#no one is suffering more even though its his own fault rip

[vanityangel]

❝GOOD LUCK!❞

[dixbolik-lovers]

I adore the Sacrifice AU, could I have some headcanons with the Sakamaki’s having reader slowly yet brutally de-fang them as punishment after they bite Reader when she tried to pet them? Reader told them that they would suffer a fate worse then death if they dared try to fight back, but sometimes pets need a little discipline to stay in line. (Even if that discipline is tying up a once prideful vampire and sadistically mutilating him of the last bit of lineage he has left)

If you really wanna go all dark & twisty, you can also make some headcanons of Reader force feeding them an aphrodisiac shortly after she does it, where she then makes them beg for relief (both from the sexual and the physical pain in their body) that she will never give them <3

Shuu

That's one way to get him awake and moving. When Shuu realizes that you actually intend to rip his fangs out, he's plenty alert, for once— and what starts as trying to call your bluff ends in an actual physical struggle. While the fang removal is happening, he's going down a bad mental spiral, and the aftermath more or less breaks him. Feeling so utterly helpless and broken doesn't do his already depressed emotional state any favors, after all.

Reiji

The only thing he can think to do is try to talk his way out of what you plan to do... and it's not working. As it sinks in that he's not going to be able to dissuade you, Reiji slips into a true panic. He'll hold onto his dignity for as long as possible, but by the time you're holding his jaw open, even he's reduced to tears and incoherent pleading. And while he handles the pain well enough, he's going to internalize the punishment as being completely his fault.

Ayato

He'll be a brat until the very end, somehow not recognizing that you're really going to do it. And Ayato is the type to struggle. Even when he should know better, his only mental defense is pretending like he somehow still has an advantage over you. It doesn't work. He's sobbing hysterically by the time you're done with his fangs— and the panic attack that follows is messy. You've struck true fear into him this way; the lesson will stick around.

Kanato

Have fun with the screaming. Once he realizes what you're doing, Kanato isn't quiet about it. Knowing there's no way to stop you, he's quickly slipping into hysterics— sobbing and screeching threats about what he'll do to you in return. None of it works, of course, and you rip out his fangs anyway, right after he's made himself sick from his fit. The pain lasts for what feels like forever afterward, and he's terrified of you from that point on.

Laito

The moment it sinks in that he won't be able to manipulate his way out of this one, Laito is panicking. He's not used to having such little control in a situation, and once again being violated in a way that he can do nothing to stop only sends him spiraling further. He'll sob and struggle and beg you not to do it— and in the process, some highly repressed fears are likely to come spilling out. The incident breaks him a little... or a lot.

Subaru

Despite knowing it won't do him any good at all, Subaru struggles. He can't help it— he's panicking, and his body lashes out all on its own in the vain hope that what you're threatening won't happen. Of course, it doesn't work. His fangs come out anyway, and he's left with nothing to do but lie there, clutching his mouth, and trying to hold back his sobs. At the very least, he doesn't want to look any more pathetic in front of you after this.

Kino

Famous for pushing his limits, Kino only realizes how much trouble he's in when you go for the pliers. At that point, his usual smartass behavior vanishes— he's begging in no time, laughing nervously as he promises to listen to you next time, to be better, to do anything so long as you don't go through with this. He thrashes and struggles when you go for his fangs anyway, though, and will curl up and cry for a long while in the aftermath.

[fox0war]

And one more story! But for a different character! The poor unfortunate Demi-God of pain...

CONTENT WARNING: Depicts death of a fictional child, it isn't SUPER detailed but it is gory, swerve outta hear if you don't wanna see that <3

Memories in Close Proximity

-------

It wasn't fair to call what he was doing resting, it barely gave him energy, and the dreams never seemed to come forth. Neither was it fair to call it reminiscing, as despite what he saw being memories, he rarely saw a single speck of anything positive. It was perhaps best called...recounting. Recounting times long past. His life and its pain even before demi-godhood had gripped him so violently in its accursed claws. Tonight as he shut his eyes, he saw blood. That in of itself wasn't an odd sight for him, neither then or now, but whose blood it was made it a thousand times worse. He was young when it happened, both of them were, much too young. They were just children, it wasn't fair. It wasn't the slightest bit fair. That's what his mind spoke as he saw the black blood that splattered the alley walls, that coated his brother's fur. His sibling's flesh torn open and exposed to the air, teeth ripped from his chest and eyes slashed shut, the attacker clearly a krenchi as clarified by just how the marks formed on him. The most horrifying part though was that his brother was still breathing. His blood was still pumping, flowing through and out of him. Still suffering.

His brother tried weakly to escape when he heard Mi'ser I'os's steps, the blinded giglin feared it was his attacker again. But Mi'ser spoke up to comfort him, he couldn't remember what he said anymore, it was honestly a wonder he remembered any of this anymore. But the memory continued regardless of the parts Mi'ser I'os chose to focus on. Moving on to when he scooped his brother into his arms and moved deeper into the alleyway. Hiding him and his brother from the prying eyes of those who would sooner finish the job than help. The blood smearing on his own fur as he tried to help his brother Speaking softly in their native tongue, passed from their great grandparents, to their grandparents, to their mother and father, to them. Trying to keep his voice going even as tears tightened his throat so stranglingly. He felt his throat, in the present time tighten too. His tears strangling him once more. His own mind torturing him worse than that god ever could. Eventually, he felt his brother's body go cold, and he picked him up gently with his weak child arms, scrambling up a wall so he could be hidden from sight as he carried his once-sibling home. His mother and father needed to know after all, and his body deserved the respect of being buried with the rest of his siblings.

A giglin was not a usual fit for an only child, but it was no fault of his parents. After losing so many you can't blame them for refusing to drag more into the world. Both for the sakes of the children they'd bring in, and for themselves. It wasn't a kind world for anything that wasn't the typical, and the stars certainly didn't shine for them. They never would, would they? He got up not long after, grabbing a cup of water using a cup barely a decade or two younger than him, and downing it to finally free his tightened throat. And then he left his small hutch, waiting outside for any visitors, just like every other day. Letting the memories fade to the back of his head, and just focusing on how nice the day was that day. The snow being the most gentle thing he had seen in awhile. Good, he needed something nice. It wouldn't be long until that torturous god came around anyway. Not like he could do anything worse than tearing him apart. Oh well.

[katb357]

Falling for Hogan’s Heroes

25. Tears: The Secret

Peter was shivering. He was also burning up. Andrew wrapped the blanket around him and stroked his hair the way his own mom used to do when he was sick as a little kid. “We’re gonna get you back home, Newkirk,” he murmured. Well… not home, but as close as they had to it these days anyway. He saw the bruise darkening on the side of Newkirk’s face. That one was pretty new, he thought. There were other older bruises there. He’d been in Gestapo hands for at least a few days before the crew was able to get him out. Clearly, they had not been kind. “Damn, Peter. How’d you get yourself into that mess anyhow?” he breathed out.

“Gotta smoke, mate?” Peter’s eyes were glassy, but somehow they were flat and lifeless as well. Interrogations will do that to a man.

“Sure.” Wilson would have his ass for it, but Carter wasn’t about to deny him any comfort he could give. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and gave one to Peter. Then he offered a light.

Hogan glanced back, trying not to stare as Andrew had to hold the cigarette in order for Peter to take a drag. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t hold it himself. Hogan’s gut clenched as he remembered the fact that this whole thing was his fault. Newkirk hadn’t wanted to go on the mission. Hogan had volunteered him to go. And now look at him. Another piece of Hogan’s soul began to tear away.

When they got close to the Stalag and had to ditch the car, Andrew helped Peter out. He kept an arm around him. Kinch got hold of him on the other side, and together they helped him to the stump entrance and guided him down the ladder. Then Andrew ran to fetch Wilson. His friend needed help. He didn’t look at the colonel when he got back with their medic. Part of him blamed Hogan for the shape Peter was in, even though he knew their leader didn’t really have a choice. Someone had to go, and Peter was the best man for the job. It wasn’t Hogan’s fault he got captured. That’s just how it happened sometimes. Still, Andrew was a little resentful. He had volunteered to go. He would rather be the one hurt than see his friend hurting.

Hogan told Wilson to come and report to him in his office when he was done with Newkirk. He headed straight upstairs at that point. Guilt was tearing him apart and he couldn’t let the men see him fall apart. He had a ritual he followed at times like these, when his men were hurt, or sick, that seemed to help some, and he intended to follow it now.

When Hogan reached his quarters, he shut the door and opened his footlocker. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and a shot glass. He then removed a box from the bottom of the locker and opened it. He pulled out a rather tattered old uniform shirt… the one he had been shot down in. It was definitely worse for the wear, not because he had worn it out, but because of his ritual. Hogan first poured a shot of scotch, and then located an untorn spot on the shirt. He raised the glass and made a toast. “To you Newkirk. You gave a piece of your soul to those bastards.” He downed the shot, then ripped a tear in the shirt. “And here’s one more tear in my soul no one gets to see.”

There was a tear for every illness or injury his men had suffered since he had taken command of this operation. None of them were very big, but they were a way for him to vent a little of his guilt and anger. Hogan took a deep breath, and then put the shirt away. He laid the bottle back in its place and shut and locked the footlocker. Wilson would be coming soon to report on Newkirk and he needed to be ready… to be strong and confident. To be the fearless leader. And the shirt with the tears would stay his hidden secret until they all went home one day.

The End

[antvnger]

★

((Sad headcanon…Hhmm let’s see.

((Maggie knows Scott very well, and she should since they had been such good friends since they first met in high school. And then to date during college and then to go from graduation gown to wedding gown, how could she not know him so well?

((So when he came home freshly fired from VistaCorp and fuming over the how they treated him and more importantly how they’re stealing from customers, she could see his gears turning fast. She was more than aware of his track record for burglary. VistaCorp wasn’t the first to experience Scott Lang’s Robin Hood tactics, but it would be the first to witness him get caught for it.

((But she begged him not to do anything vigilante style. She begged and pleaded not to try anything. Leave the information with the police and stay out of trouble for his family. For his daughter.

((But Scott being Scott, he couldn’t just let it go. He knew he could do something about it. He knew he could make it right. He’d done it before. But he pushed his luck a little too much with the Bentley and I low key think he forgot his ADHD meds that day, and Scott Lang got caught.

((And Maggie is fuming. She’s hurt beyond her own comprehension. Despite her pleas, he did exactly what she asked him not to do, and now she and Cassie would suffer and pay a price for his actions. A price neither deserved to pay.

((It was easier to be angry than to be hurt. Anger was a buffer and a defense mechanism to protect her broken heart. Her home was ripped apart from the inside. She felt betrayed. Her daughter didn’t understand why her daddy wasn’t coming home, and she hated how no amount of consoling could soothe Cassie’s aches. She hated how the house seemed quieter and emptier and darker. She hated how his pillow still smelled of him even though part of her wanted to hug the pillow and sob her eyes out into it. Pushing the pillow away was easier than crying into it.

((Anger said it would be easier to cut ties and start fresh with someone who would not do this to her. Anger said it would be harder to wait and why wait for a man like that? Her heart knew she was painting Scott to be a villain when he wasn’t one, but anger made it easy to ignore the truth. She believed for her sake and for Cassie’s sake, moving on and away from Scott was what was best.

((And poor Scott, scared and lonely and aching for his wife and daughter and unable to think about anyone else besides them, is relieved when he gets his first visitor in prison. It’s his family. He knows it is. They finally came to see him. He gets to see his daughter and wife again at last. Finally, a little bit of comfort and fuel to help him push forward and remember who’s waiting for him on the other side.

((But he’s confused when he’s led to a businessman in an expensive suit. His heart drops to his shoes and shatters into pieces when the lawyer hands him the divorce papers. He almost loses his composure when the lawyer explains how little he’ll be able to see Cassie until he can jump through hoops that right now are impossible to reach never mind jump through.

((He could fight this. He could fight for his family, but he’s feeling so low, he doesn’t see a point in it. Maggie’s made her true feelings clear to him…and it’s all his fault.

((It’s easier to run away than to be hurt. It’s easier to lie and say the marriage was never working anyway. It’s easier to say there were more unhappy moments than not. It’s easier to make himself think maybe his incarceration sped up the inevitable. It’s easier to say the only good thing out of the marriage is Cassie. Its easier to lie to himself as he signs the papers with a trembling hand.

((Over time, his defensive attitude will paint Maggie as the bad guy keeping him from his daughter when he was just trying to do the right thing. But for now, he returns to his cell, climbs onto his bunk, buries his face in his pillow, and sobs.

((It’ll be years before either of them come to terms about what happened and be on good terms again. It’ll be years before they both agree they’re better off as friends anyway. But for now, they’re doing what they can to keep their hurt at bay by running and hiding from it and painting each other as bad guys in their own stories.))

Headcanon Meme

[revclver-jesus]

"I can cut it, you know."

The words are offered amidst a heated moment, but Shin's face is placid. He is entirely, utterly honest. The truth is, Shin hates having to fight. He hates it, but does so only because to not would be to leave his friends at risk. Better, for Shin, to fight in defence than to fight for the sake of harm.

But what if it could be avoided altogether?

"Your Persona. And I don't mean cut it to hurt you. I mean, I can cut it away. I can excise it from you, send it back to... To wherever Personae come from."

Abel shimmers into view behind Shin. In hand, that wicked longsword. His eyes, glowing red, are locked onto Takaya without fault. But he does not move, nor does he wield that sword threateningly. It is merely an extension of him, going where he goes, appearing where he appears.

"If we do... It won't be able to hurt you, to torment you. It doesn't undo what's been done to you, it isn't the sort of... Peace, I guess, that you want, but at least you..."

He frowns. He's sure this gamble will probably end in more hurt and bloodshed. He doesn't know that Strega wants to be freed from their nightmares. Maybe they see this as part of their mission, the suffering. He doesn't, can't, understand that.

Abel's sword is lifted, pointing at a space slightly above and behind Takaya. And, in the same motion, Shin's arm is raised, hand outstretched, imploringly.

"We can end it. Here, now."

✞  ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ He showed no fear all night, smiled at the threat of a blade, at pain, at simply the possibility he may not escape this fight and have to face death-- so be it! But that? Choice, bane of the inverted Fortune arcana, nearly paralyzed him with fear.

What they speak to is a child that has not had a choice for as far as his memories can go. Acceptance of this fact has been a battle hard fought, but he's risen again, wiser, able to guide others the same. He has people who put their faith in him, people he intends on dying beside. What is he without this cross he bears? Just some sick and abandoned orphan? No future, no history? Choice-- no, choice is an illusion. His only chance for a meaningful death is decided.

Golden eyes widen and tense as he staggers back from them, and then further still as the persona appears, and he was silent in his shock. He could nearly feel his own persona rearing back at the threat, pulling at the blood those doctors trapped this entity in, something mystifying reduced to mere tainted medicine in his veins. They were both sick, sick and sewn together like dying twins in his soul, and like dying things do they clung to each other and glared at what tried to separate them. How dare they offer to take this pain away-- don't they know he IS the pain?

❝ You understand... nothing, don't you? ❞ Its so frustrating. Enough to make the anger rise above the fear and give him the venom to seethe out the words. But his composure was broken, his voice shook. Was it fear or insanity seeping in? ❝ Is that your idea of salvation? Damning me to a meaningless existence, a powerless one? Helpless to stop the end of the Dark Hour? Do you really think I would choose to live in the mundane world-- a world I have never even known? ❞ He begins to strain to talk, curling in as though in pain, and soon the source of that pain was evident as he's forced to use his one free hand to pressure his head, that unnaturally strong summoning release already creating shockwaves through the air. He wasn't summoning willingly, it was coming out on its own.

❝ Hundreds... of children... died before my success! I did not walk through the valley of death just to have my gift ripped away from me! ❞ His persona tears its way out of him, despite how he tried to keep it contained, shattering into existence and lowering to weakly wrap its arms around his shoulder, as though its massive black wingspan belonged to the false prophet himself. Immediately he aims his gun.

❝ Kill me! Martyr me where I stand! But leave me with severed wings and I shall dedicate what remains of my life to riddling your skull with bullets! ❞

[theautisticcentre]

ROOMIE BOYFRIEND

Mathew looked up to the sky, seeing the sun setting. His thoughts were full of concern for the Blight siblings. More specifically, Edric. Ever since Ameila exposed her parents' abuse and her identity as Sapphire, the world had lost its mind. Odalia and Alador were seen as monsters, and anything and everything to do with Blight Industries was ripped down and burnt to the ground.

As Mathew thought on, and gently descended into his room, he made his way downstairs and started to head to the farm he had built in, when he heard a knock on the door. He cautiously went to open it, sword hilt in one hand.

"...Edric?"

Edric, immediately after Mathew finished his question, hugged his boyfriend tightly. Having learnt weeks ago what Odalia did to Mathew, his hatred for her grew larger and larger. And now, with her abuse exposed, he saw fit to flee home. He knew where Mathew lived in the woods, and, thanks to Mathew telling him, he also knew how to bypass the cloaking spe around his home.

"Can I...stay here?" Mathew was shocked by the question at first, though that shock soon turned to excitement, before he answered, "Of course, baby. Here, come in." With that, he gestured for Edric to enter the home, which he did, sitting down on the couch, before Mathew asked, "Hey, I'm about to grab some crops for dinner. What you want?" Edric thought for a second, before answering, "I'd love some baked bread. With some carrots, if you don't mind." Mathew nodded, and left for his farm.

Once he grabbed what was growing well, he went for the kitchen and got to work. While he did, he asked Edric, "So, how's your family holding up?" Edric looked to the floor and replied, "Eh...we're managing. Mom and dad are getting divorced. Seems like dad finally wants to be a dad. Ameila's moved out to live with Natalie. And me and Emira are helping out Amity however we can." Mathew hummed in response.

"Well, glad to hear things are improving, even if a little." Edric nodded, before asking, "...Is Ameila's condition my fault?" Mathew turned to Edric in confusion. "She was going through all of this pain and suffering, and Amity, Emira and I did basically nothing to help. She was left to face it all alone. I...She did so much for us, and we did practically nothing for her." Once Mathew saw a tear fall from Edric's face, he immediately stopped making the food, and went to hug Edric, before speaking himself.

"Hey, peppermint? You knew nothing of what she was going through. I know that if you and your siblings had even the faintest clue, you'd all have rushed to help her. She chose not to tell you because she felt that it was the best way to keep you three safe from what she was doing. Trust me, you did nothing wrong. And neither did she. You were both in a rough spot thanks to your parents, and handled it in your own ways. And you did do something for her...You stayed happy. And that's what she was fighting for."

Edric's single tear turn into a stream as Mathew spoke, which ended with him hugging his boyfriend tightly, allowing his emotions to spill out, as he cried, "Thank you...I love you so much, birdie...". Mathew simply allowed him to cry, and whispered, "I love you, too, peppermint." After a 5 minute hug, they gently parted, allowing Mathew to continue on their food.

Later on, once their meals were done and they were devouring while watching some movie, they both felt their eyes grow heavy, and their bodies grow more relaxed. Sensing they would both soon become too tired to move, both Mathew and Edric quickly snuggled up to each other, and shared one last kiss, and a final, "I love you," before they both drifted off to sleep.

THE END.

[writer-akihiko]

Hello! Can I ask a headcanon between dorm leaders with S/o that somehow getting hypnotized by their stalker (ex: like the sea witch hypnotize prince erik). I want to see how they gonna save her. Thank you~ Have a nice day/night!

Dorm Leaders + Hypnotised!MC

I took inspo from your sea witch and Prince Erik example, so there's the notion of a marriage proposal between you and the dorm leader

Warning: Yandere tones, Poisoning, Mentions of Torture but not explicit

One day, on the day of your awaited date, your lover stood there and wondered why you were late. He had prepared everything for this day because today, he held a box containing a singular ring, as you had described it as the way most people in your world proposed marriage.

What he didn't expect was for his lover to look at him with utter fear as he opened your room door...

Malleus Draconia

He didn't comprehend that you were hypnotised, since he was focused on the fact that you were crying at him in fear, muttering about a monster arriving

He doesn't know what to do, he gets on his knees, begging you to look at him

He's quick to get angry at your reluctance, forcing you to look up at him

It was then he noticed a difference of your eye colour. It was a shade duller than its original colour... Which he gathered were traces of hypnotism magic

His anger vanished, reserving it for the caster of the spell

It didn't take him long to dissipate the magic. He was a powerful magician after all

However, his methods rendered you tired and sleepy. He caught you, holding your much smaller body against his own as his eyes softened at your sleeping form

"Lilia, call for Vice Dorm Leader Viper," He said, cradling you against his chest. He pressed his lips on your forehead, wishing well dreams to you. "The caster is one of his students. No doubt, the caster learned from Viper to get to YN..."

"Bring him to me alive. He'll burn for his crimes."

Riddle Rosehearts

He's immediately angry at the situation, which doesn't help your fear

Trey snaps him out of his rage, but it was futile once you yelled "Stay away from me!" To Riddle. He'd be lying if his heart didn't break a little

You were in hysterics, and Riddle had no choice but to use his magic on you. Even if wasn't sealing away any magic, it would restrain you enough for him to inspect you

Riddle's magic prowess wasn't enough to identify the exact magic, but he told Trey to take notes of anyone could use controlling magic

Seeing that you weren't hostile around Ace and Deuce, you were left in their care

On the other hand... Cater and Trey found the caster. With Riddle's unique magic, it broke the spell

Riddle was more than angry at the caster, but your safety was first. He had to deal with the caster in a more... secretive way

"YN, oh YN..." He held you close, although he kept you in the hug since he didn't want you to see his tears. "You're back..."

"The person who did this to you will face punishment for breaking my rules..."

Kalim Al-Asim

He panics at first, but then he turns to Jamil, begging him to take a look at you since something was clearly wrong with you

When you called him scary and a monster, he was in denial, muttering about how you were sick, and just needed rest

He wasn't rational about it, trying to figure out why you were sick through normal medicine but it wasn't working

He was desperate, causing you to run away from him. Under your hypnotism, you ended up in the arms of your stalker

Jamil was quick to report your disappearance, and Kalim did not wait for a single second to rescue you

Kalim's connections made it easy to find a person that was able to undo the spell on you, although you had to undergo intense recovery as well

Kalim rubbed your tired hand, marvelling at the fact that you accepted his proposal. It was a desperate one, not as he imagined but happy tears fell at your sentiment. "YN... you don't have to apologise for the mean things you said. I know it's not you..."

"The culprit will be punished severely! He harmed the future bride of the Al-Asim family after all!"

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew it was the influence of magic when Jade reported the oddity to him. He knew, and yet...

It hurt. It hurt when you said those hurtful words to him. In his heart, he forgave you but he was focused on saving his future wife

Times like this, he was glad he chose to invest in those magical orbs that spied on you in secret

Floyd was a winning key. The caster was no match for him, although Floyd had to be lightly told off to not immediately kill on-site

Once the caster was brought, it was a matter of getting the teachers to remove the spell. Azul, for as much as he wanted to do it himself, wanted you to be safe. It was better to be safe than sorry

Oh, the joy he had having to punish the caster since the student was also part of the Octavinelle dorm...

You were well-rested, although you were still comforting your soon-to-be husband Azul as he still cries over your well-being. "YN... You're safe and that's all that matters..."

"That student is already suffering at the hands of the twins anyway... So don't concern yourself with him."

Idia Shroud

Initially, Idia thought you stood him up. If it weren't for Ortho, he wouldn't have searched for you

He wished he didn't, because the words you said stung. He kept his tears in though. It wasn't your fault nor the right time

He knew what was going on. He didn't have the latest technology spying on you for nothing

He had ignored those devices since he was so nervous about his proposal, but he wished he hadn't

Even though Idia wasn't the strongest magic user, he knew his way around magicians, particularly his influence around the other stronger students like Malleus

The spell was removed, and you were safe. Idia ignored any further punishments to the caster, since it was a later problem...

Idia held his breath as you got up, steadying yourself from your recovery. "YN... I'm sorry that I wasn't fast enough... Thank you for trusting me..."

"Oh? The caster? He's burning in the River Styx. Where people like him belong..."

Leona Kingscholar

He never planned this to happen! The one thing he puts effort into and it's ruined by some lowlife!

He doesn't care about the insults you say. It filters out. He's used to it. Somehow... your insults linger a little longer than the ones from others...

He doesn't deal with you. He needs to find the person who did this and he needs to find them NOW

If it means turning them to sand, so be it. He wanted you back, no. He needed you back

With Jack's sense of smell, it doesn't take long for him to command the entire beastmen gang under him to find the caster

The caster ends up in his claws, primed for him to rip him to shreds... The spell reversal was quick, and Leona held you close to him. It was tempting to slip the ring he got onto your finger...

He kept the ring next to you, as well as a photo of you both. Once you woke up, he'd say all he meant to say that night. "YN... I'm gonna have to leave your side for a while."

"There's prey I have to hunt."

Vil Schoenheit

He felt like screaming and pulling his hair out when he found you in such a state. No... No, he, as a queen, must keep his composure

He turned away before any of those hurtful words reached his ears. He couldn't bear it if he heard such things from you

He called for Rook immediately, trusting his abilities to trace back your doings before the spell took place

Vil, on the other hand, took up his magic pen to conjure up a poison much more lethal than the one he submitted to become the dorm leader...

Epel, he had to admit, had the intimidation that caused the caster to reverse his spell. Vil spent time pampering you, even when you were recovering... It was as if he was your Prince curing you from the evil curse of the apple...

He brushed away your hair, pouring you a new cup of tea. You were quite weary after the whole ordeal, but you couldn't stop looking at the twinkling ring on your finger. "I'm glad it suits your taste, my sweet potato..."

"If I'm not mistaken, that rotten stalker should be rotting... on the outside too, with that new poison I made..."

[shorkbrian]

He’d be so freaking mean too omg

like all “Shut the fuck up, did I say you could fucking speak?” spitting at you when you’re panicking, blubbering out anything to get him to stop.

Originally he was just going to spank you until your skin had broken, until there were raw welts across your ass and thighs, bruised and sensitive to the slightest breeze. Levi would want you to remember and suffer with the pain for as long as he had to suffer and endure the pain of almost loosing you. The hurt of knowing that you’re still trying to run, still trying to get away from him.

But now he knows that the pain of a few smacks won’t be enough to convey the ache you put his heart through. The ripping, tearing, long-lasting suffering afflicting him whenever you show your disdain for him. He masks it with anger, with the poorly restrained attitude of a trainer correcting its pupil, but the hurt is still there.

Levi knows it’s all wrong, everything that he does to you. But in a twisted, fucked up way, you deserve it. Deserve it for catching his eye, and being nice to him even when he was a bitch (which was always), for letting things progress to this point - a relationship filled with suffering and heartache.

It’s all your fault.

That’s what he tells you when the man hisses at you to shut up again, delivering another resounding smack to your rear to convey the seriousness of his point.

“Brat. What did you think you’d gain from running? Huh?”

He’s so aggressive, pulling your hair, smacking you around, his hands stinging with the abuse he’s littering across your skin. When you attempt to garble out another plea for mercy, for forgiveness, Levi grabs your face in one hand and pinches, pulling you towards himself with a cruel expression. “You don’t get to ask for an ounce of goddamn mercy. I am being merciful, you stupid little shitstain.”

The sheets are smeared with the slightest bit of blood.

“Now be fucking quiet.”

You can’t help the yelps of pain that are smacked out of you when Levi’s hand connects to your raw flesh, immediately sobbing and biting your lip as tears soak the sheets, mingle with the blood.

Levi’s so pissed, he doesn’t care how hard you’re trying to be silent. With a growl of frustration, he grabs the back of your neck, hauling you up onto your knees on the bed. 

A palm strikes hard against your cheek, whipping your head to the side and then it strikes again in the exact same spot.

“Are you so stupid that you can’t get it through that tiny fucking brain of yours - this is a punishment. I’m in charge. I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. I own you.”

Your ears feel like they’re filled with cotton, you can’t stop the wretched sobs heaving from your chest. Levi is furious.

He maneuvers you until you’re on your hands and knees facing away from him, barely able to hold yourself up through the fuzzy panic filling your body, weighing you down and making you dizzy.

More spanking is expected, and you’re already struggling to brace yourself for the inevitable hit when instead, hot fingers covered in cold lube grip your ass, pull the cheeks apart.

Levi ignores the way your breath catches in your throat, how your body freezes completely and your tears start falling faster. He doesn’t care about your comfort right now, he’s trying to prove a point.

His nails are blunt and short - the man keeps his hands neat and clean. It just means you’re forced to feel the full sensation of Levi’s fingertips probing at your ass.

“You better relax, or else I’ll shove my entire fist up your ass and fuck you with it until you bleed out.” Levi snarls, and you realize you’re shaking terribly, almost convulsing as you force your hole to relax and stop clenching.

A finger worms it’s way inside, painful and entirely too fast, too soon. But Levi doesn’t care. You deserve to be in pain.

He only wants to work two fingers inside of you, just enough so that he can spread his digits and open your hole a little. Levi knows you’ll probably tear and bleed anyway tonight, but he’s not looking to actually kill you, so he squirts lube directly into your hole, sneering when you clench at the sensation and it makes a disgusting squelching sound.

“You aren’t trying to take a shit, stop that.”

As if you could control the way your body reacted to painful stimulus.

Levi fishes out his cock, doesn’t even bother with removing his clothes. He’s going to fuck some sense into you, make you understand pain and consequences, and then he’s going to leave you lying in a puddle of your own tears. You’re pathetic.

He taps his cock against your hole, jaw set in anger, thinking about how he’d felt to hear that you’d somehow gotten loose in the barracks, running through the halls and trying every single door, hoping to find a way out. Good thing all the cadets, all the staff - they knew to who where you belonged.

“L-Le-L-N-n-n” You managed, tongue thick and heavy in your mouth. You wanted to say no, tell him to stop, that you’d listen and be good and do whatever he said, if only he would please not do this.

But all your mushy syllables gained you was a violent slap to your rear, Levi seething. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you? Can’t do anything right, useless brat.”

And with that, he was pushing inside, forcing his way into your body, relentless and uncaring of the extreme pain he was putting you in.

A horrified wail tumbled from your lips, body jolting and spasming and struggling to lurch away from the assault, but Levi held you easily in place, exactly where he wanted you.

“Don’t, you brought this upon yourself.” He ground out, your walls squeezing the tip of his cock almost painfully, so tight and convulsing wildly as your body tried to force him out.

He was tired of talking, tired of trying to get through to you with words.

In no time, he was fully inside you, lube easing the way, blood joining and slicking your passage even more. As his hips pulled back, the gross mixture dripped to the bed below, staining his sheets. Levi was disgusted.

But he pushed forward, finding his rhythm with quick swings of his hips, pummeling your insides with barely a care for your wellbeing.

Maybe he was sick, but it felt good.

It felt good to see you in so much pain, mourning the choices you had made to lead up to this moment.

It felt good to feel you squeezing at his cock so intensely, body reacting in violent spasms that felt exciting and made Levi’s balls tingle.

Usually Levi would at least try to help you cum. A hand between your legs with he fucked you, fingers flicking against your clit. Having you ride him and control the pace so you could bounce until you reached your peak. Fingering you after your hole was loose and sloppy from his cock, curling his digits just so that they  rubbed against your G-spot and made you squirm on each thrust.

But now Levi had no desire to make you feel good. You had made him feel awful; he was just returning the favor.

Seeing you like this, struggling underneath him to stay conscious through the hurt, crying and sobbing his name even though the man had told you to shut your fucking mouth, taking what he dished out....

Levi felt warm.

That stupid, syrupy warmth rising in his chest, threatening to spill out his mouth by way of foolish words.

“I love you.” Is what he wants to say, press himself down until he’s flush with your back, mouth next to your ear so he can shamefully whisper it just so you can hear.

You’re in so much pain, writhing and jolting, clawing at the sheets - Levi doubts you’d even understand him if he said anything at this point.

So he lets his body talk for him, hips speeding up as he felt his balls tighten, cock twitching inside your hole and you screech in agony. He won’t drag this out any longer, you’ve learned your lesson, remembered who it is you’re supposed to love.

Levi grabs your hips, clutches onto you with white knuckles and pounds home, faster and faster until he feels himself let go, cock twitching wildly as your hole squeezes him down.

When he pulls out, the cum that drips down your thighs is tinted pink.

Levi’s reminded of the color of love.

[autisticandroids]

Okay so this was a while back but im preety sure you had mentioned an au of yours where dean is a serial killer and cas successfully stalks him but i don't think you talked about it more than that and i just really want to hear a bit more bc that idea sounds so tastefully fucked up

okay so. weeks later i finally end up answering this ask. it inspired this post btw. anyway spn is a show that's like. all about justifications, as i said in the post inspired by this ask. it's about having no choice and doing what you have to do. and like there is the phantasy embedded in it, a phantasy that is both indulged and punished. but most importantly it's justified. the monsters are super strong to show how brave our heroes are for fighting them, the main characters let out great wails of grief every time their lady loves are violently ripped from them (even though now they are free to do whatever they want), the narrative twists to show our heroes as correct whatever they do. the fantasy (of being allowed to enact violence, of being free from feminine "control," of being right) comes first. the material construction of the universe of supernatural comes afterward. whatever the fantasy is, the universe of supernatural will provide material conditions to justify its acting-out.

and what this means is that our protagonists, dean in particular, are constantly doing just horrific things, which in any other circumstance would be unconscionable. but the universe of supernatural provides justification for these acts. the point of my serial killer au which i think about so so so much is to ask the question: what if these justifications melted out from under their feet? what if dean was left holding nothing but a lie and the weight of everything he's done?

therefore, the premise of my au is such (under the cut because this baby is long):

john and mary winchester, in the mid seventies, joined a doomsday cult known as the men of letters. the men of letters were rather unusual for a doomsday cult, in that they believed that the apocalypse could be prevented by human behavior. this started as correct living, correct worship, yadda yadda, the kind of behavior and thought control that cults are known for, but with the justification of: if you don't do this, the world will end. eventually, this escalated to human sacrifice. the men of letters managed to untraceably kill two homeless people in the late seventies. but they eventually fell apart. however, a month after john and mary left the men of letters (mostly john's choice, mary still believed), mary died in a house fire. john took it as a sign from god that actually, the men of letters were right, and the world would end unless john himself did something about it. so he took some of the (intensely numerological) theology of the men of letters. and he worked out his own formula. and he applied it to the yellow pages. and started ritualistically killed people to prevent the apocalypse, with his two sons in the back of the car.

now, obviously, this is some kind of grief induced temporary madness on john's part, shaped by the mental abuse he suffered in the men of letters. but the thing is, once you've killed a couple of people to prevent the apocalypse. well. there's this thing called the sunk costs fallacy. john wasn't gonna question his own beliefs after that.

and he raised his boys to believe it, too, or at least he raised dean to. they didn't tell sam what they did until he was twelve, and sam didn't buy it, tried to call the cops on them several times but in the end, they always prevented him. eventually sam ran off to stanford, where he now lives under a cloud of guilt that he's too loyal to his family to rat them out.

john died a few years back of a heart attack, but dean is convinced it's because he messed up a ritual two weeks before it happened, so it pushed him further into this belief system.

dean's killings (and john's before him) are ritualistic and distinctive, obviously the same killer each time. but they happen anywhere in the united states, seemingly at random, there are inconsistent amounts of time between each one (sometimes as short as days, sometimes as long as years), and there is no particular victim profile. obviously, since our killers are following an arcane mathematical formula to make their choices for them, but the police don't know that.

castiel novak is an unemployed shut-in with a small inheritance which he's living off of, a cryptography degree, and an obsession with all things morbid. he spends most of his time on the reddit true crime forums, playing amateur sleuth. by complete chance, he happens to recognize one of the symbols frequently used in corpse displays by the so-called sioux falls satanic slaughterer (so named because the first time three of his victims were in the same part of the country, it so happened that they were all in sioux falls, south dakota. this was in the late eighties.) as being mostly only used by a little known cult group called the men of letters, which dissolved in the mid eighties.

he only notices this because, as a teen, he had a special interest in cults and fringe religious groups. the men of letters weren't a particularly notable or well known phenomenon; they were small, and a lot like every other cult that formed during the seventies cult boom. (no outsider ever heard about the human sacrifice; there were rumors, of course, but they were garbled, sensationalized, and mixed up with satanic panic fodder.)

(the men of letters' two sacrifices were nothing particularly romantic or fantastical. they first lured panhandler josie sands back to their compound with promises of food and a warm bed when she admitted she couldn't get a bed at a shelter, and was thinking of getting caught shoplifting just so she could be under a roof in the county jail. the men of letters' leader, a man who took on the name alistair, forced his inner circle to dress in the ceremonial black robes he had given them when he initiated them into his nearest and dearest, and which his wife had sewn out of old bed sheets and dyed black with home made oak gall dye. these robes still left black smudges on the wearer's skin occasionally if they sweated too much. josie was laid, bound, on the altar, a slapdash thing constructed over the course of two days from scrap plywood and a couple of milk crates. a rich red tablecloth purchased at macy's for $3.99 hid its ugliness and gave it grandeur. alistair attempted to kill the struggling miss sands by bringing a sharpened kitchen knife down on her bosom and piercing her heart, but, having never killed a human or even slaughtered an animal before, was unaware of the problem presented by the human ribcage. after rather ineffectually poking at the area beneath sands' bosom with his knife while she shrieked in pain and terror for about ninety seconds, alistair tried a different tack, and slit her throat, which worked just fine, and she bled out quite nicely. the second and final victim of the men of letters was a local vagrant named larry ganem, an older gentleman who walked with a limp. he was lured back to the compound in approximately the same manner as sands, but instead of being bound, he was fed stew laced with sleeping pills. even if alistair hadn't slit his throat, he wouldn't have woken up. it's actually arguable whether he was still alive at time of sacrifice; mary winchester (eight months into her first pregnancy), who, as a member of the inner circle, was in attendance, actually tried to take ganem's pulse as he lay on the altar (now covered by a different tablecloth; the red one had turned stiff with sands' blood and been subsequently burned) and found nothing, so it is entirely possibly only sands' death can be directly laid at alistair's feet, and ganem's is the fault of mrs. ellen harvelle, who prepared the laced stew. regardless, these two deaths are lessons in the nature of human evil: it is very rarely skilled, suave, or smooth. it's often slapdash, half-hearted, and just plain incompetent. but that makes it no less grisly. alistair may have begun to drink his own kool-aid, as it were, and escalated this far out of genuine belief that the apocalypse was coming and it was up to him to stop it, but it is far more likely that he sensed the imminent collapse of his little empire, and wanted to bind his subjects to him through the horrors of shared guilt, considering two lives a small price to pay for the continued loyalty of his inner circle. and the tactic worked: the men of letters didn't start to collapse in earnest until almost four years later. perhaps if alistair had continued the killings, the men of letters could have lasted for far longer, maybe even up until the present day. but it seems that alistair, a psychiatrist by training and unused to violence, simply didn't have the stomach for it. unlike, say, john winchester, who before his time with the men of letters had done a two year tour in vietnam, during which he had killed three living, thinking human beings with the american government's go-ahead.)

anyway. castiel is the first person, ever, to make the connection between the men of letters and the sioux falls satanic slaughterer. and once that connection is made, castiel begins to research the men of letters far more in-depth. and he notices something: the theology of the men of letters was intensely numerological, filled with patterns, significant numbers, and even spiritual equations.

castiel thinks of the seemingly random selection of the slaughterer's victims, and has an epiphany.

he cracks all his fingers, and gets coding.

six months. it takes castiel six months to discover an equation that could fit the slaughterer's pattern. it's complex, but also clearly based on several of the men of letters' holy numbers, and accounts for every single one of the killings. it also suggests that there should have been two or three more deaths scattered across the years, but more than likely those did happen, it's just that they weren't reported as part of the slaughterer's portfolio.

but much more importantly, castiel's model can also make predictions. there will be two killings, fifteen days apart, in a city seven hours' drive away, six weeks from now.

so castiel waits. and he books a hotel room. and two months later, he's waiting outside 217 oak street when a shadowy figure climbs up a tree and lets itself into the upstairs window.

dean winchester is feeling particularly all alone in the world when he breaks into maisey banks' home (217 oak street). his father has been dead for half a decade, and he hasn't spoken to his baby brother for twice that. it's not like this whole grizzly saving the world business makes him a lot of friends. so once he's done killing maisey (which is easy, she was ninety three and dying of cancer anyway. she doesn't even wake up when he slits her throat) and arranging her corpse in the appropriate manner, with prayers and sigils, he turns around. and sees a man standing behind him.

smiling slightly.

as he watches dean gut this old woman.

dean freezes.

the man takes a step forward.

"you're very attractive for a serial killer who's been operating since the eighties."

dean is silent.

"family business, is it?"

silence continues.

"i'm not here to report you to police. i'm just here to see if my algorithm worked right."

and dean finally breaks his silence: "what the hell is wrong with you?"

what's fun here is that dean knows (or rather "knows") that he isn't a serial killer. so he finds what cas is doing, this amoral serial killer stormchasing, morally repugnant. because cas has no way of knowing he isn't a regular serial killer.

there's also the fact that that cas proceeds to flirt with him. aggressively. and follows him back to his motel.

but the thing is that dean is all alone in the world. and as cas continues trailing him around, he starts getting, well, flattered. and feeling a little bit less alone.

it doesn't take very long before they fall into bed. even if cas is an amoral stalker with a fetish for what dean considers a distasteful yet necessary vocation.

so. they fall into bed. they fall in love. they make a little life together, in dean's big sexy car. dean tries to explain to cas that he's saving the world. that these people's lives are a necessary price to pay. and cas seems to listen.

of course, castiel doesn't believe a word of it. but he's found that he likes dean. really likes him. and he realizes that the collapse of dean's belief system would destroy him.

so he sets about becoming as complicit in it as possible.

even to the extent where, when dean is hit by a car and ends up into the hospital a day before one killing is meant to take place, castiel agrees to take on the job. (he doesn't actually kill anyone, obviously. but he does use his extensive skill with computers to create three fake newspaper articles which make it look like he has.)

but five years later, something goes wrong. really, really wrong. dean miscalculates the formula. and by the time he checks his work, the actual date of the next kill, as demanded by the formula, has passed. in fact, so have three others. and the world didn't end.

dean collapses. he hyperventilates. all those people. all those people. for no reason. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people.

cas seems totally unfazed. dean stares at him in shock. but cas just takes dean in his arms, and whispers in his ear: "oh, dean, i never believed in the equation. i love you no matter what you've done."

and dean buries his face in cas' chest.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

I always think of like, the reversal of what happened with the dimitrescu family in the game, like all three daughters die, lady D goes absolutely insane trying to kill ethan. But what if by some miracle or smth ethan had managed to kill lady d first? I think all three of the daughters would go absolutely apeshit hunting ethan down and ripping him to shreds because 'you killed our mama'

And I dunno I was thinking about this last night and decided someone else should suffer with me

I’ve thought of this, too!!

After they kill Ethan they stand around their mother’s broken body in silence, unsure on what to do or say anymore. What was there to do without their mother to guide them?

Ethan’s body is burned. The flames devour his flesh in their stead. None of them can bring themselves to feast upon him for what he’s done. It hurts too much.

They bury Alcina in the garden, bundling up in several layers so they can give her a proper funeral service, despite the harsh Romanian winter. They kneel in the snow-covered dirt, drinking from her veins one last time. Her blood had never tasted so stale before.

Ashes. It’s all ashes.

They hang her hat on the tree her grave sat beneath. Nobody says a word. Tears freeze to their faces. One-by-one, they leave.

There is nobody to greet them inside.

Mother Miranda, Moreau, Donna and Angie, even Heisenberg come to pay their respects. They all say the same thing, over and over again: I’m so sorry for your loss. She was a great mother. She loved you all dearly. None of it matters. Not any more. Who cares if she loved them or not if she is no longer there to give them that affection?

Time passes. Alcina’s death is hard on everyone. Daniela spends a lot of her days locked in Alcina’s bedroom, curled up in the blankets, crying. Cassandra vents her despair and anger on the maidens, practically living down in the dungeon, torturing and slaughtering. Bela, as the oldest, takes up the family business, but it’s so hard, so fucking hard because she doesn’t know how to do anything and it reminds her so much of her mom and she fears failure severely.

The sisters begin to grow distance, as they’re rarely around each other anymore, all too busy with their unhealthy coping mechanisms. They can’t depend on each other for comfort because they can’t even comfort themselves.

One day, six lonely months later, Bela goes out and visits her mother’s grave.

“Hi, Mama,” she says. “I brought you some things.”

She brandishes a bouquet of flowers to the grave, as if Alcina were actually standing there and looking grateful over the gift.

“They’re roses,” Bela tells the tomb. She swallowed thickly, biting back the lump welling up in her throat. “They reminded me of you.”

She tentatively sets the flowers down on the dirt.

“I—” The words catch in her throat. She scratches at her neck with one claw, trying to muster up the will to speak. “I was thinking about maybe trying different mixtures for the wine.” She pauses, took a breath, then goes on, forcing out a giggle alongside her sentence, “It’s probably gonna turn out surprise gross, though.” And then, much quieter, wringing her hands together, “I wish you were here to do it with me.”

Silence falls upon the girl and the grave. Bela’s hands are clasped tight and she brings them to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to find absolution in her claws. She would plunge and drag and drag and drag until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her her mother back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what Alcina would have done if it had been Bela that was murdered on that fateful day.

But she wasn’t as strong as Alcina.

Bela doesn’t really realize exactly how loud she is crying until her shaking breath hitches so high it sounds like a squeak. She blinks through the haze of tears and scrubs her eyes with her sleeve, but the merciless flow does not stop.

A little brown bird lands on a grave nearby and fluffs out its wet wings. A grazing deer is munching contently on some wild flowers. Some type of bug is buzzing in the grass somewhere from behind.

Looking around at this all, Bela is shocked by how the world keeps running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

The summer leaves are dancing around her, whisked from the towering oak trees by foggy gales and sent into a whirling axis in the sky. A humidly warm, but also bone-chillingly cold breeze is trying to offer a comfort that seems to be invisible and impalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there is a reason for what has happened; her mind is still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voice.

“Why?” She wonders this so often, but there is only pattering raindrops and whisking nature replying to her, and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

“Why?”

She has wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she saw the sight, just a few flashes of images in a room, blood and gunfire and a collapsing body, that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still see them behind her eyes, can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void started to envelop her. She still feels like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There is regret in her body language. There is a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would have ever happened.

Bela wishes she could go back in time. She wishes there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her mother was—is still—the most important thing in her life and, yet, she let her slip away in fear of what she would say if she showed any signs of weakness. Her image is everything and yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because Alcina’s death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there is a way for her to save just a few lives.

Her life.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wants to believe it’s because of the weather and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there is no one around to watch her. But she feels like a hypocrite, she feels like she doesn’t have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent her mother’s absence.

To prevent her death.

She knows it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the incident. She knows it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

“I’m sorry.”

She knows it’s too late.

She knows that it’s useless because Alcina’s not there to hear those words.

Regrets don’t leave Bela, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her own ignorance.

It’s her fault.

She keeps telling herself it as if this admission of truth can absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she said she would protect her family but it was always so easy to forget about it: there isn’t ever the need to- she had always been the one that needed help the most in the family it seemed. She had always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her mental health, her perfectionism, those idiotic statements and those stupid decisions.

But then there was her mother. Her mother’s comforting words, gentle touches, light hearted jokes to make her smile—the way she would just…be there and make things better in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen her in private.

Why didn’t Bela do the same for her? Or for any of her family members?

“I’m sorry.”

Bela is sorry. She could have done more. She could have told her more.

She should have known better.

Bela should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superhero might have been needing a hero herself and she was too oblivious or too busy or too afraid to be up to the task.

She depended on her mother and now she’s lost.

Alone.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XV

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), grief, death, some elements may be untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Lord Barnes faces the consequences of his actions.

Note: Yesterday’s chapter was intense, right? Well, here you go.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

The solemn servants carried the board as the woman's broken figure rested atop it. None knew if she was still alive and none were brave enough to ask. They just did as they were told as the duke, Lord Barnes, walked behind, his artificial arm gone, snapped from the impact of his fall, and his expression stony but bruised. He was streaked in blood; his own, the horse's, hers, maybe all three.

His closest friend, Lord Rogers walked beside him, mostly unscathed from the undue violence of their competition. The king and his wife trailed not far after the party as the body many feared was a corpse was balanced on the wide plank.

They were directed to the duke's chambers but did not move the woman from the wood. Instead they placed it atop the bed as her shorn skirts fanned around her and her stained sleeves laid like wings over her arms. They jostled her as they let the board down but she did not groan or gripe. She likely could not, if she could do anything at all.

The duke paced and stopped now and then to stare at the woman as he awaited the physician. The king and queen sat grimly on the cushioned bench before the dwindling hearth and the other nobleman stood by the window.

"Where is the healer?" Barnes growled as he came to the foot of the bed, "they will kill her with their indifference."

"He is coming," Samuel assured, "it will not be time that kills her, likely,"

"Oh shut up," the duke snarled, "she will live. I know she will."

"Brother," the queen said softly, "she was trod into the dirt… you cannot think--"

"She must, she must," the duke babbled and gripped the bed post as his eyes clung to her lifeless form, "she cannot--"

The knock came and Lord Rogers retreated from the curtains to open the door. The physician entered with his assistant and a chest with leather straps. He approached the bed with a morbid gaze. He looked her over then blinked at the silent duke.

"I am told she was caught beneath a horse," he said.

"Yes, yes, she…" Barnes' voice drifted off as his lips stayed parted. He was senseless as he could not look away from her.

The healer sat carefully beside the board and softly touched her throat. He nodded as his fingers pressed down and he brought his other hand to feel more firmly. He gave a long sigh and carefully moved her head.

"She is breathing. Barely. Her neck isn't broke but…" he felt along her shoulders and arms, her sides, and stirred around her skirts, "other parts of her, likely inside too."

"Can't you help her?" Barnes croaked.

"I can try," he replied hopelessly, "even if by some miracle she survives, she won't be the same. Not fully."

"Do what you can," the duke bid, "and the rest of you can go."

"Bucky…" his sister stood, "you shouldn't--"

"I said go," he snapped, "go away."

He turned his back to them again and stretched his fingers. He was shaking. His mouth was dry and yet he felt bile in his throat. She was stupid, she'd done it upon her own foolishness, so why did he feel so rotten? 

🏰

She was a shell. Lord Barnes stared at the woman, cocooned in strips of linen atop his bed. It had taken so long for them to cut her out of her gown and bandage her. When he closed his eyes, he saw the damage done to her fragile body.

He didn't sleep, only fed the fire and watched her. He didn't pray, he didn't speak, he just sat there, ignoring his own pains. She could have killed him too, he reminded himself, he wished she had.

She hadn't awoken, hadn't even twitched, at times, he was certain she'd stopped breathing. But he would lean in and listen, too afraid to touch her, and he heard the deathly rasps. Then he sat again and watched and watched and watched. Nothing happened.

The physician returned with the day. She was the same as before. He checked her arm in its splint and went through his careful inspection of her. He gave the duke the same empty words. Nothing more could be done.

The days passed as such. The physician tried to feed her with assistance from his aide and they cleaned up after her humanly messes. They changed her bandages, a painstaking task, and shook their heads as they left.

Nearly a week went by and the knock at the door was heavier than that of the healer. Lord Barnes called for his guard to let in his visitor and the duke was on his feet at once. He curled his lip as the Baron entered with a tall thin man at his shoulder.

"My lord, I've not come to provoke you, though I do realise your distaste for me but I hope for the sake of this… woman you would set it aside," Lord Zemo spoke carefully. Barnes was surprised how the other man did not flinch as he came to stand close to him, his fist gripping wantingly at his side.

"Why else would you come but to pester me?" Barnes sneered.

"I have heard reports of the unfortunate woman who did collide with your horse. I have found her weighing often on my heart and despite what has transpired between us, she is innocent of all that," he glanced forlornly at the bed, "This is Werner. He is my personal physician. He has treated every type of ailment, even a similar injury suffered by a stable boy."

"I have a healer," Barnes insisted.

"I am aware but what is one more opinion on the lady's condition," Zemo argued, "you needn't bide me, only the healer. He is at your whim, not mine. Yes, Werner?"

"My lord," the taller man bowed to each nobleman in turn, "with your permission, I would review the lady's wounds."

Barnes inhaled deeply. He shook his head at Zemo and shoved him back. The other man stumbled and the physician watched in shock.

"I don't want your help," Barnes hissed, "how dare you come here. Be gone before you are in worse condition than her."

"Lord Barnes, can we not--"

"We can't," Barnes gritted his teeth, "now go. I am too tired for you."

Baron Zemo looked at him placidly and lifted a single brow. He turned to his physician and gestured him away. They turned and went back to the door. The foreign lord stopped before he passed into the corridor, "the offer stands despite all this. Just send for Werner and he will come."

Barnes stormed over and slammed the door behind the Baron. He hit it with his fist and swore loudly. He turned and leaned against the wood and dropped his head back. Why couldn't anyone just leave him alone?

🏰

The day after Zemo’s appearance, another unexpected knock sounded from the corridor. Lord Barnes barely heard it as he was half-asleep in the chair. It shook the door again and he woke with a start. He stood and stumbled over, too hoarse to call for his guard to do his job.

He opened it and reeled at the sight of the young Lord Parker. He scoffed and made to shut the door. Parker caught it and gave him a desperate look, brows drawn together and eyes sparkling.

“Please, I did come to see her but there is something I must also speak to you on,” the viscount urged, “please, hear me. For her.”

Barnes’ eyes tingled and his lashes flicked away the droplets. He shrugged and stepped back, retreating back to the chair as the boy entered. Parker closed the door gently and his lightly footsteps crept over the floorboards. The duke stared at the wall and wiped his sweaty hand on his breeches.

“So, what is it?” he asked.

The younger lord stood by the bed and stared down at the unconscious woman. He was pale, deathly so, and he spun away from her with a gasp of dismay.

“It is my fault,” he said, “she spoke to me before she ran in front of your horse. She said how I’d hurt her and she was right. And I only did it because I thought it would help her. That it could save her from you, even that it might protect my family as well.”

“She spoke to you?” Barnes asked as his hackles raised.

“Would you begrudge her that? Even now?” Parker faced him, “look at her! I claim my part in this horrid thing but you… you are just as guilty.”

“Is that why you came? To tell me I killed her?”

“Killed? She--”

“Not dead yet but she is dying. I know it. I’ve seen men die, it isn’t any different with women,” Barnes felt the tears well and wiped them away and sniffed, “and yes, I do know it is of my doing.”

Parker was silent and shifted on his feet, “I’m sorry.”

“Good bye, Lord Parker,” Barnes huffed.

The other man hesitated but slowly moved to the door. He glanced back before he left and as he did, the wind from the corridor blew out the only lit candle. Barnes sat in the flicker of the fireplace and leaned forward to hold his face. His chest tightened as the dread coiled up his spine like a snake.

He thought if he didn’t say it aloud, it couldn’t be. He thought he could save her still. He hoped…

He stood and marched to the door. He ripped it open and grabbed Lester by his cowl, “go! Zemo’s man, fetch him.”

🏰

Werner changed the woman’s bandages and stood to wrap up the used strips. It was the third day he’d been to the Duke’s room and the lady did appear more lively, even if she had yet to wake. Her breaths were deeper and there was a new tone to her complexion. The physician packed up his chest and tutted.

“I know my master is… a particular sort of man but you should have called me sooner,” Werner said, “your healer, he did not wrap her ribs well enough and he should know how to feed a patient in her condition properly.”

“Thank you,” Barnes said, “is she getting better?”

“Better than she was, certainly, but will she get any better? Well, my lord, where I am from, we do not dampen the truth with hope. This is likely as good as she will be ever again,” he held his chest under his arm as he faced the duke, “many who have faced a horse’s step have not fared so long.”

“And there is nothing you can do? Nothing else?” Barnes frowned.

“I can see to your own wounds. The ones you’ve not treated,” he offered, “you’re lucky the cut on your cheek has scabbed and not festered. You should allow me to examine the rest.”

“Suppose… suppose you are right,” Barnes relented, “the cuts and bruises are mostly healed but I have a pain,” he touched his shoulder, “I’m afraid I’ve made it worse in my anger.”

“If you would,” the physician replaced his chest on the bed, “you might remove your tunic and I will have a look.”

Barnes nodded and carefully stripped his tunic. He hadn’t replaced the arm forged in steel and wood. It was useless anyway. The healer moved around him and felt along his shoulder and told him to lift his arm. 

“It is still in place but likely sprained--”

Both men froze as the woman coughed. Barnes pulled away from the physician and raced to the bed. The taller man caught up to him and stopped him with a hand on his chest. He tapped his bare skin and held up his finger.

“Wait, don’t--” Werner moved to sit next to the woman as her body tensed and and her breath harried and stopped all at once, “there is trouble.”

He bent and listened to her chest then moved to open her mouth. He opened her lips and covered them with his own. Barnes had never seen such a practice as the man blew into her mouth and pumped her chest. He was careful but firm as he varied between puffing and pressing.

“Is there anything I can do?” Barnes asked.

Werner shook his head as his tending grew more frantic. He leaned over the girl again as he stopped and he touched her cheek daintily. He was quiet as his hand moved to her chest then his fingers crawled back up to her neck. He stiffened and sat up. He looked over at Barnes as the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

“She is dead, my lord,” he said as he drew his chest into his lap and stood, “her heart seized. The pain, it was likely too much for her.”

“Dead?” Barnes echoed airily.

“My apologies, I did all I could--”

“Dead.” Barnes affirmed, “well, then I suppose you might send for a carpenter.”

“My lord?” The physician questioned.

“For the coffin,” the duke answered bluntly as he turned away, “I thank you for trying as hard as you did. I should’ve let her go sooner.”

[sir-subpar]

Fangs And Fur (Bf x Pico oneshot)

Werewolf Au. Because I want to. This was somewhat inspired by an animated short called "Dirty Paws"

*Warning: Swearing and Blood/Gore/Violence. (It's not that bad, but just in case)

Bf and Pico shared jokes and friendly banter as Pico walked Boyfriend home. It was dusk, just barely any sunlight illuminating the neighborhood. The two of them had just finished a dinner date, still laughing and flirting as they walked along the sidewalk on Bf's home street. Some of Boyfriend's neighbors were greeting the boys from their yards as the two passed by. 

Carol, whose house was directly to the left of Boyfriend's, was finishing up watering her yard when she saw her neighbor and his date. "Hey Boyfriend!" Carol greeted them happily. "Hi Carol! How are you?" Boyfriend replied, he and Pico stopping in front of her new painted fence to talk. "I'm good, just relaxing after putting in this darn fence. It took forever, but it's worth it though to keep my little Cocoa Puff safe." Carol gestured to her mini poodle, the little fuzzball had brown curly fur, hence the name Cocoa Puff. "You should probably get a fence too, Bf. There's been a lot more animal attacks happening lately." Carol warned, Bf and Pico shifted with unease. "Yeesh, has it been getting that bad?" The bluette asked nervously. "It's been really bad, Sunday's cat got attacked the other night. Poor little guy was really chewed up by some big animal.." "Oh no! Not Bubsy!" Bf had a soft spot for animals in general, even though he didn't have any pets of his own, he always loved animals. Pico, too, felt bad for the little cat. "Did the cat survive? How bad was it?" Pico asked, never having met Sunday or her cat Bubsy, Bf told him about them before. Sometimes Sunday would ask Bf to babysit her cat when she was on tour, he was really good with Bubsy. Carol gave a look of sympathy, knowing the cat's condition. "He's alive, but it's a long road to recovery." She said dejectedly. "I've been hearing that people are setting traps around here, so keep an eye out for those too. Okay?" "Will do, thanks Carol." Bf replied, Pico only nodded in response. "Anyway, moving on to lighter news.. Are you going to introduce me to your friend here?" Carol lightly teased, tilting her head in Pico's direction. "Oh yeah! Right. Carol, this is Pico!" Bf wrapped his arm around the redheaded man's shoulders, making Pico's face turn pink. A look of recognition flashed onto Carol's features. "Ooooh, so THIS is the boyfriend you're always talking about. It's nice to finally meet you Pico." Carol teased, holding out her hand. Pico felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment before shaking Carol's hand. It was flattering to know that Boyfriend talked about him. "Y-yeah. You too." 

Carol giggled a bit. "Alright, well I'll let you guys enjoy your evening. Have a good one!" Bf waved at her while he and Pico walked up to his porch. Bf held the door open for Pico, but he declined going inside. Bf of course took notice of this, as well as Pico's nervous demeanor.

 "Are you okay, Pico?" 

"Yeah.. I just- I should head home. I had a nice night. Let's go out again soon." Pico gave him a smile that was somewhat forced. "Oh… okay. Well, I'll call you tomorrow then." 

"Yeah, sounds good." Pico gave Bf a kiss on the cheek, then he left. Bf closed his door, he was a little disappointed, if he was honest. He had hoped Pico would stay the night, but it was Pico's choice. It wouldn't have been right to stop him. Bf just decided to chill instead. Sweets and videogames were the perfect cure for disappointment. 

…

Pico rushed home, the sun had already gone down, he didn't have much time. He felt bad. Not just for leaving an obviously dejected Boyfriend, but for being so secretive with him. But he didn't have time for that! He needed to get home and lock up. It was only a matter of time before the moon would show it's Damn face. He dashed down the street , finally getting to the cul de sac he lived on. He ran onto his porch, swinging open his door and slamming it behind him. Just in the nick of time. He collapsed on the floor. His transformation was already taking place. His breathing was heavy, he couldn't help but shout in agony as his body reconfigured itself into its new form. Before he was lost to the lycan curse, however, he had one last horrifying realization. 

He forgot to close the window.

…

It had been a couple of hours, Bf had changed into some comfy clothes and was watching tv on his couch. He couldn't help but think of Pico. It was weird how nervous he suddenly was. Pico had been fine all day, but suddenly he ran off after talking to Carol. Was he really that flustered? It didn't seem like it was a big deal. Surely it was something else, but what? Bf sighed, it wasn't really his business, but he wanted to know what was up. He decided to text Pico. 

Bf: Hey. I had a lot of fun at dinner :) I just wanna see if you're alright, you seemed off earlier. Everything ok?

Thirty minutes went by, and he got no response. 'Maybe he's already asleep?' Boyfriend thought, sure it wasn't super late, but it wasn't unusual for people to sleep at this hour. Boyfriend shut off the tv. Maybe he should just get some air. It was nice out. A nice warm summer night. A walk would do him some good. Sure he was basically in pajamas, with a mismatched t-shirt and sweatpants but who cares? He put his phone and keys in his pockets, and left the house for a walk. His neighborhood was fairly close to a nice wooded area. It wasn't really a forest, but there were wild animals around. Like coyotes and rabbits. He decided to hang out around the trees. He sat down on a stump that had once been a huge cottonwood tree, and he just listened to the noises around him. Crickets and other bugs were chirping and buzzing around. It was oddly serene.At least, it was. Until some rustling in the bushes caught his attention. 

He was startled, frightened even, but then he felt relieved once he realized it was a rabbit. Just a little rabbit. But his levity was short lived when noticed the rabbit was limping. He used his phone's flashlight to get a better look. The poor rabbit was barely able to move, its flesh had been ripped apart, blood soaking its fur, and one of its legs was missing. It trembled and struggled. Boyfriend's heart sank when the realization set in that the poor thing wasn't going to make it. It was suffering, and he hated to see animals suffer. He decided to try and comfort it. The rabbit collapsed, he gently brushed his fingers on its soft little head. The rabbit's breathing was still panicked, but it was too weak to do anything. He considered killing it to end its misery, but before he could, he heard snarling coming from the bush. He quickly shined the light on it, just in time to see the snout of a larger animal swiftly bite the rabbit. 

Bf jumped back in fear. The animal stalked out of the bushes that had hidden it, revealing a large orangish red wolf.  The rabbit, the wolf's prey, was still in its jaws. The small rodent fell limb as the wolf's fangs sunk into its body. Bf could hear the bones crack. It didn't take long for the wolf to completely devour the rodent. Bf froze. Should he run? Would the wolf want him? He couldn't help but tremble at the large beast before him. Then it looked at him. Its eye bore into his soul. Focused. It watched him intently. Bf stayed still. Maybe if he didn't make any sudden movements, it would move on. It approached him slowly, circling him. It then got closer, inspecting him with its nose. It seemed particularly drawn to his pocket. Bf slowly reached into his pocket, the wolf allowed it, watching him. Bf pulled out a small bag of chocolate chip cookies. He had forgotten that he put those there. The wolf's ears perked up a bit, and it tilted it's head. 

"Is this what you want?" The Wolf kept its eyes locked on the bag. "I'm not sure if you should have this, it has chocolate in it. Pretty sure dogs can't have that." The wolf growled, seeming to not take "no" as an answer. "Okay okay! Fine! They're yours!" Bf reached into the bag, then tossed a cookie at the wolf. The treat hit its nose before falling on the ground. The wolf appeared displeased with the assault on its nose, giving a huff before eating the cookie. "Well sorry, it's not my fault you're clumsy and didn't catch it." Bf said sarcastically. The wolf looked at him again, it wanted more treats. Bf tossed another cookie, this time aiming in front of the wolf so he didn't hit its nose again. The beast seemed content with that. So Bf kept doing it until he ran out. 

The canine's demeanor had thankfully shifted, it seemed more docile after being fed. Boyfriend had calmed down significantly, no longer fearing for his life. "Well, it was nice to meet you… wolf. I'm gonna go home. I've had enough excitement today." Bf turned away from the orange/red animal, trusting that it wouldn't pounce on him while his back was turned. As he walked away, he could hear two pairs of footsteps behind him. He looked back to confirm that the wolf was following him. When he stopped, the wolf halted, when he moved, the wolf followed. "I uh, think you should stay here. Where you live. I'm going home." Bf tried again to leave, the wolf followed him anyway. "No. You stay. I go." Bf tries using hand gestures to get the animal to listen, but to no avail. Bf picked up a stick and threw it. It didn't seem to interest the wolf, but the stick accidentally hit some small animal Bf hadn't noticed before. That got the wolf's attention. As the large mammal attacked the unfortunate stick receiver, Bf took the opportunity to run home. He managed to make it to his house and close the door. Bf leaned against the wood, sliding down till he hit the carpet. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. After he had calmed down, astonishment took over. He just fed a wolf. And he didn't die! He was like Snow White! Holy crap!

Bf eventually stood up and moved to the couch. Deciding that maybe he should relax for a bit. He started channel surfing on his TV, settling on a random cartoon that was on. He could feel his tense muscles relaxing a bit. He let out a sigh of relief. 

…

He had gotten through a few episodes when he heard something. Something outside.

*SCRATCH SCRATCH*

He muted the tv. No way. There's no way this was happening.

*SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH*

It followed him home. 

He could hear the clawing getting faster. Impatient. Instead of following common sense, he decided to open the door. His motion triggered porch light shone on the wolf's red/orange fur. It's white eyes bore into his soul again. Bf stepped aside, allowing the beast into his house. The wolf strutted in, immediately smelling anything and everything it could. It didn't seem aggressive, just curious. Bf filled a bowl with water and set it on the floor. Might as well hydrate his new houseguest. Eventually his fears dissipated. He went back to the couch, watching the wolf as it wandered around his living room. He watched the tv again, laying down across the sofa comfortably. 

And, before he could prepare for it, he was suddenly smothered by orange fur. The wolf had kept onto the sofa, laying on top of the blue haired man. He tried to push the wild dog off of him, but he couldn't budge it. This was his life now. He was a man-sized dog's couch cushion now. He didn't know wolves could get this big now that he thought about it. But it didn't matter. He was stuck. This was the predicament he was in. He gave up. The dog had won. Despite the animal's weight, he managed to fall asleep. It was warm and fluffy, so it wasn't so bad.

…

The rising sun peeked through the blinds, illuminating Bf's face, waking him up. He shifted a little, still feeling the warm mass on top of him. He yawned, his eyes still closed. He petted the wolf on top of him, his fingers gently brushing its soft skin- wait a second. His eyes shot open. 

"Pico!?" 

The man jolted awake after hearing his name. Pico looked at Bf with wide eyes. His face turned almost as red as Bf's signature hat. The two stared in silence for what felt like forever before Boyfriend broke it.

"You owe me an explanation."

"Can I borrow some clothes first?"

"Please do."

[harbouredsoulss]

Exit Wound - 2nd & Final Part

Author’s note: 

SUPRISE!

I was so close to turning this into three parts. Instead I decided I would make this one longer! I really loved writing this!

I am so excited to share more stories with you! I have so much planned. 

I really really hope you enjoy this! Please don’t forget to like, comment, & reblog. I would really appreciate it 💞

If you’d like to be added to my Tag List for any EZ, Angel, Mayan or all of my fics, just let me know 🥰

You can read Part One here and my Masterlist here. 

EZ Reyes X [OC] Amalia 

Warnings: Injured EZ! Mentions of blood. Swearing! Fluff. SEX. 

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: EZ brought a knife to a gun fight. Now Amalia is stuck having to use her nursing skills to save her boyfriends life. Will she save him?

_________________________________

She sat there for a time, kneeling beside the couch, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he took in unsteady breaths. Angel had begged her to go to bed and get some rest but she couldn’t bring herself to leave EZ’s side. 

Angel tried everything he could think of to convince her to go to sleep but knew nothing he would say could change her mind.

It was moments like this where Angel hoped he would find something like this one day. The unwavering love and commitment Amalia had for his brother was unshakeable and made him slightly jealous, though he would never say that out loud. 

Later on in the night Coco and Gilly had come back to drop off the pain relief and antibiotics. They didn’t stay too long, they could tell just by looking at her she wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, nor should she be. They left with goodbyes and good luck, though they kept the latter for Angel’s ears only. Amalia was grateful they had gotten back so quick with the supplies and she desperately wanted to wake EZ and give him the medicine as soon as possible but she knew he needed to rest, and decided it could wait until he wakes. 

The minutes ticked down as did the hours as she sat there, eyes trained on the rise and fall of her lover’s chest. For a time, she sat there caressing his face, allowing silent tears to stream down her own.  His forehead was covered with sweat, his temperature rising. She wiped at the beads of sweat with a wet rag, allowing the cold cloth to mildly ease his fever down. 

When dawn was nearing, Amalia found herself drifting in and out of consciousness, head resting on her arm that lay on the edge of the couch, her fingers intertwined with EZ’s. Her mind continued to torture her with fleeting visions of EZ dying on their sofa, blood pouring from his wounds, voice screaming in pain, echoing all around her. There were moments where she would wake with a start, eyes wide, squeezing his hand, running hers up and down his arm just to feel his warmth. To see he was still there with her. 

She continued these bouts of suffering as her body fought for her to sleep and it was only after the third nightmarish vision, she had of losing EZ that her mind rewarded her with a faint memory instead of a twisted dream. It was of a time when their relationship was new and fresh. Yearning, and anticipation reaching the cusp, they had finally given in to their desires. It was the beginning of everything, and that’s where her memory took her.  

Amalia’s body was wrapped in his arms, legs tangled together she couldn’t tell where she began and EZ ended. Her breathing was laboured, hands running up and down tracing the ridges of his chest. It was the night they had first slept together, though this moment was long after they enjoyed each other.

EZ had fallen asleep with his arm around her waist. Sleep didn’t come easy to Amalia that night. She was too buzzed with what they had done. She’d had sex before, and like EZ, she would have drifted off by now but that night everything felt different and it was as she continued laying there listening to his intake of breath, as his dreams consumed him, she soon realised why. 

“How do you feel,” she heard him murmur against her skin. 

“Amazing,” she whispered, a coy smile on her face, “but I thought you were asleep?”

Craning her neck, she turned to look up at EZ and found him just as she thought, fast asleep. It took everything in her to not burst out laughing. She felt ridiculous beyond belief. EZ was talking in his sleep. 

“I love you,” she froze, hand stilling on EZ’s cheek as she heard him speak those words they had never shared before.

“Te quiero, Amalia.” 

The memories were so intense, and powerful Amalia ended up crying herself awake. Though this time when she woke, she found EZ’s head turned towards her, eyes opened wide watching her. 

“You’re awake,” she said, voice cracking. 

“Barely.” he whispered back, wincing as he tried to move his body to face her more clearly. 

“Baby,” she whined, standing up and gently placing both her hands on his shoulders to keep him from moving, “you need to stay put.”

Her face hovered above his as she stood like that, trying to make her point as gently as possible. His eyes stared into hers not before taking in the look on her face, which happened to be wrought with anguish and exhaustion, cheeks tear stained with lips cracked and bleeding. He could only imagine what she had gone through within the past twenty-four hours. 

She didn’t say anything for a moment and neither did he. They just stared at one another. Observing the contours of one another’s faces, making sure to mark this moment in their memory. Though EZ had no problem with that, he never forgets. 

“How long have you been sitting there?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“All night,” she said as she pulled away to sit on the coffee table behind her, “I had to make sure you didn’t die. I wasn’t alone though.” She pointed to where Angel’s sleeping form laid on the recliner positioned to EZ’s right.  

“He refused to leave and kept nagging me to go to bed.”

“You should’ve listened to him.”

“And you wouldn’t have done the same thing? EZ we both know if the roles were reversed – if it were me on this couch right now, you wouldn’t have left my side either. Hell, you would’ve driven me to the hospital.” 

They were at a stalemate both knowing she was right. Both knowing nothing more could be said to contradict her statement. He was madly in love with this woman and wouldn’t live in a world where she didn’t. He would have also stayed.

“If I had lost you EZ, I-I I don’t think I could live with myself.”

She looked at him then and allowed all her despair and anger to seep its way out of her. To expose him to it. His body stilled and he tried to turn away not wanting to see what he put her through. But he looked and watched as she could finally breath in relief. It struck him suddenly – piercingly, as to how much he had put her through, and because of that he could have sworn he heart his heart begin to break. 

“I know,” he whispered, though he knew he would never truly know until he was in the same position. 

There wasn’t much that could be said for what happened. EZ knew he could apologise; profusely, however, it would do no good. What he brought to Amalia – what he put her through was something he knew would kill him had it been her bleeding, damaged body brought to his door step. If it were him who had to sew up her wounds. 

Throughout the day little to no words were shared between them. Though that didn’t mean anything sinister to their relationship. EZ knew once he was better, he could make it up to her and Amalia knew that nothing EZ did to hurt her was intentional. He didn’t ask to be shot. She knew what she was getting herself into when they started dating, hell, even before that. She knew who EZ was and she loved him anyway. 

__________________________

Four weeks later

“No fondling the help!” Amalia said, doing her best to swipe EZ’s wandering hands away which were trying to make their way up her skirt.  

He lay on their bed, wound still covered and healing. He was a lot stronger than that night. Since then, he had been out and about, though his nurse was strict and limited him when it came to wandering around. She was too afraid he would rip open his stitches.  

“It’s not my fault you’re so… sexy.”

Through his healing process Amalia found EZ’s sex drive, which had thus far been neglected, had grown, and at first, she was scared. Too afraid of hurting him, or injuring him further. Though as he began to heal, albeit, slowly, she allowed their nefarious activities to return – though they were limited. She could tell he wanted more than what she gave but she couldn’t quite get past that fear. 

The first time they had sex after the incident involved Amalia on top, hands on either shoulder, straddling EZ’s waist. His wound was still on her mind at all times, as was the fear. EZ couldn’t have cared less. He wanted inside and was willing to have his stitches tear if it meant getting what he wanted. 

She felt like a nervous teenager again who was about to lose her virginity, unsure of what to do with her hands. She was too afraid to put too much pressure on different parts of his body. Too afraid to hurt him. 

“You won’t kill me by touching me,” he said, hands gripping her waist as he ground the most sensitive part of her body onto his, “but not touching me, will.”

A small gasp left her mouth as he repeated the action again. It had been so long since they had touched each other like this, though she was still clothed. She wanted to give in and remove the fear from herself. She was close to doing so, especially when his fingers found her clit. He had moved her panties to the side and began rubbing the little nub slowly. 

EZ loved hearing the sounds that escaped as he teased her. He lay there looking up watching her as he continued to pleasure her, and allowed himself to ease a finger inside. 

“Fuck! EZ!”

He grinned, proud to hear his name on her lips and added another. He could feel the tension within her begin to build slowly as he picked up the pace, and knew she was close, but he was selfish. He wanted to be inside her when she came. 

Removing his fingers, he tried as best he could, withholding a wince, to push his cock inside her. By this point, Amalia had stilled already missing where his fingers had been, not expecting the intrusive entrance of his cock. 

“Ride me,” he rasped, “ride me hard.” 

She did as he begged, disregarding her previous fears.

She fucked him hard and fast, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing throughout the room. His pleasure was ecstasy and that made him numb to the pain. It made him lean forward gripping the back of her neck, pulling her head back so he could lavish her throat with his lips. With one hand on her waist, he allowed the other to find her breasts. He began to tease her nipples one at a time tweaking the little buds enjoying the sounds escaping her as he did so. Soon his mouth ventured down to her chest and gave it the same attention he did her throat. He left small purple bruises on her skin. Some that would have been easy to hide, others more difficult. 

The pressure was beginning to build inside them both, becoming more intense. It caused them to go harder and faster than they did before which Amalia did not think was physically possible. This meant that they had no rhythm. Not that they minded.  They just continued to thrust their bodies towards one another seeking the friction and pleasure they needed to get to the end. EZ’s fingers we back on her clit rubbing furiously, willing Amalia closer and closer to her orgasm. He wanted her to cum first, clenching herself on his cock as he had experienced in the past. He had missed this. Her. 

“Fuck EZ!” She was close, so close. 

“Come on baby,” he panted in her ear, urging her on. 

“I’ve got you,” he cooed, “just let go.”

And she did. 

She screamed his name, voice cracking as he continued to fuck her.

Her clit abandoned, he gripped her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he finally brought himself to climax. 

A loud moan escaped him, her name a whisper on his lips that he chose to repeat over and over again as his climax washed over him. His thrusts began to slow as they began to cool down. He brought his face closer to hers, forehead to forehead. Lips brushing each other’s.

“You’re bleeding.” She whispered. 

He looked down briefly and caught sight of his white bandage that now showed splotches of blood.

“It was worth it.” He grinned.

TAGLIST [OPEN]: @appropriate-writers-name​ 

[morganaspendragonss]

if every breath is sacred

When Carlos wakes up, flames and smoke are filling the room, but TK is nowhere to be seen. He knows the protocols for being in a fire: sit tight, stay low to the ground, wait for help to arrive. But, it’s TK. Protocols have always gone straight out of the window when it comes to TK. So, Carlos—

Well, Carlos does probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his  life.

He grabs two t-shirts from a drawer, holds one over his mouth and nose, and plunges into the inferno.

ao3 | 2.1k | 2.12 spec

The air in their bedroom is sour with a rage Carlos knows isn’t directed at him, yet he can’t help but feel guilty for it anyway. TK is curled up on his side of the bed, back to Carlos, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his breaths far too carefully even for him to be asleep.

Carlos wants to call him out on it, but he doesn’t want to make things worse than they already are.

He knows he’s not the one TK’s mad at - they’ve had that conversation already - and Carlos is angry too. Mainly at Owen for being so stupid, but also a little bit at his dad even though he knows he was just doing his job. It’s more that they put him in the impossible situation of having to explain to his boyfriend that his father was arrested than anything else; seeing TK’s face fall at the news felt like one of the worst moments of Carlos’s life.

They’ll have to talk about this eventually - tomorrow, hopefully - but, right now, it’s better to just let TK’s anger run its course. 

Which is why Carlos bites his tongue when TK suddenly throws the sheets back and climbs out of bed, leaving the room with only a muttered comment about getting a drink. He sighs, listening to TK’s heavier-than-usual footsteps, relieved when he hears the quiet click of the kettle as opposed to the coffee machine. At least now there’s a chance of TK coming back to bed and getting some sleep, albeit a small one.

Carlos throws his arm over his eyes as the sounds quiet. He’s exhausted and, much as he wants to stay up for TK, he can’t resist the pull of sleep. So he lets himself drift off, praying that things will be easier in the morning.

*

He wakes to the scent of smoke invading his nostrils, harsh coughs already ripping from his throat even as he blinks the remains of sleep away. Carlos frowns, his brain taking a second to register the dim orange glow under the bedroom door for what it is.

Fire.

His eyes widen and he turns to warn TK -

But, TK’s not there. 

The bathroom light isn’t on, either, which means… Which means, he never made it back to bed.

Which means he’s still downstairs.

Carlos jumps out of bed and races to the door, yanking it open, only to come to a sudden halt as flames jump up at him from the stairs. The smoke is thick, but he can see enough to tell that the ground floor has already been overwhelmed by the fire, and that it probably won’t be long until it makes its way up here. His heart is threatening to pound out of his chest with fear and worry, but he forces himself to concentrate, to slip into first responder mode; panicking won’t help TK, nor will it get them out of this mess.

Returning into the bedroom, he snatches his phone from the bedside table and dials, sliding to the floor as more and more smoke invades the room.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“My house, it’s on fire. My boyfriend and I are trapped inside, but I don’t know where he is. He went downstairs to get a drink and I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, there was fire everywhere and he still wasn’t back.”

“Could you give me your address, sir?”

Carlos rattles off his details, suppressing the tickle in his throat for as long as he can before he’s overwhelmed by coughing again. He can hear the dispatcher on the other end saying something, but he can’t make out what.

When the coughs die out, he takes heaving breaths of air, already in short supply. The dispatcher is still talking, so Carlos focuses.

“-ir? Sir, are you there?”

“I’m here,” he gasps eventually, closing his eyes.

“Good, help is on the way. For the time being, is there anywhere you can go to escape from the smoke?”

Carlos shakes his head, before remembering that the action is redundant. “No. There’s nowhere.”

“Alright, just hang tight. Fire and medical should be with you in around six minutes.”

Six minutes.

Too long.

Carlos glances back to the door, his mind going to TK and how long he must have been in the flames and smoke for. A chill goes through him as he realises he doesn’t even know, and he just... He needs to make sure he’s okay.

He may be a cop, and not a firefighter, but Carlos knows the protocols for being in a fire. Sit tight, stay low to the ground, wait for help to arrive. But, it’s TK. Protocols have always gone straight out of the window when it comes to TK. So, Carlos—

Well, Carlos does probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his entire life.

He grabs two t-shirts from a drawer, holds one over his mouth and nose, and plunges into the inferno.

*

Flames lick at his exposed skin and thick, black smoke clogs his lungs, the thin cloth of the t-shirt doing next to nothing to halt its path. His eyes are burning, vision obscured with how much they’re watering, but Carlos pushes on, squinting through the haze to search for any sign of his boyfriend.

Navigating his house is difficult, everything seeming alien in this strange half-light, but he manages, and eventually he stumbles - almost literally - over a crumpled figure against the far wall.

“TK!” he cries, or tries to. It comes out hoarse, and quieter than he intended, so Carlos clears his throat and tries again and again and again until he drops down on his knees next to TK. 

“TK,” he says again, shaking his shoulder. TK’s eyes are closed, but they flutter when Carlos shakes him harder. “Come on, baby, open your eyes.”

TK must listen to him, because, slowly, his eyes blink open, widening as he takes in the scene around them. Carlos presses the second t-shirt into his hands and he nods in understanding, raising it to his mouth.

“Help is coming,” Carlos says, mouth close to TK’s ear. “Just a couple more minutes.”

TK nods again and lowers the shirt. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get a sound out before a round of coughing comes over him, causing him to fold in on himself. It’s loud enough that TK misses the cracking sound coming from right above his head, the thin trickle of dust raining down on them.

TK misses it, but Carlos doesn’t.

His boyfriend’s name tears out of him, and he just has time to shove TK as hard as he can before the ceiling comes crashing down.

Carlos chokes, suddenly finding it even harder to breathe, as if it wasn’t near impossible before. He’s pinned, the only movement he has left in his right hand. If he strains, he can just about see TK, who’s staring at him with a horrified expression. Carlos attempts a smile, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

His lungs spasm as he tries and fails to take a breath, his entire body burning with the weight crushing him. His vision is dimming, and he knows it’s likely only seconds before he loses consciousness—and, judging by TK’s slow blinks, the same is true for him.

Carlos prays that whichever station was dispatched gets to them soon, but if this is the end - and he really, really wants it not to be - then he can only think to be grateful that they’re in it together. Carefully, he inches his hand forward, stretching his fingers out until they meet TK’s, and he grips on with all the strength he has left in his body.

“I love you,” he chokes out. He doesn’t know if TK hears him, but he knows that he understands by the way his fingers close around Carlos’s.

TK’s lips move, the roaring flames and the pounding of his own heart making it impossible for Carlos to hear him; still, he knows. It’s a comfort, and he gives TK’s hand one last squeeze before all the energy leaves him and his eyes drift shut.

A flash of blue lights up the room behind Carlos’s closed eyelids, but he doesn’t get a chance to figure out what it means before the darkness swallows him whole.

*

TK doesn’t know how he got here. 

He comes back to awareness slowly, a sudden panic constricting his already tight chest as he stares up at the night sky, his mind trying desperately to work out what’s going on. The last thing he remembers, he was in their front room, surrounded by fire, and Carlos—

Carlos.

TK gasps, his lungs on fire, his back arching and his fingers clawing at what he now realises is a gurney - whether he’s fighting for air or to get to Carlos, he doesn’t know.

Either way, he’s quickly pushed back down and an oxygen mask is pressed against his face.

“TK, I need you to calm down,” a familiar voice - Tommy’s - says. 

“Carlos -”

“He’s in good hands, I promise you,” she cuts in, an evasion tactic if TK’s ever heard one. “You’re my priority right now; just focus on breathing for me, alright?”

TK wants to fight, but he still doesn’t have any strength in him, and he’s powerless to do anything as he’s lifted into the ambulance and taken away.

*

He hates hospitals. After the kidnapping, after Grace and Judd, TK had hopes not to have to enter one again for a while. 

He should have known that was just wishful thinking.

This is the worst one, he thinks. He’s not allowed to leave his bed for another day at least, the burns he’d suffered are superficial, but he’d inhaled a lot of smoke and the doctors want to make sure his O2 levels are stable before letting him go.

That would be unbearable enough, but it’s made worse by the fact that he can’t see Carlos. All he’s been told is that Carlos’s injuries were far worse than his own and that he’s been put on a ventilator because his body is too damaged. A horrible guilt wells in TK’s gut at that knowledge - it’s his fault Carlos isn’t awake right now. He knows Carlos saved him when the ceiling came down, and he wishes he hadn’t; he really didn’t need to know what being on the other side of a coma is like.

A quiet knock on the doorframe reaches his ears and he looks up, expecting it to be his dad or one of the team. Instead, he’s surprised to see Carlos’s mom standing there, her eyes red, and a terrifying coldness floods his body.

“Mrs Reyes,” he says, voice trembling. “Is everything okay? Carlos, is he -”

“He’s okay,” she replies, giving him a wobbly smile as she walks towards him. “Or, there’s been no change, which the doctors tell us is a good thing. Gabriel is with him, but I wanted to come and check up on you.”

TK swallows guiltily, wincing slightly at the lingering soreness in his throat. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Ah. I see Carlitos didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I raised four children, TK,” she says, a hint of a real smile on her lips. “I know when someone is lying to me.”

TK flushes and looks down at the bedsheets, picking at them idly. “You’re right. I’m not okay, but I don’t think I will be until he wakes up.”

“You care for him a lot.”

“With all my heart.”

She nods and pats his hand, the simple, yet comforting, touch breaking something in TK. His eyes fill with tears and he lets his head fall back on the pillow as his chest heaves with sobbing. It irritates his throat, but he doesn’t care, not when there’s a greater pain that reaches right down to his very soul. 

Mrs Reyes holds him against her without hesitation, not complaining even though his cries must be making a mess of her shirt.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, stroking his hair in a way that makes TK yearn for a mother he never really had. “Everything will be okay. My Carlitos is a fighter, and I know that he is doing everything he can right now to get back to us. To you.”

TK sniffles, and hangs onto her words with everything he has.

Four days later, Carlos’s eyes open and, for the first time since the fire, TK think he can finally breathe again.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

I know you wrote a drabble where Scott is almost sacrificed at Dogwarts and wanted to ask if you could write a version of that where he actually is sacrificed.

okay so this one is an alternate ending to this one, so it’ll start off the same and branch out into a different ending. read it first/save it for after if you want a happier version lol

author’s note: due to my severe discomfort surrounding decapitation, i’ve altered the method of killing slightly

lives at the start of this fic: Jimmy - red, Scott - green, Ren - red, Etho - yellow, Martyn - green

cw: blood, strangulation

just a reminder: please do not tag as shipping :)

…

Scott is starting to regret letting the Dogwarts trio take him and Jimmy back to their base, but he can’t exactly back out now. It’s his own fault, really, for asking if there’s anything else he can do to support Dogwarts from a distance, rather than putting up their banner.

He shoots a sideways glance at Jimmy, who seems even more nervous than him. Scott resists the urge to reach out and take his hand.

Finally, they arrive at Dogwarts. Scott is more than worried to see that a new platform with torches surrounding it on all four corners has sprung up in the middle of the carrot field. It looks innocent enough but something about it gives it an ominous vibe.

Unfortunately, this is exactly where Ren leads Scott.

“What is this?” Scott asks warily, putting one foot on the step up.

“This is the Altar of the Black Heart,” responds Ren ominously. “For Dogwarts to truly achieve full power, it requires a sacrifice. The blood of an outsider.”

Scott’s eyes widen as he realises what this means. “Whoa, whoa, hold on a second!”

He backs away a few steps but bumps into Etho, who takes hold of him in a surprisingly strong grip.

Jimmy starts forward with a gasp but Martyn grabs him and pushes him down, holding him in place. “Scott!” Jimmy cries uselessly.

Ren stands on the hill just above the altar as Etho drags Scott into place and tries to hold him down. Scott struggles against Etho’s grip, causing Etho to backhand him across the face.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Jimmy screams. “SCOOOOOOTT!”

Blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, Scott coughs and tries to fend Etho off again.

“I’d stop resisting if I were you, Scott,” comes Martyn’s cold voice.

Scott glances over at him. His heart freezes as he finds Martyn holding a sword to Jimmy’s neck. “No!” he gasps. “Don’t!”

“Then hold still.”

After a moment, Scott squeezes his eyes shut and falls still, letting Etho push him to his hands and knees in the centre of the altar.

“Scott…!” croaks Jimmy. “No…!”

Scott forces himself to meet Jimmy’s terrified gaze. “It’ll be okay, Jimmy,” he whispers, just loud enough for Jimmy to hear. “Just stay strong for me, okay? Stay strong.”

“A sacrifice must be made!” announces Ren, spreading his arms to the skies. “Do the honours, Etho.”

Etho nods and raises his axe.

Jimmy looks away, starting to hyperventilate. He can’t watch this.

Scott closes his eyes.

The axe comes down hard and buries itself in the small of Scott’s back, the tip piercing his heart and killing him instantly.

Smajor1995 was slain by Etho

Jimmy starts to scream and doesn’t stop. His eyes are fixed on the spot his husband just was seconds before, tears streaming down his face. Tears of terror, of grief, of anger.

Something snaps inside him.

“Take Solidarity to the dungeon,” Ren orders. “We’ll deal with him later.”

But as Martyn starts to move, Jimmy reacts lightning fast and kicks him in the stomach with unbelievable strength. Martyn staggers back in shock and pain, allowing Jimmy to snatch his sword and slice cut after cut in his former friend’s body, not stopping despite the screams. His lust for blood has finally been awakened and he WILL avenge his husband.

InTheLittleWood was slain by SolidarityGaming

He spins round to find Etho charging at him with the axe that had killed Scott. Seeing his husband’s blood still dripping down the blade sends Jimmy completely over the edge.

His swing has so much force behind it that it knocks the axe cleanly out of Etho’s hand. Before Etho can recover, Jimmy shoves him to the ground and kneels on his chest, his hands wrapped around Etho’s throat. His eyes are so flaming red that they’re practically glowing, teeth bared in an animal-like snarl.

THIS is the person who killed his husband. Jimmy will make him pay.

Someone is trying to pull him off Etho but the bloodlust increases a red lifer’s strength and stamina, and they can’t budge him. The smell of blood is making Jimmy dizzy and disoriented, but all he knows is that he wants to kill. No, he NEEDS to kill. His desire to maim and murder is so strong that it’s all-consuming, growing inside him like lava escaping a volcano, rising up until it’s about to explode outwards and destroy everything in its path.

“STOP!” Ren’s voice yells desperately.

Jimmy doesn’t. He can sense that Etho is almost dead, and every instinct in his body is driving him forward to finish the job.

“Jimmy!”

This voice causes Jimmy to freeze and slowly release Etho, blinking against his red vision as he looks around wildly for its owner.

A hand touches his shoulder, then hugs him from behind. The cool, smooth arms… the scent of strawberries… the gentle heartbeat…

“S-Scott?” Jimmy croaks.

“It’s me, Jimmy,” whispers Scott. “I’m here.”

Jimmy slowly turns around and finds Scott’s face looking back at him. It… It really is him.

He pulls Scott into a tight hug, clutching him like his life depends on it. All the pain and anger and terror melts away, leaving only love.

Still holding Jimmy tightly, Scott carefully moves him away from Ren and a freshly-yellow Martyn as they dash to the semi-conscious Etho’s side.

“We’re even,” he says firmly. “A life for a life. There’s no need for further bloodshed.”

Ren glares back at him, but his expression softens slightly as he registers what Scott’s saying. “Really? You’d be satisfied leaving it like this?”

“Well, of course we’d still be enemies,” responds Scott. “But I want to call a temporary truce. I don’t want anyone else to die, not even any of you.”

After a moment, Ren glances over at his right hand man. “It’s your call, Martyn. You’re the one who died.”

Martyn considers Scott’s words on his own for a moment, before glancing up and happening to make eye contact with Jimmy. All traces of the bloodlust in Jimmy’s gaze are gone, replaced only with the eyes of the person Martyn used to be close friends with all those years ago.

“I accept your olive branch,” he says.

Ren nods and addresses Scott and Jimmy: “Then you two may leave this place in peace.”

“Come, Jimmy,” Scott murmurs. “Let’s go, quickly. Before they change their mind.”

Jimmy dithers as Scott takes hold of his hand and starts pulling him towards the exit. “S-Sorry, Etho,” he says awkwardly. “Sorry, Martyn.”

“Come on.”

Scott practically drags Jimmy to the gate and out of Dogwarts, only slowing down once their walls start to appear in front of them. Jimmy stays silent, letting his husband lead him.

Finally, they get into their base, which is where Jimmy takes the lead and pulls Scott into the former’s house, shutting the door for privacy.

“Jimmy, what-,” Scott starts.

“Let me see the scar,” says Jimmy seriously. “Please.”

After a moment, Scott turns around and lifts up the back of his shirt. A clean, straight mark running down his back shows Jimmy exactly where the axe entered his body. He gently traces the line with the tips of his fingers.

“I told you this would happen,” he says hoarsely. “I said they’d do this to you but you didn’t listen!”

Scott huffily pulls down his shirt and takes a few steps away. “I know, Jimmy. TRUST ME, I know! You’re just lucky they decided to go for the green lifer, not the red.”

“LUCKY?!” cries Jimmy. “Did you SEE me back there?! I murdered Martyn and nearly choked the life out of Etho!”

“Yeah, I did! I set my spawn right outside the walls before we went in and it’s lucky I did or you might’ve kept going and gotten yourself killed in the process! I can’t believe fear for your own life is what finally triggered your bloodlust.”

“What?!” Jimmy stares at him with wide eyes. “You think THAT’s what happened?”

Scott frowns at Jimmy’s reaction. “Well… I DID, but…”

“There’s a reason I’ve stayed back and tried not to get involved in any of your stupid conflicts, you know! I NEVER wanted to kill. EVER. But when they sacrificed you right in front of me, I felt the desire to rip Martyn and Etho apart like a predator with its prey. THAT’s what triggered my bloodlust, Scott! They killed you and I wanted them to suffer like they made you suffer!” Jimmy’s voice breaks and he dissolves into tears. “My bloodlust was triggered by the need to avenge you. And to make sure they never hurt you again.”

His heart breaking, Scott pulls Jimmy into another hug, letting him cry into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I never considered how traumatic that whole thing must’ve been for you. How are you holding up?”

Jimmy coughs, trying to clear his throat. “B-Better now. Please promise me we won’t ever go there again, though.”

Scott rubs Jimmy’s back soothingly, feeling Jimmy’s heart still pounding in his chest.

“I promise.”