#idk if this counts as whump but here we go

[fictional-addiction]

I'm Not Really Here.(Pt.2)

Relationship: Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, reader whump and pain and general chaos

Requested: icl it wasnt 100% in the works but so many of you came forward asking for pt2, thank you, so here we are🙏🙏

Word Count: guys.. idk. probably similar to the last one lol

Part: 2/2

Summary: A mission goes terribly wrong. You and Anthony are left to face the consequences. !! PART 2 OF 2 !!

Warnings: blood, swearing, angst, creeps, violence, torture. I AM NOT CONDONING/ROMANTICISING VIOLENCE. THIS IS PURELY FICTION. PLEASE TAKE THIS INTO ACCOUNT. DO NOT READ IF THESE WARNINGS TICKLE YOUR BRAIN THE WRONG WAY. THANKS BESTIE

-/-/-/-/-

It had been hours.

Your throat was scratched raw with the echoes of screams. Cheeks stained with the remnants of tears that had tracked down your face. No sense of what was real, and what was in your mind.

Chaos.

The blade dragged against your jawline once more, never enough pressure to make a cut, yet just enough to leave your skin burning with the scrape of the uneven edge.

A new tear slipped out the corner of your eye, a silent plea for this agony to end.

The man saw it.

The blade pressed harder.

"Didn't I tell you, you weren't to let a ano'her one of them tears to fall? Oh, princess.." he snarled. "Time to start with our favourite toy again, no?"

Your eyes squeezed shut. When the man had showed it to you and Lockwood all those hours ago, you had almost scoffed at its appearance. Small, rusted, and seemingly barely functional enough to make a dent.

A drill.

You would have thought otherwise. Yet this, this thing; it had deceived you.

The man yanked the chain and fired up the ancient tool as it grated and grinded, specks of rust flying in all directions.

I'm not really here. I'm not, I can't be, I'm not here, I'm not-

"Ohh, princess?" the man taunted. "What-" , he brought the drill closer, "did I say about sleeping on the job?"

A horrifying smile glimmered on his face.

"You sleep- you pay," he whispered, breath hot on your neck.

Another tear slid down your grimied face as he held the drill even closer to you- this time grabbing your left leg.

"I think it's a'out time we do th' other one, yeah? Since your right one seems to be all dolled up now', aight?"

The blood had dried somewhat a long time ago on your right leg. In certain places, fresh drips seeped out of the cuts. The tidy handwriting.

'Lockwood's bitch', it read. All neatly cut out and on display for all to see.

Well. At the moment, 'all'... was Lockwood.

He sat opposite you, eyes wide. Hands still bound behind him, his futile attempts at escape falling flat as he struggled to undo the knot of the fabric. Mouth stuffed with a rag - courtesy of the man, who had wiped the blood off your right leg with it, before promptly shoving it in his mouth to silence his shouts and protests.

He was helpless. And Anthony Lockwood couldn't bear it.

The man began to softly drag the drill up your leg, prolonging the process of digging in to the skin. Your eyes followed the moment of the drill, a deep panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Ah, 'ere we are. This seems like a perfect spot, dontcha' think."

The fear crept through your body; it trembled in anticipation. I’m not really here, I’m not, I’m not here, I-

The man dug the drill into your calf. You bit down harder on your lip, as you tried not to scream. You couldn't give in this time.. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe your body had gotten used to the pain, maybe it was going to be fin-

It wasn't.

The drill bit into your skin and your mouth flew open as a shrill scream ripped out of your throat.

"Y/N!" Lockwood bit down on the rag, struggling to speak through the material.

"Y/NNN!"

You tried to look at him - he always knew how to ground you. If you could just catch a glance, maybe it would hel-

Nothing but blinding pain tore through you. Your vision went white, your ears deaf to the screams... your screams. Oh god, it- it ripped across your body, leaving streaks of raw pain in its path.

It was the type of pain that you couldn't get used to. Sometimes, one can bite down and bear raw pain-- but this, this was unreal. This seemed to only grow, trawling through your veins, clawing its way out as it scrabbled up your throat- filling the room with ugly, horrid screams.

And all you could do, was... struggle to breathe. Struggle to live.

You wished you would die; you couldn't.

But if you truly wanted to die, wouldn't the world grant you that?

-/-/-/-/-

"Boss, come here. Look at this."

With a sneer, the man eventually pulled the machine away, the drill bit dripping blood onto the dirty cement and stomped towards Cliff. Your vision was screwed beyond belief, but your eyes could still carve out shapes, colours; his face.

Your ears were- ringing-

painfully

ringing.

Your head dropped back, your neck protesting at the steep, uncomfortable angle that it was now dangling at. Yet it dulled in comparison to the fire burning in your leg as air seeped into the fresh wounds.

"Oh god... I..," your voice strained, fading as it became harder and harder to form words. "Please..."

Lockwood could only watch as the horror unfolded before him. Limp. Pale. Almost dead.

He wanted to reach out, assure you that he had a plan, that he knew what to do- but he couldn’t. He was frozen, heart beat-beating beat beat beat beating.. louder, and louder, and loUDER-

I’m not really here.

The man's head twisted over his shoulder, ignoring Cliff as the plea fell from your cracked lips. Striding back towards you, his heavy footfalls causing you to wince and furrow your eyebrows as the sound went straight to your pounding head.

He pouted. "Please, what?" he taunted. "Please, again? Tha' can be done-"

You pushed yourself to interject, "-No; please, no.."

The man cocked his head, eyebrow raised as he continued to mock you. "But hun, dont'cha want to add to the beautiful handiwork? My, there's s' much already etched on you, we could turn ya into a art piece, fit for one of them fancy galleries uptown. Like the one you an' your little friend here tried to catch us at." His eyes darkened as he recalled the previous events of that night. The trap you and Lockwood had attempted to set for them to walk into.

How ironic- you had fallen into theirs instead. No longer the hunters, but the hunted.

You could only hope George had realised what had happened and was doing... something. Anything. At this point, you could barely think straight.

The man had continued to drawl on, and you forced yourself to try and focus on his words- anything to keep you lucid.

"See, princes-" he had been saying before he noticed your head lolling as you struggled to maintain consciousness. "Oi-"

A sharp pain burned against your cheek.

Your head had dropped to the side from the contact, and you managed to make brief eye contact with Lockwood.

One look in his dark eyes told you that things did not look good. At all. He was terrified. You were terrified.

Yet…

I’m not really here.

Strangely, in this moment, your fear seemed to have melted away. Your pain dissolved into numbness. Your heart no longer felt like it was being crushed, without breath. You felt… nothing.

You couldn't let this sicko win.

The man seemed to have lost his focus on you and instead began to walk back to Cliff. Until you muttered a few choice words that spun him right back around.

"Excuse me." He stated, voice lurking dangerously low.

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, before turning your gaze to him.

"I said-"

Thwack.

"I heard what you said, you stupid bitch."

A slight smirk ghosted over your face. You could taste blood. You could taste freedom.

He dusted his hand on his grimy trousers and proceeded to straighten up, as he raised his hand to prepare to strike again.

Your head hit the back of the chair with a crack.

crack.

cRAck

cr a c k.

He searched for the spark in your eyes as you blinked them back open. When you turned and spat at his feet, contempt coursing through you, he drew his fist back and let the full weight of it slam into your jaw.

Your head twisted under the force and whacked against the chair frame again. This time, stars danced across your vision and your ears protested, ringing loudly.

The room-

Room-

The room spun. You couldn't...

"Oi, lady-"

"She's losing conscious-"

"Look what you did to her face man, what the f-"

"Boss, maybe we should lay off..."

You couldn't..

It hur-

Wh-?

Hel-

No.

Don’t help-

-want to be free

Life should give you death,

surely?

Through your bleary eyes, you caught Lockwood's gaze. You wanted to tell him it was alright. You wanted to reach out your hand and intertwine it with his. There were so many words that were desperate to be said, but your mouth wouldn't open. Your voice lay dormant in your throat. There was nothing.

The room spun. The world stopped. Your heartbeat slowed. His eyes clouded with distress. Your body stilled.

It's dark.

It's dark here.

Cold.

Cold, here.

The world

stopped

bre at h i n g.

And you were-

no lon g e r

Here.

-- fictional-addiction (and all my grammar errors. we ❤️ chaotic writing)

-/-/-/-/-

ahh hey everybody!!

I'm back besties with more on the way (I'm being fr this time 🤍) can't wait!

do y’all want a pt3? idk if it needs one or not. if yes lmk what you wanna read in pt3! help me choose my ending cause I feel like it can go many, many different ways lol

so basically yeah hope you liked, hope it was worth a lil wait andddd check you next time :) keep sending in requests I'm starting off there!

byeee loves have a great day/night xx

taglist: @wordsarelife @cassiopeiia24 @superpositvecloudshipper @shampoocovers99 @fox-bee926 @ettadear @a-candle-maker @navznak28

(just ask if you'd like to be added to the taglist! sorry for those that aren't working I apologise :( )

[ovrarches]

Bed, wed, behead: jamilmads!

Wed: Madison, obviously. He’ll never love me or even like me but I think he’s at least be respectful and polite. I would give him permission to have a gay lover behind my back but he would be disgusted and decline (he’s been having an emotional affair for months but thinks it doesn’t count). We never have sex thus we have no children, and live a quiet life. He would die first, of course, with lifelong regrets about the choices he made in his personal life and his unhappy marriage. I bury him by the seaside and anonymously mail the address of his gravesite to his never ending string of almost-lovers. He was 56

Bed: Hamilton. Idk if I’ve ever said this on here but since I learned of his existence, LMM is on my list of celebrities I would sleep with if given the chance, solely for clout. Like, can you imagine being in the Hamilton fandom and being able to say you fucked the creator?? Or even just lording it over an average theatre kid. I would spill all his weird secrets sex habits immediately. Or I would threaten to tell his wife / the media and ruin his family friendly Disney persona, and use this blackmail him into writing another musical. And then, when that all inevitably comes to light, everyone is going to spam his social media with Reynolds Pamphlet comments. Anyways, same goes for Hamilton, I would do it for clout, laughs, and money

Behead: Jefferson :( fuckkkkk I have to kill my son :( my baby boy :( my whump punching bag :( …..it was a tough choice but ultimately he’s not marriage material and I’m already committed to fucking Hamilton. It would definitely be an emotional and/or physically torturous and angsty death, because if I have to do it might as well make it narratively compelling

[olderthannetfic]

I think the idea that MCD shouldn’t be a major archive warning alongside rape, GDOV and underage is a misunderstanding of what those archive warnings are for, and that they weren’t originally intended as “trigger warnings” in the way we think of them now, where it’s about shielding people with trauma around those topics. Trigger warnings got their start online on feminist blogs in the mid-late 2000s, which was before online social justice and fandom had much in the way of overlap, so correct me if I’m wrong but when AO3 was created, trigger warnings weren’t really a thing that was on most of fandom’s radar. Anyway, what the archive warnings have in common is they are all things that make fic “dark” or, for some people, “kind of a bummer,” and that the sort of “default” shipper who prefers things on the up and up (which varies across fandoms but I feel like in most, those people predominate and people who prefer darkfic/whump tend to be in the minority, at least that’s been my experience across several fandoms) sees as ruining the romantic fantasy they’re looking for in fic. I count myself in that category; I am not triggered by any of the archive warnings and in fact I’ve read plenty of original fiction that deals with each of them extensively, but I tend to go to fanfiction for warm fuzzy romance so both RNC and MCD are no-goes for me for whatever is my current big OTP: I want them to like and respect each other and not hurt each other (and also, not be rapists), and I want them to have a happy ending. And conversely, if you ARE into darkfic (which I am occasionally for some other fandoms, just usually not whatever is my current Big Ship), then you will want to know if some particular dark feature you might be looking for is in there. I hope I’m making sense here, I just get the sense that those big four are things that fandom tends to be sharply divided on in terms of whether they want it with a particular pairing or story or not, and so it makes sense for the four to be listed. But yeah, the idea that it’s somehow portraying character death as “triggering” to put that in that category, or that you’re so put-out by putting CNTW on your fic with a death you don’t want to spoil (which, well, as a person who actively looks up spoilers for original media and has read some great fics that gave away a death that still managed to be full of twists and turns and surprises, I’ll leave my thoughts out about that and “spoiler culture” more generally, but it is ultimately up to the author)…. I think that’s really missing that those were not originally intended to be a list of “triggering” things. Also, some other triggering stuff isn’t in there, because it’s not a common thing that fic readers tend either really want or really NOT want. (Like incest, which also is usually pretty obvious from the ship in question, or if they’re making two people related who weren’t in canon, from additional tags.) Anyway, the “but if I put CNTW on my fic they won’t know which one” whine is a problem with all four of the archive warnings. Maybe you CNTW for noncon but you don’t want people to think the character doesn’t survive. Maybe you CNTW for underage but are worried that people might think it’s nonconsensual. Idk, I think there are ways around that regardless via the author description. Also, sorry, but as someone who doesn’t like character death…. I like the idea that people who want to be coy about if it’s happening or not are forced to put a tag that raises that possibility! So i can just avoid it! If it wasn’t a major archive warning, a lot of those “don’t want to spoil” people would just not tag it at all, bumming their readers out if they feel like they weren’t anticipating it ahead of time. That’s a legitimate preference for readers to have!

--

We weren't consciously thinking of it in terms of "dark" fic.

Frankly, ye olde slash fandom was full of extreme hurt/comfort scenarios that nobody batted an eyelash at as long as the ending of the fic was happy.

These were simply a shortlist of things that are easy to enforce and that at least some archives and other fic spaces had had as important warnings in the past. MCD was like 100000000x more common than the others.

[ladyvader23]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by the lovely @fanfictasia and @the-real-azalea-scroggs and this seems fun, so here we go!

1. How many works do you have on A03?

24, though I have some on ff.net that aren't posted on AO3 from the very early days

2. What's your total A03 word count?

850,878 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Star Wars, though I've dabbled in FFXIV recently.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Missing and Presumed Dead

Darth Vader Goes to Therapy

Just One Wish

Darth Vader Goes to School

Unexpected Truths (just like the title, I did not expect this one to be in the top 5 and I have questions)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I used to. I read and love every single comment I get, please don't get me wrong, comments absolutely FUEL me, but responding?? I have so much anxiety, it used to take me HOURS to respond to them all. Eventually it got to be so much on my emotional health that I decided it would be better to channel that into writing more for people to enjoy, so...that's what I do now. Again, comments fuel me, and I love you all, and I read every single comment and even have a lil' scrapbook of comments that I go back to whenever I'm feeling down about my writing, so I hope this doesn't give off the wrong impression...

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Easily Fracture. If you've read it, there's no explanation needed here. If you haven't...let's just say someone gets turned into a rug, among many other horrible things...

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh...most of my fics have a happy ending of some sort. Some you just have to wade through more angst and whump to get to the happy ending than others. I think Missing and Presumed Dead had an ending I thought was perfect for it, as did Darth Vader Goes to Therapy. Both were happy endings AND endings that I thought were perfect for the story that was told.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I write for Star Wars. Yeah, I've gotten hate XD. Thankfully, it's rare. Usually people get upset with my interpretations because "iTs NoT cAnOn!" I really just don't care, so I just laugh and move on. Like if you wanted canon, why are you reading fanfic?? Probably the craziest though was when someone went on one of the biggest Tumblr blogs in the SW fandom and used my Darth Vader Goes to Therapy fic to support their argument that the Jedi were evil or whatever (idk, I wasn't part of the argument) and beyond the fact that it's wild to go into a fandom canon-based argument with super out of context quotes from a fanfiction to support your argument, but to do it with a fic that I 100% wrote as a COMEDY is just. Wow. I was suddenly flooded with so much hate from a bunch of people who had never read my fic, thought it was a seriously written piece of literature, and assumed I agreed with everything the person said and I didn't even know until I went to the post and had to defend myself...every once in a while someone will not see that defense and will message me more hate. Like it's a crack fic. Granted, I DID do research on real therapy practices because I didn't want to make a joke out of therapy, but everything else was 100% a joke. I'm really glad people love it (so do I!) and resonate with it, but it's not canon. I don't think the person intended for me to get so much hate, so I definitely don't blame them, but it was a lot.

9. Do you write smut?

Um. Ahem. I may or may not have a private stash from like. Deleted scenes in fics that had romance in them back when I wrote those. That I will. Definitely. Never publish. Don't worry about it. >>

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yes! Though I've only done a few. I think the only one on AO3 was the crossover with The Last of Us, done before the TV adaption.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Sort of. There was that scare a few years ago when everyone thought a random website had stolen everyone's fics, but it turned out it wasn't that exactly. AO3 isn't available everywhere, so there are sites that are just set up to mirror whatever is on AO3 so that people can read fics on that site, and it happened to be one of those sites. Oh boy, though, did they get a lot of hate mail before it got clarified. Then there was that time I had someone write a fanfic that they said they wrote with a similar concept to my ff.net story Second Chances, but then one of their friends was like "this is a rip off" so they asked me to read it before they posted it to make sure they hadn't ripped it off. Except...it was almost 90% word for word....so uh. I didn't give my blessing and I don't think it ever got posted lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I've had fics translated into Russian, Chinese, Korean and French. My most common requests for translation are Russian and Chinese. I've never actively tried to get something translated, it's just whoever asks me for permission.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! (I'm keeping Aza's answer for this part since it's true) There's the memorable Great April Flood, which was basically a dozen of Star Wars writers gathering together to do a massive round robin with tumblr asks prompt fills (those three sentence fics, if anyone remembers) in order to flood our side of tumblr on April Fools in 2020.

I also did an Inuyasha fanfic with my cousin when I was a teenager, and I didn't technically co-write it, but I did heavily work with a specific character for my Fushigi Yugi Genbu Kaiden series with my best friend in high school as well.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I mean, I'm pretty open to whatever. I think I've written Luke with like....5 or 6 different people depending on the story?? But if I had to choose, I guess I'm pretty consistently Percybeth, so I guess them???

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Assassins Blade. Like it was a great story....but omg. I got so much harassment about the most random things, sometimes on every. single. chapter. it just wore me down and I just don't write romance-centric fics anymore, which is sad because I DO like writing romance.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Finding the comedy in even the darkest moment. Taking a horrific situation and really just letting the characters feel the emotions of the moment, letting them bask in the consequences of either their actions or the actions of others.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, anyone who has ever edited my stuff will probably say "too many redundant sentences" and you know what? They're right. Fluff-centric scenes are difficult, as well. I also will disappear for months on end when I'm just. In a weird funk. Which I still kind of am in at the moment, but I'm actively trying to break through it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I don't really have an opinion on this one.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First one I wrote for: Final Fantasy X, but my mom wouldn't let me publish because it was the days of the internet when all parents thought their child was going to be kidnapped if they did anything other than look at the internet. It was bad though, so I'm not sad I didn't publish.

First one I published: Inuyasha. I published behind my mom's back, and got in trouble when she found out, but then she looked at everyone's comments and figured out that I was not, in fact, overly in danger of being kidnapped, so she let it go.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Darth Vader Goes to Therapy. I will never be that funny ever again. I achieved my peak comedy with that fic. But a very close second is Missing and Presumed Dead, and sometimes, depending on the day, that one is my favorite and DVGTT is a close second.

This was fun! Tagging @sunshinechildskywalker @25centsoda and @zoryany but definitely don't feel like you have to!

[catnykit]

𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 #𝟙 𝔸 ℙ𝕆𝕆ℝ 𝔻𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕃

𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠

Mastertag

AHJSOWNXOQNIXNQ I CANT BELIVE I'LL FINALLY WRITE ABOUT MY OWN CHARACTERS AAAAAAA

TY ALL MUTUALS AND PEOPLE TO INSPIRE ME TO DO THAT

THIS IS JUST A BLOOD LOSS WHUMP DRAFT,BUT WHO CARES AAAAAAA

pls tell me if you want to be tagged for more stuff like this idk

Word count: 1674

𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠

Warnings

;Suicide/suicide attempt

Blood loss

Torture hints/mentions

✨️Trauma,Of course

Mourning(????? Mild mourning???

Self hatred

Major character death :)

All warnings happen almost randomly,But not immediatly,Like— I gotta first explain and then the fuss happens you know

𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹

The dizzness was starting to became hard to ignore

Damm,It was expected,You cant lock yourself in the bathroom after accidentally torturing an innocent and then go free like nothing

Well,In her defense,Carmen did not knew that liam was innocent

Now she was the monster here,Isnt she? She had good meanings,The suspect's actions were too much to get ignored by the police Even if she was there,All by herself,She could still hearing her friend's cries that night....

She didnt know what happen in the woods until she saw wesley,Her best friend,Cover in a blanket while sitting in the border of an ambulance

They were shaking,All bloody.Carmen couldnt let the things like that!! Since childhood carmen was told she was 'way too impulsive' And why would they care?! She only did what was needed

Blood didnt stop coming as the yells didnt stopped. They wanted her to go out of the bathroom. Now.

Of course,The needed was to kidnap liam and torture them just like he did with wesley....

So one good day,She grab choloform and kidnap him in the middle of the night

How fun!,Guts,Blood,Burns,And a little syringue to make sure they dont pass out

The begs where even more satisfactory considering that,It was probabily how wesley beg in liam's hands,he deserve it!

What was not fun Was the call....

After being done with liam,And without any more ideas She decided to call wesley!,Yay!

Little problem,She did not tell wesley anything about her little plan ....Carmen was sure they would accept no matter what.

Or maybe she fogot it? In all the rage?

Staying awake was hard,Breathing was hard. She deserved it thought. They were always right and this wasnt the exception.

or Atleast thats why she throught

It didnt matter now

God,Wesley was mad.

So,So mad :(

And they had the right to be it! It was the wrong person!! Carmen is the heartless monster In here.....Atleast that was Wes said.....

"B-But I did it for.... you!"

"YOU'RE A MONSTER— I CANT BELIVE SOMEONE CAN BE THIS...TORTUROUS!"

God,And they used to be friends

Dear fucking God,It was truth....

Liam was aslo bleeding out,Atleast kind of

Carmen was so careless that she sewed up the wound with the first Thing she found,It wouldnt last forever

But the diference is that wesley was there for him

Such a backstabbed!,Or was she?

Did it care anyway?

Why was wesley yelling at her to get out?

Why did they wanted her alive?

Wesley was just there,Outside the bathroom,Trying to get who was once his friend out,For their own fucking sake

Liam was still there too,Watching quietly the blood stain the floor under the bathroom's door;All while squirming slighty In pain

The sedatives of the first aid kit did barely anything,Atleast he wasnt crying

Wesley was scared too,Goddamit,They were way too scared of anything that happen

Why the fuck did they told carmen about it? Knowing how she was?

It didnt matter now,They went mad and they know it.

They aslo knew that she was way too sensitive for reasons that they told eachother on countless outings to eat, walks, just being together

The worst part it was how close they were from eachother,And how that somewhat end in this absolute Mess

Now wesley has to cope with Not one,But two persons bleeding out.

Why do they always need to be so rude?

They felt way too guilty too

Guilty about the person in the couch who didnt hurt them,But everyone thought against it because they say "He look similar"

Well,They didnt know it was gonna end like this.

They didnt know how Mad carmen was for someone hurting them

How much Rage in order to find someone to blame

It wasnt till then that they noticed The stain that they relized it. All the restroom was quiet since they kick the door open to the basment And find their best friend torturing an innocent person,Liam They didnt think carmen could do this and yet? It was there Just there And the worst part its that All was Her fault,Thats what she thought. Carmen was alredy blood-stained when she run upstairs trying to hide from wesley,Who didnt stop yelling at her how much of an horrible person she was And in part,It was right,The problem is that She alredy knew that. She alredy knew that So when wesley saw the blood under the door,open the damm bathroom door, He wasnt ready. He had to leave liam just to... Just to see it? How one of the most important persons in his life was laying om a pool of her own blood.

Well,She regret it.

How do you deal with the thought that you're a monster who deserved to be put down?

Its not like somebody would care anyway,Is not like they would care anyway

by this point,The blood lossed was enough to just

Pass out

Wesley was terryfied. Standing there,In the bathroom door....

Liam was still laying on the couch,In pain after Everything that carmen put them throught horryfing torture...

How was they supposed to fix this?

Was it any way to do it,Was it possible?

And now they were crying.Over the dying figure of someone who tried to be a good person And failed.

𓃠 𓃬𓃠

Carmen was...confusing

A year ago,They were the one in an ambulance

And they werent that...bad

wesley remembered how bad it was... They remember a strong hand dragging them to the white van They do remember the pain,They got beat up and starved But that was nothing compared to what carmen did to liam

What was most heartbreaking it was that there was no "villian" to blame

The ones who actually kidnap them were in fact,An entire gang.

They got confused following instructions and end up getting the wrong guy

Wesley

The gang promised them that,If they didnt say a word they would free them and never meet agaim

Wesley accepted

And now they're here

With two people on the ambulance

All because they didnt talk...and because carmen went insane

was it her fault tho?? Wanting revengue for her friend??

Was it wesley's fault? They were too focused on trying to keep liam alive they didnt notice when carmen— ... Carmen was only concern. It was her fault the way she decided to be ruthless about it But she didnt deserve...death. She thought she did tho That was wesley's fault.

Wesley was shocked when carmen,Practically drunk called him to say to him that she kidnap one of the suspect and gut him alive.

And other unspeakable stuff that left Liam way more broken than Wesley. All in one night.

The second worst night!— who would guess it...

Wesley tried to get an first aid kit being on the restroom, trying to atleast help liam

Even so,They did not measure their words....

Carmen felt hurt. Attacked,Even so!

by a Friend. That she thought she could trust... But could she? They instead called her inhuman and disgusting Because? Just for wanting revengue? Camen felt alredy sick when she lock the bathroom door and got left alone with her thoughts... Thoughts that didnt stop ominously chanting what wesley said. Liam was innocent you heartless monster.

Liam was innocent.

Liam was fucking innocent

All this time it was wrong

Because liam. Was. Innocent.

There was no one to blame more than the monster that looked back in the mirror The monster that did all of that to an innocent person The monster that cried while hearing who was supposed to be their friend yell at her for all that she has done Nothing but a fox that deserved to be put down

She was gonna get killed anyway,If she didnt do it,The police would.

So...she did it

Eventually wesley give up and just stay,Trying to keep liam alive

Wesley thought that carmen would just hide in the bathroom

The police would kick the door open and all would be over

Carmen felt backstabbed.

Wesley wouldnt even care,Probabily.

He did.

He did when they understood that it went more far than that....

She was dying. Atleast liam was stable She wasnt. Wheb the ambulance finally arrived to the place,Wesley finally got to open the door snd rushed to her The cuts in the wrist were too deep. Too bad. While he tried to hold on her,To just try to stop the bleeding and made her sit up,To just have a last moment!... She lean in his ear whispered with hatred,Her voice straned because of the blooe loss

:"Hypocrite."

the whisper of the devil. A self-proclaimed demon

Wesley was destroyed

Liam was healing

And carmen died. That very night,Commited suicide

All because wesley went mad. All because they didnt say a word

All because carmen was impulsive,And ruthless

All the pain for revengue,All the death for guilt

All for nothing at all.

𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠

YAYYYYYYYY I FINISH IT

TYSM ALL OF U

@theres-whump-in-that-nebula

@sillywhumpcreature

@whumpy-wyrms

(The ones who anwsered the last post :3)

:D

Pls tell me if you want a taglist,I think im gonna do more content if you guys like this <3

i gotta admiiit this wasnt what I had in mind buuut...again is just a draft sooo

Yes.

[audioaujom]

27: Victim's Memoirs [wrong end 4 ★5]

Corpse Party Hub, < prev, next >

This is wrong end 4 ★5 from Chapter 2! A lot of these bad endings are fucked up and awful but I honestly debated not writing this one because it’s nasty, but… when whump calls lmao

I've also written (or begun writing) nearly every other bad ending for this game and I guess this one felt left out idk

I know compared to a lot of the other graphic shit on this hellsite this is probably nothing, but I’d feel uncomfortable posting this without a bunch of warnings. I don’t really have a taste for such graphic things, but I’m actually kind of pleased with how it came out. I like the ick ig Be safe and enjoy responsibly.

Pairing: Ranboo and Charlie

Word Count: 3190

Chapter TWs: Mind Manipulation ("Darkening"), Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Vomiting, Character Death

--

“Whoa hey, do you see that?” Charlie asked as he stepped out of the classroom, Ranboo poking his head out the door to look over his friend’s shoulder at the floor.

“The notebook paper with blood on it?” Ranboo asked, Charlie turning around to face him with a sinister grin. “Yeah, I see it. Why?”

“C’mon, aren’t you curious?” Charlie all but whined, his eyes darting back and forth between the page and Ranboo’s disapproving glare from the doorway.

“Uhm, not really. What’s it gonna say? ‘Here’s how to get out of this horrible haunted elementary school in three easy steps’?” 

“It could!” Ignoring the obvious deadpan, Charlie smiled hopefully up at Ranboo—who just sighed and shook his head.

“No, it really couldn’t.” Ranboo then paused, an unreadable look crossing his face before he continued, “But I’m not going to stop you if you do wanna look.”

“Aha! You are curious!” Charlie poked a finger into the taller boy’s chest, his smile splitting into a wide grin. “It’s just as I suspected!” Triumphant, he turned and swiped the paper up off the ground, eyes scanning the page from behind his glasses before his grip on the page tightened and his face paled. “Oh. Oh god nevermind.”

“What? What’s it say?” Ranboo asked, his own curiosity morbidly piqued by Charlie’s horror, taking the scrap paper from his friend who passed it over wordlessly.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — I ate my friend today. What else was I supposed to do? I was starving. We both were. And there's no food here. So we decided, together, that one of us should try to live just a little bit longer. If I ever get home, I'm supposed to tell all the people waiting for us what happened. We left it all up to a game of rock-paper-scissors. Loser eats winner. And I lost. I felt her blood going down my throat, quenching my thirst. And her meat was surprisingly satisfying. But that blood and that meat was once my friend. Up until just a few hours before, I'd been talking with her. As I feasted, I just kept thinking, this food used to be a person. Before I tore it apart, it all worked together to sustain a life. And every time I thought about that, I just started crying… and I couldn't stop. I wanted some part of her to be with me even after she died, so I decided to keep one of her eyeballs. And I thought maybe I should write all of this down, to help preserve some small portion of my sanity. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Oh.” Ranboo gagged in disgust and horror, dropping the page to put one hand over his mouth as the other went to clutch at his stomach. “Well, alright. That’s… wow, okay. Um…”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Charlie tried to joke, but it fell flat as his voice shook nervously. He then put a gentle hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, quietly suggesting, “Let’s just… leave that there.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Ranboo nodded, staring down at the paper on the floor, his look turning to a slight glare. “Just when I think things can’t get any worse…”

“C’mon, let's keep looking somewhere else.” Charlie offered, lightly pulling Ranboo by the arm away from the classroom and towards the stairs.

The two silently made their way back down to the first floor, wanting to search in a more orderly fashion by working their way up from the bottom. By the time they’d made it downstairs the odd tension in the air had already dissipated, them hunting in a much more comfortable silence until—

“Uhm… Ranboo? Is that…?” Charlie asked tentatively, pointing at another rather innocuous piece of notebook paper lying behind a ruined table near the rows of shoe shelves at the front doors.

“Another bloody piece of notebook paper probably containing horror beyond my worst imagination?” Ranboo responded rhetorically, giving Charlie a look as he blandly stated, “I think so.”

“Would it be wrong of me to say I’m still curious?” Glancing at Ranboo beside him, Charlie quickly backpedaled, “Not in a weird sort of way, I just… if it’s from the same person I want to know what happened to them.”

Ranboo stared at him blankly. “Why are you asking for my permission?” 

“It makes me feel better.”

“Wow, no hesitation there.” Ranboo shook his head at his friend’s immediate answer, sighing and gesturing forward at the page. “Sure. Go read it if you really want to.”

“Okay!” Charlie nodded, jogging forward and crouching down before looking up as he realized he wasn't being followed. “Are you not coming too?”

Ranboo stood still for a long moment before he finally gave in and stepped over with a quiet, “...coming.” 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — I hold, in the palm of my hand... a piece of a person's body. A piece of a person who was living and breathing only a short while ago. This body part used to be attached to her head. And now, I'm walking around the school with it. I had no idea eyeballs were so heavy. And I just keep squishing it in the palm of my hand, as if I'm testing its firmness. Squeeze, and release... Squeeze, and release… — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Okay.” Charlie announced, dropping the page immediately after finishing it. “Somehow that’s worse than the vivid description of cannibalism.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Ranboo grinned as Charlie turned to look at him, betrayed.

“Hey! That’s my line!” He whined with his own smile, before it slowly faded alongside the playful air as realization started to dawn on his face. “But dude… this place is really fucked up. The bodies we keep coming across are all of kids, which means—”

“Don’t. I’m gonna stop you right there.” Ranboo cut him off, firmly waving both of his hands and shaking his head for emphasis. “I don’t… don’t. Nope. I am not going to think about the implications. You are not going to think about the implications. There are no implications. None.”

Charlie nodded, his widened eyes slowly closing as he let out a breath to calm himself down. “No problem.” 

Working their way around the main floor and then to the row of first floor classrooms, the second page—while weird—was long forgotten as the two briefly bickered about how to open the nailed shut door at the back of 2-A until Ranboo remembered the nail puller they’d found earlier. The secret room was strange, with large gaps in the floor and a mechanism at the far corner, the two venturing all the way to the back corner to look over the mechanism to try and figure out what it did.

“...Charlie.” It was Ranboo who broke the silence this time, an arm flying out to the side to stop Charlie in his tracks about halfway into the room. The two boys paused, both noticing the page on the floor.

“Are these notes following us around or something?” Charlie questioned with a frown, pushing Ranboo’s arm away. “Cause we can’t seem to go more than a few feet without finding another one.”

“I don’t like this at all.” 

“Yeah, that’s… fair.” Nodding to himself, Charlie paused before shuffling forward a few steps. “...I’ve gotta, right?”

“No, you really don’t.” Ranboo answered, Charlie ignoring him as he bent down to pick up the page with a shit-eating grin. “That sounds like a yes to me!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — I've been searching every last corner of this school building, trying to find a way of escaping with her. But it's not happening. No matter how much we struggle, only further misery awaits us. I'm so unbearably thirsty… so hungry that it feels like my stomach is eating itself... And every moment, it gets worse. It's like a big, black mass in front of me that's slowly closing in. I can't keep ignoring it. I've started talking to the eyeball in my hand, to help stay focused and maintain my sanity. Stop looking at me like that! I swear, I'll find us a way out of here! I have to make sure I tell your family what you did for me… — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Hopeless. Lovely.” Ranboo commented from over one of Charlie’s shoulders, watching as his friend curiously started re-reading a section of the note.

“What’s that black mass thing they were talking about?” Charlie asked after he finished looking over the page, setting it back down with a huff. “That sounds a little more imposing than the hunger or thirst.”

“I’m not sure… but whatever it is we should avoid it if we can.” Ranboo sighed, staring down at the note on the floor, lost in thought.

“Oh. I assumed that went without saying.” Charlie agreed, before smirking and commenting, “Y’know, to avoid the big black ball.”

“Dude.” 

“Not even  a sliver of a smile?” Smirk dropping, Charlie sighed and shook his head. “Throw me a bone here man, I’m trying to cheer you up.”

“...thanks.” Ranboo smiled a little, recognizing Charlie’s effort but still too anxious to actually feel any sense of relief. “But the best way to cheer me up would be to stop reading these creepy notes and find a way out.”

“Aye aye, captain.” 

Ignoring Charlie’s mock salute, they continued investigating each floor systematically in an on and off silence until they reached the end of one of the hallways on the third floor, the two noticing another bloodied page near a particularly large gap in the floorboards.

“Okay, I know you said to stop reading them, but it’s right there.” 

“I already said I wouldn’t stop you like ten times, Charlie.” Ranboo sighed, watching Charlie run up to the page and instantly scan its contents.

“Epic.” About halfway down the page, Charlie's expression dropped, setting the page down with a wince of nausea. “Oh. Nevermind. I think I’m just gonna… put this back…”“What did it say?” Ranboo asked curiously, wandering over and picking up the page as soon as it hit the floor.

“Oh, you don’t wanna—” Charlie reached out to stop him, but was a moment too late as Ranboo had already begun reading. “Wait!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — I am writing these memoris wit hsticky hansd but its not me that is stiky but somethng else I hope you re not mad about this maybe you will think im a horribl e person but i got hungry again really hungry like i was about to DIE so i I did something I shouldn't have done. I promised myself I would stay sane, and promised myself I wouldn't do what I did, and I am so, so sorry, really, really sorry, really sorry but there is no excuse for what I did. With my bloody hands, I took the thing that I've been squishing, and I put it in my mouth, and I swallowed it. Iateit. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“...yeah.” Ranboo silently let go of the page as Charlie spoke, letting it slowly flutter through the air until it landed at his feet, Charlie grabbing him by the shoulders to maneuver him further down the hall. “Let’s go, Ran.”

“Yeah.” Ranboo nodded absentmindedly, fiddling with his hands before glancing over at Charlie and timidly asking, “We’ll figure this out, right? You and me?”

“You and me.” Charlie affirmed, squeezing his shoulders. “We got this.” 

No matter how confident Charlie sounded Ranboo couldn’t shake his lingering anxiety, the longer they searched around the school with no clear goal only serving to make it continually spiral. By the time they’d backtracked to the second floor for a second time, it had gotten so bad he almost didn’t step off the landing and through the doorway to the floor, letting Charlie pull him along as he couldn’t seem to get himself to walk forward. The anxious ice in his veins that had shattered when Charlie urged him forward resurged rapidly after the briefest moment as both of them noticed the paper lying beside the large gap in the floor at the same time.

“...is that—?” Charlie asked, cutting himself off as the two stared at the page on the floor.

Ranboo nodded, dread coiling in his stomach as he couldn’t will himself to move any closer to it. “I think it is.”

“It’s fine.” Charlie said randomly, pulling Ranboo into a nearby classroom with a soft smile. “I’m not curious.” 

“What? Really?” Ranboo asked, disbelieving, some of the dread giving way to relief as Charlie sounded genuine and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, really. We have other priorities right now.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.” With a short nod from Ranboo, the two went back to investigating the small room. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

The classroom held nothing useful, Ranboo giving up after a few minutes and slamming shut the teacher’s desk drawer he’d pulled open in a vain hope of finding anything they could possibly use. He turned to comment about the empty nature of the classroom to Charlie, only to realize his friend was no longer beside him. Confused, he poked his head out of the doorway to see where he could’ve gone in the minute he was distracted with rifling through the desk.

“Charlie? Where’d you— NO!” The yell of surprise ripped out of Ranboo before he knew what he was saying, staring at where Charlie was crouched on the floor by the staircase with the previously seen note clutched in both of his hands. “Charlie, what are you doing?!”

“Sorry, Ran. I’m too curious.” Charlie apologized, flashing him a quick smile. “Besides, this is probably the last one, anyway. No harm, no foul.”

Reaching out, Ranboo threw himself forward to try and take the page from Charlie—who easily ducked out of the way. “No, don’t—!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — if you are reading this allow me to forewarn you there is no hope of rescue there is nothing to be gained endless wandering and endless torture is the nature of this place i succumbed to my hunger and thirst began nibbling on that corpse again there is no flavor, no sensation just meat and fluid to sate my empty belly i promised i would not desecrate your body any more but i broke that promise  please  forgive me — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Charlie had barely read the last few words on the page when his vision completely blacked out.

Everything felt wrong.

The last thing Charlie remembered was reading another one of the bloody notes—please forgive me—and then blacking out on the floor. His head hurt and his mouth tasted metallic, a hand coming up to messily wipe some blood leaking out of his mouth as he tried to sit up and figure out what was going on around him.

“Shit, my head—!” Charlie glanced around with half-opened eyes, shaking his head and looking around frantically for his friend only to realize he was alone in the hallway. “What… oh god, Ranboo? Ranboo?!”

Forcing his nauseous body to his knees, he felt his stomach roil and force a line of bile up his throat from the movement, trying hard to swallow it back only for the metallic taste in his mouth to grow stronger.

“What the fuck is—?” He asked, cutting himself off to spit out a thick wad of blood that was building up in his mouth, the contents landing in an oddly gloopy pile on the wood between his knees. He spat again, the blood a little thinner but still strange as he recoiled from it and toppled over backwards. “Shit, what the fuck…?”

Finally looking up and getting his vision to focus, Charlie wished he could fall back unconscious as he realized he wasn’t technically alone—but the only company he now had was his friend’s unmoving body.

An extreme amount of blood had soaked into the wood flooring beneath Ranboo’s still form, his throat torn open and windpipe crushed, his neck missing a large chunk of jagged flesh from the middle that had already stopped oozing. His mouth and eyes were wide open, the once lively gray now faded, glassy, and frozen in a kind of terror that made Charlie sick to his stomach all over again. The muscles on his upper arms had been torn clean off, white bone sticky with what was left of the crimson tendons and blood missing from his limp arms—one of his elbows bent all the way up the wrong way. His legs weren’t nearly as torn as his arms, but they were ripped by what looked like teeth marks from the knees all the way down to his shoes, pants shredded by the unnatural strength of whatever had attacked and left his mangled body in the middle of the hallway.

“What did… what?” Charlie scrambled back up to his hands and knees to crawl up to Ranboo’s body, afraid to touch him as he realized his hands were already slick with the same blood that formed dried drips on the front of his shirt—and was very likely Ranboo’s. “Oh god, no… no no no, this some twisted fucking joke, there’s no way I would’ve… oh fuck…” Metallic twinged bile threatened to rise up his throat again, Charlie only managing to turn his head at the last minute before the vomit could soil Ranboo’s already desecrated corpse. “Blood… everywhere and… no… no, please…”

Sitting innocently next to the body was a scrap of paper that managed to avoid the worst of the spilled bodily fluids, Charlie reaching for it with shaking hands as he recognized Ranboo’s scrawled handwriting.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — It’s okay, Charlie. I know this wasn’t you. Only the school and that black mist are to blame. If you ever come back to your senses and read this… I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you. I hope you make it out. - Ran — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The rest of the note trailed off into a thick coating of blood, Charlie’s eyes going unfocused with hot tears that gathered in the corners and threatened to stream down his already messy face. “There’s no way I… I did this…?” Charlie asked aloud, his strangely half-full stomach feeling infinitely heavier as he frantically tried to spit or even throw up more of the flesh and blood coating the inside of his throat. “I… oh god…”

Another retch had vomit with chunks of barely digested muscle landing in front of Charlie, his eyes blurry with now freely flowing tears and an odd faded black tint around the edges that creeped in with a cool chill. One hand went up to claw at his throat as the other braced him against the floor, overwhelmed with a self-loathing so strong it was only rivaled by the innate disgust that stung in his mouth like his stomach acid, him clinging desperately onto the awful feelings as they started to slowly slip away from his conscious grasp into the dark void that gave him a sense of deja-vu to when he’d finished reading the last of the bloody notes. 

Charlie was tired and anguished and suddenly overwhelmingly… hungry. He just couldn’t fight it anymore. The hunger ate away at his feelings greedily, him collapsing to the floor as the dark haze re-took over his vision—leaving him in an empty heap of despair lying on the bloodsoaked wood next to Ranboo’s unmoving body.

[northerngoshawk]

2022 Writing Year in Review

thank you @flameohotwife and @chocomd for the tag! great way to start a new year of writing is to look back 

1. Number of stories posted to Ao3: 15! most oneshots and drabbles, 1 that is a multichap still in the works

2. Word count this year: 75,791

3. Fandoms I wrote for: Avatar: The Last Airbender

4. Pairings: Aang/Katara

5. Stories with the most:

Kudos: i lost it all again (can you help me find it once more?), the second fic in my Katara-centric series

Bookmarks: dreamless dreams

Comment threads:  see the sky and sea (and remember me)

Word count: see the sky and sea (and remember me)

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): there’s a lot, but i guess i will have to say dreamless dreams, my platonic zukaang fic, since i really don’t like Zuko that much lol. he’s definitely not my fav, esp because of fandom, so it was a surprise to write this, and i’ll admit i was a tad worried i would write him ooc because of my own bias. but surprisingly enough, i’ve been told the way i portrayed Zuko in this fic is very very in-character for him and serves as exploration that most fandom would avoid, and the platonic zukaang was also something i never thought i would write but seemed to execute well haha. overall, i guess i’m proud of this fic because it’s a concept that’s out of my comfort zone that i think i’ve executed pretty well, haha

7.   Work I’m least proud of (and why): protecting you, which is a prequel to  where we're meant to be. i had a kind of hard time writing this, and if i look back on it now, it just seems... cheesy, almost? idk it’s just Aang whump so maybe i just feel it’s a little senseless lol.

8.   Share or describe a favorite review you received: i think my favorite review this year was actually from @chocomd and pertained to dreamless dreams! choco managed to understand all the underlying parallels i wrote into the fic and gushed how much she loved the way i wrote the platonic zukaang 🥺 before her review, almost no one was kudos’ing the fic, so i was wracked with so much doubt that i wrote it well, and with her review, it really helped ease my worries of oocness for Zuko & Aang.

9.   A time when writing was really, really hard: while i was in school as a STEM major lol. that should be self-explanatory.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: i already mentioned Zuko, but there’s actually two more characters i was surprised to write. one of them was Iroh from my Iroh & Lu Ten fic leaves let go (to fall from the vine). i never ever ever thought i would ever write Iroh, and he kind of intimidated me because he’s such a wise, complex character--there was no fathomable way i could write him well, or so i thought. i seemed to manage okay for this fic tho haha

the other character is Hakoda from my Hakoda Adopts Aang fic these sleepless nights we spend (waiting to come home). also a surprise because in canon, we don’t really see much of him on-screen, not to mention there’s a lack of interaction between him and Aang. again, never really thought i would ever write him, but here we are.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

i have quite a few (and i’ve used them for other asks), so i’ll choose something a little different this time!

this excerpt is the ending section of going back, moving forward:

When Gyatso releases him and Aang finds himself at the doorstep of shadows, he only glances back one final time to see Gyatso nodding with approval, pride shining in his gray eyes.

(i will always wait for you)

When he finds himself walking down the dark hallway, he hears his friends, his family, all calling his name, all pleading with him to come back, come back, and he picks up the pace, rushing towards them.

(i'm coming, i'm coming)

When he sees the differently colored threads (green red navy cerulean) weaving their way towards him as the world falls away into darkness and shadows, he reaches for them, knowing that they're reaching out for him.

(i'm coming back for you)

When he wakes up in his friends' embrace, he lets himself melt into their love and worry and berating because they care, they care, and he almost can't believe he ever doubted it was the right thing to do.

(i'm here)

And when he grows and makes mistakes and matures and builds his own family and learns to live and laugh and love again, Aang finally understands what Gyatso meant all those years ago.

And it feels like coming home.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: i definitely stepped out of my comfort zone a bit and wrote for characters i never thought i would write for haha. i’m also improving on describing scenery, especially as needed for my multichap lol

13. How do you hope to grow next year: to keep improving on describing scenery. i’m improving right now, but i still have ways to go. also to keep writing characters i never thought i’d write, step out of my comfort zone even more.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): @chocomd. we found out we have very similar tastes in the kind of stories we want to read & write, and so she’s been a huge encouragement, especially in a fandom where our specfic tastes aren’t exactly common. her comments especially on see the sky and sea (and remember me) and her eagerness to see its conclusion is really the only reason why i’m still writing this fic.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: not really? i mean i lost it all again (can you help me find it once more?) stems from my own feelings of assimilation and not knowing my own culture. other than that, there aren’t any i can think that are truly from my core self; every other fic is just my exploration of canon content or mirroring of things i never have personally experienced. all of my fics have some form of myself in them anyways tho, so

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: don’t be afraid to experiment and break rules of syntax, so long as it makes sense for the themes of the fic. i find the fics i love reading/writing the most are the ones that experiment to reflect the themes of the fic, the state of the character’s mind, etc. (also you can use that as an excuse in case someone gets mad at you 😉)

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: definitely hoping to finish see the sky and sea (and remember me) this new year, but with the way the climax is playing out and the limited time i have, it could take a while lol. depending on if i get that done, i’m also looking into my 5+1 Aang fic about loneliness, a Katara MCD fic, a Sokka-centric fic that deals with masculinity, and a 5+1 Zuko-centric fic that deals with Zuko beginning to understand the effects of imperialism on the little people.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read: @itsmoonpeaches @thinkingisadangerouspastime @justoceanmyth @shameaboutthedilettantism @kataangisforlovers and anyone else!

[ghost4ghosts]

okay whatever here are my s2 bingo cards

[ID: a bingo card titled "ofmd s2 NORMAL version" with the following squares highlighted in blue: spanish jackie (gets more hubbies); sexy stede with a sword; ed covered in blood 💖; ep 1 ed goes batshit; more british nonsense; FREE; revenge crew boat re-acquisition montage; lucius lives; jim becomes lucius (fanon relationship advisor); izzy hands smackdown; more. buttons; "i love you"; jim + frenchie leather fits; izzy catharsis (NOT DYING) and underneath in bold the word well. a square with "ends in a cliffhanger" has a transparent question mark as the background. end description.]

[ID: a bingo card titled "ofmd s2 bingo not a chance in hell version" with the following squares highlighted in blue: c j comeback in ANY way; pirate drag; MORE ASIAN PIRATES (FILIPINO??); Izzy saying I love you (IN ANY WAY); FREE; idk onscreen torture; stede kills someone on purpose; word of mouth homosexual izzy confirmation. a square saying izzy dies with a crying emoticon has the transparent background of a meme of mr. incredibles shaded in black and white and looking messed up and scary. end description.]

more chatting under the cut:

thoughts:

the only two squares i thought were guaranteed going to happen were 1) BB breakup crew leather outfits and 2) another cliffhanger ending. idk it just felt inevitable. otherwise this entire season was a wild ride

i wrote "jim becomes lucius" in the sense of turning into the New Relationship Advisor-- i imagined them talking to ed about stede or whatever, NOT them telling izzy he's in an unhealthy relationship 0_o

i feel fucking terrible for putting "izzy hands smackdown" now 😭😭 because i was expecting a fair fight that he loses, NOT, like, the entire fucking season.

also i filled in "izzy catharsis" after ep4 when he got his leg with no clue how the season would end. i'm still counting it anyway.

stede's shitty pirate disguise was inspired by the fic #gentlebeard is trending! by regional_catastrophe because that fic was funny as hell

even though i knew about zheng yi sao before geting into ofmd, i just didn't think we would get a major asian character (lucius voice: the bar is on the floor). except i'm kinda iffy on her relation to the plot so idk. diversity win? the asian character is less of a character than a plot device? :/

^ my real dream come true would've been a filipino character played by a filipino actor but that almost never happens

izzy telling ed he loves him was nice.

re: word of mouth gay izzy confirmation. i thought it would be funny if he looked into the camera and straight up said "i'm gay" because half of this fandom wouldn't be able to recognize him as an older gay man without him doing so LOL. confessing to his captain is close enough

DRAG!! that was super fun at least. wee john and izzy were so gorgeous.

the torture scene?!?! that was my throwaway square, the whump fodder square, the absolutely 0% chance of it happening square. it should've been longer but that's because i'm sexualizing it. i'm not sorry.

i don't have much to say on izzy's death that wasn't already said in the 24 hours after ep8 aired. this was the one thing that i seriously, genuinely didn't think they would do. i put that square in for a laugh (the same way ed cuts off people's toes, i guess). "con said the show is kind," i thought, "there's no way they would do major character death in the pirate romcom." oh how i was wrong.

[drabblesofrapture]

The Empress’s Pawn (Superhero AU)

Hey kiddos, been awhile since we’ve posted. Anyway have yet another scene from our superhero au lol. -Mod Dusty

CW: prison setting, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, manipulation, betrayal

The hallway seemed to stretch out infinitely before Roxanne. From above her came the constant buzz from the harshly glowing lights, a sound that invaded each thought that raced through her mind. Off-white brick walls stared down at her from either side, occasionally interrupted by doors or another hallway branching off from this one. The numerous branching paths made the whole place seem like a maze; a design choice intentionally made to confuse any possible intruders or escapees, making it easy for them to become lost and later captured by the guard patrol. While Jeff’s facility overall was very impressive, the prison block where Roxanne now found herself in had to be her least favorite place within its walls.

The thud of her boots echoed loudly down the corridor as she walked, her cape billowing behind her. One arm clutched a folder full of documents tightly to her chest while the other was raised to her face to wipe a bit of sweat away from around the edges of her mask. It felt rather silly to have to wear her suit around the facility, especially when it caused her inconveniences; such as her cape becoming caught in doors or getting snagged on various things. In hindsight, maybe the cape wasn’t a great idea for her new hero persona. Wardrobe malfunctions aside, bearing with it was far better than risking the exposure of her identity. 

She kept her pace quick, her footsteps keeping a steady beat. Her gaze was locked dead ahead of her, not even giving a second glance to the few guards and staff members whom she passed along the way. Their waves and friendly greetings went unexpectedly unanswered, leading to many raised eyebrows and double takes. She stopped for nothing. Two guards stood in the middle of the hallway casually talking to each other and she briskly stepped around them without missing a beat. No hellos, no wishing anyone a wonderful day, she just kept walking. She had places to be today.

After a series of twists and turns down the labyrinthine complex of corridors and a lengthy security checkpoint, Roxanne eventually came before a huge steel door with a sign above it which read “MAXIMUM SECURITY CELL BLOCK.” On either side of the door were guards carrying heavy assault rifles and dressed in high-tech suits of armor; armor modeled directly after the former Hero Killer’s suit. They both snapped to attention as she approached, most likely former henchmen of her father. She simply held up a hand to put them at ease and pulled out her keycard to insert in the reader on the door’s right side. A pneumatic hiss emitted from the door as it suddenly lurched open an inch before slowly sliding the rest of the way open. She waited for the door to open completely and for the guards to give her the go-ahead before she finally stepped through. 

The cell block was a long hall with a high, arched ceiling. The walls were lined with -you guessed it- cells! In lieu of the traditional metal bars, the cell doors were made of reinforced plexiglass, allowing the villains imprisoned within to be fully visible to the guards. Many of the prisoners leered at Roxanne as she passed, getting right up against the glass and making obscene gestures at her and shouting their usual empty threats. 

Like everyone else, she completely ignored them. Occasionally she’d shoot them the cold glare her father had taught her -that would usually shut them up immediately- but not today. She kept walking until she reached the end of the hall where she came before another large steel door. This door was much bigger and thicker than the first door, resembling that of a vault door. Six guards stood in front of this door, all wearing the same high tech armor as the guards at the entrance to the cell block. However, these guards had been outfitted with advanced rifles specially designed for super powered individuals, all sporting the trademark Collinsworth logo. As Roxanne approached, all six guards moved to block her path.

The first guard held out his hand towards her. “You’re not authorized past this point, Ms. Witch.”

“Dude, it’s Mrs. Witch now!” another guard corrected. “Didn’t you know she got married to that Angel guy recently?”

“Gary, what have I said about your mouth and keeping it shut?” The first guard scolded, turning around to shoot what Roxanne assumed to be a scathing look at his comrade. She couldn’t really tell because of the helmets.

Gary cast his gaze at the floor and let his arms hang dejectedly at his sides. The guard next to him patted his shoulder consolingly.

“Like I said, you can’t be here.”

Roxanne stared indifferently at him as she fished around in the folder she was holding. With a flourish, she pulled a document out of it and presented it to the guard standing before her. “I am here to interrogate the prisoner on authorization of my father, the King.” she stated in a professional tone.

The guard snatched the document away from her. He clicked the visor on his helmet open so he could scrutinize the document more clearly, eyes landing on the King’s forged signature at the bottom.

“Alright,” he said, closing his visor and handing the document back to Roxanne. “It checks out, head on in. Just be careful in there kid.”

The guard motioned to the guard closest to the door who proceeded to input a code on the keypad next to it. A red light above the door began to flash and there was a loud buzz, followed by the sound of metal sliding against metal as several huge locks were unlocked. The latch was undone next, and the door slowly slid open in a dramatic fashion. Roxanne waited until the door was fully open before going in, but even then she found herself hesitating. Her hands tightened into fists, crushing the cardboard folder underneath her fingertips. Mustering her courage, she took a deep breath and marched through the doorway. Once she was in, she tried not to jump when she heard the door slam shut behind her and all the locks clicked back into place. She was alone now.

The room was essentially a concrete cube, where in the center stood another cube made of glass tinted so heavily that it could not be seen through. There were cameras in every corner of the room, all pointed at the glass cube in the center. The cube had a control console on the side facing the door. Steeling herself with another deep breath, Roxanne strode toward the console, setting the crumpled folder on the dash. She pressed a button on the console which caused the tint of the glass to lighten until it was once again transparent. The glass cube was actually another cell. Inside was a cot, a toilet, a sink complete with a vanity, a small desk with a chair, and a bookshelf. A tall, slim woman sat hunched over on the cot, her face obscured by her long, blonde hair, now matted and ratty by weeks of improper care. Pale blue eyes stared up at Roxanne through tangled strands. Chapped lips pulled back into a sinisterly sweet smile.

“Hello darling,” she cooed. “Come to pay your dear old auntie a visit?”

“Adelaide,” Roxanne said bluntly. “You’re looking well.”

Adelaide just hummed, clutching a split end between her thumb and forefinger and holding it up to eye level before letting it fall limply across her chest. “I’ve looked better. The conditions of this place are absolutely dreadful.”

“Not up to your ostentatiously high standards, hm?” Roxanne asked, tilting her head to the side.

“No, not at all,” Adelaide replied, scowling at the hero. She suddenly stood up from her cot and strode over to the vanity at the end of her cell, studying the reflection of herself and Roxanne in the mirror. “My offer is still open, you know. If you can break me out of this place, that is.”

“Oh? You mean the offer to sell my life away to you as your servant for eternity?”

“Oh darling, must you always think so little of me,” Adelaide sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She turned around and began walking to the window. “The offer to rule Rapture by my side.” Her smile widened and she clenched her fist, shaking it as she spoke. “I’ve taught you so well that the two of us working together would be unstoppable! Think of what you could do with that power! Your friends have made powerful enemies, you could make sure those malefactors never harm them ever again.”

Roxanne was silent for a moment. Adelaide’s smug grin strengthened as she saw the gears turning in the girl’s head. However, a smile began to spread across Roxanne’s face and she raised a hand to her mouth as she started giggling. She soon lost control and was doubled over laughing, both arms holding her stomach as she struggled to regain composure. Adelaide’s nostrils flared as the sneer dropped from her face, her eye twitching slightly at the pure disrespect being thrown at her. 

“You must be joking auntie!” Roxanne managed to squeak out as she wiped a tear from her eye, a couple more giggles escaping her lips. “I remember how inspired I used to get whenever you gave me those grand speeches. Pandering to all my hopes and dreams, manipulating me. It’s quite amusing how easily I used to fall for that.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue of what you mean darling,” Adelaide said, feigning ignorance.

“Sure.” Roxanne turned away from her, crossing her arms and peering at her from over her shoulder. “That’s all you do: manipulate others.You promise them fantastic things so long as they can do something for you, and once their purpose has been used up, you cast them aside.” She turned her back on her completely now. “There’s not a single person in your life that you haven’t done it to. The heroes you face, your henchmen, father-” she threw a piercing gaze at Adelaide “-even me.” 

“Well…” Adelaide paused for a moment, raising a hand to her chin. She let out a short sigh. “Yes, I have manipulated others. How else do you think all my henchmen have remained so loyal to me?”

“Well, most of them,” Roxanne interrupted with a smirk.

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, most of them.”

“The point is,” Adelaide continued, “manipulation is the only way I’ve managed to survive all these years by myself. It’s the only way you can get anywhere in this ugly world; someone very close to me taught me that a long time ago.” She moved closer to the glass, gently pressing her hand against it. Her other hand brushed the hair away from her face to show Roxanne her caring expression. “But I would never do such an awful thing to you.”

Roxanne raised an eyebrow at her, turning again so that she was once again facing her. “I have only ever wanted to protect you from all the cruelness that runs rampant in the world. I took you under my wing, I taught you how to control your powers and furthermore how to use them. I taught you everything I know so that the things that happened to me will never happen to you.” Their eyes locked. “Do you know why I did all that, darling? Do you know why I want to protect you?”

The girl moved closer to the glass as well. “Why?”

“Because we’re the same,” Adelaide said, smiling sweetly at her. “Both of us were betrayed by someone close to us and then abandoned. Your own mother left you to waste away in that orphanage, much like how my husband left me to rot in a ditch.” She tilted her head. “I’ve always loved you Roxanne, you’re like a daughter to me.”

There was a long pause between the two. Roxanne stood there, her expression unreadable for a moment. Slowly, she raised her hand to the glass, placing it exactly where Adelaide’s was. There was a lump in her throat, and her lip began to tremble as her eyes started to well up with tears. Her whole arm tensed like she was struggling to hold herself up. Adelaide had to hide her smugness as she watched the poor girl melt like putty in her hands.

“Is that so?” Roxanne seethed, her brow furrowing. She pushed herself away from the glass, taking a step back from the cell. She breathed in, swallowing the lump in her throat. She tilted her head down and gave Adelaide a furious, yet determined glare. “Is that why you threatened to kill me if my father did not comply with your wishes? Is that what you call love?”

Adelaide looked as if she had just been struck in the face. Her eyes wide and her mouth agape as her hand limply fell away from the glass. She took a step back in shock. “I-”

“That’s right, father told me all about your little game,” she said. “You probably used me as leverage against Angel as well, hm?”

“Darling-”

“You never really cared about me, did you auntie?” she continued, cutting her off. She had waited so long for this moment; all the anger, all the hurt, all the betrayal coming to a boiling point inside of her. She wouldn’t let herself be interrupted now, she would get this out in the open right now. “You didn’t teach me how to hone my powers so that I could protect myself, you just wanted to weaponize me. You thought that since we have the same powers, then we’d have the same weaknesses as well; weaknesses that you planned to exploit should the need arise.” Her shoulders started to relax, focusing all the anger in her body into her voice, making every word drip with venom. “That’s not love. You never loved me.” She crossed her arms, glaring straight into the villain’s soul. “All these years, I was just another pawn to you, is that right?”

Adelaide’s jaw was practically touching the floor now. Her already pale skin seemed to become whiter still and she took another step back. She brought her hand to her mouth to close it and kept it there for a beat. She closed her eyes, and her countenance suddenly began to change. A smile grew across her face as a malicious laugh began to rise up from her chest. Her eyes shot back up to Roxanne, fixing her with an icy stare. 

“Oh darling… of course you were.” The facade was gone now, her true evil beginning to shine forth. She strode back to the glass window, hips swaying from side to side. “Of course you were!” she laughed. “You really thought I ever gave a damn about an insignificant little mortal cur like you? You were always a means to an end for me.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “Although, originally the plan was for you to help me take over Rapture. Unfortunately, that idiot Malcolm had to get involved so I had to change the plan; change your purpose.”

Roxanne was completely taken aback. She had already found out that these had been Adelaide’s true intentions, she just didn’t think that she would be so upfront about it. Perhaps there was even a part of her that wanted to still believe that Adelaide truly cared for her, that even treating her as a tool was just another facade.

“I’d say that I’m surprised that it took you this long to find out, but I’m not really. You always were a naive little girl,” Adelaide scoffed, placing her hands on her hips and shifting her weight into one leg. “No matter how hard I tried, I never could train the stupidity out of you.”

The girl flinched as Adelaide threw her head back, letting loose another maniacal laugh. “Honestly, you’re almost as dumb as that little devil girl! All your moronic blabbering over the years, rambling about how you and your ‘daddy’ are going to change the world! And now you run around with your little boy-toy playing hero like a couple of children!”

“He is not my boy-toy,” Roxanne snapped.

Another laugh. “Oh that’s right! He’s your husband now, isn’t he? Honestly darling, you could do so much better.” She chuckled, waving a hand at Roxanne as she started walking the perimeter of the cell. “At least he’s smarter than you, he knew better than to meddle in my affairs.”

She finished her lap of the cell while Roxanne sat in stunned silence, finally coming to a stop in front of her once more. “That’s all besides the point though. You’ll never be able to change the world, no matter who you pair yourself with and especially not by yourself. You’re not a hero, you’re nothing.”

Roxanne could’ve sworn that her heart stopped beating. She couldn’t feel it, she couldn’t feel anything right now. Her body just felt hollow, like her heart had just been completely scooped out and stomped on. 

“You betrayed me,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.”

“Betrayed you?!” Adelaide guffawed. “Darling, betrayal only works if it’s by someone you love.”

“...I did love you,” Roxanne sniffed, looking down at the cold, concrete floor. “Or at least I thought I did, and I thought you did too…”

“That was your own mistake,” Adelaide snorted derisively. She crossed her arms behind her back and began to pace. “You want to know what I always hated most about you?”

The lump was back, throbbing up inside Roxanne’s throat.

“The way you insisted on calling me auntie,” She shivered, her face scrunching up in disgust. “That always made my skin crawl. And to think that I even said you were like a daughter to me just a couple minutes ago.” Her index finger stuck out to point at her open mouth as she mocked a gagging noise. “It was so difficult to make that sound convincing. You’re just so desperate for a family, aren’t you? I suppose it makes sense, a little runt like you being abandoned at birth.”

She couldn’t swallow the lump, it was too big. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Hold it in, she had to hold it in.

  “That’s why you cling to Malcolm so tightly, calling him ‘daddy’ and father. Well let me tell you something.” She walked over to the glass wall again, pressing her body against it. “I am not your auntie, and Malcolm is not your father; he never was, and he never will be.”

She bit down harder. Her lip was bleeding now. Don’t cry, please don’t cry. Not now, not in front of her. Please-

“You’re more of a pet to him really,” Adelaide went on. “A pet to him and a tool to me. That’s all you’ve ever been. And now I assume you’ll continue your sick little found family fantasy with that boy-toy of yours too, hm?” A vicious sneer was painted on her face as she watched the little girl trembling before her slowly break down.

Roxane sniffed a couple times, letting out a long, shaky exhale.

“Awww, did I hurt your feelings, darling,” she purred maliciously.

“No,” she replied after a long pause. It was a lie, but she wasn’t going to let Adelaide have the last laugh in this. “I’m just sad that you’ve become such a bitter old woman.”

Immediately, her countenance became twisted with rage. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Roxanne said, managing to fake a soft, derisive laugh. “You never got your happily ever after. You thought you were at the top of the world, that you could rule everything, but now the mighty Empress has been defeated.” She forced a cocky grin. “You had a husband, a family, but you lost it all. You’re mad that I have everything that you never had.” She took a few steps towards the cell, leaning in to make eye contact with the now infuriated villain. “He left you to rot in a ditch, and now I -the only person who has ever cared for you- will leave you to rot in this cell.”

Adelaide’s brow furrowed, pale blue eyes flaring with rage. “You little-”

“I’ve come up with a new name for you too, something far better than auntie,” she added. “I quite like the ring of ‘miserable old hag,’ don’t you?” She let out a small giggle. “Goodbye, darling.”

Adelaide opened her mouth to scream at Roxanne, but she quickly slapped the button on the console to shut the intercom off. She then quickly slammed her fist on the other button, causing the glass to darken until Adelaide was no longer visible through it. She was alone again, alone in this big, empty room.

She stood there for a few moments, hand still resting on the console. The taste of blood coming from her lip finally hit her, causing her to slowly raise a hand to her mouth to wipe it away. Adelaide’s words came back to her, echoing loudly in her mind, invading every corner of her head. It pounded in her ears until she couldn’t take it. The lump came back once more and she tried to bite her lip again to hold it back but quickly had to let go, wincing from the pain. There was no holding it back now. Despair spread to every space in her body, filling her with a cold and empty feeling. It sapped her strength completely, causing her to double over and her legs to buckle underneath the weight of her body and sorrow. She fell to her knees as heavy, violent sobs wracked her frame. Tears streamed freely down her face like rivers, smearing the eyeshadow she used to fill in the empty spaces between her eyes and mask. She buried her face in her hands as she tried in vain to muffled her wails. Her body leaned against the console, trying to keep herself from falling to the floor. 

She was so lost in her own sorrow that she didn’t even notice when the door opened behind her so that the guards could check on them. Their inquiries on what had happened didn’t even register in her mind. She barely even recognized Malcolm and Johnathan when they eventually arrived to escort her from the cell, continuing to cry the entire way. 

[greatandquestionablecontent]

Angst Week With The Girls: Denna Edition

A companion to this (and if you want to see Ramsey's pov in a different AU with similar dynamics, this). I think it can hold up on its own though?

Content warnings: graphic self harm (hitting glass), blood, injury, hurt hands, emotional breakdown, mental health/relationship problems. Other people try to deal with Denna's emotions, Denna tries to deal with Denna's emotions.

Characters: Denna (whumpee? Angst-haver? POV character), Jade (one-time caretaker who's trying her best). Mentioned: Ari and Ramsey (caretakery types Denna has a complex history with), Constance (Whumper).

~~~

It boiled up in her chest, her throat, the back of her skull, her hands. She watched herself in the mirror, her chest rising and falling.

The words in her thoughts drained away, or rather, they became such a jumbled mess that she could make nothing out but thought-noise, a crowd jabbering, arguing in her mind. A crowd that was all her.

She lost track of who she was more furious with -- herself or them. But she couldn't bind her mind to any other topic besides Ari and Ramsey. Nothing else would stick. All day it kept coming back to them. She had no right to be jealous, not when she'd left both of them, when they probably sat together at night and talked about all the things she'd put them through. Let them.

Hot tears spilled from her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks.

She'd had her chances with both of them. She'd been the one who'd gone and fucked that up. So why now did it hurt so much seeing them together, building something better without her? Good for them. The two of them were both so fucking good and kind, they had more in common with each other than either of them ever had with her. She was nothing like them, never had been, and yet here she was crying in a bathroom because they'd left her out, and after everything she'd done, why wouldn't they?

Denna slammed her fist into the glass, and then the other, pushing past the shock on her body. It was like jumping into icy water, an all-encompassing moment where her head was entirely empty except for a scream, and with each punch to the mirror, she got to drag it out longer. It was like freedom bursting out of her body as much as it was like kicking and beating her own feelings down into submission.

Eventually her strikes softened, until her hands did not meet the mirror again. Whether by self control or mere exhaustion, she wasnt sure. Shards of glass were everywhere, shining all around the room, jutting out from her flesh, a sight that gave her a satisfying lurch of primal horror. Blood streamed from her hands, splattering the bright mosaics in the sink.

She did not hear the bathroom door open. It did not occur to her that she hadn't locked it.

"Oh fuck. Oh shit. Holy shit. Uh, are you okay? Denna?"

With shaking fingers, she plucked the largest piece from the side of her hand, and her breath vanished from her throat. She didn't stop. She pulled out piece by piece, dropping them without regard on the floor, crunching them under her boots. Her body started to fight her, the trembling becoming almost impossible, everything too slippery with blood, a sob ripping itself from her chest.

Hands locked on her forearms. "Denna, stop, stop. Okay, calm down -- just, listen, let me get the rest out. Let me get Ari --"

Denna jerked her arms free. "Do not. Get Ari."

"But she could -- okay." Jade took a look around the bathroom again, a satisfying disaster. It looked like how Denna felt. "I've got it. Let's uh, get you out of here. Let me just..."

Denna did not remember the journey to Jade's room. She did not mean to go, but then she was on Jade's bed as the small red head squeezed water from a wet wash cloth over her hands. The water turned pink as it mixed in the bucket below.

"Don't tell Ari."

"O-okay. You know everyone's going to be able to see -- nevermind."

That was the worst part about surrendering to the urges like this. Afterwards, the raw wild feeling became filthy and fetid, and there were always consequences.

Jade frowned in concentration as she worked at the glass with tweezers. She was not great at it. Her hands did not shake, but she fumbled, and misaimed. Irritated, Denna wondered if she lacked depth perception. "I can do it myself," she said, but she did not reclaim the hand Jade held in an awkward grip on her wrist.

"I'm almost done. Sorry."

"You didn't have to do this." This wasn't even about you. I forgot you were even here.

"I know. But you're in no state to do it. What, would you rather I go get Trystan?"

"No." Maybe it was best Jade had found her. Jade didn't know what to make of it, and that was better than Ari or Ramsey, because they would make so much out of this. Even Trystan, he knew her too well. On the other hand, Jade hadn't seen her like this before. So there was another relationship now permanently stained.

"Why'd'ya do it?" Jade finally asked.

Denna shrugged.

"Okay. Well... if you ever want to talk about it..."

What could she possibly tell Jade? Any assumptions Jade had might be for the best -- this concern and sympathy might hinge on those, and while Denna was about ready to be done with Jade's awkward fretting, she also wasn't ready to face dismissal or disgust. Let Jade think what she wanted.

Denna could feel where tear tracks had dried on her cheeks. With the wrist of her free hand, she rubbed at her eyes. Why was she even letting Jade do this? She watched the girl hesitate, frowning at the now clean, glass free wounds. Blood already was beginning to well up again in some of them.

"So I was thinking I could wrap them like..." Jade gestured, as if bandaging her own hand.

The last time someone had treated Denna's wounds, it had been Constance, stitching up a gash after a particularly brutal beating, and drizzling on stinging antibiotic. Denna had not winced or flinched, her jaw clenched the entire time, and she had said nothing but a quiet, deferent, "thank you, ma'am."

It had been years now since this had been Ramsey, patching Denna up after a fight or a breakdown. Why did this always happen? She didn't seek it out. They probably thought she did. They were probably talking right now about her attention-seeking behavior, how she did this to manipulate them in to caring for her.

She couldn't tell if they'd be right.

She stood up, stepping past a startled Jade. "You've done enough. Thanks."

"But your..."

"I'm fine. I'll do it myself."

She pressed her hand to her shirt to stop the blood from dripping onto Jade's floor. She almost hoped she would pass one of them on the way back to her room, but they would see the bathroom later, and that would be worse. She'd be proving them right, whatever they said. We were better off without her, they'd think. Not this again.

[shywhumpauthor]

Summer of Whump Masterlist

prompt list here

Heheh here we go again @summer-of-whump

This obviously isn’t up to date, uhh I’ll update it eventually

June 1st- “Once I start, I won’t be able to stop, alright?”

Cw: slight gore, blood, screaming, wounds, wound cleaning

June 2nd- Left behind

Cw: left behind, starvation, dehydration, left to die, freezing, captivity, lost hope, fear of death

June 3rd- Facade

Cw: noncon touching, asphyxiation, strangling (ish), corsets, forced to dance, threats, manhandling

June 4th- Hostage

Cw: threats, noncon touching, restraining, bruises, kidnapping, hostage, creepy whumper

June 5th- “Sing to me, please?”

Cw: possible death, murder, stabbing, angst, blood, crying, sad, blood

June 6th- Stumbling

Cw: kidnapped, restraints, bruises, broken bones, captivity, cells, blood, injuries, property destruction, bank robbing, bombs, medical neglect, rough wound care (mentioned), manhandling, noncon touching, broken nose, collapse

June 7th- Experimentation

Cw: forced stripping (kinda-non sexual, just a shirt), noncon partial nudity, restraints, threats, noncon touching, implied noncon body mod, noncon surgery, lab whump, implied torture and kidnapping, threats, mentioned gore (not really)

June 8th- Bedside Vigil

Cw: coma(ish), unconscious, bruises, implied kidnapping, abuse

June 9th- “It’s okay, you could never hurt me.”

Cw: gore, blood, bear trap, failed escape attempt (ish?), rough caretaking, inexperienced caretaker, bit more gore, leg injury, improv medical care,

June 10th- Rules

Cw: whipping, broken glass, bleeding, restraints, rules, creepy whumper, blood, screaming, uhhhh captivity

June 11th- Forced to watch

Cw: stabbing, threats, restraints, noncon touching, manhandling, forced to watch, death threats, knives, torture, gagging, hair pulling, uhhhhh bit more stabbing

June 12th- Loneliness

Cw: tortureish-isolation, starvation, captivity, cold whump, kidnapping, uhhhhh sensory deprivation ish??? Loneliness. That's for sure.

June 13th- “Did I say you could stop?”

Cw: abuse, forced to clean, cruel Whumper, kicking, exhaustion, denied sleep

June 14th- Counting

Cw: kidnapping, torture, mentioned beating, illness, death mention, fear of death, cell, uhhh cold

June 15th- Back-Alley Medicine

Cw: gunshot wound, wound care, crying, uhhh abuse, potential murder, maybe ish implied death, idk, emotions

June 16th- Chase and Catch

Cw: running, chasing, exhaustion, uhh falling, tripping, tackling, noncon touching, pinning, blood, head injury, uhhh idk what else

June 17th- “Just keep looking at me. You’re doing great.”

Cw: rough wound care, blood, injuries, improper wound care, makeshift medical things, uhhh manhandling, rough caretaker, uhhhhhhhh idk what else, woods setting?

June 18th- Sacrifice / Self-Sacrifice

Cw: death, mentioned gore, murder, battle, uhh surrender, potential kidnapping, murder, weapons, blood,

[sisterofleatherfrog]

TBB Soulmate AU (pt. 2)

Hey! Welcome back! Looks like we're getting this done a few hours before the season 1 finale (omg we’re almost there!)! I would have got this done 2 hours ago but unfortunately my computer decided to throw a bitch-fit. For now, there will be this and a fic coming out probably a day or two from now in case we all need some fluff for comfort.

So last time it was the first words tattoo trope, this time it’s still a tattoo, but now marking the place where they first touch (when touched there is a sensation and the mark bursts into colour identifying your soulmate). 

Sorry if the tense is a little off at times, I was trying to be consistent and idk what happened 😣

Word Count: 2393

POV is gender neutral with no descriptions

Warnings: None, some light whump but nothing graphic, just bumps and scrapes.

At first, the Kaminoans wanted to see if they could get rid of their marks and cut the clones off entirely from things that weren’t defending the Republic. Later though, thanks to some helpful Jedi and senatorial interference, the consensus was that they would help inspire them to fight; giving them a glimpse of hope for a different life once this war was over. Different clones, of course, react differently to the marks etched on their skin, and even more so to the person responsible for them…

Crosshair

-It had always embarrassed him (partly because if somebody found out he usually got teased for it).

-The most common places for marks to be on somebody were hands. Black palms, back of hands, fingertips, the wrist, etc. Normal places for people to touch each other for the first time.

-His mark was a black handprint over his heart, somebody’s left hand resting at the base of his breast bone.

-It was too intimate for somebody like him to really know what to do with (he also was a little miffed that his soulmate had the more normal half to the mark). 

-One day he ended up getting a little banged up on a mission and required a visit to the base medical centre where both GAR and nat-born medics were working.

-Crosshair being himself, didn’t think it was that serious and kept trying to get up and leave.

-You, a nurse, being responsible and dedicated to your job, were getting sick of this snarky, rude guy constantly almost ruining the fresh patch job that had been done to him.

-So when he tried to get up AGAIN, you’d had enough and put a hand to his chest and gently shoved him back down into the cot and prepared to ream him out. 

-You both felt it the instant the change happened though, instantly turning your palm to watch as the black was swallowed by indigo and silver. In front of you, the mark on his  chest did the exact same thing, brilliant jewel tones appearing.

-You were shocked into silence, looking back and forth between your hand and his chest.

-Crosshair was also shaken, looking down at the mark on his chest. He hadn’t seen your hand yet and needed to really confirm that this was happening for him. 

-So he reached out to you lightly and took you by the wrist, slowly turning your hand to see the same patterns and colour from his chest there on your palm.

-He stared for a moment, you hardly dared to breathe, before he tenderly placed your hand back to his chest and cradled it with both of his. The long, elegant fingers of that hand directly over yours soothingly stroking your skin. 

-For a man who constantly exclaimed to anybody who knew about the mark that he wasn’t some romantic softie, he sure did a terrible job of proving it.

Wrecker

-Wrecker was the lucky half of the relationship here in that he was the one with a ‘normal’ mark, that being both of the palms of his hands were permanently dyed an inky black. 

-It was a little unusual that both of his palms were black, but he wasn’t too worried about it.

-You, on the other hand, had lived your entire life with two massive black handprints on your waist. 

-Seriously, whoever was going to be making these marks was a giant. 

-It always made you worry a little about what they would be like due to their obvious dimensional advantages over you. 

-When the war happened, you ended up joining a local militia in order to help protect your planet. The help of the clone troopers was greatly appreciated. 

-For a mission you and your squad were acting as backup for where the Batch was involved, and things seemed to be going a little sideways. 

-In order to create a distraction you rigged up several explosives and targeted them at the clankers. 

-They went off magnificently and the field that was once swarming with droids was reduced to twisted metal, burning oil, and a few unlucky survivors who were quickly picked off.

-Later back at base, you were relaxing in a cropped shirt when the Batch entered the hangar where you were.

-Wrecker was gushing loudly to his batch-mates about the explosions from the mission. While he loves to be the one who makes them, he still appreciates a good pyrotechnic courtesy of anybody. Especially ones that take out almost three companies of droids.

-He was loudly proclaiming to his brothers for about the fourth time that hour that he wanted to meet the person responsible for that clanker-clearing blast. Another person who was trying to get a nap in before the boisterous clone interrupted, pointed to you before telling Wrecker to please be quiet. 

-Ignoring the plea for silence, Wrecker rushed in your direction and you only had a moment to brace yourself before he picked you up and swung you in a circle, all the while laughing and congratulating you on your impressive work.

-When he set you back down your sides were tingling and he rubbed his hands together as if to dispel a similar sensation.

-When he opened his hands you could see why: yellows, oranges, and warm pinks had blossomed in sparks and firework-fractals across his broad palm and up his fingers. Gasping you grabbed the sides of your shirts and lifted a little so as to get a better view of the skin on your sides. Sure enough, a matching pattern of colour was present to see.

-You didn’t know what to say, but Wrecker reverently whispered, “Beautiful.” and slowly knelt before you and, with his large hands that could lift you and swing you around so easily, gently traced your mark with his finger tips. When he looked up at you a smile was stretched across his face and lit up his eyes.

-You’d always been a little worried about your soulmate, but you knew there would be nothing to fear from your excitable giant. 

Tech

-You always had a thin, black mark on the outside of your left calf and wondered what the moment would be like when you met your soulmate.

-The placement was definitely weird so you would sometimes ponder the circumstances in which you’d touch.

-While on a mission the Marauder had sustained some pretty heavy damage in a fire-fight and desperately needed repairs as it would not have been able to make it back to base in its condition. In order to get them done in a timely manner an extra set of hands would be needed as well.

-This is how they ended up at your shop one fine summer day.

-Usually on days like this, if you didn’t have to do any heavy welding or worry about sharp bits, you would wear shorts while working to keep cool. This was the case as you sorted through the noodle knots of wiring inside several panels.

-While stretching to reach a higher panel, Tech was crouched beside you working on a lower one. While reaching for a tool, his hand accidentally brushed your leg.

-Tech’s mark was on the outside of his right pinky, a small black smear that always made him check whenever he passed too closely to someone.

-He’d read up about soulmate marks before and he didn’t need to look to know what was happening. He’d read up and down about the physical sensation one should expect, but it did not prepare him for the flood of emotion he would get from knowing he’d met his soulmate. 

-You gasped and looked down, surprised in the moment before your confusion turned to wonder as your mark lightened into a brilliant yellow, like sunshine.

-It was such a joyous colour, you couldn’t help but smile, then laugh as you lowered yourself to his level and caught him in a tight hug.

-Tech hesitated for a second, the parameters of his new reality unknown, but he wrapped himself around you and surrendered anyway.

Echo

-Echo, oh Echo, my poor boy.

-Fives may have been visually recognizable from his tattoo and facial hair, but Echo had a full-ass handprint on his face.

-He got teased mercilessly by both Domino squad and the 501st boys over how he was ‘going to get slapped’ and what he would do to deserve it. 

-It was kinda nice for him that at times the Batch also got into it because it reminded him of old times.

-But jeez, it’s REALLY obvious. It could be embarrassing when walking around because everybody around you just knew.

-After what the Separatists did to him though, he found it hard to picture himself with somebody so he mostly tried to ignore it (it was hard though, yet again, it’s right there on his face).

-One day the Batch had to go and meet a contact for Cid and Echo was chosen to meet them in the seedy bar. 

-You were the contact and at first the talk began as purely business, but as you got into why you need help with this job, a softer side seemed to come out of the clone. 

-Soon you both speak softly about yourselves, the matter at hand momentarily forgotten thanks to the company.

-Being the sort of place it was, trouble started and Echo and you had to fight your way out. Echo caught an unfortunate left hook in the face though and was momentarily stunned.

-You, thinking quickly, took care of the ruffian who was gearing up for another round and dragged Echo out by his pauldron. 

-Hiding out in an alley, you checked on Echo. The job they were going to do benefited you just as much as them, but Echo had endeared himself to you during your talk before you were interrupted. 

-He was rough, but definitely sweet as well. 

-As tenderly as you could, you put your hand on his left cheek, not minding the obvious mark you had eyed (as subtle as you could) earlier and turn his face to check for damage.

-A tingling ran up your arm from your hand. Like many people, you had a standard black hand and figured you’d shake hands or give a high-five someday to meet your soulmate.

-Little did you know it would be a moment like that.

-Pulling your hand away, you could see teals and royal blues dancing into life before you, colours far too rich to ever be mistaken for a bruise. Beautiful.

-Echo chuckled a little, both at the situation, the fact that you were exactly his type, and the fact that he could almost hear the sound of credits being exchanged in the force between his lost brothers (because he didn’t get slapped and Fives totally owed Tup 15 credits and a new comb).

Hunter

-His marks were, again, on his hands like most people, but strictly relegated to his fingertips. A bit weird, but that was his life and he never dwelled on it (except on his most sleepless nights when his mind couldn’t find anything else to cling to).

-You’d been working with the Batch for a little while, tasked to help keep them in line them on missions as part of a special assignment.

-You’d developed a good working relationship with all of them, at least in your opinion, Crosshair seemed to have mellowed to your presence finally.

-Hunter was always a little different though. 

-You could talk to him about missions and reports but you found it difficult to engage him otherwise so you mostly just let it be. 

-On a mission you and the Batch were looking to put a Separatist weapons factory out of commision and everything went great and according to plan for once… except the part where you go a little caught up in it blowing up (courtesy of Wrecker). 

-After getting tossed through the air you landed awkwardly on one of your ankles, when you tried to get up white hot tongues of pain shot up your shin and gripped the ankle in question and you fell back again.

-Hunter saw and practically flew to your side to assess the damage.

-Removing your boot he panicked a little at all the black marks ringing your ankle, thinking that you had quite seriously injured yourself.

-Deftly he touched your ankle, trying to be soft with his touches to check your wounds and soon realized that all the black was not the result of your landing.

-Before his eyes the little black marks he thought were bad signs turned vermillion and crimson, the reds there bled into his fingertips to dye them in a permanent match.

-You were a little preoccupied to notice for a few minutes, the shock of your landing having rung your bell pretty good. You were still trying to find your equilibrium when you looked down to check your ankle .

-You panicked: thinking that you had either caught shrapnel or caught a compound fracture from all the red you could see.

-In your distress you felt faint and your breath picked up in pace, your physical distress pulled Hunter out of his reverie and he quickly wrapped up your ankle and half dragged, half carried you back to the Marauder. 

-Once back and the ship was safely off-planet, he knelt before you and unwrapped your ankle to get a second look at it. You were highly confused for a minute as to why the cloth had no blood on it despite clearly seeing red before.

-Hunter laughed lightly and showed you his finger tips, before pressing them into the matching marks to now check the area more thoroughly. 

-It definitely hurt, but now that you knew it wasn’t as bad as you thought (just a nasty sprain really) you began to absorb this new information.

-Honestly you weren’t mad in the slightest: Hunter was some hot stuff.

-While finishing with a more permanent compression wrapping, Hunter confessed that he’d been attracted to you for a while but just didn’t know how to approach you.

-You forgive him (how could you not when he’s looking up at you with those eyes?) and afterward you’d be hard pressed to name a time when he wasn’t in your vicinity touching you in some way or another.

💕💕💕I hope you enjoyed! Writing this reminded me of a certain scenario I saw in a prompt with this sort of soulmate AU, and now I want to write a short fic for a certain clone also in this AU. Any guesses who? Hint, they’re not one of the Batch!

pt. 1 If you’re interested

See you later!

[peachy-panic]

Strangers

Part of Fifty-Eight Days. The timeline in this is split between directly before & after the mission-gone-wrong. This is, I think, the closest to a drabble-style chapter that I’ve managed to write, but it’s also like... not short lol. Idk. 

Not much direct whump to be spoken of here, but certainly some emotional angst. 

Grayson’s eyes scanned over the specks of neon-yellow scattered throughout gate C28, doing a mental headcount for the fourth time in the last hour. The t-shirts the church had designed for the trip were a little more than tacky, but he understood now the appeal of the color. At a glance, he could count off the members of his team in the crowded space; two seventeen-year-olds hunched over an ipad, a high school senior fast asleep across three seats, a young couple that Grayson was definitely going to need to have a talk with about sharing that blanket. 

It wasn’t until he heard a soft chuckle from his co-leader beside him that he realized his efforts were not as discreet as he thought. “I’m gonna need you to relax, Gray,” Zara said. “We haven’t lost anyone yet, I promise.”

“A trend I’m not looking to change anytime soon,” he replied, counting off three college students standing in line for coffee, and a fourth sitting on the floor near the only available outlet. “And certainly not before we’ve left American soil.”

“There’s only so far they can wander off,” she said, gesturing around. “And even then, we have plenty of time to find them, since someone—not naming names—insisted we show up at the airport three-and-a-half hours before we board.”

“International travel is a big deal,” he argued, scanning for the last few on his mental checklist. “You have to allow extra time for customs and… like, I don’t know, passport stuff. Whatever.”

“Mmm. Yeah, passport stuff. For sure.”

Grayson huffed an unamused laugh, still searching for the last yellow shirt. “Weren’t you nervous your first year as group leader?”

“Co-leader,” she corrected.

“Whatever. I think I have a healthy fear of losing track of one the actual human lives that are in our care for the foreseeable future.”

“Super healthy. Have you counted me yet?” she asked, setting her bag on the ground beside her seat. “Because I’m going to go grab a bagel or something. You want anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said, but he was distracted because, where was number twelve? He counted number ten beside the window, taking pictures of the tarmac, and eleven was sitting on the ground playing peek-a-boo with someone’s toddler, but twelve…

“Hey, have you seen Elijah?”

“Who?” Zara said distractedly, fishing for something in her purse.

“Porter?” Grayson blinked at her. She blinked back. “Okay. I’ll pretend it’s not concerning that you don’t know a member of our team less than an hour before we head into another continent,” he said. “We had twelve a little bit ago and now we’re down to eleven. Elijah is missing.”

“‘Missing’ is not the word we are going with,” she said, throwing her cross-body bag over her shoulder. “It’s entirely possible that he went to the bathroom. Or, you know, to get food or coffee. Any number of things that you should probably do if you could manage to chill out for a minute.”

He ignored her, grabbing his own bag and standing. “I’m going to look for him.”

“Dude.” She threw her hands up. “You’re supposed to be watching my stuff.”

“I’ll be right back,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Your bagel’s on me, okay?”

“Fine,” she called after him. “But if he is actually in the bathroom, you owe me coffee, too.”

***

He wasn’t in the bathroom.

In fact, Grayson had to walk fourteen gates into an entirely different terminal before he spotted him, sitting alone in an empty waiting area in his bright-yellow shirt, one knee pulled up into the seat with him. He had earbuds in—the ones that came free with a new iPhone—and when Grayson let his eyes follow the trail of the wire that draped down his front and into the pocket of his black jeans, they caught on a sliver of bare skin above his waistband. He blinked hard, tearing them away.

Elijah didn’t seem to notice his presence as he approached, but as Grayson got closer he saw that he was drawing. There was a sketch pad thrown open over his knee, his fingers in a white-knuckle grip around the mechanical pencil that flew effortlessly across the page. His head nodded along to a quick beat of which Grayson could only hear the faintest buzzing through the headphones. It was hard to ignore the way a long tendril of black hair bounced rhythmically against his cheekbone with the movement.

Grayson stopped directly in front of him, clearing his throat.

“Shit.” Elijah jolted, nearly dropping his pencil and pad as he scrambled to yank his headphones out. “Shoot, I mean. Sorry.” He quickly closed the cover of his sketchbook, then looked up at Grayson, brushing the fallen hair out of his eyes. “Am I late? I swear, I was keeping an eye on the time—”

“No,” Grayson said, checking his watch even though he knew exactly what time it was. “You’re not late, I just… um? What are you doing over here?”

“Oh.” Elijah brought his foot down from the seat, then, with the faintest tint of pink glowing in his cheeks, shifted to cross one leg over the other. “It was getting sort of loud over where we were. I just… I don’t like all the noise.”

Grayson gestured to the headphones that had fallen into his lap. “Except that noise, right?” Immediate regret. He was pretty sure he outwardly winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Awesome, Gray, what a very young and cool thing to say. “Sorry,” he added immediately, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That was lame. I didn’t mean to sound like your dad.”

“I wouldn’t know what that sounds like,” Elijah said.

His face fell. “Oh.” Now it was his turn to go pink. He took his hands out of his pockets, then put them back, suddenly unsure of what to do with this lumbering thing called his body. “Uh…”

A small smile curved up to one side of Elijah’s mouth, crinkling his skin into an impossible dimple. “Sorry. I was kidding. Well… not kidding, I guess, but… you’re fine.”

“Oh,” he said again, sounding like a broken record if broken records also produced strained imitations of a nervous laughter, which was apparently something he did now. “Okay.”

“So, I should come back to the gate?” Elijah was already starting to load up his small backpack.

“Actually…” Grayson looked at his watch again. “You probably have some time if you would rather just… hang out here for a bit.” He shrugged with the air of someone who hadn’t just been taking meticulous roll call on a quarter-hourly basis. “I get not wanting to be around the noise.”

Elijah paused, looking up at him from under that glorious swoop of hair again. Grayson felt the ground shift beneath him, just a little, which was definitely just because he hadn’t eaten yet. Probably. Maybe he should get that bagel after all. “You sure?” Elijah asked. “I don’t want to be, like, a problem.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Grayson waved him off. “I’m just being paranoid, I think. It’s my first time doing this.”

“The mission?” Elijah raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, no. I’ve been going for years,” he said, a little proudly. “This is my first time leading, though.”

“Well… you managed to track me down,” Elijah said with a shrug. “So it seems like you’re doing good so far.”

“Hah. Thanks.” Grayson rubbed the back of his neck, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge, let alone give name to, the strange edge of nervous energy that existed when he spoke to this boy. “Okay. Uh. Have fun, then. Sorry for interrupting. Just… maybe try to be back at the gate in the next half-hour?” Grayson said. “You don’t want to get stuck with a crappy seat on the plane.”

Before he could turn and head back, Elijah stiffened. “Wait, what?” he asked, paling.

Grayson frowned. “This airline doesn’t do assigned seats. It’s sort of a first-come, first-serve thing when you board. Sorry, maybe I should have explained that better in the travel memo?”

Something in Elijah seemed to deflate slightly as he sat back against his seat. “So, we have to, like… pick who we sit next to?”

It took a second, but something about the look on his face made it click for Grayson. He recognized that anxiety. And of course, it made sense. It was the same reason Elijah was probably sitting half-a-mile away from the rest of the group in the airport and why Zara hadn’t even recognized his name. Elijah didn’t know anyone here. Most of the people on this trip had grown up together, going to the same church functions and Sunday school classes since they were in diapers.

And then there was Elijah, who had only started showing up at the occasional service over the past several months, popping up in the back row every other week with the woman Grayson assumed to be his mother. They kept to themselves, usually slipping in the door a few minutes before service started and sneaking out just as quickly afterward. Grayson had tried to introduce himself a few times, inviting the both of them to lunch with his usual group of church friends after service. Neither of them had ever accepted, but they were always polite. Grayson was honestly surprised when he saw Elijah’s name pop up on the mission volunteer list at the beginning of Summer.

Now here he was, neglecting the most basic leadership duty of making sure he felt included in this strange place full of strange people.

“Hey. If you don’t have a seat partner yet, maybe we can board together?” Grayson suggested, trying to make his tone sound cool and casual.

“Oh.” Elijah blinked up at him. “You don’t have to do that.”

He smiled. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

Elijah looked incredulous. “Really? I thought you would want to sit with that girl you were with,” he said, shrugging. “It kind of seemed like the two of you were like… you know.”

Grayson’s eyes widened to what was probably a comically large size. “Zara?” He laughed, probably a notch too loud for the small space they were in. “No. Oh, gosh. No. Zara and I… we’re not. Absolutely not.”

“O…kay,” Elijah said. There was that hint of a smile again. That dimple. Grayson bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Well… thanks, then.”

“Sure. No problem.” Grayson nodded, hands going swiftly back in the pockets so he didn’t do something irredeemably nerdy like wave ‘goodbye.’ Instead, he turned smoothly on his heel and walked back toward Terminal C, only stopping once at the corner to cast a brief glance back at Elijah, who had gone back to nodding his head along with his music.

It wasn’t until he got back and saw Zara’s annoyed face that he realized he had forgotten her bagel.

***

TWO MONTHS LATER

The small aircraft rumbled beneath them as Grayson counted cars on the road below. They were low enough in the air, maintaining a low cruising altitude for the short flight, that he could make them out clearly from the small window; small dots of color speeding between patches of green treetops. A red one here, a white one there. Then he would blink for a second too long, the heaviness in his eyelids trying to pull him all the way under, and they would be gone. So he would begin again, finding a new dot to follow, starting the count from zero.

The double-paned glass was cool against his forehead, though it did nothing to alleviate the constant bite of pain that throbbed behind his eyes. The roar of the engine in the tiny space didn’t help, either. Every inch of his body was vibrating, but he suspected that wasn’t completely due to the mechanics of the plane.

Beside him, Elijah was asleep or pretending to be. Maybe he was just closing his eyes. They both had been offered something at the hospital to “take the edge off” for their journey into the city. Elijah had taken it without hesitation, but Grayson declined and was now only mildly regretting it. From across the small, almost non-existent aisle that separated them, Grayson could see the tension strung tight in his body; arms folded protectively over his stomach, legs pulled up onto the seat and pressed against his chest. He looked so small inside his own frame.

He remembered the way Elijah had clutched the armrest between them on the flight from America, knuckles going white during takeoff and landing, and how he had so badly wanted to reach out and cover his hand. He wished he could do the same now. It was all they had in Myles Fucking Voss’s basement—the soft, commiserate touch of your only companion in hell—so maybe it would be enough to get them through this, too.

But he didn’t try. He kept his hands firmly in his lap.

It was like a switch had been flipped. For fifty-eight days—according to the man in uniform who escorted them to the hospital—Elijah spent every last inch of himself protecting Grayson from harm. Now it was his turn. He attached himself to Elijah’s side, tensing whenever anyone got too close, looked too long, spoke too loudly in their direction.

In transit to the medical facility in the nearest city, a woman tried to usher them into separate ambulances and Grayson raised holy hell, nearly knocking over the gurney they had prepared for him. Finally, after realizing that he was only going to cause himself further damage if they continued to deny him, they allowed him to ride alongside Elijah. Beside him on the bumpy ride over, Grayson laid two fingers on his wrist, a silent question that Elijah answered immediately by clutching his hand. He held it tightly the whole way there.

Something had changed after they got to the hospital, though. They were forced to separate long enough to be examined by the doctors and their too-cold, too fast hands, and when they finally gave into Grayson’s demands to bring him back to Elijah, another switch had been flipped. This time, the switch cut all the power. Lights out. It pulled the life out of Elijah’s eyes, dissolved the palpable wire of energy that had run between them for the past two months.

It was just… gone.

When Grayson had tried to touch his hand, Elijah flinched away from him. Grayson had taken a step back, and that was that. He hadn’t tried to touch him again. 

Maybe Grayson accepted the shift in their dynamic so easily because a part of him had just been waiting for it to happen. For weeks, really, but especially over the course of the last three days, after what had happened... he had known his connection to Elijah was on borrowed time. How could it not be? He knew that at some point, something in Elijah’s brain would click into place; he would look at Grayson, truly look at him, and see. Remember. Realize. And he would pull away.

And he would be right to.

Now it seemed that the time had come, and Grayson needed to be okay with it. This was what Elijah needed, and frankly, it was what Grayson deserved. And that meant that as much as he wanted to hold his hand on this plane, to squeeze him with a desperation that said look, we’re still here, we made it, and we’re going home, a larger part of him realized that was probably the last thing he should do. More importantly, it was the last thing Elijah would want.

So he kept counting cars, hands to himself, eyes scanning the horizon every few minutes as the city drew nearer outside his window. They would be taken to a bigger airport, with all the noise and crowds that Elijah hated, packed onto an even bigger plane, and when they touched down again, they would return to familiar soil as strangers.

Grayson counted ten more before his eyelids won the battle, and he fell asleep to the purr of the engine that carried them closer to the uncertain future that awaited them in the distance.

***

TAG LIST: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @distinctlywhumpthing @diyalogues @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @wicked-whump @scp-1296 @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

[whump-a-la-mode]

what about a villain ‘reformed’ by being given like nasea-inducing things (hsjahd i forgot the word) whenever they show violence? like they project a scene that involves violence in front of the villain and then give the thing so they become conditioned to feel sick at the mention of violence? idk :,)

This is such an interesting prompt, and honestly I wish I had time to do more with it! Conditioning is one of my favorite tropes, but I’ve only ever seen it with fear/pain, not nausea (and don’t worry I can hardly ever spell that word correctly either.) I hope I did your great prompt justice here! In a very weird way this is also pretty much what I did at work today so. Inspiration I guess??

For obvious reasons, please take care reading if you have emetophobia or are otherwise sensitive to depictions of nausea or vomiting. For this reason the story is beneath a readmore.

CW//Captivity, restraints, tied to a chair, restricted vision, IVs, very minor eye whump, nausea, vomiting, medical malpractice

“What the- What are you doing?!” Villains head turned on a broken swivel, struggling to look in every which direction at once. Yet, even if they could accomplish this goal, it would do nothing to provide their answers.

The room was dark-- they could see that. A sort of artificial darkness, nearly reminiscent of the interior of a movie theater, pausing to breathe between its shows. Yet, any attempts to gain further details were thwarted in an instant.

They couldn’t tell how many hands there were, and counting them would have been a waste of time as much as energy. Regardless, there were more than enough hands, more than enough bodies, to overpower them. To place them where they pleased.

And, in that instance, their intended location just so happened to be a chair.

The piece of blocky furniture was the only object in the whole chamber that Villain could definitively name. More than a chair, it resembled perhaps a block of metal, from which a seat had been carved.

They struggled, of course they did, lashing out with whatever limb was not at the moment held by strong grip. But, as soon as their spine was slammed into the chair’s flat back, that singular, final hope of escape was evaporated.

Those grasping and gripping hands found themselves with a new goal: Securing the thousands of straps that hung from the chair in which Villain had been forced. The leather grabbed their wrists, their arms, their ankles and legs, anchoring their chest and shoulders to rings that had been placed for that purpose.

“Let me go!” Even their screams were restrained, their lungs given nowhere near the room they needed to properly expand. “What are you-”

Villain’s voice was clamped shut alongside their jaw, teeth clacking together and sending a shot of dazed numbness through them. The arrangement was secured with an unseen apparatus, tightened around their head, holding their jaw closed, their vision restricted by dual pairs of blinders, allowing them to look nowhere but forward.

As though they had any freedom of movement remaining, the restraint device upon their head was forced back, secured to the chair’s back and allowing not a millimeter of squirming.

Their muscles strained, chest heaving, but they had been trapped within themself. Even their eyes could not close, something holding their upper lids firmly open.

Villain tried to scream, but had not the voice or breath for it.

“Good.”

A simple, single word, and the chaos ceased. With a series of nods and hums, the swarming mass of bodies cleared. Though, if any remained, such was invisible to the villain. Not even their eyes retained their freedom.

With a loud thud, the door closed, leaving Villain alone with the bare, tiled wall before them.

“Place the line.”

They inhaled sharply. Not alone. They had no indication of where the remaining people stood, but they were there. It was more than certain.

One of them drew closer- no, two, two sets of footsteps, approaching from either side. The villain’s eyes swiveled back and forth, only to be met by the restrictive blackness of the blinders, refusing to show them the slightest glance.

While one of the invisible strangers gripped their arm, the other took their head.

With the latter’s actions, their last vein of freedom was severed. A pair of heavy, over-the-ear headphones, placed over their skull and secured to the restraint that already existed there. When the other stranger acted, they could not so much as hear their footsteps.

Their sense of hearing stolen from them, Villain had no warning for the rubber tourniquet, gripping their arm, nor for the freezing alcohol wipe, or the sharp stab of pain that followed in the inside of their elbow. A whimper died in their restrained throat.

For several, agonizing, terrifying minutes (or perhaps moments), the world stilled. When it at last began to move again, it did not do so in the form of pain or touch. Instead, in their restricted vision, Villain watched as a projector screen was pulled down, until it filled every last inch of their sight.

The light that shot from the screen urged them to flinch, to close their eyes, yet they had the capability to do neither.

“A civilian managed to capture this footage, live from the scene.”

The voice sent a jolt of panic through the restrained villain, instinct insisting that their whirl around to locate its source. Yet, when logic returned to them, they realized quite quickly where the noise had come from: Their headphones.

Before them, the screen ignited to life, filling their field of vision with technicolor pixels.

A video.

The camera shook, ever so slightly, as it zoomed in on a far-off rooftop. As it did so, the two figures atop the building came into clear view.

If Villain had the capacity, they would have gasped. A friend and a rival. A villain and a hero.

The former struck first.

That was when the warmth began.

There wasn’t an ounce of comfort about it. Instead, it was a sickening heat. That exuded by the forehead of the fevered, flowing into their arm.

The villain could not feel as the sickness spread through their veins. Instead, it only made itself known when it reached their stomach.

On the screen, the villain sent a blast of ice forth, knocking their opponent to the ground with a crunch and shattering of crystals.

In their ice-cold seat, Villain’s body lurched forward, bile shooting from their stomach to their throat. Nausea struck them, all at once, twisting their intestines into balloon animals and making them dry heave until their throat felt to have been shredded by cat’s claws.

As though timed, when their desperate gagging at last ceased, so did the video. Of course, not an instant of rest was allotted. The next series of colors and sounds began in an instant.

“Thank you, everyone! It’s a delight to see you here at the 5th annual Festival of Heroes!”

The applause that burst from their headphones threatened to explode their eardrums.

This time, the warmth that flooded their veins came not with sickness, but, instead, with the soft heat of a blanket.

Beyond Villain’s restricted sight and hearing, two lab coats leaned against a wall, sipping coffee as though it were a synchronized sport.

“Do we really have to stand in here the whole time?”

“I guess, yeah. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Eh, who knows. Come on, it’s only three hours.”

“Yeah, three hours we can’t be in the lab.”

“It’s like a long break, kinda.”

“Fair enough. How often do we have to do this?”

“Seven days a week.” The lab coat shrugged. “Until expected results are achieved.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As though watching flowers flash by from the window of a roadtrip-bound vehicle, around Villain, the identical walls of the HQ sped by.

Their direction was irrelevant, as was their aim. There was one, singular thing that mattered in that moment: They were free, their limbs moving under their own control. No chair to hold them down, no blinders to restrict their eyes.

They didn’t care how long it lasted. It was a euphoric, momentary liberty, and the fact that it had happened at all was enough to keep them going.

They made it about two hundred feet. Two hundred feet of hallway, two hundred feet away from the Experimental Conditioning Center. They hardly managed to stop, retaining their balance by the slimmest of margins as they skidded to a halt.

The guard was at least twice their size. Perhaps more. There was no hesitance to their swing, nor was there any to the villain’s dodge, sending them out of the blow’s range.

And sending a shot of warm, sickly bile, directly into their stomach.

When the lab coats at last caught up to Villain, they had been reduced to shivering on their hands and knees as everything they had ever eaten, so it seemed, was expelled from their mouth in the form of green sludge.

“Do you think they’ll ever stop?”

“Dunno.”

“You’ve gotta admit, though, it’s kinda funny.”

“It gets less funny when you see it three times a week.”

[isaac-lahey-imagines]

Imagine #70 | Request #31 (Part 3/3 of Isaac Lahey x Alpha!Reader)

Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2 (might need to rewrite these two though)

Can I just say that you guys who stuck with this blog (and the Wattpad imagines) are the best? And to think I haven't posted in years and we've hit 6k+ followers when I came back?! I don't even know how you people are still here and loving the pieces I put out when I'm here cringing over the old works back in 2015!

Warnings: The usual when it comes to the Teen Wolf series, specifically the Dread Doctors' season, mentions of blood, bones breaking, drugs, needles, a few curse words, idk if this is angst? whump?

Word Count: 6k+ (it's probably the longest I've written omg)

Not much of a flashback or backstory (I'm out of words, I can't squeeze anymore juices out of my brain, my bad). As usual, this is note beta-ed and sorry for any mistakes! English isn't my first language :(

~

“No more, please,” weak cries fell on deaf ears as you were dragged down from one hall to another, the smell of disinfectant and rust overpowering your already sensitive nose and magnifying the headache that was present from when you took a beating earlier.

The sound of bare flesh skidding on the polished floor bounced off the walls as you tried to pull away and run from your captors, you did not care of the stinging sensation that radiated from the pads of your feet - the open wounds left untreated by the people who kept you in hopes that whatever was inside of you can take care of it on its own.

You were repulsed at the thought of them still being considered as people after what they have put you through - they were monsters.

“Just a little more, my dear.” One of the figures that held your arm sneered, the grip on your bicep tightening making you clench your jaw. You internally scoffed at this knowing well that it won’t be ‘just a little more’ with how long and how frequent it happened and will happen.

“She should be able to go through another round.” A voice, deeper than the feminine one from earlier, spoke up as you entered through the heavy double doors of a room - an operating theater you guessed from the setup. “Prep her.”

“Her vitals are stronger now.” The third person declared, their fingers flipping through the pages of the clipboard in their hands before glancing towards the monitor to one side of the room - an image of your anatomy on display with different colors corresponding to each system in your body.

“The less you struggle the faster this will be.” One of the doctors, the Geneticist, who dragged you to this hell hole hummed as she was met with resistance on your end while she strapped you down on the cold metal table, the leather rubbing your already raw skin.

Her patience with you was at a limit, she was close to just ending it - ending you. But they have already achieved so much with their craft that it would be such a waste of time and resource to start from square one.

“Remember,” The Pathologist warned as he walked closer to you once you were settled down. “The louder you scream, the more blood we take from you.”

The tears that fell from your eyes to the sides of your face tickled your ears at the threat, small whimpers coming from you were ignored.

“Might I remind you that the btch wakes up?” The Geneticist interrupted, irritation in her voice as she steadied your shaking right hand before inserting an IV cannula in a vein at the back of your hand and taping it in place. Looking up to her left, she reached for the device below one of the two bags that hung on the pole and unclamped its tube letting the mix of anxiolytic, hypnotic, and anticonvulsant start to flow down to you. She then turned her attention to the other bag beside it, a mix of amnestic, and myorelaxant drugs, and did the same - a near-perfect cocktail mix they specifically designed for you.

She reminded the other doctors that no matter how much benzos, relaxants, or other drug concoctions they pump in your veins, you will wake up in between operations screaming your head off while attempting to break free of the hold you are currently in. “No matter how much sedatives we put in her, her wolf is too strong-”

“It’s an animal-” The Surgeon spoke up.

“She’s an alpha, a pure one-” She argued again, almost growling at the hard-headedness of her co-doctors before she was cut off by the same person.

“An animal.” He spoke in finality. “We are humans - gods even! We are at the very top of the damned food chain.”

The room suddenly fell silent, your whimpers, the beeping of a monitor, and the hum of the machines somewhere in the room were the only things that could be heard as you started to feel the effects of the fluids injected into you.

The tension you felt from earlier began to leave your body just as your vision started getting cloudy, your eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. You didn’t notice the Pathologist holding up a syringe to the light, flicking the bubbles away with his middle finger and thumb a few times before the taste of rubber invaded your mouth with such force that hurt your lips, gums, and teeth.

The Surgeon that was above you, blocking the light for a few moments, had shoved the mouth guard in before he continued securing your head in the metal gear positioned above you. Your neck followed suit with a hard metal clamp attached to the table effectively locking you in place and soon, your whole body was completely immobilized with a loud click from the double lock clamps.

The tears continued to flow down the sides of your face as you fought the sleepiness, praying for this to just end. The dread of what is to come overwhelming you and making your body shake as much as the drugs and table’s hold on you would allow.

“I’m surprised the smart one hasn’t figured it out yet.” They exchanged small talk over your muffled screams as soon as you felt the sharp sting of a needle puncturing your skin and into your cervical spine; expelling whatever it was they created into your system for the nth time. Your ears hurt from the ringing in your head while your throat burned as the pain from the syringe radiated all over your body.

“I’m surprised her mate hasn’t.” The Geneticist replied with emphasis.

“My friends, let us not be complacent.” Their leader ended their conversation as he now concentrated on looking at the x-ray on the monitor showing the movement of the serum as it spread in you.

“We continue our routine - clean her up, wipe her to an extent and then return her. ” He added as he pushed more of the liquid in you with a press of a button by your head.

“Marcel, they will know, soon enough.” She pointed out. “She will start to have withdrawals if-”

“We won’t let that happen.”

~

Sneakers skidding on the floor as everyone seemed to scramble out of the way towards the door, eyes wide with fear looking at the figure in front of them.

“Y/N?”

“Alpha?”

Isaac watched as the massive wolf in front of them let out a deep growl with its teeth bared at the people that called her attention, the fur on her back and chest standing up making her look even bigger than she already is.

“Y/N,” Isaac knew that Deaton was the best person to handle all kinds of supernatural cases, hence, the title of Emissary to their pack. “It’s Deaton.”

Letting out another growl as you licked your lips, your tail flicked lowly behind you as your eyes darted to each person present in the room before landing back to one in particular who was too close for comfort.

“Y/N, hey,” His voice sounded softer, it almost made you feel a sense of comfort until his hand reached out to you and made you snap back and almost bite it off.

This instinctively made Scott pull Isaac back by his shirt to a safe distance, struggling a bit in his grasp as the beta did not want to be moved further away from you despite the situation.

“Isaac, move back,” Deaton warned when he noticed that the curly-haired werewolf was not backing down, a hand gesturing for him to move away from you. “She’s scared.”

“No, Deaton, she heard me. She’s there - Y/N,” Isaac argued before turning his attention back to you again, blue eyes already glassy as tears filled the rim of his eyes. “She heard me.”

Isaac tried to hold on to the hope that you were present underneath the wolf because he was sure he saw that familiar glimmer that was distinctly you.

Just as he attempted to reach out to you again with a whisper of your name on his lips, the same frequency you heard before rang in your ears making you seize up and drop to the ground.

“Agh! What is that?” Liam winced as his hands reached up to his head to cover his ears, eyes scrunching shut as he tried to will away the incessant ringing.

“What’s what?” Mason asked with confusion etched on his face as he looked at his friend then to Stiles and the others, the werewolves in the room in particular, doing the same.

Isaac did not care for the ringing he heard, witnessing you looking like you were being kicked or beaten as you struggled to stand up, the sound of pained screams, whines, and whimpers coming out of you pulled at his heart making him drop to his knees beside you.

His hands hovered over your form trying to figure out what to do while he avoided getting scratched by the large clawed paws that writhed with your body, Scott and Thor doing the same and looking over you trying to see where exactly were you hurting.

“Deaton,” Isaac called as he carefully placed his hand on your shoulder before hissing - you were burning up and the black color that coursed through his veins upon touching you wreaked of disease. “Deaton what do we do?!”

“What is that?” Thor asked in bewilderment as he saw what was happening with Isaac’s arms.

“Hold her still as much as you can,” The vet’s voice was calm despite the mess, going to one of the counters in the room and asking Stiles and Mason for assistance as he tried to collect what sounded like glass vials from the way it clinked in their hold.

Isaac heard Thor mutter an apology to his alpha as he tried to hold your hind legs down as much as he can, Scott doing the same by your torso and Isaac by your neck.

“Y/N,” Isaac continued to call for you as he tried to hold your front legs down. “It’s Isaac, baby - it’s me.”

“Hurry!” Scott called to Deaton as his eyes scrunched and a sheen of sweat already present on their foreheads, the ringing still present in their ears making it difficult for them to concentrate.

Just as Deaton returned and knelt by your side, carrying a stainless steel tray that contained what looked like multiple large syringes in it, the static ringing noise started to get louder making the supernatural beings in the room let out a pained groan and lose their grip on you.

It grew too much too quickly to bear, causing the lights and windows above your heads to shatter and engulf the room in darkness. As everyone ducked for cover, Isaac stayed by your side and tried to shield you from the onslaught of sharp glass descending on you.

It took a few moments before the ringing stopped and the feel of cold air entered the room, snapping them back to their senses as their eyes opened at the smell of blood it carried with it.

Isaac immediately sat up as he felt the cold tiled floor and not your warm body underneath him.

“Y/N,” was all he said before he sprinted out of the room, the others following behind him.

“How did she get out?” He heard Stiles behind him once they reached the outside of the clinic, Thor already looking around the perimeter of the establishment for any signs of you.

Isaac’s brain was running a hundred miles at what he saw and what had just happened inside, his lips quivering as he ran his hands through his hair and pulling at the roots in frustration. He sniffled as he tried to stop the tears from running down his cheeks with the heels of his hands. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing before turning to Scott.

“She’s not gone,” his alpha spoke, already reassuring him. “We’re going to find her.”

Just before Isaac could reply and shoot down the optimism his alpha had, a car screeched to a halt in front of them.

“Where is she?!” Lydia asked as she got out of the driver’s side, a frantic look in her bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Stiles was immediately by her side, cupping her face in his hands. But Lydia only moved out of the way and turned to Isaac and asked again.

“We don’t know where she is. She disappeared right before Deaton -” Lydia was close to tears again as she groaned in frustration.

“They can’t get her back.” She said, sounding more of a beg as her voice shook a little.

Everyone in front of her stopped what they were doing and looked at the Banshee.

“Who’s they? And where do you think Y/N is?” Stiles asked before a few seconds later, realization hit him.

~

It was on the way to Eichen House that Lydia explained everything she saw that made her break all the traffic laws implemented in Beacon Hills just to rush to the vet clinic. Isaac could not shake the feeling that Lydia, a banshee – a herald of death, had visions of you in his arms already in eternal slumber. His wolf broke more than a little as she spoke more of what she saw, only a few words registering to him – Y/N, doctors, experiment, and torture.

Everything was a flash for Isaac now, he did not even realize that they were now in a tunnel under the mental facility planning on who was going where.

But once their strategy was laid out, Isaac wasted no time in trying to locate even the faintest of your scent in the damp and moldy tunnel he was walking through. He heard Stiles and Lydia speaking on the phone in his pocket that they'd found an office that had files strewn everywhere – files that specifically contained information about you and what they have done with you so far.

“Any luck finding her?” Lydia asked as Isaac heard papers being flipped on the other end of the line.

“Nope, not yet,” Liam replied.

“No, she’s not here.” Thor was next then Scott, all claiming to find only empty rooms and dungeons.

“Isaac?” Lydia asked after not hearing from him.

“None,” he answered, sounding defeated as he rounded another corner with you nowhere in sight.

Isaac could hear collective sighs as they continued their searches, his ears already drowning out what Lydia and Stiles were doing - occasionally spitting out questions of why’s as they continued to browse through what they found in the files.

His breathing became labored as his mind started to play tricks on him the further we walked down the tunnel, the source of light slowly fading the deeper he went.

Just as he was about to turn another corner, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt as though soft fingertips touched him, making his skin crawl as he turned around quickly only to find an empty space. But as he directed his attention to the other corner of the room, the colors on his face drained.

Amidst the mess of metal chains and torn blankets, Isaac watched closely as the figure on the floor took a raspy breath, eyes moving behind closed lids, lips mumbling incoherent words.

“Y/N?” Isaac slowly approached, the other members of the pack on the other line calling for his attention and asking if they heard him call your name.

At the sound of your name being called, your body went rigid. Your eyes flew open, widening as you saw a shadowy figure in front of you moving closer.

“Please, no more.” Your voice cracked from the overuse as you begged, the sound of heavy metal clinking together echoed in the empty room as you backed away slowly. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, please!”

Your frame quivered as you continued to plead, sweat mixed with blood trickled down your body as you attempted to make yourself smaller against the corner of the cell; failing from the sudden pain on the back of your neck that restricted you to move any further away from where you were.

“Y/N, it’s Isaac. I’m not going to hurt you.” Isaac ignored the voices over the phone calling for him, asking if he really found you. “You’re safe now, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Isaac almost expected for you to cower further away from him, but you didn’t – instead, you relaxed a little as his hand landed on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder effectively pulling you into an embrace.

As Isaac felt you release a breath before melting against his chest, his scent effectively calmed you down as your wolf recognized her other half. You both stayed like that for a while before he went back to examining you and what was behind you, more so what was attached to you.

Now, more diligent in his movements, his hands hovered over what seemed to be a tube attached to the back of your neck. He shifted in his kneeling position, careful not to jostle you, before taking his phone from his pocket.

“Something’s attached to her, I need to get it off-.” He informed more to Stiles and Lydia than to others present on the call.

“Don’t!” Lydia exclaimed, panicked at what Isaac was planning. “Not yet.”

“But she’s already hurting!” Isaac’s hands returned to your shoulder and back, holding you closer - as close as the tube permitted.

“That’s connected to her spine, Isaac,” Stiles added, warning him of what might happen. “If you remove it you might do some serious damage here.”

His attention turned back to you when he heard you whimper his name.

You were testing to see if Isaac was really there with you or if you were merely hallucinating again, not sure anymore of what was real after everything that happened to you for the past few years.

“Isaac?”

“Hi,” he smiled down when he pulled away from you a little, his voice shaking as he cupped your face in his hands. “I’m here.”

Your eyes focused on his face, blinking a few times before-

“No.”

That, he did not expect.

“No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly making Isaac more confused- were you not happy or relieved to see him with you?

“You shouldn’t be here.” As you came to your senses, you moved out of his grasp and pushed him away at the same time with the little strength you have left.

“Y/N, we came here for you. What are you talking about?” Isaac was hurt, you can see it in his face the way his brows furrowed and eyes already releasing a few tears down his cheeks.

Before you could answer back, the same ringing sounded again.

“Isaac, you have to go, please.” You cried, your own tears flowing down your cheek as you tried to pry his hands that held on to your wrists away, wanting to get out of his hold on you all the while fighting the heavy ache in your body to turn against your own will.

“Isaac, you have to get out of there!” You can hear Stiles over the phone, can hear Scott and the others running to where your werewolf was located.

“I’m not leaving her,” Isaac growled at them but his eyes stayed on you.

“You have to, plea-”

“Y/N!”

A blood-curdling scream left your lips as your body started to tremble on the floor, your bones were visibly breaking and morphing under your skin against your will yet again. The jagged edges of the broken bones breaking through skin and the movement causing purple and blue patches to decorate your flesh, all the while the liquid inside the tube that was still attached to you bubbled angrily.

“Isaac!”

Turning to the person who called his name, he suddenly felt himself being tugged down to the floor as the sound of electricity zipping past them blasted onto the steel bars of a small window on the wall overcame your pained screams.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the static voice called.

“It’s the Dread Doctors.” Stiles’ voice over the phone can be heard, more papers can be heard being flipped and thrown somewhere. “They’re the ones doing this to Y/N.”

“I need to get it off of her!” Isaac spoke to the phone as he watched Thor lunge at one of the doctors in front of them, his clawed hand not holding back any hits he let out. Scott was next when another appeared much closer to where you and Isaac were.

Once your cries quieted down and your body settled down to small shakes - appeased from the onslaught of transforming against your will, Isaac’s hands hovered over the tube.

“You have to go before they hurt you.” It was barely a whisper when the words came out of your mouth, your body was getting too tired to fight it anymore.

“No, I’m not leaving without you, you know that.” Isaac spoke it with a voice that left no room for arguments as he held the tube in his hand and attempted to pull.

Isaac held back a sob as the screams you let out shattered through the noise of the grunts and punches being thrown. But before he could successfully pull it out, a force had hit him and sent him across the room hitting a wall with a loud thud.

“Near-perfect.” Another doctor, the same one who threw Isaac off of you, had appeared next to you with a device in his hand that, from the looks of it, controlled the tube that was pumping the liquid into you.

“Stop, please!” Your hands flew to the contraption attached to you just as Isaac charged at the doctor, sending them both to the ground.

Blinking away the heaviness of your eyelids, you tried to move from your position on the floor only to fall back down flat on your stomach. The wolf in you whined in panic, barking almost as she nudged you with her head to stand up - that you still had strength in you and she was there to anchor you herself.

“Give her back to me,” You can hear Isaac from across the room, the sight of him swiftly landing blow after blow at the doctor caught you off guard. The blood that ran down his temple to his eyes only added a level of intensity to his yellow glowing gaze as he gave a growl that had an unnerving timbre to it. “Now.”

On the other end of the room, you watch Scott claw at the doctor he was against before the mask fell off and revealed a face that was mottled, wrinkled, and scarred. If the true alpha was disgusted, he did not show it as he put his arms up to block the hit the doctor threw his way.

At the sound of a device dropping to the cemented floor, you felt the vibration of the tube behind you stop - the bubbles silencing as it halted its actions. This immediately cleared your head and relieved you of the pain, the fuzzy veil finally lifting as you took another deep breath and attempted to sit upright again.

Successfully sitting up with a few labored breaths accompanied by a wince, you lifted your aching arms and took hold of the tube attached behind you - the stinging feel of the needle made itself known as the small movement you made just from holding it jostled a little.

Taking a couple of ragged breaths again, trying to gather the courage and strength to pull the thing behind you when the air was suddenly knocked out of your lungs. The sensation of a sharp jab radiated from your side, the groan you let out echoed to the other end of the room making your eyes dart to where Isaac was.

“No,” you let out a gasp at the sight of your mate wide-eyed as he stared up at the doctor in front of him - the pain you felt on your side mirroring where the Surgeon’s swordcane embedded on Isaac’s side and giving it a twist for good measure. “Isaac!”

Your wolf’s painful yips turned to a low dangerous growl.

Feeling the familiar throb in your gums as your canines grew longer, you heard a banshee’s piercing scream all the way from the other wing of the Eichen house while a true alpha’s growl filled the place you were in.

“No more,” You say through clenched teeth, Thor’s knees buckling at the command in his alpha’s voice, Scott and the doctors they were up against stood in awe at the willpower you displayed.

“Perfect,” one of them said under their breath, the final push for perfection.

Finally standing tall, the tube attached to your neck earlier now clutched in your hand, you did not waste time as you took down each person who did you wrong.

Going for the closest antagonist in your life, Thor immediately scrambled out of your way as your claws wrapped around the Geneticists neck. You let your body move past her without letting go of your grip on her before using the momentum to lift the doctor up, the weight and force effectively disconnecting her head from the rest of her body before hurdling her to the Pathologist who was clambering away from Scott and the fight.

Everything was a blur to the other occupants of the room as you zipped past them and took down each one before you finally lunged at the Surgeon who finally released his grip on both his cane and on Isaac.

“My child-” he managed to say as your grip on his neck tightened, his feet barely touching the ground - your eyes glowing a dangerous color as you stared up at him.

You can finally see through the mask, raw pink flesh with stitches decorating it was what the steel mask protected. His mouth opened to say something but only a gurgled gasp came out as your other hand embedded itself in his chest and pierced through skin and muscle. You felt your wolf puffing up with pride and anger - you were their greatest creation and downfall.

Silence enveloped the room as the lead doctor took his last breath before you haphazardly threw him to the ground.

With his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed, Isaac pulled the swordcane out of him. His jaw clenching before he let out a pained groan at the feel of the weapon sliding out before leaning heavily against the brick wall while clutching his side.

Your attention was immediately drawn to your other half, managing to wipe off some of the blood on your hand before tending to him.

“Hey,” Isaac greeted as he tried to not lean all his weight to you as you wrapped your arms around his waist, careful not to touch the stab wound on his side. You felt tears playing at the edge of your lashes as you buried your face against his chest, the scent signifying home.

“Can’t really ask you if you’re okay,” You managed to say once you pulled away and looked up at him.

“You’re one to talk,” Isaac replied with a chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled, wiping the stray tear that ran down your cheek with the back of your hand as Isaac’s lips returned to your forehead for another kiss.

“Y/N, look-”

“No!”

A loud bang and the pain that came with it suddenly broke the bubble of peace you were in.

Clutching you to his chest, you saw the same confused expression that reflected on Isaac’s eyes before they darted from you to where the smell of gunpowder was coming from.

The Pathologist’s hand shook as he held the gun up, a crazed look in his eyes as he attempted to stand up from being buried under his colleague's lifeless body. He muttered incoherent words as he aimed the gun at you again.

But before he can pull the trigger, another loud thud took you all by surprise as you witnessed the man fall down flat on his face.

“Damn.” Lydia was behind him with a bloodied metal bat clutched in her hands - Stiles’ hands were up in the air, his eyes were wide as if he couldn’t believe his girl just did that.

“Well mark me down as scared and horny,” Stiles muttered under his breath, his brain replaying the moment Lydia all but took off with his metal bat and ran down the hall as fast as her heels allowed her to where they were now.

~

“Thank you, Thor.” You hugged the larger-built werewolf, his arms wrapping around you tightly but still being mindful of your current state. “But I don’t think I’m fit to be your alpha - to be the pack’s alpha anymore.”

“I will never understand how you and the others accepted me after what had happened.” Your feet dangled as you sat on a bricked fence outside of the Eichen house, the jacket from Isaac wrapped around you securely to act as a buffer against the coolness of the night.

You can hear Thor’s wolf whine at your words, his face already reflecting the sadness you both felt at what you were doing as he leaned against the fence you were sitting on.

“Alpha, please don’t discredit yourself.”

You looked up at him, not really believing his words with how much damage you’ve done to the pack - to your family.

“You are more than worthy - especially at your age.” He added, pointing out that most of the alphas out there were a hundred years older than you. “You are strong.”

“Thank you, again - for everything,” your lips quivered as you gave your best smile before glancing up to try and prevent the tears from spilling down your cheeks. The thought of leaving your pack broke your heart, they were family. But you needed to have someone better to lead and handle pack-related things -- you needed to recover.

A comfortable silence settled around the two of you before you heard Stiles and Isaac walking towards you.

“Jeep’s good to go, big guy.” Stiles said - more to Thor than you - with a tilt of his head to gesture to where they were parked as Isaac helped you to your feet and walked you towards Lydia’s car.

“You okay?” Isaac asked softly as you both settled in the back seat.

His eyes double-checked the graze on your shoulder from the bullet that hit you, his arms never leaving your side as he let you lean on him - exhaustion already catching up to you with the way your body sagged against his.

No, not really. You wanted to say as he only tugged you closer to him, the drive to Deaton being quieter save for the soft tunes the radio played.

“I will be.”

~~~

Isaac didn’t know what exactly woke him up.

Staring back at the ceiling, his ears strained to hear bed sheets rustling beside him. With the little light that passed through the curtains of the room you shared, he ran his hands down his face before turning to his bedside.

His eyes squinted when his phone awoke and flashed the time, 3:01AM it read - the phone’s screen showed a picture of the two of you together during a weekend picnic Lydia had arranged a few weeks ago. You had your eyes closed and lips smiling - a genuine smile after so long - against his neck as he had his arms wrapped around you tightly while he made a face to the camera.

Isaac stared at his phone’s lock screen a few moments longer before movement on his side and the feel of cold skin touching his leg took him out of his reverie.

Putting his phone back on the nightstand, he curled back down the covers and turned to face you. For someone who’s a warm-blooded supernatural creature themself, you sure have cold feet.

Isaac cupped your face before tucking a stray hair behind your ear, you were lying on your stomach facing him with your hands tucked just a little under your pillow. You were still in deep sleep but it did not look as peaceful as he remembered - your brows were furrowed, your lips moved as if mumbling something and an occasional hand twitch was what he observed.

“Y/N?” Isaac asked, his voice croaked from the lack of use as he leaned on his elbow and tried to coax you awake.

It didn’t take too long before Isaac finally understood what you were saying.

Please, no more...p-please.

Leaning over your side of the bed, Isaac flicked the switch to your bedside lamp open and tried to call for you again. He could now see the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, the sheets bunching up in your grasp as your knuckles turned a lighter shade from how tight your grip was.

I can’t t-take it anymore...

“Hey, baby,” Isaac gently ran his hand down your back a few times, trying not to ‘jolt’ you awake. He knew what methods to use in waking you up when things like these happen, though it took multiple trials and errors with a few bumps - more or less scratches - in the way. But god, he’d take you screaming and lashing out at him any day than this.

I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...

“Y/N, please wake up for me.”

It broke his heart more at the thought that while you were already together, even if in that span of time you were simply friends at first, they’ve already done a multitude of things to you.

“Y/N, I’m here - you’re safe.” He tried again, the soft kiss to your temple lingering a little longer in hopes that it might help - let you sense that he was present and you were not in danger anymore.

“Y/N, no one’s gonna hurt you,” He spoke softly.

Covering your clenched hand with his, it was all it took before your eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air. It took some strength and swiftness from Isaac to hold your wrists when you sat up so fast - almost bumping his chin in the process - that you almost fell out of the shared bed.

“Hey, hey,” He called for you, your eyes were dilated, blown wide and looking around frantically as if you were searching for the threat that plagued your life a year ago and giving you these night terrors that prevented you from having a good night’s sleep.

“I’m here, you’re safe.” He repeated, waiting for you and not letting go.

“Isaac,” He waited a little more before you finally settled down and realized where you were, your voice shook a little as you spoke his name; eyes glassy as you looked at the familiar blue eyes that called for you.

“I’m here.” Isaac gave a small smile as his hold on your wrist loosened before sliding his hands in yours and holding onto them on your lap - the soft yellow light from your bedside lamp gave his face a soft glow; his eyes looking more kinder that it already was.

Not again. Your lips trembled as you held back a sob, you shook your head as you stared down at your joined hands.

You felt trapped.

That was the only thing you felt and you wanted out, you wanted this to stop; you want an end to this thing happening to you - you don’t deserve the man in front of you.

Having known you for so long, Isaac can already see it on your face, he already anticipated it.

“I love you,” He spoke.

Absolutely no room for arguments, “I won’t leave you.”

You felt Isaac’s hands rest on your hips as you withdrew yours from his hold and tried to stop and wipe as many tears as you could with the heel of your hands. He let you lean your head on his shoulder, the feel of his lips placing a comforting kiss to your ear should’ve given your heart a little leap but it didn’t.

“How much longer will you tell me that before you finally get tired?” You did not mean to say it out loud, you hiccupped once your tears finally settled down with your head and heart.

“Never,” Isaac said as he pushed you away a little to look at you, cupping your face in his warm hands to make you look up at him, a glint of playfulness present. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You could only sigh and give a soft smile.

“You’re too good for me, Isaac.”

Bringing your hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles, he let them go before cupping your face again and leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose and lastly a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You deserve good things, Y/N.”

You deserve them after everything you went through. Isaac gave that smile he reserved only for you when he pulled away.

Lying back down, Isaac pulled you closer to him before pulling the covers up just below your chin.

“We’ll be okay, remember?” Isaac reminded you of the words you said to him when he asked you a year ago.

You did not miss the way he said ‘we.’ You did remember what he told you, that you were in this together - you’re it for me.

“I remember,” you answered, curling as close as you can to his side. The tip of your nose resting against the warm skin of his neck as he rest his chin on top of your head, arms tightening around you before they relaxed.

~

Feedbacks are always appreciated! Especially since I miss writing. But again, I won't be doing much writing anymore since I've somewhat lost touch with both my imagines blogs. I might just rewrite/refurbish some of my old imagines/drabbles.

Again, thank you so much for those who stuck by this imagines blog (and for Brett as well). You don't know how much I appreciate it, again, I'm sorry for not being active (read more here)

[whump-me-all-night-long]

The Jewelry Box: Diamond's Origins

So, this takes place approximately twelve years before Amber is brought to the Jewelry Box, when Diamond wasn't quite Diamond yet.

Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: power dynamics between a boss and employee, implied family abuse, misgendering (which is quickly corrected), idk what else to add, there's just a very possessive feel between Diamond and the Jeweler in this one, so let me know if I need to add anything else!

---

Shit. Dakota quickly sped through the halls, counting the numbers on the gold-embossed plaques as they went. 323. 324. 325. As they hurried, struggling not to trip over their own feet, their hands tightened on the still slightly steaming cups of coffee they held as their shoulder raised, making sure their messenger bag wouldn't slip off.

Finding room 327, Dakota used their elbow to open the door. Slipping inside, they felt every head turn towards them, a dark red flush creeping into their cheeks. They took fast, precise steps towards the head of the table, where their boss waited, a small smile on his face.

Reaching him felt like it took a million years, every eye on them. Their traitorous hands trembled and they had to remember to take deep, even breaths. Finally, though, they reached him.

Setting the coffee down, they took a step back, squeezing their own so tightly their knuckles turned white. They turned to sit down in their chair, set along the wall, behind the boardroom table, where the rest of the interns and assistants sat.

One of the men sitting close to their boss, Mr. Johnson, who had been watching them closely, cleared his throat pointedly. “Young man-” he started but Dakota’s boss interjected.

“Not a man,” he said, voice leaving no room for arguments. Dakota’s cheeks must be permanently stained red, they thought distantly, as their shaking hands grabbed their notebook and pen out of their bag. They slouched down in their chair, letting their wavy, white hair fall in front of their face. They also wondered if it would be possible for them to sink into the ground and never reappear.

The other man frowned, before trying to begin again. “Young lady-” he once again started before their boss sighed, looking up from the papers in front of him.

“They’re not a lady either, Johnson,” he said with a pointed look. “Now, are we going to sit here and discuss my assistant’s gender identity or can we proceed with the meeting?”

As the rest of the people gathered at the table began speaking, each trying to raise a different issue, claiming it should be first on the agenda, Dakota’s boss leaned back in his swivel chair, meeting their eyes with a kind smile.

“Thank you for the coffee, darling,” he said, quiet enough that only Dakota could hear. “You truly are a lifesaver.” They gave him a tight smile, ready to focus on taking notes, distracting themself so they didn’t have to think about what that man had said. He stared at them for another moment before adding, “Don’t let what Johnson said get to you. He’s a grade A asshole.”

A real smile dawned on Dakota’s face. “I know.. but, thank you, Mr. Spencer,” they murmured back.

Mr. Spencer smiled at them for another moment before turning around and calling the meeting to order.

-

After the meeting, Dakota stayed in their seat, watching as the rest of the people trickled out, chatting and scheming, until it was only them and Mr. Spencer left.

With a heavy sigh, Mr. Spencer turned around in their chair, leaning back and surveying Dakota with weary eyes. “Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dakota glanced back over their pages of notes, written in small, cramped handwriting. “You were right,” they said with a timid smile. “Norris and Hernandez are definitely planning something. The two couldn't stop looking at each other the entire time, especially whenever someone brought up the budget for next year. According to their history, they'll most likely try to get more funding for the hands-on experience with the, the pets.”

Dakota cleared their throat, glancing up at Mr. Spencer. He was staring at them with a smile on his face, eyes twinkling. He cleared his throat. “Darling, you're quite miraculous, you know that, right? I've never seen someone able to read people so naturally and precisely.”

Dakota felt their ears heating and smiled, looking down. “Th-thank you, sir,” they replied, fiddling with the sleeve of their sweater, frowning slightly as they noticed a fraying edge.

Mr. Spencer noticed their gaze and stood, offering them a hand. “Come, I have something for you in my office.”

Taking his hand without hesitation, Dakota stood, grabbing their bag and following him out.

-

Back in his office, Dakota glanced around, feeling awkward being inside the neatly organized area, despite going in there several times a day. They were much more used to their desk, placed in the antechamber, where they could putter around all day. They also did tend to spend more time walking around the enormous building, delivering this and picking that up, than anything else.

They watched Mr. Spencer pull out a large box from beneath his desk. Setting it on top of his desk, he looked up at Dakota.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Now, Dakota, I want you to tell me if I'm crossing a line here. I, well, I've just noticed that you haven't exactly had very many resources available to you right now, due to your family situation.” Dakota looked down, shame burning through them.

Suddenly, Mr. Spencer was in front of them, lifting their head with a finger. “It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he said in a gentle voice. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a supportive family. I'm glad you were able to get out while you could. However, I do know that that's caused lots of stress on you. So I thought this might help.”

He stepped back, gesturing to the box. Nervously, Dakota stepped up to the desk, slowly taking the lid off. Inside were clothes, fashionable and business-like, neatly folded. They jerked their head up, staring at Mr. Spencer in shock. “I- I couldn't,” they stuttered. “This, this is too much.”

He smiled at them, placing a reassuring hand on their back. “You can,” he replied. “And if it's a matter of price, you can just consider it a business expense. What kind of businessman would I be, if my assistant wore the same few outfits? You know appearance is everything here.”

Dakota nodded, giving them a bigger smile. “Thank you, then,” they conceded, picking up the box.

Mr. Spencer smiled back, settling back down at his desk. “You're very welcome, darling. Just make sure you have your full report from the meeting drawn up and given to me tomorrow morning.”

Dakota nodded, slipping out of the room and back to their desk. Setting the box down, they woke up their computer and pulled out their notebook. They quickly set to work on the report, knowing they'd have it done by the end of the day. Mr. Spencer knew it too.

-

A few hours later, back in their shoddy one-room apartment, Dakota set the box of clothes down at their small kitchen/dining table, opening it up and beginning to sort through the clothes.

Their eyes widened as they took in each article. These were… definitely not what they were used to. The clothing was slim-fitting, all silks and cashmeres, tasteful and expensive. Nothing like the darker, oversized, nice sweaters they typically wore.

But, well, Mr. Spencer had been so kind to pick these clothes out for them, and they did need more high-end, business-appropriate clothes. And now that they looked at them, they couldn't help but admire them, picturing themself in them, a smile creeping onto their face.

-

The next day, Mr. Spencer sat in his office, leaning back, reading through the thorough report his darling Dakota had placed on his desk before leaving last night. As always, it was in-depth and full of all the wonderful little tidbits they'd picked up on that nobody - not even himself - had noticed.

At a knock, he looked up, beginning to smile when he saw Dakota standing in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. They were wearing one of the outfits he'd picked out for them: a form-fitting, silky, silver shirt worn atop slim black pants.

“Good morning, sir,” they said in greeting, stepping inside and placing the coffee on his desk. “I was just dropping off your coffee and making sure you got my report.”

He smiled, nodding and taking a sip of the steaming drink. Perfectly done, as it always was when his darling made it. “Yes, I was just going over it. It's very helpful, thank you.”

Dakota nodded, almost glowing at the praise, before stepping back and turning to leave when he added, “And might I add, you look really good, Dakota. I'm glad you liked the clothes.” They blushed and left with another incline of their head.

Mr. Spencer turned back to the report, glancing at his desktop, where a new proposal was drawn up. At the top he'd written The Jewelry Box. And he had just the perfect idea for the first Jewel.