, would now have to die, carrying out the greatest of duties . . ." (The General)

"I have no artistic conscience; indeed, I have no conscience whatsoever. I have only nerves." (Cogwheels)

"Soon enough, I began to feel that anything and everything was a lie. Politics, industry, arts, science - all this seemed to me little more than a gaily coloured enamel concealing the true horror of human life." (Cogwheels)

"I looked up to the lofty heavens to remind myself how small the world was - and, consequently, how small I myself was - amid the twinkling of countless stars." (Cogwheels)

"I haven't the strength to go on writing this. To live in this state of mind is an agony beyond all words. Isn't there someone kind enough to strangle me softly in my sleep?" (Cogwheels)

[jimblejamblewritings]

riddle means misery | part 1.

Summary: Y/N Riddle. Not much more has to be said. Everyone hates her. She’s evil... she has to be. 

Warnings for the Series: 18+, this series is dark. Manipulation, dubcon verging on noncon, abuse of power, violence, ed mentions, death, blood, 

Pairing: unknown yet x black!reader

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N I: Hopefully this goes without saying but neither me as the author or my readers condone these acts in real life. We enjoy these scenarios in fiction to explore dark thoughts or for escapism or for whatever reason. If this makes you uncomfortable then please protect yourself and do not read BUT any hate towards my readers who enjoy this story will not be tolerated. Once again, fiction is fiction and we do not condone any of this disgusting behavior in real life!!

A/N II: This is the (hopefully) final, darker version of Sunshine/Princesse de Mort. Hopefully, y’all enjoy and we reached the proper darkness of the fic. Obviously it can only be so dark since this is supposed to have a happy ending but I’m confident we will all be pleased with this.  

A/N III: Vote on your guy for the future pairing. A post about the poll can be found in an answered ask posted before this post. 

(Series Masterlist)

A little grunt escaped your mouth as you tried to grab your book that was currently floating away. It wasn’t even your book. Standing up from the table, you went to chase after it. You were all but three steps past your table when you tripped over your suddenly untied shoelaces and your hand landed conveniently on some lionfish nettles. Hissing, you sat up to pull the nettles from your now bleeding hand. The book wasn’t even in your sight by the time you picked them all out. 

You could hear laughter from far away when you ran outside to catch up to your missing item. So it was a Ravenclaw messing with you this study hall period. You needed the book. You couldn’t afford a replacement. Money wasn’t something that ran abundantly. The little money in your family’s vault was frozen by The Ministry. Not that it mattered to your father. Lord Voldemort didn’t pay for anything. Most of your things, you never liked to think about where they came from and tried to get rid of them once you quickly found a decent replacement. 

Everything else came from money you earned helping the house-elves at Hogwarts. You lived at the castle year-round. You had ever since you were eleven. Voldemort didn’t make his presence known— you were escorted to Platform 9 and ¾ by one of his followers with a wand and a letter in hand. Hogwarts was where he grew up. He still saw it as a place to hone magical talents and wanted you to go. He also requested— demanded— that Dumbledore keep you there. His heir wasn’t meant to get herself killed in a war.

You were meant to become the second most powerful wizard, after only your father, and rise up to take his place in the new wizarding world order when the time came. Dumbledore couldn’t have denied you if he wanted to. The moment The Ministry found out, you were practically forced to be there. They couldn’t throw you in prison when you hadn’t done anything but house-arrest at Hogwarts until you were an adult was good enough for the moment.  

You crawled under the table to grab your wand before going to chase the book out of the Great Hall. The book kept flapping like a bird, just out of your reach. You thought you might be able to grab it as you headed outside before hitting a body and falling to the ground.  A boy grabbed the floating book. 

“Here— oh, here you go, Padfoot. Riddle’s little book.”

You pulled yourself up from the ground to see some of your least favorite people. The Marauders were the oddest puzzle to you. Their torment was tame in comparison to everyone else. It felt more like bullying than torture. But, everyone seemed to respect them despite it. If they made you their target for the day then no one else did because they hoped they would be there to see your humiliation. You looked at James as you smoothed out your scarlet and gold tie. He watched your hands, noting one bleeding slightly. 

“Still not sure how you tricked the Hat into putting you anywhere but Slytherin.”

“I didn’t tri— can I please just have my book back, James?” 

“What book? Wormtail, do you know what book she’s talking about?”

“No clue, Moony?”

“Haven’t seen a book, Padfoot?”

“Are you talking about that book over there?” 

You looked behind Sirius to see a small fire. You ran over to try and put it out but it was too late. Sirius must’ve set it on fire the moment James handed it to him. You groaned in exasperation. It was a library book. The librarian already looked at you with so much disgust for even daring to step foot in the library. She’d be livid. You realized, as you still patted at the book, that you’d have to give up some shopping money for it. A hot sensation creeped close to your skin before a sharp bit of pain. You looked down to see the bottom of your skirt on fire, quickly scrambling to put it out. The Marauders laughed and high-fived Peter as they walked away.

You gave the boys a look as they left. Your first stop tomorrow would be to buy the book at Hogsmeade and give it to the librarian. In the meantime you went back to the Great Hall to try and get all your stuff. It was covered in ink that you suspected wasn’t coming off easily. Another night of staying up late to complete homework. You weren’t even sure why you bothered doing your work. It wasn’t like you were on anyone’s nice list. Even Dumbledore, who once had faith in Tom Riddle being a good wizard, didn’t care much for you. But multiple school years later and you still had faith. There was still a chance for everyone to see the real you before you all went out into the world. 

The book was the first thing you bought in Hogsmeade. A small meow garnered your attention as you left the bookstore. You looked in the bushes to see a tiny kitten that seemed abandoned. The little thing that you immediately named Finnegan made no protest to you scooping her up. You walked through the village and back towards the castle. You needed to get back before everyone else woke up and went down to the village. When you made it to the front doors of the castle, you could hear four sets of footsteps behind you and sighed as you waited for one of them to say or do something. 

“Princess!” That would be James. 

He took to taunting you with the Slytherin’s Princess nickname. Peter and Sirius both preferred Little Dark One. Remus liked Ring Leader. You turned to face them, wrapping your cardigan around you. 

“Yes, James?”

“Where are you going?”

“I just want to go back to my room. I don’t wa—”

“Potter!” 

You closed your eyes at the voice behind you. It was Evan Rosier which meant Severus and Mulciber were definitely with him. The cackle behind you let you know that Bellatrix and Narcissa were with them. They were the Death Eater posse— everyone had no doubt that they would join your father’s side. You tried to stay away as much as possible but they always found you. They made it a mission to be your personal bodyguards and whatever else they thought you needed.  

“Bloody hell,” you whispered. 

“Rosie!” James sneered. “What do we owe this pleasure?” 

“Fuck off, Potter” Evan whipped out his wand. 

You scurried out of the way as Evan practically threw himself to take your place in an impromptu duel. That was always the scariest part for you. Dueling. You didn’t want to think about what would happen if the school found out you were a squib. It just looked like you refused to perform spells— and none of the teachers ever bothered to make you try. No one really wanted to see you perform magic anyway. You had more magic than most squibs but it still wasn’t enough to get past second, maybe third year of school. It certainly wasn’t enough magic now.  

You could still hear footsteps following you. The stride sounded so calm compared to your scurry. A hand grabbed your shoulders and pulled you back, almost slamming you against the wall but stopping just shy of doing so. Remus gave you a smile that would seem so sweet if it was on anyone but him. 

“You know they’ll just duel you later, might as well just stay and take it now, Ring Leader.”

“So you can dangle me from the ceiling like you all did to Severus last week?”

“Snivellus came up with that jinx, not everyone else’s fault if it caught on with all of us. I’ll let you down after a few minutes, won’t be nearly as long as Snape was dangling from that tree.”

“I'd rather not have my knickers shown to the entire school, it’s the one thing you haven’t made fun of yet.”

Remus eyed the skirt of your dress, one hand moving to grab the bottom of it. ��They have little hearts on them?”

You wormed your way out of his grip and kept going towards Gryffindor tower. Remus laughed. 

“So they do have hearts on them!” 

You acted like you didn’t hear him as you walked. You silently cursed as the staircase moved, giving the Marauders the opportunity to catch up to you. 

“Princess got herself a kitty. Rosie and Snivellus were not nearly as fun to duel,” James started as he boxed you in between the four of them. “Let’s set a date for it, Princess.”

“I’m not Princess, stop calling me that.”

Peter laughed. “I think all the little Slytherins at your beck and call say otherwise.”

“I don’t ask them t—”

“It’s not like you have to,” Sirius cut you off. “Why wouldn’t they follow the head Death Eater?”

“I’m not, how many times do I have to say I’m not a Death Eater?”

“Y/N Riddle. I think that proves everything we need to know.” 

You felt a gust of wind and found yourself pushed down, holding out a hand so you wouldn’t squish Finnegan. Peter pushed you back down as they walked past you. If you weren’t in the same House, you would walk in the opposite direction but you had no choice aside from continuing. 

Skirting past everyone in the common room, you practically ran towards your room. Finnegan seemed to like your space. It was weird. Your bed was surrounded by enchanted things and runes to stop your roommates from ruining your stuff. But Finnegan didn’t care about all the weird shit, hopping right over one of the cauldrons that was always filled with a bright blue liquid. You scratched between her ears and hung up your cardigan on the little jacket hooks near your bed. Sitting at your desk, you finished a few essays for Defense Against the Dark Arts until it was time for lunch. Your cat came with you when you grabbed your blanket and left your room. The hallways were empty as you walked through them.  

It was safe to go outside. Moments like this were your favorite. They made you think of summer when the castle was almost completely empty, even Dumbledore didn’t stay around all the time. It was the most peaceful time of year for you. 

The Marauders spotted you as you quietly walked into The Great Hall holding a blanket and your cat. They weren’t going to mess with you, having had their fill earlier. But they did stare as they watched you grab some finger food from the serving tray closest to the door and then make a quick exit. Peter snorted.

“It’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?”

Remus mumbled an agreement through a mouthful of food. You ate in your room, splitting some with Finnegan. Before any of your roommates could come back, you decided to take a nice shower. Only once did you ever use the bathtub. It took too long and left you too vulnerable and naked no matter how many locking enchantments were put on it. You quickly got ready for bed and stayed up reading a fiction book until you were tired enough to go to bed. The curtains were drawn around your room in hopes to make your roommates forget that you existed.

Sunday was your reprieve. Everyone had to take a break from messing with you at some point. You grabbed your journals and headed to the Dark Forest. It was technically forbidden without teacher supervision but no one ever stopped you. You had two main expertises of magic— Darks Arts and Potions. 

Your magic wasn’t strong enough for dueling but it was strong enough for simple charms and spells needed to make potions work. You figured that you were pretty good at Herbology but that was only because you had to be for Potions— same for being decent at Care of Magical Creatures. Your journals held studies for all your work. 

You wanted to head into the forest to collect samples of unicorn blood and compare it to various saps from fairy fruits. The goal was to see how much the fruit could mimic unicorn blood. You were expecting the blood sample to be ready in a few days— two unicorns were about to give birth and two were almost dead. If you couldn’t get the blood from the birth, you could collect it from the dead unicorns without hurting them or cursing yourself. The fairy fruits could be collected today. You wanted to sketch them and then mark the saps in the journal. You nearly jumped out your skin when you made it back out the forest. 

“Is this the Charms homework from Thursday?” Sirius grabbed your journal.

You scrambled to try and get the book back. 

“What’s so good that you get top marks?”

“Hand it over, Padfoot.” Remus stuck out his hand. 

Your eyes widened in horror at watching the journal be torn to shreds. It might have been a new journal but it still had three months worth of research in it. Studying for new potions and dark arts didn’t just happen overnight. Quickly, you shoved the other journal into your bag before they could go after it. James twirled his wand in his hands as he stared at you with a tilt of his head. 

“You ever consider a haircut?” 

You shook your head as you started to run back towards the castle in a zigzag fashion. The Marauders laughed at how ridiculous you looked. Being bored for the day, they decided to follow you. You were headed to the owlery anyway and see if there was a letter. You hadn’t responded to your father after the last two which meant you should respond to this one. As expected, there was the letter. You read it over. It wasn’t very different from the last one. 

He hoped you passed your last homework assignment and were studying hard for your OWLs, he’d send you something for Valentine’s Day to keep up with the tradition that your mother started before she wound up in prison and then died, and the marriage list at the bottom was updated. You hated that list more than anything. Arranged marriage and specifically with a man your father chose was absolutely horrid. 

You frowned at seeing Lucius Malfoy now at the top. It must be because of the rally he’s planning on having. Your father really liked Lucius. He was pureblood, rich, and just as arrogant. He liked how Lucius didn’t hesitate to hex someone in your first year of schooling if they tried to mess with you. You hated that the eleven year old you did used to cling to Lucius when you didn’t know if you could handle everybody’s bullying. He probably told that story and it got back to your father. You would have to correct that right away in the next letter that Lucius shouldn’t be at the top of his list. You wanted to put that there should be no list. Two names that frustrated you to no end were also back— 

“Why the fuck is my name there and Reggie?” Sirius had snatched the letter out of your hand. 

You hadn’t even heard them coming because of how loud the owlery could be. Peter pointed at the letter. 

He smirked. “You should start dating, Pads, won’t that make dear Daddy happy?”

The other boy scoffed. “Wouldn’t even fuck her with a bag over her head.” 

“I want my letter back.”

They laughed when you tried to snatch it back, Sirius quickly pulling it out of your reach. 

“Why?”

“Please.”

Sirius whistled and his family owl came flying to him. “Dump it wherever, maybe somewhere in London.” 

The owl took the letter in its beak. You could do nothing but watch the owl fly out of your reach and through the window. You purposely shouldered the boys as you walked past— your back quickly slammed into Remus’ chest as you pulled you back. The arm around your throat, pinning you to him, got a little tighter. He pulled your wand out of your back pocket and held it right in front of your face. The wood looked like it was bending a little under his grip. 

“Try getting bold again and I’ll break this into pieces. Understood?”

You caught the wand before it landed on the stairs. Quickly, but not too quickly so no one else would notice you, you made your way back to Gryffindor Tower. You penned your father a letter telling him about your new cat and your classes. You only left to return to the owlery when you knew that James started quidditch practice because all of them would most likely be there.   

The four boys caught you looking at them on Monday morning. You tried to sit at the end of the table closer to the professors specifically because of Mondays with the Marauders. Normally they messed with you by this time of day. They had made sure of that. Monday morning, every morning since second year was there spot for taunting. Their favorite joke was making every bit of food or drink you tried to put to your mouth disappear. Lily and Marlene scoffed when you squinted your eyes. 

“Do you want something, Riddle?” Marlene yelled. 

Your head immediately ducked down as snickers started from around the room. You kept eating your breakfast until suddenly your face was slammed into the bowl of porridge. You looked up to see Dorcas putting her wand away. It was clear to you that the students decided your breakfast was over. You didn’t even bother getting something else before leaving even though you were still hungry. 

McGonagall didn’t even look at you as she entered the classroom. You were used to being ignored by her. Floating you scroll to her desk with one of the few spells that you could do, you waited for her to grab your homework. McGonagall simply looked at it and didn’t bother picking it up. Her entire demeanor changed when Lily walked in followed by the others. She, and surprisingly the Marauders, set their homework done and McGonagall simply beamed about how lovely it was that they did it early. 

You sunk down in your seat. No one sat at your desk. The only time you ever had a desk partner was if Gryffindors were paired with Slytherins and one of the Death Eater posse had the same class period as you. 

Your nose scrunched at the smell of burning fabric. In a panic, you were fishing all of your supplies out of your schoolbag. The bag was ruined. It wasn’t just burnt but there was a giant hole in the bottom of it. You knew that you should’ve soaked the bag in the fireproof potion before you used it right away. You had to carry your books to your next class, waiting until your free period to go back to your room and turn a headscarf into a sack to carry everything. The only thing getting you through the day was the idea that in two days it would be Valentine’s Day. 

Was it wrong to look forward to getting presents from your dad and the Death Eater posse? Yes, but it was the only nice stuff you ever got. The real question was when would you get the presents. The posse would probably just show up at Gryffindor Tower or escort you to Slytherin but you’d have to go to The Great Hall or the owlery to get the gift from your dad. 

In the end, you figured that you’d have better chances in the owlery. The one thing no one would do was push you out the tower so it was infinitely safer. You got the parcel left before anyone else could show up. You went to the library to browse for some books. It was funny. You didn’t even like reading all that much but it was all you could do. Read and research for potions. You had no friends to talk to, no sports to play, no clubs to attend. It sucked because you really wanted to play quidditch but the old captain aimed a bludger at your head. She was graduating and would be here next year but you were too scared to try-out again with James as captain. 

The books on the romance shelves called to you as you passed by. They were some of your favorites to read. Romance and found families. Sometimes you wanted to roll your eyes at yourself because it was sort of sadistic to keep reading about what you were never going to get. You grabbed a few and debated what to do next. Safety was found in your bed. But you really hated being cooped up. You weren’t meant to stay inside and cramped up all the time. Finnegan poked her head out of your old tote bag that you patched up until you could buy another school bag. 

If your cat wanted to be outside then you would be outside as well. The Black Lake pier seemed nice enough. The wind was a little biting but still nice when you sat down. It blew at your long red skirt that kissed the top of the water. You were in red and pink to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Finnegan was walking up and down the pier, sometimes swatting at a merperson that wanted to look at her, while you went to look at your presents.

Regulus, Bellatrix, and Narcissa all chipped in for fancy chocolates. The Carrows got you a small pad of parchment that was covered in hearts. Others got you cards. You opened the parcel from your dad to see another stuffed bear, some chocolates, and nail polish. There was also a bracelet, earrings, and a necklace. Your mouth dropped open. It was some of the most beautiful jewelry that you ever saw which made you upset. 

If it wasn’t jewelry that you bought, you always sold it to the second-hand shop. You couldn’t wear something that was potentially taken off someone he murdered. Your hand paused when you saw the letter. The earrings, bracelet, and necklace were from Lucius. A pout crossed your face. You didn’t want to really have anything from him— especially because you were positive he knew he was top of your father’s marriage list. But at the same time, if Lucius got you the jewelry, then you knew for certain it was bought and not stolen. You never really owned pearls before. You loved pearls but they were always stolen or you sold them for money. The set was too pretty to give away. You’d probably write to Lucius just once to thank him. 

You were putting in the earrings when your head practically spun from getting hit with something hard. You felt warm liquid run down your face before the metallic taste hit your tongue. Before your hand was in front of your face you already knew that what you were touching was blood. Sitting in your lap was a bloodied stone. You almost screamed as another rock hit you. On the side shoreline, a group of students were throwing rocks. You scrambled to get up and grab your stuff to leave. 

Suddenly, you felt yourself hoisted into the air. Your screams to be put down were cut off by a mouth full of water. Panic ran through you for a moment when you found yourself sinking instead of floating because of the abruptness of landing in the lake. Your lungs burned when you reached the small sandy shore by the pier. 

Water and vomit hit the sandy ground. You rolled in the other direction to avoid getting in it. A hand ran over your face. At least the bleeding stopped although you had a headache that you would need to get something for… if Madame Pomfrey actually listened for once. Fingers flitted to your ear. You sat up immediately and crawled back towards the water, pulling out your wand. 

“Accio earring! Earring! Accio! Acci…” 

You gave up. One of the merpeople must have grabbed the piece of jewelry. Either that or it was too far down for your magic to work. Considering the summoning spell was supposed to be useful no matter how far away an object was, you figured this was probably the limitations due to your squibness. Giving up, you went back to the pier to gather your things and leave. Finnegan, who had been hiding in a bush, followed behind you as you left wet footsteps through the castle. Coming outside fucking sucked.  

You continued to read in your room until it was time for the feast. You wouldn’t go but holiday food tended to be the most delicious so you would suffer through all the hearts if that meant you got nice food. The book, chocolates, and nail polish all came with you. Dinner was calm for the first half. No one could do too much with the adults around. 

The professors never protected you but even they knew that they had a responsibility to laws which meant you couldn’t be hurt with them watching or they’d have to step in. All bullying was relatively harmless at meal time. You charmed your book to stay upright and flip when you were finished reading a page. It gave you the chance to eat and move on to eating your chocolates and painting your nails. They were all painted pink except for one on each hand that was red. You switched to smaller brushes so you could paint heart details. You gasped when the nail polish bottle was tipped over, panicking when your book started to float away as well. It was impossible to stand up. Only your eyes could move as you watched the book leave. They really petrified you at dinner? You were used to it happening at lunch or breakfast so you could be made late to class. You felt a hand grab your face and turn it to look at them. 

James chuckled. “You were wrong, Moony. She likes the hearts on her nails, not her knickers.”

They laughed as you went wide-eyed and felt your face heat up. They walked off but didn’t remove the charm. No one removed the charm. Slowly, students and professors alike exited the hall. You would just have to wait the few hours it took to become unpetrified. Little by little, you felt control of your limbs. A large sigh left your mouth as you practically flew away from the table. You desperately needed to use the bathroom. You didn’t even care that the closest bathroom was Moaning Myrtle’s stomping ground.  

“Petrificus Totalus!” 

The last word that left your mouth was no before you hit the floor. You heard Dorcas’ voice and felt yourself turned over to see her as well as the rest of the Marauders and their friends. They were sitting on the steps just watching you. Sirius was holding your cat and you weren’t even sure how he got Finnegan from your room.

“That was a very large glass of water, Y/N. And the pumpkin juice and the tea. We have a bet. Me, Lils, Wormtail, and Griff don’t think you’ll last more than two minutes. The others say five. Do us a favor and go quickly. We’ve got some galleons on the line.” 

If you could shake your head you would. Peter brought out a timer. You just had to make it past five minutes and you’d be let go. That was easier said than done. Your eyes shut as you heard the scoffing laughter and felt a puddle forming underneath you. Peter tapped the timer. 

“Three minutes and twenty seconds, pay up.”

(part 2)...

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

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[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 23: Rescue

Death tastes like blood.

Like hot blood that splatters thick and sticky across your face, coating your closed eyelids and hollow cheeks, filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with a force that makes you choke.

Your eyes snap open. Fresh blood. Lifeblood. Your greed for it almost drives every other thought from your deadened brain. Through a red mist, you see the flash of a silver blade, a headless body collapsing to its knees at your feet, a dark object that could be a man's head thudding to the floor beside you. Shadowy figures crowd in through the doorway, bringing with them mutterings then shouts then screams. A pale, delicate hand gestures in the air in front of you, and with a rush of magic - my magic, rages a whispered voice inside you - the room lights up, every candle and fireplace dancing to life to illuminate the grisly scene before you.

Marshall Bormul’s beheaded corpse is sprawled at your feet. Astarion stands a step behind where the Marshall had stood, one hand still raised from casting the spell, the other clasping a bloodied silver blade by his side. His handsome face is blood-splattered in a way you haven’t seen since you adventured together all those moons ago, and something about it - the desecration of something so flawless and white with something so dark and inherently violent - makes your newly found breath catch in your throat. Beautiful, rich red blood spills from the Fist’s neck, seeping into the carpet. Wasted. The exquisite scent of it drives you wild, and you let out a voiceless keen, falling to your knees, needing to put your lips to the gaping wounds that continue to pour forth the blood that you so desperately crave.

Astarion's arms are around you before you have a chance to press your lips to the still-warm corpse. You writhe in his hold, feral with hunger, until he whispers a command to you:

“Be still.”

Your body goes limp; your thoughts quieten. You settle in his arms.

“Good gods, man, what have you done?” exclaims a man from the crowd by the door.

Astarion whips around with you clutched to his chest.

"I have rescued my wife," he snaps at the man. "You all saw it. The man was all over her like a rabid dog. I had to put him down."

He speaks with such authority that none dare oppose him. Meek murmurs of "Yes, lord," and "Of course, Lord Ancunín," are the only responses he receives. He turns his attention to the scattering of servants in the crowd.

"Someone tidy this up. You, bring the councillors to my receiving room. I'll meet them there shortly. Everyone else, back to the ballroom. Now. This… unfortunate incident is no reason to ruin a perfectly good party."

Having given his orders, Astarion strides out of the room, pushing past guests dressed to the nines, carrying you with him. Behind him people begin to drift slowly back towards the ballroom, buzzing and humming with uncertainty and shock, while the servants among them spring to act on his commands.

“I warned him,” Astarion mutters, seemingly more to himself than you. “I told him that what is mine to share is still mine.”

You are still frozen by his earlier command, but he doesn't seem to notice until he's carried you all the way to your bedchamber and laid you, lolling, on the bed. Suddenly noticing the state you are in, he sighs.

“You may move.”

At his words, a chaos of feeling and movement floods through you. You are wracked by breathless, wordless sobs, though whether they are caused by fear, relief, or disappointment, you do not know. You curl in on yourself, trying to force your shuddering breathing back into order, and slowly the sobs subside into deep, shaking breaths. Astarion, standing by the bedside with a slight frown on his face, gives a nod at your newfound composure.

“I’ll send servants to tend to you. You need cleaning up.”

With that, he turns to leave. 

As he walks away towards the door you sense the quiet and the darkness gathering, ready to settle over the room the moment he leaves. While earlier in the night the gloom was a place of solace, the thought of being within it alone now fills you with a deep sense of dread. It is no longer an escape; rather, it is an obscurity filled with strange and unknown terrors that are only waiting for your husband to leave before pouncing.

Unable to call out to him, you let out a panicked hum, pausing him in his tracks. He turns around to look at you questioningly, and you beckon him back over to you.

“What is it, my sweet?”

You beckon again, more forcefully this time, ignoring the confusion and dismay in your chest. Dreadful though he may be, you do not want to be alone. He cannot leave you.

“You want me to stay?”

You give a single reluctant nod, blinking away the hotness in your eyes. A smile twitches at the edges of his mouth, and he walks back to the bed, sits on it, and pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and try to find comfort in his embrace. He brushes the blood-matted hair from your face, hushes you, and whispers soft things into your ear as he rocks you gently.

“You are mine, my treasure. My darling love. You are mine. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to take you from me.”

There is a threat in his comfort, just as there is an edge to all of his kindnesses these days, but you cannot bring yourself to mind it. He is an evil that you chose, not an evil that is being forced upon you, and tonight that somehow feels like it means everything.

[distracted-obsessions]

Can't You Hear Me Scream? Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: emotional manipulation, Mal being called 'it', disassociation,

Simon didn't have a good relationship with emotions.

Some of the more observant people around him had always been confused by that. "Your mouth and eyes take turns smiling," Kate had once said.

He didn't remember feeling like this as a child. He remembered flashes of joy and sadness and rage. Mostly joy. He didn't know if he really had also felt like this as a child or if he had somehow lost those when his powers developed.

Simon was writing up the events that happened during the mission last night on his way to the breakfast table. He left out the part with Mal. He hated psych evals, especially with the agency's psychologists. "And how did you feel when this happened? What do you mean by 'probably angry'?"

Simon walked into the dining room in the agency housing that his team lived in and, like every morning, found everyone already sitting down. Liam and Maya were deep in a conversation about some show the two of them were watching, Kate was cooking to avoid getting sucked into a discussion before her coffee finished brewing, and Mal was sitting at the table, picking at the tablecloth and yawning.

Mal looked tired. Mal always looked tired. Sometimes, Mal remained Simon just a little too much of himself.

Simon felt himself smile at his team. His chest loosened at seeing all of them acting normal and in one place.

"All the little birds under mama's wings, right Simon?"

Simon's smile dropped and he shook his head, trying to dispell the sound of The Deceiver's- "Oh, don't call him that, Simon. You know who he is." Of Kalek's voice.

Kalek. The man whose memory pledged Simon's ever waking moment. A mix of loss and betrayal that made him want to scream.

Control, Simon thought to himself. Control is your best virtue. Control yourself.

"The worst thing they ever did to you was convince you that voice was yours."

Simon shook his head again. Of course it was his voice. Of all the voices in his head, that one was his. It had to be. If it wasn't...

Simon moved to the table, reading over the words he didn't remember writing. It all seemed fine and Simon didn't see anything that would raise eyebrows so he signed it and sent it on its way. He walked up behind Mal like he did every morning and dug his fingers into Mal's hair, petting him gently.

Mal needs a shower... Simon thought, digging a couple of rocks out of Mal's hair, his thumb brushing at a slightly matted patch of fur on one of Mal's ears. Poor puppy still has blood in his hair.

Kate grabbed a plate of pancakes and her cup of fresh coffee and walked over to the table, putting the pancakes in the middle of the table and sitting across from Mal. She stared at Mal as she sipped her coffee then looked up at Simon. "Tired, Captain?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Simon looked at her, trying to understand what she meant. He looked down at Mal and realized that Mal hadn't leaned into his touch like he usually did. Instead, he had frozen, the tablecloth still pinched between his fingers.

Simon frowned. Mal only froze when he was uncomfortable but he was never uncomfortable with Simon.

"Well, you did torture him yesterday, Simon."

I didn't torture him, Simon told the Kalek in his brain. Still, he took his hand away from Mal's hair and watched Mal slip back into movement like he was being unpaused. Simon's stomach lurched unpleasantly. Mal. You can't be scared of me. You're my puppy. You're supposed to love me.

Simon sat down in his seat next to Mal and took the plate of pancakes that Kate handed him, ignoring the warning look that was passed along with it. She didn't get it. She couldn't get it. No one else on the team had powers. It was just him.

Him and Mal.

Simon watched Mal throughout breakfast. He was used to Mal gravitating towards him. Mal would usually lean on the arm closest to Simon and eat with his other hand but, subconsciously or not, he had switched which hand he ate with to lean away from Simon. Liam, who was not ambidextrous, noticed Mal suddenly being in his way but didn't seem to figure out what had changed so he just ignored it and finished breakfast.

The second breakfast was over, Mal jumped up and left, mumbling something about marksmanship. Simon reached to grab Mal's arm but Kate grabbed his first. She stood and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Let it be. If you crowd it right now it will lash out just to get space."

Simon watch Mal leave. He didn't want to let Mal be. He needed Mal to be sitting at his feet, begging Simon to touch him at all times.

Not because he wanted Mal to be upset. He just needed Mal. Needed Mal on his terms. Watching Mal walk away from him, seeing him with a tiny piece of independence, made him want to throw Mal into one of the cells under the house until he refused to leave Simon's side again.

"Do you ever wonder if they sided with the wrong person? If they made the wrong choice all those years ago."

Shut up, Simon thought. You've done far worse things then me. My actions towards Mal are nothing even close to some of the things you pulled. I'm a

"Good little hero."

Simon tried to distract himself throughout the day. He really did try and take Kate's advice to give Mal space. It was disturbingly easy since Mal also went out of his way to avoid him. Not having Mal a half step behind him felt like he had misplaced a limb. Every person he talked to that wasn't Kate had something to say about Mal, either asking where he was or just asking Simon to pass along information.

By the end of the day, he was ready to scream.

It was some time in the afternoon when Simon finally caught Mal alone and not busy. He was dreading the next phone call he had to make when he found Mal laying on the couch in the living room, a pillow wrapped in his arms, wearing one of Simon's hoodies as he watched that show that Maya and Liam were obsessed with.

Simon crept into the room, not wanting to startle Mal too soon. He looked so soft like this. So needy. Desperate for comfort.

Simon reached out, careful not to block Mal's view of the TV, and ran his fingers though his hair. Mal didn't react in any way, not to freeze or lean into it. It was like he didn't feel it at all.

"Poor baby," Simon said, a little surprised to find himself smiling. "You're not even here, are you?"

Simon sat on the couch and laid Mal's head in his lap, careful not to jostle him too much. He wanted Mal to slowly come back to himself. It was better for Mal if he slowly blinked awake, disoriented and confused, making those soft whimpering noises, nuzzling whatever was under his cheek as he tried to come back to himself. Better for him.

"Simon, if twisted streaks were a virtue, you and I would be the best people in this building."

Simon gently stroked Mal's ear and watched the show as he waited for Mal to wake up. The show was fine but the feeling of Mal breathing and his ear twitching under Simon's fingers was making it hard for him to focus on the plot.

After a while, Mal suddenly inhaled deeply and let it back out. Simon looked down at him and watched him rub his face against Simon's thigh, his hand reaching to grab at Simon's jeans. He continued to squirm as he got used to his surroundings before he froze again.

Simon frowned, keeping his touch gentle dispite the sudden desire to yank him up by his hair just so he'd move. "Hey, puppy. I lost you there for a second."

Mal did say anything for a moment. When he did speak, his voice was quiet. "Simon, what are you doing?"

"Comforting you." He did tug on Mal's hair then, just lightly enough to make Mal shift his head to look at him. Mal's eyes were wary as they shifted to Simon. "You should have told me that you needed comfort after last night's mission. I would have helped you."

"Sir, I..." Mal hesitated then took a deep breath and said, "I didn't feel-"

"That it was necessary, I understand," Simon interrupted, running his hand up and down Mal's arm. "But I want you to be settled. And if The Deceiver bothered you then I want to fix that." If Simon's palm lit up with just a little yellow light when he said 'The Deceiver', well then it was necessary. If it wasn't necessary then it didn't happen.

Mal shuddered and grabbed Simon's thigh tighter. "Sir-"

"Mal, you don't have to call me Sir. We're home." He tilted Mal's chin up and made him make eye contact. "You're safe."

And if Simon's palm glowed pink when he said that, making Mal scramble into Simon's arms, sniffling and telling Simon that he was tired and he just wanted to sleep in Simon's lap, well,

It was necessary.

[justkending]

Finding Memories. Chapter 4.

Series Summary: Waking up with little to no memory of her past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world she quickly learns runs on chaos. But she’s not the only one trying to figure out her forgotten backstory. Bucky Barnes, along with the other Avengers, can’t help but sense that there is a lot more to the whole situation than a diagnosis of amnesia. Her background slowly starts to come forward in pieces of her past and hidden information discovered. Who is she? And why was she in the room they were meant to destroy?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Chapter Word Count: 3400+

TW: Torture, cussing, and blood. 

A/N: I finished chapter five yesterday, and am currently working on chapter 6 after I post this. Also, Happy New years! I hope this upcoming year is everything you all manifested and hope for. It’s all about setting those intention and acting as if the things you want are already happening for you:) Love you all and here’s to 2023! xoxoxox

Chapter 4:

A week and three days at the compound had passed. Y/N had become more comfortable with her environment and had been introduced slowly to a few more members of the team.

Parker had been a little overwhelming at first, but quickly his dorkiness and clumsy side showed he wasn't a threat to her. If anything, he was more helpful in the pop culture area than he had been for the 100-year-old soldier.

When he was doing history homework at the kitchen island one night after a meeting, Y/N's curiosity brought her to him and she learned about the different wars including the Cold War, WWI, and WWII. Of which Bucky and Steve had a few comments on when Peter knew just the right questions to ask to bring up stories.

Wanda had shown Y/N how to cook a few simple and easy meals in case she was hungry and didn't want to microwave a frozen meal. Oatmeal, soup, and grilled sandwiches of different varieties had become favorite ways for her to have some independence.

Nat helped her add to her wardrobe besides sweats and sweatshirts that only held up for a short-term stay, whereas her stay was looking to be longer and longer due to no updates in her case.

It gave her a chance to try out some new style pieces even if they were only for casual and lounge-type situations. It was better than the gray and black sweatpant materials for all articles of clothing she had been wearing the first few days here.

She was still discovering her likes and dislikes from all the different genres of fashion, but at the end of the day, she liked the simple yet comfortable look.

One night, Wanda, Nat, and herself spent the majority of their movie night just online shopping for her new wardrobe with Tony's credit card.

Bucky had walked in and seen the James Bond movies Nat was obsessed with playing in the background as the three were pointing out different websites and styles they thought she would like. The exploding car on the giant movie screen did nothing to pull the three away from the smaller screen in front of them.

And on the nights Y/N had enough energy and enough people were there, the team would host a movie night in the theater room and each took turns sharing their favorite movie with her in hopes to add to their fan club.

Nat stuck with a different variation of James Bond movies for the most part, wanting to show the differences in actors and how they carry out the idolized role of 007. That and to make note of where she got the inspiration for some of her moves.

Wanda stuck to old 50's films or movies that were set in that decade. She had a love for the classics, but she was moving through her favorite decade movies the more movie nights they had.

Steve chose historical movies but was kind enough to do historical fiction to please the boos and annoyed grumbles from his friends.

Sam's choices ranged from classics that everyone needed to see, to rom-coms from the 90s. He argued that his sister was the reason he had started watching them, and he didn't really care to stop.

And the Parker kid... His were all old 70's and 80's sci-fi movies. Bucky never quite understood them, but they were interesting concepts. At this point, he had fought space aliens and Star Wars just seemed odd after that.

Bucky never suggested a movie as he was just happy to see that Y/N was truly comfortable with the team about a week in. It was impressive how fast she trusted them, but also it's hard to be shocked by how fast it all happened when you had a team like theirs.

Right now, Wanda and Y/N were out on a walk around the compound. They found themselves scheduling times to walk and talk by the waterside behind the facility. Wanda was also one to know what it was like to be experimented on in a lab. Though her situation was different, as she had volunteered, it didn't mean that trauma for her reasoning and what happened after didn't affect her.

Bucky could see them walking back into the compound from the seat by the window he was at. He put his book down and slowly started making his way to the kitchen.

Steve had walked in shortly before him and was grabbing a protein shake from the fridge.

"Hey, I thought you were going to meet me in the gym earlier," Steve spoke up, removing his headphones which sat on his neck after spotting his friend.

"Yeah, sorry, I needed to run an errand," Bucky replied, moving to lean on the island opposite him.

"All good. I figured something came up," Steve waved off, taking a long drink.

"Hey, quick question," Bucky spoke up. Steve hummed for him to continue. "You don't think it's too early to take her out in public do you?"

"Y/N?" Steve questioned, even though he knew to whom he was referring.

"Yeah, I just don't want to freak her out if she's not ready for that," Bucky explained.

"Well, I don't think it's a bad idea. But why exactly do you want to?" he asked.

"We haven't got any updates on her since Bruce got back to me on the blood analysis. As you know, Nat said the system crashed while she was hacking it and wiped half of the memory on it. The little bits and pieces of her case have been sorted through with a fine-toothed comb. We're running out of things to narrow down what happened to her and what the purpose of her being the weapon could be." Bucky sighed as he said his thoughts aloud and continued to think about what he could do. "Her memory isn't getting much better."

"That's not true," Steve nodded off, twisting the cap to his drink back on, and walked to get a glass of water. "She remembered her birthday the other day and she hadn't even seen her own file."

"True, but information-wise, that was something we already knew," Bucky shrugged.

"But it's still a part of the process," he countered and Bucky shut down as he thought more. "Look, it's like you said. The safer her environment and the more comfortable she becomes in who she is and where she is, she'll start to unlock some of those memories."

"That's the thing, the stuff we need to unlock aren't necessarily the things I want to unlock..."

Steve could see the hurt and conflict on his friend's face. He knew in order to help her and everyone around her, the ugly things would have to be sorted through first. They were at a standstill when it came to the next step in the investigation. With most of the data lost, it meant they needed to find a different route around it.

One of those options being to provoke her trauma and have her relive it to get details from it.

"Then start small. Think of a place that's public, but gives you a sense of peace still. What's a place you would go to clear your mind, but also helps ignite some deeper thoughts?" Steve offered a solution.

Bucky hesitated as nothing came to mind immediately then it sparked in him.

"I think I have a place," he replied.

Perfect timing, Wanda and Y/N walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, guys," Wanda greeted.

"Hey," Steve replied. "How's the weather out today?" he asked in casualty.

"It's chilly, but nothing too bad," she answered, grabbing fruit from the basket on the counter. "Y/N and I found that duck family on the pond again."

"About time for them to head south soon, huh?" Steve continued.

"Give or take a week," she nodded, peeling an orange. "What are you guys up to?"

Bucky watched as Y/N did her best to blend into the background of the group and not stick out. She may be comfortable with them, but trauma doesn't heal overnight. Her need to not be a centerpiece was a behavior developed from being under constant surveillance most of her past.

"I'm about to head down to the lab to talk with Stark and Banner about something," Steve answered. "Which reminds me, I think there was something Bruce wanted to ask your opinion on. Wanna go down there with me?"

Bucky knew it was his friend's way to give him and Y/N a second to talk, but it was subtle and no one picked up on the actual reason for his invitation.

"Yeah, sure," Wanda nodded, quickly throwing away the peel and saying goodbye to the two as she followed the blonde.

"How are you feeling today?" Bucky asked after a few seconds of silence.

The night before, Bucky had heard sounds coming from her room that sounded as though things were crashing and breaking. He had knocked, but never actually waited for a response as he knew something wasn't right.

She was having a nightmare that initiated a panic attack upon waking up.

He had noticed as soon as he walked in that the lamp on her bedside table had been pushed off and shattered on the ground. She was still on the bed asleep, but before he could make it to her bed, she jumped up and was panting for air.

Her eyes were scanning the room for threats and upon seeing a large dark frame in the corner, she reached for something to protect her and managed to throw a remote at Bucky.

Her aim was surprisingly accurate for being in such a state of distress and for being in the complete dark, but Bucky was quick and caught it before it could hit him square in the eyes.

Once she recognized who he was, her adrenaline came crashing down quickly triggering a panic attack from everything put together.

He had to console her but realized quickly she didn't want to be touched. He kept his distance at the end of the bed as she curled into herself and he coached her through a breathing exercise.

About 45 minutes later, he could hear her heart rate slow down to a normal speed. Once he knew she wasn't in a high alert stage anymore, he offered a drink of water to help calm her nerves some more, but all she asked was that he stayed in the room. He still kept his distance but understood that she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.

He was just glad he could be some form of peace in those types of moments even if the most he could do was sit and help her from the sidelines.

The event seemed to make her quieter this morning and afternoon. He contemplated if today would be a good day to even try Steve's idea.

She cleared her throat and nodded before answering.

"I'm doing better. Every other day I have a night like last night and it just leaves me pretty tired the next day..." Made sense. "I think I may need a change in routine truthfully," she added.

It was the perfect window to suggest his idea and he was slightly surprised that she was the one to ignite the solution.

"I was actually wondering if you'd be up for somewhere outside the compound," he hinted.

Her eyebrows raised at that.

"In New York?" she questioned.

"I have a place in mind and don't think it'll be too overstimulating," he noted. "I know that it's a big step from a place you just got your groundings in, but I'm hoping maybe it'll help with your memories as well."

"What did you have in mind?" She had a look of interest and Bucky knew he had her attention.

________________________

After getting changed for a public outing, Bucky grabbed a car from the garage and helped her in.

It was nice seeing her normal day-to-day clothes that she had a choice in. Her style was simple yet classic as Bucky could best put it.

She had put on a pair of high-waisted jeans with a gray turtleneck sweater tucked in and a cropped winter coat that fell just below her waistline. Her hair was down and had a slight wave to it from brushing it out after the shower and sleeping on it.

She looked like a normal civilian and a part of Bucky's heart was happy that she could have that experience now.

The ride there was pretty quiet for the most part. Bucky noticed Sam had left a CD in the car from a past trip and Y/N took in her surroundings while listening, deciding if she liked each song or not.

Bucky eventually found parking and came around her side to open the door for her. Whereas she would normally leave enough space between her and those around her to have room to escape if need be, Bucky noticed that she was a lot closer to him now in the new crowds.

It made sense as he was the only one she knew the intentions of while walking on the crowded sidewalk in New York.

Luckily the place they were going to wouldn't be as crowded and was just around the corner.

Bucky paid for their tickets and thanked the worker in the booth. He could tell she knew the place they were in from reading the sign outside, but her eyes showed she wasn't quite sure if she had actually been to an Art Museum before.

"What are you thinking?" he asked when he handed her the ticket and paused with her as she took in her surroundings.

"Hmm?" she hummed as if being brought out of her thoughts. "Oh, um." She paused trying to think. "Something about this atmosphere seems..."

He had become used to her sentences never being completed as most of the time she never quite knew how to put things into words.

"Familiar?" he asked.

"I guess something like that," she shrugged looking back at him.

"I'm hoping we can help figure out what makes it familiar," Bucky replied. "And if not, then it's just a new experience you get to add to your story."

Y/N smiled at his patience with her. She felt amity about the man in front of her that allowed her to lower her walls just a little more with each moment she spent with him.

"Have you been here before?" she asked, nodding to the gallery that waited in front of them.

"A few times," he answered. "There are a few pieces I want to show you once we get past these if you're up for it."

"Lead the way," she approved, staying a close step behind him as he began walking toward the art.

They got through about three different rooms of modern and portrait types of art. There were a few sculptures and abstract pieces as well.

Though she was intrigued by the forms of media, nothing seemed to spark much of her past...

What Bucky did notice though was her trait as an observer was still prevalent. With each piece of art she was intrigued by, she took the time to read the backstory, the artist's thoughts, and how they went about the piece from their perspective.

She made comments about the ones that were inspired by loved ones or someone close to the artist, saying things about how sweet and nice it is to see that type of love in the world. It was actually one of the same reasons Bucky loved museums like this.

In a life where the world has only shown you the pain and anger it holds, it's refreshing to see that there are merciful things in the same world. It gives a sense of hope to the ones who have yet to experience it.

"This part of the exhibit is my favorite," Bucky whispered as they turned a new corner.

Inside there was an immersive part of the art show. On the walls, floor, and ceiling; famous paintings and murals were in motion as they were projected on every part of the room.

It switched as they sat and watched the pictures slowly spin and flow around them as if they were in the painting itself.

Her mouth opened in shock and she looked all around her as she tried to comprehend the impressive spectacle.

"This is," she started, but again, couldn't find the words to finish it.

"I know exactly what you mean," Bucky chuckled, knowing that kind of response from experience.

The reason he had brought her to this was because it was his gateway to diving into the experiences he wasn't sure he had before. It was a way to put oneself in new environments and spark pieces of the past without having to travel outside one room.

They found a bench close to the back wall and perfectly positioned to be out of the traffic in the room and to watch it from all the best angles. Bucky couldn't help the grin that grew on his face as she was enamored at the changing colors and scenery in front of them.

And his grin only grew when she let a smile grace her lips.

That was until she saw The Starry Night by Van Gough and her face went from fascinated to freaked out.

Bucky knew that look from a mile away. That was the look of familiarity. Whether it was good or bad was unclear, but considering she looked troubled by the new scene, he was worried it was bringing up bad memories.

"Y/N?" he asked when he saw her eyes searching the room as if for an answer she was worried to discover. "Hey, you ok?"

For a split second, he could see the stars reflect in her eyes before she blinked rapidly and brought her hand to her head as if an instant headache had hit her.

"Um, yeah," she tried to shake it off.

As a reflex and without thinking, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder in an attempt to ground her some, but all it did was startle her. She jumped at the contact causing Bucky to take his hand back quickly.

She noticed the anxiety she had passed to him and started stumbling out an apology.

"I'm sorry... I d-didn't mean to jump. I-I-," she was taking short breaths in. "I, um," she looked around. "Is there a bathroom somewhere?" she asked, fidgeting uneasily in her seat.

"Yeah. I mean, yes," he stood up and gave her space as he motioned for her to follow him.

Luckily the bathroom was just around the corner and she excused herself quickly as she rushed in.

He was concerned for her but figured it was best to give her space. Trying to eavesdrop on her inside, and checking to make sure she wasn't having a panic attack, he stayed close to the door.

Just as he had tuned in, the intercom of the art exhibit started playing through the halls. It was louder than needed and the spy in him marked it as strange. It started with a simple announcement and then music to go along with the show went up in volume.

Another woman turned the corner and gave him a slight smile as she excused herself by him to use the bathroom herself.

The conversations of a few other bypassers Bucky had eavesdropped on, noted how the volume level was louder than usual and Bucky's instincts seemed to feel buzzed. Then he heard it. The lock on the bathroom door clicked.

It was a multi-person bathroom so the need for a lock on the exit door wasn't exactly for privacy. Something was wrong.

A muffled scream made him kick into action. The sound issue was a distraction.

"Y/N!" he turned to the door, banging it with his fist.

Again he heard muffled noises covered by metal doors being slammed into and what sounded like something being thrown and crashing into the wall.

"Y/N!" he shouted, this time knowing for a fact she was in trouble.

It would take more than a common lock to keep the soldier out. With a quick and calculated kick to the door, the crack of the lock busted against the wood and splintered the threshold.

The scene in front of him instantly switched him into fight mode.

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[acourtofthought]

“my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other. My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met

“The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

“Through the blood-rain,” Rhys went on as I shut out the image of what it’d do to a body, what he could do, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride.

So because Rhys's parents weren't right for one another despite their Mating bond ..... that means the same will be true of Elain and Lucien. Right? That's an E/riel argument?

The main similarity between Rhys's parents and Elucien is that their bonds immediately snapped into place with one look. But Lucien didn't instantly steal Elain away so yeah Lucien!

But really, the main take away for why their bond didn't work is because of how different his father was from his mother. The bond itself had nothing to do with it, it was entirely about their personalities.

Rhys's father was cold and vicious while his mother was soft.

I'd definitely say Elain is shaping up to be a bit fiery and she's definitely soft. It's also noted that she's beloved by many people. Just like Rhys's mother.

None of the Males are terrible in the way Rhys's father was however, there is definitely a difference in the personalities of Lucien and Azriel.

Lucien does not seek out revenge and he's not a particularly angry or violent character. He really doesn't have strong similarities to Rhys's father. He's cunning sure, but you can be intelligent without being cold and vicious.

Az though......

“It’s up to you, Feyre, to decide how much of our methods you want to know about. What you can handle. What we did to the Attor wasn’t pretty.”

People often made the mistake of assuming Cassian was the wilder one; the one who couldn’t be tamed. But Cassian was all hot temper—temper that could be used to forge and weld. There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw

the cold rage seeping from Azriel …

Not calm—but filled with icy rage. The sort I sometimes glimpsed in Azriel’s eyes.

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face.

The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them. Azriel had sealed them in, and as his scarred hands wrapped around Eris’s throat. Azriel squeezed, Eris thrashing beneath him. No physical brawling—there had been a rule against that. Azriel dug his knee—and all his weight—into Eris’s gut. He was silent, utterly silent as he ripped the air from Eris’s body.

As Azriel turned his face toward me— The frozen rage there rooted me to the spot. And now, behind us, Mor was shaking in her chair. Pale and shaking.

I held his gaze, though. Held that ice-cold stare that still sometimes scared the shit out of me. I’d seen what he’d done to his half brothers centuries ago. Still dreamed of it. The act itself wasn’t what lingered. Every bit of it had been deserved. Every damn bit. But it was the frozen precipice that Az had plummeted into that sometimes rose from the pit of my memory..

Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

Azriel went on, “In the week I’ve been watching her, I … learned what her next steps are.” The way he hesitated before he said learned said enough: he’d tortured it out of someone. Many people.

Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now.

"no idea that he had done unspeakable things"

Azriel donned the frozen mask

Let the cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it.

Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he'd found Mor all those years ago. Had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris to Blood Duels and kill them both.

"I'll defeat him with little effort. Pure arrogance laced every word".

I don't know about you but he definitely sounds a bit cold and vicious. Of course he's not evil but......he's constantly noted as having an icy rage, is driven to seek out revenge, and if you torture others there's definitely a side of you that's vicious. Someone else who learned to be that way since a young age, just like Rhys's father.

So please, keep reminding us about how Rhys's parents weren't a match 😁

[penitentdruid]

FANTASY VERSE

Name: Áedán Spiorad Gealach || Aedan O’Ruaidh Date of Birth: 31st October Gender: Male Orientation: Bisexual Species: Elf-Druid FC: Jamie Dornan

BIOGRAPHY

Aedan was born to Conobar, rebel elf leader of Clan Spiorad Gealach and his right-hand human woman, Fia Ó Conaill. Afraid to raise a second, sweet son while waging war, they gave him to Fia's sister to raise. 

His new mother adored him. Willow treated Aedan like a little Prince, even when she had six of her strapping blood sons to raise. But her husband resented Aedan. Though Corann knew the truth about Aedan's place in the family, the community didn't. They believed Aedan was a result of Fia's affair with a rebel elf. Whenever Corann was home, he would take out his resentment on Aedan, finding any excuse to deny him the treats he gave his 'real' sons. He would even strike Aedan if he acted too elflike. 

Aedan grew up on a large farm owned by Corann's family. When Conobar was away working as the Royal Architect, Aedan spent all of his time with either his one local friend or his uncle. Aedan's uncle was devoted to him, trying to encourage Aedan to ride horses, embrace animals and study his lost culture. 

But Aedan's naive trust and devotion to his uncle led to disaster. When he was twelve, they went foraging together in the woods. He didn't notice the change in his uncle's state of mind. His uncle disappeared from his side, leaving Aedan alone and struggling to find his way through the terrifying and dangerous woodland. Disembodied voices guided him deeper until he found his uncle waiting with a sickle. 

His uncle attacked him, believing that spilling Aedan's elven blood would fix the world. Aedan panicked and unleashed a terrible Guardian spirit, triggering his dormant magic and brutally killing his uncle. 

He stayed with the body of his uncle for two days, nearly frozen until the search party found them. Corann immediately blamed Aedan for his brother's death. He demanded they bring the law for Aedan's illegal magic use. 

His grandparents (Corann's parents) stole Aedan away to try to find answers to find answers about Aedan's magic.

Their travels stopped short when Aedan was fifteen when bandits ambushed them while in Istara. They killed his grandparents and took Aedan captive to sell on the black market for illegal slavery. But in the process, Aedan accidentally killed one of the bandits. He happened to be the best friend of the gang's sadistic enforcer, Dunne. 

From that point on, the gang failed to sell Aedan. And the few who were interested were prevented by Dunne, who wanted to gain ownership to get his revenge. 

But by the time Aedan became a full member of the gang, Dunne's wish to torture and kill Aedan had become infatuated. Aedan fell into an abusive relationship with him, becoming the camp's animal handler and hunter. He makes soaps and crafts as a hobby. And rarely, he will lure magic users away to capture them for their bounty. 

STATS

Eyes: Blue Hair: Curly, Copper Height: 5'10 Occupation: Bandit (Captive) Birthplace: Terr, Muileann, Olean Ridh (Pre-split Ireland) Residence: Nomadic Mother: Willow O’Ruaidh (Ó Conaill) Father: Corann O’Ruaidh Birth Mother: Fia Ó Conaill* Birth Father: Conobar of Clan Spiorad Gealach Positive Traits: Helpful, Kind, Nurturing Flaws: Pushover, Grumpy, Shy Other: 

[siennasfix]

Pareidolia

Chapter 4 "Uneven pressure"

*****

<<<Chapter 3 Chapter 5>>>

Trigger warnings: 1. Child torture 2. Child experimentation 3. Strangling 4. Bullying

The demigods watched and listened intently as Y/n, nervous under their scrutiny, stuttered her way through sentences. Even Yeonjun, who seldom missed out on an opportunity to put her in her place, kept his mouth shut and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed against his chest. Somehow it made her even more anxious to speak. As if their silence was but the calm before the storm of insults and accusations.

When she trailed off in the middle of the sentence, Minho leaned forward to get her attention. “Did she tell you what the nightmare was about? Other than Juliana and Ruth being butchered.”

Y/n nodded and Beomgyu immediately asked, “Did she recognize the culprit?”

This time, she shook her head and Minho spoke again. “Don’t you think they would’ve reported it if they knew? If she’d told Y/n?”

“Hard to say.” Beomgyu shrugged. “She’s an old blood.”

The delivery was so matter-of-fact that it had her looking up from her empty bowl, frowning. Their tendency to assume the worst of her character and abilities when they hadn’t even exchanged a word before she started living with them pissed her off beyond belief. It distressed her to know that Minho’s only objective was to extract a confession out of her. All the while, Hwang and Yeonjun spectated with looks carved from a rock.

“So what?” Beomgyu’s face remained inexpressive, neither taunting nor defensive, as she spewed out the words. “You think we want you dead or something?”

Beomgyu shrugged that off as well. Whatever Y/n said in her defense could only be taken as pitiful excuses to save herself. Her ill reputation preceded her.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Hwang planting his elbows on the table.

“She doesn’t know what the culprit looks like. And you’re right.” He looked straight at her, unflinching, “She wouldn’t have reported it.”

Again, Y/n felt that she must try to change their opinion of her. “You can’t know that.”

“I know you’re afraid.” He stated and the surety of his tone caused her to cringe in shame. He allowed her a few seconds to wallow in it, less as an act of mercy than an opportunity to pick her apart a vulture did with carrion, before continuing, “But there’s something else you’re not telling us.”

Looking down into her bowl again, Y/n swallowed. “No, there’s nothing else.”

It was the wrong thing to say apparently. Or maybe it was the way she was so intent on avoiding his gaze that gave her away. Either way, Hwang didn’t believe a word she said, and neither did the rest of them, Minho included.

Like a lake frozen from the surface to the bed, his voice bore no ripples as he warned, “I will get it out of you regardless.”

Y/n almost shot up from her seat, ready to scurry into the nearest corner.

“You can’t torture me.”

Hwang titled his head. “Oh, really?”

“If you could, you would have already.” Y/n pushed on defiantly, pain webbing throughout her hand from where her fingers dug into her thighs. “You wouldn’t have waited for me to tell you all this.”

At that, he hummed and then shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been feeling generous.”

She tried to stare back at him, to defy him in some small measure, but Hwang, Y/n realized, had been moulded for a world that wasn’t for her eyes to perceive, and should she dare to try, she would have to lose an eye. That was how it felt to challenge him; like having your eyes gauged out for the audacity. She wondered if he kept the memories of other people’s submission with him as a good luck charm.

“It has nothing to do with Juliana and Ruth.” She said in a gasping attempt to dissuade him from pressing the matter. Might as well have tried convincing ice to not be water.

The legs of a chair screeched against the floor. Minho, the only one who mothered to use persuasive means, now sat closer.

“Tell us.” He urged her. “No matter how irrelevant you think it is.”

Something about how Minho said it, the permission to carry on with what others would consider absolute rubbish, chipped away at her reluctance. She could be sure that at the very least he would refrain from painting her as a dimwitted creature.

She’d seen him interact with other people, playing pranks on them, lampooning them when he thought their actions rash, never hesitating to clap back when it was called for, but toward her, Minho was nothing if not patient and forgiving. Perhaps it was her ignorance of the world’s treasures such as delicious food, the internet, slang, jokes, trends, items of various kinds, and the list went on. Maybe he simply considered her not to be worth more of his energy than he was obliged to expend by the authorities. What she knew for certain was that he placed duty to his people high on his list of priorities and being tolerant of her ignorance was the way to fulfill it.

“There was a man.” Though she was no longer reluctant to divulge, her voice still maintained that rickety quality. It couldn’t improve her credibility. “When I went into the forest searching for Luna, I found her by a stream with a man. He gave her a flower and when I thanked him for looking after her he said it was me he’d been waiting to talk to. He said,” She shut her eyes, trying to relay the man’s message verbatim, “He said to tell the wretched vermin not to be so awfully stingy.”

Only once she was done, did Y/n realize she’d been facing Minho the entire time, even before she’d begun her rant. So, when she opened her eyes, it was his she was staring into, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She never could tell what others were thinking, save for when their revulsion was so visceral it showed in the lines of their face like carvings on an ancient tomb. Right now, Y/n wished she could understand him better, that Minho would reassure her in some way, however small.

A scoff of irritation quickly caught her attention.

“You were right,” Yeonjun said. “That is irrelevant to the main issue.”

The blood rushed to her face. “Well, you wanted to know.”

“And he wanted to speak with you specifically.” He mocked her tone while making a face. “Don’t you find that odd?”

Beomgyu, whose plate was now cleared of its contents, surprised her by cutting in impatiently.

“Was it someone you’d seen before?” Curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “Someone you know?”

“I don’t think that was a someone… rather a something.” A sense of unease crawled into her and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “His clothes were too pristine for the environment, and he spoke as if he knew me; as if he’d known I’d be coming to him. It was like he looked down on everything here.”

“Could it be he lives in the forest?” Minho asked but even though his body was facing hers the question wasn’t aimed solely at her. He was asking everyone at the table to complete the puzzle.

Feeling cornered once again, Y/n glanced back and forth between him and the rest. “I don’t think so. He vanished right after he told me to relay that message.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Hwang asserted. “The forest spans for miles. He could’ve just teleported into another area.”

Beomgyu, ever so eager to get to the bottom of this, looked at the others with an almost pleading look. “Do you think it’s worth taking a look?”

Unsurprisingly, Yeonjun’s face crumpled in distaste at the prospect of having to fight his way through the accursed forest while Minho tipped his chin at Hwang and the latter shrugged as he rose from his seat and took his plate to the sink.

Minho wasn’t on dish duty tonight so she wasn’t sure if they’d like her to help. Before everyone could carry on with their evening activities Y/n plucked up the courage to ask if she could go with them.

The glare Yeonjun shot her as he buttoned up his jacket was nothing if not acidic. Maybe he thought it would cleanse him of the filth that was the sight of her before him.

“To do what?” He jeered. “Be a deadweight?”

Y/n pointed her index at him. “Do you know what he looks like? Can you be sure you’d recognize him if you saw him? He could be a shapeshifter for all we know.”

“In that case, you’d be just as useless as the rest of us, stupid.”

“I can understand the shadows.” She argued her point, hoping to at least convince Beomgyu who was lounging on the sofa playing games on his phone, and Hwang who considered her a liability in terms of combat skills. If she succeeded, it would be the two of them against Yeonjun. “They might be able to pick up on his energy or presence or whatever better than all of us combined.”

“Y/n, you can’t go with them.”

Just like that, her attempt to sway them was in vain. Minho didn’t mince his words when it came to the guidelines of his part in this process, one of them being that she was to abstain from roaming the fields, visiting the altars, catacombs, wandering inside the forest; basically any other place considered to boast profound cultural significance aside from Olympia University. Even that small mercy was more for Minho’s sake than concern for her education or wellbeing.

Desperation nibbled at her patience. “But if I can’t do anything and they can’t either then what use was it talking to you about it?”

Minho approached her and, placing his hand between her shoulder blades, led her upstairs.

“It’s worth it because now we have an alibi of sorts.” He turned on the light in her bedroom. “Luna was with you, and she couldn’t have killed Juliana or Ruth. And if that’s not an alibi, then at least it’s a confession.” He paused, searching for something in her gaze. Perhaps a hint that she understood what he was getting at. “You have a chance to see Luna again.”

Y/n lowered her gaze to the blue rug past the threshold and turned her back to him. All she mumbled in response was a resigned ‘okay’, and a few seconds later the door clicked shut.

******************************************************************************************

The first rays of dawn barely just cracked the night when Minho had turned on the light without so much as a good morning to tell her that she was to partake in the collective training for second and third years. With eyelids weighed down by lack of sleep and exhaustion, it was all Y/n could do to pretend that she was at least a bit excited to stand alongside her peers here at the foot of the Berkley Hills. It was to be her first time after all.

First-years were granted the small mercy of being trained and evaluated separately. On the other hand, the fourth and fifth years were subjected to rigorous training in preparation for the Argenti Legio, commonly referred to as the ARL, the final exam that determined their rank in the legion before they were eventually elevated to the AUL, Aureus Legio. She’d heard it was grueling and the written records detailed that ever since the treaty between Camp Half-blood and Jupiter had been signed more than three centuries prior the deceased demigods numbered in the thousands, with a yearly mortality rate of approximately 37%. Small wonder the instructors were ruthless in their approach.

Yet, as she stood there, barely able to contain her shivers, Y/n wondered why she had to become part of this. Why now that she was to be locked up for good? What was the point in keeping up the pretense of being part of the collective when she wouldn’t even get the chance to compete in the ARL? She really would rather have stayed in her bedroom, just as immersed in the third part of the book Professor Hajjar had gifted her as she had been way into the early hours of the morning. Granted, it wasn’t a solution. It did nothing but facilitate her escape from reality. Still, Y/n preferred it.

She was further convinced of it when a silhouette identical to all the rest thanks to the standard black uniform waded through the crowd to stand before her, sinewy and dignified.

Shin Ryujin, commander of the Rubeus Squadron, regarded her as one would a misplaced sock. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Y/n kicked at a small rock. “I don’t want to be here.”

“You won’t last five minutes.”

Was that necessary? Sure, Y/n stuck out like a sore thumb with her emaciated frame and lack of training. But it wasn’t as if she enjoyed freezing her ass off here with the only prospect being of embarrassing herself in front of people whom she knew to be incredibly eager to see her fail. Surrounded by the rest of her peers, Y/n felt humbled.

It took everything for Y/n to look Shin Ryujin in the eye and not pounce on her like a feral animal. For the past two weeks, whenever her thoughts would stray to her, all Y/n could see was an executioner.

“I guess you’ll just have to carry me out of here when I pass out.”

The young commander didn’t find that funny, her expression a replica of her mother’s. “Optimistic enough to think anyone will bother.”

Y/n didn’t find this unwanted exchange all that amusing either.

“Leave me here to rot then.” She said, meeting each word tit for tat.

If it weren’t for the fingers curling around the dagger, Y/n would have thought Shin Ryujin unaffected. The latter, catching on the fact that she’d noticed, strode the way she’d come from.

Not five seconds later, Minho joined her with a bottle of water in hand, leaning against the marble pillar just a few shades lighter than his sweatpants as he watched her find comfort in the engravings on the ceiling. The enormous structure was a marvel. Especially since she’d never been permitted access to these grounds before.

Minho removed the cap and handed her the bottle. “Can’t imagine she was anything but condescending?”

“You know her personally?” Y/n asked and took a sip of water.  

“Not quite.” He loosened the zipper of his black jersey. “She’s three years my junior and a daughter of a war goddess of Rome, one that doesn’t often mingle with humans. That comes with a certain status, especially when you’re as skilled as she is.” A pensive frown. “But I never imagined she’d go as far as to interact with you outside of her duties as a leader of the Third Cohort and commander.”

Y/n swiped her knuckles across her mouth, wiping off excess water. “Neither did I.”

A bellowing sound reverberated throughout the grounds. It left her stomach feeling hollow as if her breakfast had been swallowed by whatever instrument had produced it. Y/n held onto Minho’s sleeve and in return, he helped her straighten up; she hadn’t noticed she’d been slouching and bending her knees as if to brace herself for a fall.

“I’d tell you not to try too hard but-

“I know. Professor Hajjar says it is imperative that I try to blend in.” It was embarrassing to hear the anxiety in her voice as well as the desperation and resentment that lingered once the phrase was uttered. “I just wish I could speak with him. Why won’t he just-

Minho cut her off by placing his hands on her shoulders and steering her down the steps. “There’s no time for that right now. They’re lining up. Go stand next to Hyunjin.”

“You’re not staying?”

It was even more embarrassing to hear the need for reassurance. She was certain so could Minho. She’d hoped that his guard duty would somehow oblige him to join her, forgetting that Hwang could effectively take over in his stead.

He peered down at her through long lashes before patting her on the shoulder. “Try your best.”

Y/n looked at where Hwang and Beomgyu stood, the former glancing their way as the latter yapped on, and asked him him to help her secure the bottle on her thigh, using the straps that came with the uniform. She bid him goodbye and joined Hwang and Beomgyu, situating herself between the two per Minho’s instructions. She must have looked so pathetic; a bony young woman and two male demigods who’d spent years breaking and restoring their bodies for combat. Hwang had put up his hair in his usual half-up-half-down style while Beomgyu had let his loose. Just like her, they had water bottles strapped to their thighs.

Hwang spared her a glance. “Keep up.”

“She’s going to die,” Beomgyu blurted out behind her.

Y/n glared at him from the corner of her eye. “I won’t.”

Beomgyu’s laugh wasn’t even derisive, just so fucking annoying.

“You look dead already.”

Y/n decided to ignore him. Nothing good could come out of giving Beomgyu a reaction. Also, there was no time for a back-and-forth as the four instructors took their place on the platform and delivered short speeches, which were just a listing of the rules, scoring system, and safety measures.

The rules would have been easy enough to follow if they didn’t include the part about surrender being forbidden. Participants had to see this through no matter the cost. It meant Y/n would receive the lowest score in decades, if not in all of demigod history.

The scoring system was divided into four parts, as was the training on the whole; strength (25 points), flexibility (25 points), balance (25 points), and endurance (25 points). The only phase of the training she might not absolutely fail at was flexibility; she had made it a rule to stretch in the morning and before bed. Strength was out of the question and so were balance and endurance. She simply didn’t have the adequate muscle mass to perform all the intricate tasks adequately. There was also the matter of the tracker injection. It felt weird to have something pistoned in instead of it being siphoned out.

As for the safety measures, Minho had already seen to it that she was provided with knee and elbow braces, a water bottle, a packet of sterile gauze, and a flat tiny bottle of antiseptic solution that he’d stuffed in one of her thigh pockets in case something happened. Something was bound to happen.

The trials began and they were excruciating. Strength was the worst of them as Y/n just was no match for Hwang Yeji, the demigod she was pitted against. Hammer throwing was impossible; it didn’t budge no matter how much energy she exerted. The following tasks⸺ rope and net climbing, pull-ups, etc⸺  in this phase were just as much a breeding ground for humiliation. Nothing changed when it came to flexibility and balance. She was tossed around, plummeted from not being able to adjust her footing on the ropes, and might have pulled a muscle overdoing it during the acrobatics part.

She should have just accepted a score of zero instead of standing there absorbing the shame each time Hwang helped her to her feet.

After a particularly nasty fall, he looked down at her. His words from the training session came to mind then; pitiful, weak, not worthy of being considered prey. Y/n knew she’d have to finish the last phase of the trials on her own, without him there to act as her disgruntled coach, rolling his eyes whenever she failed pathetically. He didn’t have to say out loud for her to understand that much. Also, she hadn’t the energy to beg him to be there for her, as desperate as she was.

As soon as one of the instructors blew the horn, the endurance trials commenced. It consisted of running through the woods to reach an area similar to this one. The instructors informed them of the distance (25 miles uphill north) and that the trackers in their bodies would monitor their heart rate, speed, body composition, and levels of cortisol among other things. Heart rate and body composition didn’t affect the score but speed and cortisol levels did. Y/n knew she was doomed to receive a pathetic score either way.

Something was wrong from the very beginning. An acidic substance bubbled up to her throat. It had her coughing and her fingers itched to rub it off from the inside. In a matter of minutes, the sons and daughters of Hermes and Mercury put miles of distance between them and the rest despite the terrain being slippery from the days of incessant downpour.

All of the students would have to scrub their bodies raw, especially the ones who tumbled face-first into the mud. Y/n managed to grab onto a branch to prevent that. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t looking downright filthy. Her hands, legs, and elbows were caked with mud and leaves. But that wasn’t her greatest concern. The burning itch in her throat persisted until it eventually turned into nausea and stomach pain. Her vision turned foggy and she could no longer tell if she was looking at demigods stumbling uphill or weirdly-shaped logs.

When she’d finally shed every ounce of energy and the pangs of pain became unbearable she decided to search around for a trunk to lie against. She thought she’d found her temporary sanctuary but was just a trick her impaired vision had played on her. Y/n sucked in a breath as the thorns of the brown bush dug into her flesh.

There isn’t much to tell about what happened after that. She slipped and tumbled down a hill. Sludge and needles painted her into a creature from beyond the grave. Similar to that day in the forest, she couldn’t tell right from left, south from north, or east from west. The only thing Y/n could make out was the belching sounds as she threw up and the dust of sunlight filtered through the cloud of green above. The curtains fell shut.

It wasn’t yet noon when she gained consciousness. Her forehead and back of her head throbbed, her skin stung, her neck ached, and her eyelids felt heavy with both mud and exhaustion. Through the haze of her senses, she could tell two people were speaking. None of the words made sense. Maybe they weren’t human. Maybe, she’d finally kicked the bucket and was on her journey across the Styx on Charon’s boat, soul ready for dismemberment.

“… unconscious.”

Fingers rubbed against her cheeks.

“… in vomit.” This voice came from her right instead of above her. “Minho… grill you.”

That name. She knew that name. Lee Minho. Lee Minho. Son of… his hair was a dark brown. Round eyes? Lee Minho. Help. Minho. The name and the cold fingers at her neck, checking her pulse, shocked Y/n into opening her eyes. She looked up then to her left.

“She’s waking up,” Her neck felt bare when the beautiful, long-haired man removed his fingers. She could see the other drawing closer. “Can you hear me?”

As if on cue, she started hyperventilating. It didn’t make sense. Where was Luna? Why was her head on this man’s lap? Had she never left the forest? Had they caught her? Had they gotten their hands on Luna? Why did the man cup her mouth in his palm? Was he trying to suffocate her? Why was the world growing dim when the sun had barely reached its peak? The lights were out once more.

The second time Y/n awoke was in her bedroom. The predominantly blue hues created a soothing ambiance. It also helped that someone had lit up incense sticks and the whole room smelled like lavender and chamomile. As she struggled to get her bearings, rubbing as if to cleanse her vision of filth, a hand pressed against her forehead. That, apparently, was all it took for her to straighten up and take in her surroundings fully.

Minho, who sat at the edge of the bed, removed his hand and watched as she sat up, restless. The memories of today’s events hit her all at once and she was left internally writhing with humiliation, something she tried to cover up by rubbing her hands along her arms, face, and torso.

Minho poured her a glass of water. “I cleaned you up before tucking you in.”

Y/n drained the glass in two seconds.

“Did you bring me here?” She asked, hoping he’d say ‘no’.

He shook his head as she handed him back the glass. “Hyunjin and Beomgyu did.”

That was it. That sent her over the edge. The mere mention of their names amplified the humiliation she had been feeling since the beginning of the trials. Tears came pouring down her cheeks that were so hot it felt as though some of the humiliation had seeped into them, inflicting physical on top of the emotional pain. She couldn’t see Minho as he fished out a packet of napkins from the drawer and handed it to her. Sobbing, Y/n blew into it.

“I told you I wasn’t ready, but you wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen.” She whimpered, resenting Minho and Professor Hajjar a little more with each passing second. “Now your friends are going to mock me forever, tell everybody how fucking filthy I am. No one will ever want me near.”

When she started hiccupping Minho poured her another glass of water.

“No one else saw you, and they won’t tell anyone.” He said as she drank it. Then, he set the glass on the nightstand. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Covering her ears, Y/n shook her head so violently that the pain intensified. “But they’ll remind me of it like Yeonjun always does.”

“Yeonjun.”

“He’s always wrinkling his nose, sneering, and telling me how stupid and filthy I am from the very first day. I don’t want to see him or talk to him or do anything in front of him. Every time I say something he makes me regret it.” A smidge of the built-up bile spilled. “I hate it. I hate it so much. And now the other two will act the same.”

Understanding that there was no improving her mood with words alone, Minho decided to change subjects in hopes of redirecting the conversation.

“While I was cleaning you up, I noticed you had little to no hair in your pubic area.” When Minho mentioned he’d cleaned her up, she’d thought more along the lines of him wiping off the vomit. But it made sense that more had to be done, considering she’d been lying in filth for hours before his friends had found her. It didn’t make it any less embarrassing though. “I thought that maybe it was because you just have very thin hair, but your hair is naturally dark and coarse so that’s unlikely.” Minho seemed to be uncomfortable as he asked, “Y/n, do you menstruate?”

Napkin still her hand, Y/n tugged the soft blanket closer to her chest. “You’ll make fun of me.”

“That would be cruel.” Minho chased her fleeting gaze when she looked out the window. “Do you think me cruel, Y/n?”

She flicked her index back and forth, toying with the seam of the blanket. “No, more like a trickster.”

“Courtesy of my heritage.” He remarked jokingly before his tone turned thoughtful. “I won’t pretend that you not menstruating isn’t alarming. You might be sterile. You might not. It’s not like your fertility is for public record. What I do know for sure is that you’re starved.”

This conversation had taken a turn she hadn’t anticipated. Over the years, ever since she’d learned what it meant for a woman to be fertile, there had been times when she’d sat in deep thought. What did it mean to be a mother? What kind of mother would she be if someone desired her enough to procreate with her? Would her existence be accepted if she were to procreate with someone pure? Or would her children inherit the curse of her womb? No old blood had lived long enough to answer any of these questions.

“It doesn’t matter.” She sniffled. “I’m never having children.”

“Doctors might say it matters because your hormones are catastrophically dysregulated. Your body-” He sighed in frustration. “This is why we need Professor Hajjar, why you need to follow the training regimen. Nutritious meals and training will help you gain the weight you need to get your period.”

 “I tried. I tried to keep up with the rest of them but they were so much faster, stronger, and resilient.” Y/n fisted the blanket. “Everyone is just better.”

She couldn’t presume to know what Minho was thinking but even he couldn’t counter that. It was a fact that everyone was better than her. They were stronger, had been trained in every discipline there was, and were primed for the battlefield. But it wasn’t just that. By default, their existence was pure and holy. By virtue of not being her, they were loved.

“Let’s have dinner downstairs.” Minho stood and watched her expectantly when she made no effort to follow suit. “We can get ready after. There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Y/n had never stood up faster. She almost passed out.

After they had an early dinner, which Minho insisted was to be consumed slowly so as not to trigger heartburn, he drove them to the CIIL (Criminal Investigation Institute of Learning). It was only 5 miles north of the headquarters, built strategically close to Mount Diablo as it was a sparsely populated region of Camp Jupiter. That wasn’t to say that the drive was over in a matter of minutes. It took them a solid hour and a half to get there, and not a minute passed that Y/n wasn’t chewing on her lower lip, causing the flesh to tear. Minho handed her a napkin when he pulled over at a gas station.

When they finally arrived, Y/n could only wonder at the nature of the research they could be conducting past the gargantuan charcoal grey walls that rose before them. The gates, made of celestial bronze enforced with steel, bore the symbol of Olympus and reached up to the parapets of the wall where sentries took turns on patrol. The grimness of the place seeped everywhere, down to the grass that had taken on a dull shade of brown.

After a back and forth with one of the guards, Minho forced them to call over the Head of Security at the institute who initially wasn’t much help either.

He barely considered her presence as he Minho showed him the permission signed by Professor Laqueus and Professor Hajjar.

“Only the subject’s sister is permitted entry into the chamber.” He stated curtly.

Minho kept his cool, or at least pretended that was the case. Y/n herself was too anxious to tell.

“As her guard, I have been tasked with accompanying her everywhere.” Minho stood his ground, fishing his ID and another circular object out of the inner pocket of his jacket. “Even in high-security settings.”

The Head glanced back and forth from the documents to Minho’s face and from the latter to Y/n, whom he had barely acknowledged up until that point. She doubted the sight of her was what forced the man to relent. What mattered was that the gates groaned loudly as they opened inch by inch, revealing what she could only describe as a civilization within its right. Structures that far surpassed the university were commonplace it appeared. She imagined this was where most of the science-obsessed graduates of Olympia chose to spend the rest of their demigod lives. Whereas the subjects dreaded seeing the dawn of another day, the researchers bathed in the glory of its promises.

Minho and Y/n were escorted through a white-light mazelike path under the most sterile building she’d ever had the privilege to exist in, and when they stepped foot in the maddeningly white chamber where Luna was being held, she could tell their escort would be keeping guard as well as the time. Y/n had to make every minute out of all 30, count.

She practically bounded towards Luna’s bed, where she was strapped down and connected to tubes and machines that she couldn’t make sense of. Unable to bear the sight of her sister confined to her bed like an animal, Y/n began undoing all the buttons and knots, freeing the little girl’s frame of its constraints. Her eyes welled with tears as she took Luna in from head to toe. How sickly pale her sister looked, how emaciated.

For a minute or two, Y/n simply sat at the edge of the bed, holding the girl’s cold hand. She wanted to wake her up and let her know her big sister was there.

“Luna? Hey, little bug.” She spoke to her softly, brushing her dark hair aside when those eyes fluttered open the tiniest bit. “Did you have a nice dream?”

“She can’t hear you,” Minho muttered.

Nodding, Y/n tried to wipe away the unshed tears discreetly and pointed at the tubes. “What’s in them?”

At her question, he drew closer, lightly feeling the length of the transparent tubes as he inspected the fluid they transported from the cylinder at the top and into Luna’s circulatory system. 

“Diazepam by the looks of it. For seizures most likely.” He let the tube go as he let the state of her sister soak in. “Whatever it is, it’s best not to pull out the needles.”

“I know. They’d just shove them back in the second we’re gone.”

“She’s in pain. Help her sit up. That’s right. Hold her still.” Y/n held Luna close to her chest while Minho unbuttoned her hospital gown and inspected her spine. He pressed his thumbs gently into the flesh, what little remained of it, anyway. “They’ve been siphoning out her marrow. Look at all the purple patches all over her back. She must have been screaming in pain so they put her to sleep.”

Y/n cupped the back of Luna’s neck, securing her head against her chest, and felt the little girl’s breathing quicken as she stirred awake.

“Y/n…

The big sister rubbed her hand over the bony little arms while Minho buttoned up her hospital gown.

“Hey, bug-bug,” Y/n murmured and Luna moaned in pain as they helped her lie down, “I’m here.”

Luna’s eyes, though barely open, welled with tears of fatigue.

“Will you take me home?” She pleaded.

Glancing at Minho, Y/n shook her head softly. “I can’t-

“Please, take me with you.” Luna’s frail grip could easily be shaken off, but Y/n could never do that to her. “I want to come with you. Please-

Y/n responded by tightening her hold, just enough to not cause her pain. “I will get you out of here. Soon. I’ll get you out of here and then we’ll go back home. I promise you.”

“It hurts.” Luna sobbed.

“I’m sorry.”

“They came back.” Y/n could feel Minho, who had been beside her the whole time, lean forward with renewed interest. “The voices. They came back and I can’t sleep. Please, please, make them go away, please.”

At that moment, it didn’t matter whether Luna’s confession could be used against them should Minho decide to report it to Professor Hajjar and Laqueus. The tremors in Luna’s hand matched the shuddering of the rest of her body. She needed sustenance and reassurance. The latter, Y/n could provide.

“I promise.” She spoke it like a litany, “I promise. I promise. I promise.”

From next to her, she felt something shift. Minho stepped closer and muttered something she could barely hear, lips almost pressed against the object in his hand. When he unfurled his fist she saw the same object on his palm that he’d produced from his jacket back in her cell. Only, this time what sprung from it was not a blanket to trap in the body heat and multiply it until the optimal body temperature was achieved. It was… a bar of chocolate, caramel-flavored. He opened it, broke it into smaller pieces, and offered one to Luna.

When she shrunk away from him, he only said, “Your sister says you like caramel.”

Luna glanced at her and only accepted the offering when Y/n gave her a nod of reassurance. That was how they spent the remaining minutes, feeding her chocolate, helping to clean her teeth however they could, asking her what else hurt, informing her about the hearing that was to take place, and simply brushing her hair with a small comb Minho kept in his inner pocket. Y/n was glad to hear Luna sigh in contentment, eyes lighting up at the tricks Minho played with the plastic wrapper. It was not enough to make her forget about the white, sterile prison she was in. 

Near the end, Minho placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s time, Y/n.” 

Y/n didn’t look at him, only at Luna.

“I’ll be back, okay?” The promise rang with uncertainty.

Pouting, Luna nodded and looked up at Minho.

“Can you bring chocolate again?” She asked him in a voice riddled with shame.

Minho smiled. “Of course, we will. Strawberry-flavored. Orange. Cherry. Peach. Coconut. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Luna murmured.

The hug was too short to count as a proper goodbye. Y/n felt like this prison was siphoning her blood out and away from her. It left her fatigued, regretful about not having said something more, confused, and angry.

“Why would they do that to Luna?” She voiced the question once they were back in their car. It had been burning and writhing in her mind for the entire duration of their visitation. “I get that she’s being held in custody. But there’s no need to drain her marrow to prove whatever they think there is to prove.”

Minho put his seatbelt on and stared ahead. “That’s sketchy for sure.”

“Sketchy?” She couldn’t understand the need for that understatement. “It’s cruel. She didn’t-

“They think otherwise.”

“They’re wrong.”

“Not to them.” He violently rammed in his car keys and Y/n stilled. “To them, she’s an old blood who ran away while an investigation was being conducted and whose sister stormed into a forest crawling with monsters so they wouldn’t get to her first.” He sighed, head on the headrest. “I get why you went after her. I do. But it was the wrong choice to make.”

Angry hot tears pooled in her eyes so she looked out of the window instead, hoping the searingly bright light from the lamppost would vaporize them. She felt like such a weakling at that moment.

“So, you would have left her alone?” Y/n tried to keep her voice from shaking. “Knowing she might get mauled by some monster. Knowing she might die thinking no one cared enough to search for her.”

His reflection in the window gazed back at her and, before she could look away, he turned the key. Y/n barely made out his words over the sound of the engine roaring to life.

“It doesn’t matter what I would have done.” He said as he drove out of the parking lot.

Halfway home, Minho handed her a napkin.

******************************************************************************************

Safe to say, Y/n got absolutely no sleep last night. She stormed up the stairs, ignoring Yeonjun’s biting comments, Beomgyu’s persistent inquiries, and Hwang’s stalking gaze as they paused the game they were playing. She didn’t care to see anything other than the pages of Professor Hajjar’s book or to hear anything other than the voice in her head reciting fact after fact on the river Styx and the goddess after which it was named. Everything else⸺ the motorcycles speeding down the road, the bustling nightlife of New Rome, and the birds pecking her windowsill (where she’d placed some seeds after asking Minho if she could)⸺ was nothing but background noise. It worked. She memorized everything to a T.

From the dawn of the Golden Age, it had been the custom of legendary heroes of old to pledge oaths in the name of the stream of hatred, the current of gloom and abhorrence, for it was that of the Goddess whom Zeus, sovereign of Olympus, considered an ally to be revered. Oaths in her name were to be kept; be it during the valor of life or the torment of death. Oaths in her name are impossible to elude.

Attempting to rid herself of the guilt, Y/n memorized the entire 3rd chapter. She labored to stave off her sleep by drinking water and going to pee at least three times, but eventually, sleep claimed her like a relentless, lurking beast that wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even then, the guilt plagued her dreams, for it was she who followed Luna into that forest. In her nightmare, the man stood behind her sister, staring at Y/n as both he and Luna plunged into the gaping abyss. She knelt at the precipice, reaching inside the pit, but an invisible force would not allow her to chase after Luna.

Her screams rang in her ears from the moment she awoke screeching and sweating, up until now, as she and Minho sat on the bench and sipped from their thermoses. She’d been unable to learn much of what he’d been trying to teach her, his words going in from one ear and out of the other. There was just… so much noise.

She heard him say they were heading out loud and clear though.

“Why are we leaving so early?” Y/n asked him.

Minho wiped at his brow with a towel. “Professor Hajjar has called me into his office to discuss the details of your confession. And you’re coming with me.”

That was certainly new.

“Really?” She said, cautious. “I thought you’d… you know, have Hwang teach me. Like last time.”

Minho tossed the towel in his sports bag and zipped it up. “Look around.”

She did as he said but… there were no signs of Yeonjun’s insufferable expressions, Beomgyu’s insupportable teasing, or Hwang’s arrogant stance.

She looked back at Minho. “Where have they gone?”

“Come on.” He slung the strap across his shoulders, clearly intending to drop the subject entirely. “Professor Hajjar dislikes tardiness.”

Neither did Minho apparently, for he ushered them out of the building, back to campus, and up to Professor Hajjar’s office. Before bringing his hand up to knock, he looked at her to assess whether she was ready. Y/n nodded at him and he rapped his knuckles against the wooden surface. They waited for Professor Hajjar to call from the other side and then crossed the threshold.

Y/n didn’t think it was possible for Minho to straighten his posture even more, but he did.

“Good afternoon, professor.” He greeted, nodding.

Professor Hajjar looked up from his book and offered a greeting in return. She almost didn’t notice his eyes flit between the two students before him thanks to the sunlight being reflected from the shelves on his glasses.

The professor angled his way so he might get a better look. “I see you’ve brought Miss. L/n along.”

Minho’s thoughtful gaze settled on her as he seemingly pondered how to answer the unspoken question. Eventually, he stared ahead.

“There was no one available who could stand guard.”

Professor Hajjar fixed him with a skeptical look, one that would have had Y/n stuttering or running away for fear of feeling exposed. But with Minho refusing to divulge further details on his friends’ whereabouts, the professor had to redirect the conversation, albeit reluctantly. Y/n was certain he would get to the bottom of this one way or another. It was in the nature of the children of Athena and Minerva.

“You did well bringing her here.” Professor Hajjar bookmarked the page and shut the book. “What we are to discuss involves both her and her sister, and now that we have a confession of sorts we can work on an alibi. Although,” He paused, gesturing for the two of them to take a seat. “I don’t presume you will listen unless I’ve answered your questions first.”

He had read her like an open book, but just this once Y/n did not mind. He wanted her to see her desperation, to feel the maggots of rage buried in her flesh each time she thought of her little sister. Perhaps then he would be inclined to do more.

“What are they doing to Luna?” She asked, hands placed on each thigh. “There were tubes and-

“A research is being conducted that demands the extraction of her marrow.”

The immediacy of his answer and the purely analytical nature of Professor Hajjar’s gaze stupefied her. She looked to Minho for help… anything.

“What kind of research?” He prodded, letting the bag rest on the carpeted floor.

“You know I am not allowed to speak further.” He stated. At that, even Minho deflated, almost shrinking back from the thought of pressing the matter. Professor Hajjar turned his attention fully on her. “Let me be clear. You have no alibi.”

Y/n leaned forward. “But-

The professor raised his hand, effectively silencing her. “You cannot prove intent and, considering the fact that you and your sister are old bloods, I would consider it ill-advised to attempt it. That would open a can of worms neither you nor I can contain.”

Minho tried to speak when Y/n couldn’t. “Is there anything we can do, professor?”

“To the Council, Luna Weisfeld’s culpability is a foregone conclusion. No amount of begging or thorough investigation can convince them otherwise, and even if they were somehow persuaded of her innocence, there is the matter of the population. The masses would never accept it as the truth.”

She could not accept this whole farce as the end, her sister’s end. Luna’s life had barely just begun. There was so much food for her to try, so many games for her to play, and so many books for her to read, should she wish to. But, to let them tear the choice from her for the sake of some old men’s bureaucratic, fanatic nonsense was inconceivable. It was just… just…

“So, this is it?” Her lips trembled. “My sister dies and the world lives on?”

It was just so unfair. She knew the whole sentence was carved on her expression. Anyone could taste the anger in her blooming tears but none would care to try. Before, she had wanted him to witness her anguish. Now, she stared down at her fists. She focused on the nails that had just started to grow back and the flesh that itched furiously.

“As you may know,” Professor Hajjar continued, “though rarely so, there have been cases when one person has taken the fall for another, volunteering to be executed in someone else’s stead. But considering you are old bloods,” He looked at her with some discomfort, “And yours is the blood that sustains the populace, there might be a way to keep the both of you alive while satisfying both the Council’s need for maintaining the status quo and the people’s calls for retribution.”

She grasped the true meaning of his words. It was unfair for Luna to rot without even getting the chance to bloom. But Y/n was… she was older. Luna could still have a family, people who would care for her. All Y/n had to do was decay. When she spoke, it was in resignation.

“I will take her place.”

Minho jumped from his seat. “Wait, hold on, Y/n-

“I will volunteer to be experimented on in her place.” Once again, only the voice in her head mattered. Everything else was just background noise, Minho’s voice included. “They can take my blood too. That way she can be free until the day I die.”

Professor Hajjar approached her, his hand resting on her head. It reminded her of when Chiron would feed her hot soup in winter. Only at night though. The gods of Mount Olympus couldn’t know he would sit next to her and let her fall asleep on his stomach. Y/n resisted the urge to flinch from it; the memory and the touch.

The professor removed his hand and walked them to the door. “Someone will be assigned as her caretaker.”

Y/n was at a loss for what to say. She was a dead woman walking, every step that of a phantom. It was Minho who thanked him, and then they went on their silent way home.

At precisely 10:37 PM, while Minho was teaching her to type out her assignments on his laptop, the sound of the security code being punched into the keypad outside announced the other boys’ arrival. Y/n prayed that the shower and the soothing creams Minho had applied to her face had lifted some of the redness around her eyes. If not, Yeonjun, who was currently stomping toward the living room, would comment on it. Beomgyu would snicker. Hwang would give her those conceited smirks of his. They irked her so badly.

“That forest is the gate to fucking Tartarus, I’m telling you.” The son of Cupid was practically seething as he unzipped the outer layer of the fitted black leather attire. His flaming eyes bore into Y/n’s, and her fingers froze on the keyboard. “How did you manage to survive that shithole?”

She felt someone tug lightly at her hair before sitting down across from her, kicking his feet up on the table. Minho shoved them off.

“The shadows speak to her,” Beomgyu repeated her words from before.

Yeonjun muttered under his breath. “Fucking freak.”

Minho, who had now forgotten about teaching her, cut in before things could escalate.

“Did you find anything?” He asked.

“Nothing useful that’s for sure.” Yeonjun chuckled bitterly as he removed all the celestial bronze daggers strapped to his thighs and slammed them on the table. Y/n flinched. “Leaves and branches and shit and filthy monsters. That whole place should be torched. Fuck! I smell like shit!”

Yeonjun was always a little pissed off. It was like he was born with a permanent distaste for anything unflattering and the mere sight of such a thing⸺ specks of dirt on the floor, dishes that had not been properly washed, or the smallest stain on a shirt⸺ drove him mad to the extent that the air around him would all but swim in heat. She’d seen it happen the day before at the Training Center when Beomgyu had tried his luck and gotten an ass-whooping for it. An angry Yeonjun couldn’t be a good omen.

It was Beomgyu who answered Minho’s question in full.  

“We found the stream and searched it for footprints, hair, and other things we could use to track its energetic blueprint.” He made a zero with his fingers. “Nothing. Whatever she saw was good at covering its tracks.”

“Or maybe it has faded.” Suggested Minho.

“That could be it.”

She expected Minho to continue the dialogue but, instead, he turned to her. “What do you think?”

Their undivided attention only made her more nervous. She would rather chew her lips raw than contribute to the discussion⸺ any discussion⸺ at the moment. It didn’t help that she felt a prickling sort of heat at the back of her head like a hot rod was being rammed into her skull.

“What if it was a portal?” She proposed, reluctant.“What if that thing disappeared through some sort of portal?”

Behind her, Hwang pointed out, “Portal energy is detectable.”

It made Y/n feel so small, knowing that any mistake could cause her to be perceived as a dumb monkey who hadn’t evolved to understand common speech.

“It could have been a different one.” She chose her words carefully and buried her hands under her thighs. “Some kind of nullifier.”

Yeonjun scoffed, leveling her with a look of undiluted repulsion. “Are you an expert on that now?”

“That’s enough.” Minho intervened, forcing her attention back on him. Yeonjun could seethe for as long as he wanted but there was a job to be done first. “What makes you think it was a nullifier?”

The truth would make her sound like a pathetic eavesdropping creep, which hadn’t been her intention at all, but for the truth to come to light Y/n needed to lay all her cards out in the open. Minho was there, which meant none of the others would try to step out of line. Yeonjun didn’t seem to give a shit about Minho’s reprimands though, still looking at her like one would at a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk. But Beomgyu didn’t care to mess with her much, and to Hwang, she was no more than a weak little pest. So, really, could telling the truth be as detrimental as her nerves led her to believe?

“I heard the four of them talk at breakfast. Felix and Lia said there was no DNA, no trace of the perpetrator. I just thought this might be similar. Some kind of nullifier.” She lowered her eyes to the laptop. “Not for the DNA but the energetic trail. I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

Minho patted her on the shoulder. “It’s a possibility.”

“It’s even more plausible when you consider he was waiting to speak with you specifically.”

Hwang’s voice and the way his knees brushed against her back sent chills down her spine. It was like being doused with ice-cold water.

Y/n twisted around and looked up at him. “What does that mean?”

Yeonjun scoffed for the umpteenth time that evening.

“It means that no matter what you do or how hard you try you cannot escape the reality of being involved in this shit.”

She frowned. “I don’t even know him.”

“Doesn’t matter much when he knows you,” Yeonjun enunciated, rising to his feet.

The sight of him towering over her made her want to claw her way out of the penthouse with her barely-grown nails.

“I didn’t do anything.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but every anxious vein in her body bled into it, staining her delivery with guilt for something she hadn’t done. “He was asking Luna if she liked flowers, made grass into one, and then told us to go back.”

Yeonjun squinted. “So your sister could kill more of us?”

She shook her head, covering her ears like she did when the outside world inundated her senses.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Minho tried to touch her but she flinched away. “Luna was so scared and I just wanted to keep her safe.”

“Old bloods are ever so susceptible to suggestions from the Pit,” Hwang stated as Minho went to the kitchen. When he came back it was with a glass of water in his hand and a warning glint in his eyes. “She could easily be a conduit.”

The water felt dry as it passed through her esophagus, leaving behind a sense of dehydration more scratching than before. Their assertion of her 9-year-old sister’s guilt could not be shaken. It compelled her to her feet.

“She didn’t do anything,” She uselessly defended once again, trying to appear more threatening than she could ever hope to be as she glared at Hwang and Yeonjun. It sounded closer to a plea, further emphasized by what she said next, “Why don’t you believe me?”

She’d just spoken, and once again, her words were met with nothing but silence, minutes pelting atop her chest, crushing her ribs. None of them, not even Yeonjun who never missed out on an opportunity to spite her, uttered a word. Thinking back on her question, Y/n realized how obvious the answer was. Silence weighed all the more for it.

Usually, she would find comfort in the expanse of the sky, lit by stars or lightning, but tonight, neither the moon nor the glittery tapestry could cradle her, embrace her into a sense of comfort.

“We could try to trace the energy in the flower.”

Once again, Minho intervened by redirecting the flow of the conversation. Children of Hermes and Mercury were pros at conflict de-escalation just as they endlessly racked their brains to bring into the world. That was another gift from his father to Minho, who sat on the sofa with Y/n lodged between him and Hwang. The latter stared at her without a care in the world that the rest were there. She focused on the feeling of the cool glass against her skin and the conversation taking place.

From the other sofa, Beomgyu asked a valid question. “Didn’t they confiscate it?”

Hope bloomed in her chest, though it still did not manage to alleviate her anxiety. In her chest, her heart kept thundering, threatening to all but wrestle its way out of her ribcage.

“It could be in the same lab they’re keeping Luna in.” She suggested.

Hand on her shoulder, Minho looked at Hwang. “Do we have anyone on the inside?”

Despite wanting to, Y/n held back from looking to her right, fearing that Hwang would only refuse to help upon catching the desperation in her expression. Somehow, she could feel his breaths against her neck, his flesh melting into hers even without touching. Disconcerting. Blood-chilling. Constrictive.

It was a moment before he shifted in his place.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hwang responded.

Y/n bit back a cry of gratitude and resolved to only look up at Minho with a small smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, somehow her smiles never did. But she hoped he understood.

He patted her on the shoulder and urged her to go to bed. Content that they had worked something out, however futile it might be, Enid could now go to sleep feeling somewhat accomplished. Yet, despite everything said, Yeonjun had to open a new can of worms.

“Why the fuck are we trying so hard?” When Y/n turned to face him, he wasn’t even looking at her. To him, she’d already vanished and all that remained was to cement her guilt in the minds of others. But then he pointed an accusing finger at her. “She probably lied to us about seeing that thing in the forest yet here we are running around like imbeciles, putting our lives at risk to save that of her sister. Why? She’s not our friend. Prisoners locked up for rape have more human rights than her. She’s a nobody.”

“She deserves a fair trial though.”

Y/n had never imagined Beomgyu would speak in her favor. He was too nosy and insensitive in his approach to topics that demanded caution. Yet, as he sat there, glancing back and forth between his friend and her, Y/n wondered if that was merely a mask.

Yeonjun had an answer to that it seemed.

“Is that you or your mother speaking?” He bit out.

Minho, who had been on his way to the kitchen, glass in hand, slammed the glass on the counter. “You’re overstepping.”

Yeonjun’s eyes narrowed. “Everything bad that has happened so far has been because of her despicable kind.”

It was nothing new. From the first day, Yeonjun had made it clear that her presence repulsed him, a sentiment his friends hadn’t been shy about sharing. Minho was the sole reason they hadn’t made it impossible for her to survive, and even he had a job to do. A job that did not involve babying her, comforting her, wiping the snot from her nose or the drool from her chin. She knew that.

She clutched her book tighter.

“You might be right.” The blood roaring through her system made it so she could hardly hear herself speak. But she could still see, and there the four of them were, staring at her in varying degrees of confusion. “Maybe every word that comes out of your mouth is not yours but your parents’. Maybe that’s why you’re cruel to those you don’t want to have sex with.”

Though briefly, she caught the spiteful curl of Yeonjun’s lips.

“Look at you.” He looked her up and down, drawing closer. Each step he took forward meant one step backward for her. “No one would bother being kind to you, sex or not. You’re barely human.”

“So are you, asshole.”

He reached her in such a short time that she couldn’t make out the shape of him. Perhaps he’d been close the whole time. Her heart almost burst out of her chest, and if it weren’t for Minho inserting himself between the two of them and Beomgyu holding Yeonjun back by the torso, having the heavy book knocked out of her hands wouldn’t have marked the end of it.

“Don’t fucking compare yourself to me,” Yeonjun snarled at her, his sclera glowing a sickly red. “Filthy fucking blood pig.”

“I said,” Minho extended his arm behind him protectively, and repeated, “You’re overstepping.”

Slowly loosening his hold, Beomgyu muttered, “Come on, man,”

“Get your hands off of me.” Yeonjun shoved him off completely and the younger demigod raised his hands defensively, “Don’t fucking touch me right now.”

Before stomping up the stairs, he flexed his jaw and shot them a glare. Beomgyu's face was moulded into one of guilt like he was sorry to have kept Yeonjun from inflicting harm upon her. Minho pushed Y/n further behind him until she was almost out of sight. Hwang… she wasn’t exactly certain how to interpret his expression at the moment. There wasn’t anything particularly expressive about his face right then, to begin with. It puzzled her.

Upon hearing the door to Yeonjun’s bedroom slam shut, Minho accompanied her to quarters. He advised her to lock the door and only open it if he should be the one asking to be let in.

“What if I need to get something from the fridge?” Y/n asked.

He made a gesture with his fingers. “I suggest you lock it, yeah?”

After Minho left, she didn’t bother switching on the light. It always felt so jarring to her vision. Besides, she could always use the bedside lamp to read without being forced to endure her reflection on the vanity mirror. She really didn’t wish to see her tears as she read about the Underworld.

She got under the blanket, setting her throbbing foot gently on the bed. What bad luck it had been for the corner to dig on the bridge of her foot. It would bruise and ache for days.

Still, she didn’t wish to see herself sob. In due time, eternity would be at her disposal. What remained of her could weep in the abyss, where nothing could ever see or be seen.

At 1:35 AM, Y/n plucked up the courage to tread out of her room, sticking to the darkest side of the corridor until she was finally in the kitchen. No lights were turned on, so she assumed everyone had already hit the sack for the night. She felt safe to drink without the fear of choking.

“Thirsty again.” A voice drifted from the balcony after she all but inhaled the glass of water.

She turned to the living room and indeed, the door to the balcony was wide open, the curtains billowing inside before deflating with the withdrawal of the wind. They were a sheer sort of blue, almost silver, Y/n realized. Had they changed them while she was up in her room? At so late an hour? Or was this her first time noticing?

She didn’t need to squint in the darkness to make out his silhouette. Of course, he would be awake at this hour, haunting the halls like a bewitching wraith, forever watchful, always on the prowl. He always made her feel cornered in an open space. His presence⸺ the skill, prestige, and beauty⸺ hammered her down like a nail into its rightful place. Y/n could only nod and hope that he deemed the debacle from a few hours ago beneath his consideration; unworthy of his mockery.

Afraid of pissing him off, she didn’t mean to stay. But when he drove holes into her skin, any thought she might have had of scurrying up the stairs was wrenched from her mind. Her feet moved on their own, and the outline of his figure became clearer as he leaned back with his elbows on the railing. Sweat glistened in the moonlight, gluing the dark runaway strands to his skin despite it being in his usual half-up half-down style. She also noticed he was in a similar gear from before, only made of lighter material. Ideal for late-night training.

Her lips had a mind of their own. “Why do you train at night?”

For a few seconds, all he did was look at her, head tilted.

“It’s quiet.” He answered, shrugging.

“But how do you see?” The words escaped her before she could think them through. To make matters worse, Hwang pointed op at the bulbs installed into the balcony’s ceiling. Feeling stupid, Y/n looked down at her feet. “Oh, right. Forgot.”

“You’re never going to see the outside world again,” The abrupt turn of the conversation gave her whiplash. She looked at him, wide-eyed, but he looked the epitome of nonchalance. “You know that, right.”

Y/n leaned forward, elbows on the railing. “Luna will be free to enjoy her life like a normal child.”

“Will she now?” She nodded and felt him draw closer. “Who will care for her if you don’t?”

Hwang was treating her like she was a stupid mongrel. She’d had worse epithets pinned to her name, but for some reason, him thinking of her as this unevolved ape who knew nothing of the world’s cruelty got on her damn nerves. Keeping herself from side-eyeing him was tough.

“I know people won’t jump at the opportunity to shelter and provide for her. It’s expected. Who would want to care for creatures like the two of us?” She tried to be as eloquent in her response as she could. “But she’ll have proper meals, dress for the weather, and be looked after by someone who knows what they’re doing even if they’re being mandated to do it. She will never be cold again.” She looked down at her reflection in the glass of water. “After graduation, she can choose to leave or stay until the day I die. So long as she has a choice, her decision doesn’t matter.”

Her left side itched under Hwang’s gaze.

“You’re so delusional.” He said. “It’s a bit cute.”

Reluctantly, Y/n lifted her eyes to meet his.

“Why do you say that?” She asked in a small voice.

“The bargain ends once you volunteer to take her place. After that, you get locked up in the lab and she’s delivered to a stranger’s doorstep. The guardians could be child beaters, rapists, or even decent people.” He paused only to level her with an unsympathetic look. “But don’t think, not even for a second, that they’ll do anything for her that goes beyond what is demanded from them.”

Her fingers tightened around the glass.

“You tell me how to fix this then.” Y/n retorted.

“Why would I?” He rejoined, shifting to face her with only one elbow to support him against the railing. “I don’t care what happens to the two of you.”

Her lips parted. Not in shock. No… that wasn’t it. She knew everyone wanted her locked away so they wouldn’t have to stare at her. That was repulsion. Yeonjun showed it. Beomgyu supported it. But it was there. Hwang simply didn’t give a single damn. He neither loathed her nor cared for her. To quote his friend, she was a nobody. These past few days she’d forgotten her place.

“Would you care if I told them you were there?”

He stood silent. Good. For once, she wanted to be the one to render him speechless.

“I was, wasn’t I?” He said, taking one step closer.

“They never did find her phone.” Y/n raised her chin, drunk on some illusion of invulnerability. “Who knows? You could have done something to it. What would they think then? What would you-

In a heartbeat, his slender fingers were wrapped around her neck. Wide-eyed, Y/n fought to escape his vicious grip but that only encouraged him to add more pressure on her jugular.

His features were set in a permanent barrenness. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was feeling generous.”

The more she struggled the more he tightened his grip, forcing her flush against the glass panes. She searched the surface for something to use against him but came up empty. There was nothing. There was no way for her to fight but by thrashing and kicking him anywhere she could reach.

“Go on. Tell me more, doll.” He seized her wrists when she tried to scratch at him. Pressing her harder against the glass, he whispered. “Tell me about how they’d believe a single word coming out of your mouth. Come on.” She tried but every time she opened her mouth, no words could climb up her throat. She heard him sigh, pleased. “There it is. I like it better when you squirm and look away like a skittish animal.”

As a last resort. She tried to kick him between his legs but by the time she raised her knee, he’d already seen through her futile attempt.

Her vision blurred as his grip tightened. Her chest burned for air that she couldn’t supply. Everything from her brain to her lungs was slowly shutting down, succumbing to his strength. Though her body pleaded for her surrender, she gasped, eyes bulging and turning pink as he lifted her with little effort. She was forced to stand on her toes, which made it harder to focus on kicking him. Not that he’d ever allow for that to happen.

In the haze of her vision, she searched for his eyes and gasped out, “I- please… can’t-

His face was close. She could feel it even if her senses were in disarray, abandoning their mission in alarm.

“What is it? You can’t breathe?” His thumb dug into the flesh in response to the choking sound that followed. “Call out to him, doll. Call out to Minho. Maybe he’ll come to the aid of his pathetic little pet.”

As if from far away, as though observing rain trickling down a window, she felt the snot and tears slide into her mouth.

“-jin… please.”

Just as unconsciousness reached to claim her, Hwang released her, and she dropped to her knees coughing, choking, and wheezing. She clutched at her throat as if to trap the oxygen inside her lungs. That way, she thought in her alarmed state, it wouldn’t leave.

Y/n was still wheezing when he crouched before her, lifting her chin. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

Paralyzed by terror, she didn’t even flinch from his touch.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out through quivering lips.

He dragged his thumb across her lower lip, her drool clinging to his skin. But it was neither his icy touch nor the nasty curl of his mouth that wrenched the pathetic sobs from her heaving chest. It wasn’t even the wetness running down her legs or the pajamas clinging to her skin.

“Of course you are.” He said, cupping her jaw.

It was the knowledge that she stood at his mercy. Who knew if he would bother with what Minho had asked of him? Not her, that was for certain. Not when she’d gone and foolishly tried to gain the upper hand by blackmailing him. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! So fucking stupid!

As if to add to her humiliation, Hwang yanked her by the back of her t-shirt, practically dragging her to her bedroom, and bid her good night before sauntering toward his.

In the otherwise orderly space, she felt filthy and disassembled; like prey that had been shat out. But that was just the thing. She wasn’t prey. She wasn’t a threat. In a world of things both meaningful and meaningless, she was nothing.

As Y/n gazed emptily at her reflection⸺ the bruises, her swollen, bloodshot eyes, and the mixture of snot and saliva drying on her skin⸺ she traced the truth engraved into it.

[postapocalyptic-cryptic]

fox or thire #9?? :D

hehehehe

So the context is after the war au. Fox is in an interview with Vokara Che and a Jedi who specializes in memory recovery to help them find out wtf went on in the Guard. The Jedi pushes too hard a la their days are darker and Fox is thrown into a memory of being tortured by the Chancellor. Che goes and gets backup (Thire).

This is. possibly really shitty? I can't tell. But enjoy.

“What is so difficult about this, Commander? I give you a task, I expect you to fulfill it.” 

“Sir, I—”

The Chancellor stands from his desk chair. He’s completely composed, not a hair or fold of fabric out of place. All that’s missing is his simpering little smile. He’s furious now, furious with Fox for failing yet again, so soon after his last correction that his scalp’s still tender where the Red Guard had dragged him out of the office by the hair. Really, his glare is nothing special. Fox has seen worse. Something about the eyes, though… “Silence, Commander. I do not require the input of a faulty piece of equipment.” 

Fox casts his gaze down to the floor. How does the Chancellor always manage to wash the blood out of the rug? “Of course, Master. I apologize.” 

“Good.” The Chancellor stalks forward and before Fox can so much as blink, he’s right in front of him putting two cold fingers under Fox’s chin and tipping his head up to meet the Chancellor’s eyes. “There we are. Keep looking at me, pet. Now, remember. This is your own fault.” 

The brand is new. Fox would have remembered something like this. He would have remembered the feeling of his skin melting and running down his back, or maybe that’s blood, he can’t tell because everything is just the burning and—

“That’s enough for the moment, gentlemen.” 

The brand retreats. 

He realizes he’s failed to maintain eye contact just as the Chancellor’s hand cracks across his face. It wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, if not for the rings he always wears. He forces his burning eyes open and up into the Chancellor’s impassive face. 

“Another failure, Commander. Keep it up and it’s back to the factory with you.” He glances over Fox’s shoulder. “Is the knife quite ready?”

“Commander?” 

The knife?

“Commander?” 

Oh, it’s hot, too. That’s the last coherent thought he has before his mind collapses into the black hole they’ve just opened in his shoulder. He screams so loudly he tastes blood. 

“Fox, can you hear me?” 

He can’t hear anything, not over the roaring of his blood in his ears. 

“Fox!” 

—And then everything falls away. 

He’s… what?

He’s in a small room. Someone—the Jedi Healer—Che—is leaning over him, leaning because he’s sitting down, feels practically frozen to this chair—

“Commander, are you back with me?” 

Where’s the door? He can’t see around her. He can feel the remnants of the Force in his head, swirling in his skull and pounding against the backs of his eyes. His back and shoulder burn. 

Another voice from behind Che. “We need to finish the interview.”

Che whips around and Fox jerks back so quickly the chair tips up on its back legs. For a moment, he’s in limbo. He crashes onto his burning back just as Che snaps, “You need to get out,” and there’s the sound of an angry breath and Fox can hardly see through the disorientation and the pain and that’s bad and dangerous and he scrambles backwards until his back hits the wall and he stays there. 

He doesn’t have a weapon, they’ve all been systematically disarmed in preparation for these interviews, but a door slams and he figures whatever he can get his hands on will have to be good enough. A pen that’s rolled in his direction makes a good enough approximation of a shiv for now. 

This is not how the interviews were supposed to go. Fox was supposed to help in their investigation. He was supposed to comply and give them whatever information they asked for. 

(They weren’t supposed to torture him.) 

He wasn’t supposed to act so defective. 

You’ve done it now, Fox, he thinks. The Jedi wouldn’t tolerate this. He clearly wasn’t of any help to the investigation, and since he wasn’t any help to the war either, and they’d probably known all of this ahead of time since they’re karking mind readers and they’ve seen his years of pleading reports and requisitions, they probably just brought him here to make one last pass at his mind before putting him down. 

He wishes he’d told Thire and Stone goodbye. 

The door slams again. He flinches and it hurts to be this tense, but he can’t help it. 

“Fox?” 

What? 

“Hey, Fox, it’s me.” 

“Thire.” 

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Thire. I’ve got you.” 

Fox’s eyes are still open (maintain eye contact), but he can’t see for shit. It’s a good thing Thire reaches out first, because Fox would never have found him on his own and now that he’s got Thire’s hand in his he’s sure he would die without it. 

“Thire,” he sobs again, because now that he’s started all he can do is sob and clutch at Thire’s wrist and try to drag him closer. It’s not working very well. He’s still so weak from the Chancellor’s last punishment…

“Okay, Fox, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Come’ere, I’ve got you.” 

He says that, but then his hand leaves Fox’s. 

“N-no, please don’t—please don’t leave me here with him,” Fox pants. “Thire, please.” 

“I’m not, Fox, hang on.” 

It’s a small eternity to hang on for, but then Thire’s wrapping himself around Fox and he’s so warm and Fox suddenly realizes that, beyond the burning, he is very very cold. 

“I’ve got you, Fox. I’ve got you.”