#poison damage noises

[tokagrem]

I should be glad actually that aphelios and sett are never gonna be in arcane because listening to guns for hire again has made me realize that the result would probably leave me emotionally shattered forever

[dailykugisaki]

Day ninety-four | id in alt

Watching some panels of the Japanese va's acting out the characters in skits and I found it funny that Kugisaki sounds physically damaged every time she accidentally says something remotely negative towards Maki.

[salthien]

physically? i'm at work. mentally? i am yet again in severe anguish over the chain links forged directly into the shoulders of the pure vessel's armor. a constant physical reminder of the only reason they exist, the fate that awaits them for - as far as they know - eternity.

[hound-of-heaven]

now’s about the time of year when I usually start thinking about a re-read of Toby Daye to prep for the new book but this year that means I have to experience Be the Serpent and I simply do not know if I can cope with that amount of psychic damage rn

[pictured: me after finishing BtS last year]

[timeisacephalopod]

Funny that every single fat person is accused of promoting obesity for simply existing- but somehow tobacco companies aren't held similarly responsible for selling a product that causes all kinds of health risks and cancers- fat people are held accountable for their "cost" to the healthcare system but never once have I heard anyone argue for shutting down tobacco companies under the grounds of promoting and glorifying cancer and only existing to sell poison to addicted customers for the sole purposes of their own profits.

Like it's very strange how little we shit on tobacco companies for doing everything we accuse fat people of down to actually costing the healthcare system money, which I doubt fat people do more than anyone else as fat people report delaying doctors visits for as long as possible to avoid weight based discrimination. I just think it's baffling that fat people face systemic oppression for existing because we think we can Individual Choice them into being thin, but we can't Individual Choice tobacco company execs into shutting down a business that exits entirely to get people addicted to cancer causing products to the point of being an ongoing public health crisis. We can't shut up about The Obesity Epidemic ™️ but them stats on tobacco deaths? Well I guess no one can be Systemically Shamed into fixing that except the smokers whom we shame via disgusting images on the back of cigarette packages. Because somehow that's how tobacco companies can be held responsible for getting people addicted to cancer causing products, acting like the customer is responsible for the company selling it.

[gardenofgods]

nyquil has gone in good luck everyone

[light-blue-glazed-terracotta]

positive affirmations!

i have not been poisoned by a witch

[damage noise]

[damage noise]

[damage noise]

[damage noise]

[damage noise]

[luveline]

do you have anything more from office frenemies with james? i just read it and i loved it so much

yes! love u ty

—you and James don’t get along until you kind of, sort of do. fem!reader, 1.5k

James listens to the most obnoxious playlist in the mornings. There’s about a fifteen minute window between when he arrives and when the workday officially starts, which coincides exactly with your window. He often gets the same elevator ride, walks a pace beside you, and decides whether he’s going to let the ‘lady’ go first through the door depending on the day. 

That morning, he’d opened the door widely, grinned at you with music blaring loud enough to make a normal person deaf from his earphones, and let you pass. Then he pretended to stick his foot out to trip you up, pulling it back at the last second. 

Jerk, you think, angry even now as he tucks himself into his desk, his earphones still ridiculously loud. He actually, genuinely, is going to get hearing damage. You’re not being bitter. Human ears aren’t meant for that. 

You click onto the workplace Outlook and open a tab on your desktop. How loudly can you listen to music? you google. A few articles appear straight away that fit your purpose —you drag them each into an empty email. Then, smiling to yourself, you find an article on the negative effects of workplace noise pollution and how this sort of selfishness can affect your coworkers’ mental health and add that at the very top. 

To: jamesp@outlook.wpa.uk 

Hi James, 

please find attached a few articles I felt might be important for you to read.

Worst, 

Your unhappy adjacent desk. 

You know he’s received it when he laughs loudly, turning down his music with a few quick clicks on his phone. 

An email comes through to your inbox shortly after.

Hi bestie, 

I’m so so sorry for the noise. Please find attached a few articles I, in turn, felt you might enjoy. 

Best, 

James Potter :) 

He’s attached an irksome variation of articles. Why music can help you get ready for the day. Ten ways workplace friendships are important. Can you really find your soulmate at work? 

You open your personal messaging system. You tend not to use it with James, but this morning he’s winding you up. 

I could report you to HR for that last one, you send. 

He replies quickly. You try very hard not to look up at him from over your desktop. I didn’t mean me. 

You’ll be deaf by thirty. 

Jealous you don’t have such great taste in music? 

Jealous of everyone in the annex. 

Want a cup of coffee?

You meet his gaze finally over the computer, find him already looking at you. You shake your head scornfully. In what world would you ever want him to make you a coffee? He’s never actually offered to make you one before, to be fair, but he’s awful to you so what are you supposed to think? He’ll probably poison it. 

He stands to leave. Remus, the other accountant to complete your trio, arrives while he’s gone with his boyfriend Sirius in tow. They’re also James’ best friends, unfortunately. It makes for some awkwardness. 

“Where is he?” Remus asks you, in the midst of a quick goodbye kiss before Sirius makes his way to his desk further down the office. 

You nibble your lip and give a dispassionate shrug. You hate talking about James. You hate his stupid mess of hair, his reading glasses, his lips when he smiles crookedly and worse when he’s glaring at you. You hate the way he sighs as he clicks his neck, the quick lap he does every other hour complaining of tired legs, the genuine tenderness he shows you whenever you’re sick. You hate James. You don't like to think about him too much lest you get caught, a fish in a net.

Or a fish with a painful hook in its lip. 

“Ah, you’re here,” James says, two cups of coffee in his hand. 

You’re only a little heartbroken when he puts one on his desk and one on Remus’. Didn’t want one anyways. 

Remus grins as James comes up behind him for a rough hug and hair ruffle. “How was last night?” 

“I wish you’d come. Sirius spent all night trying to out drink Marl, you know he can’t, so I spent all night holding his hair out of his face. I wasn’t gonna talk to him this morning, but he was being very pathetic.” 

James laughs. You pretend you aren’t listening to them, pretend you don’t feel left out even if they have no reason to be your friend, clicking at random things on your screen and scrolling through spreadsheets long finished and filed. “You know I couldn’t come, Moony,” —no point starting on their awful nicknames— “what if she needed me?” 

You still. She? 

“James, there’s not much you can do,” Remus says gently. He’s a quiet, soft sort of man, but they’re all so loud about loving one another. “You have to let her… you know.” 

You feel them both looking at you, your gaze steadfast on your screen. 

“Try not to think about it,” Remus says. 

“I’ve been distracting myself,” James agrees. 

Oh, you think. Oh. I’m such a dick. 

“You could go home?” Remus says, putting his face in his hand. “I could cover you.” 

“It’s too much work.” 

“I know, but, you know, I’ll do half, and you’ll only have half to catch up on when you come back.” 

You’re not sure who she is, and you very much still don’t like James Potter, but you're not heartless. He sounds awfully upset, fragility to his voice and a foreign balling of his fist by his hip. “Um,” you say, clearing your throat weakly, “well, with me and Remus, we could cover for you.” 

James’ face is unreadable, looking down at you. “You’d cover for me?” he asks. 

“Your work isn’t exactly hard, James.” 

“But you’d do it?” 

“How long will you be off for?” 

James frowns. “Like, two days?” he says quietly. 

“That’s fine. We can do that,” you say, checking with Remus from around James hip. “Yeah?” 

“Of course,” Remus says quickly. 

James looks at you long and hard. “You’re not kidding?” 

“No, James. Not kidding. You’d do the same for me, right?” 

James leans down to hug you before you can stop him. His arms wrap around your shoulders, a perfectly amicable touch made up of sleeper muscle and the attractive smell of almond oil, nearly sweet, slightly woody. He laughs against your cheek as he pulls away, turning back to Remus for a similar hug. “Thank you. I’ll go tell Danny right now.” He beams at you. His relief is thick as honey, palpable in his warm tone. “Thank you.” 

You can’t look at him very long. 

The memory of his fingers linger, the weight of his arm behind your head. He excuses himself to go talk to your boss, and you and Remus sit in a semi-awkward silence, of which you’re wholly responsible. 

“His cat is dying,” Remus says eventually.

You wince. “Oh, no, really?” you ask. 

“He’s had her since we were kids. It’s really nice of you to do this.”

“I really do think he’d do it for me,” you interrupt. “I’m not, you know, cruel, because we don’t get on.” 

“I know. James knows that too.” 

You want to get defensive. Why does it matter if James knows? But Remus is too nice to argue with, and secretly, strangely, you’d wanted James to know you aren’t mean. You wouldn’t have sent him that email this morning if you’d known, and maybe this is apology enough for that. 

Still, it doesn’t feel right when James returns, gathering his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I will bring you the most amazing desserts of all time as a thank you. I won’t even put your mug on the top shelf the next time I wash it,” James promises you. 

You bat aside the rage of knowing he’s the culprit and instead get out of your seat before he can leave. “Uh, James?” you ask. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

You look at the floor by his shoes. “About earlier…”

James stands subtly between you and the bulk of the office. “You okay?” 

“I just– I’m sorry for complaining about your earphones. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.” 

“You weren’t insensitive,” he says, “I was being obnoxious. Don’t worry about it, okay?” 

“I–” You hate yourself for all your stammering. “Hope whatever is wrong, that you’re okay. I’ll cover for you for the week if you need me to.” 

“Please stop feeling sorry for me. It looks weird on you. I much prefer you when you’re frowning, you get these super deep wrinkles in your forehead that I just love.” 

You turn away without looking up. “I’m gonna input all your sales information wrong.” 

“And I’m gonna bring you the best donut you’ve ever tasted to say thanks, sweetheart.” 

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: New Management

It starts off small, in controlled, barely noticeable areas of Gotham.

Over days, the litter and trash vanish, the sidewalks are washed and cleaned, and even building yards long since abandoned are trimmed. No one notices at first because Gotham is so used to ignoring how dirty everything is until Poison Ivy makes a public announcement thanking the person who cleaned up Gotham's parks.

You know, while she was tearing up that one street with her vine monster.

After the Bats had her locked away pending a trial, they stopped to look around and realized, yes, someone had been cleaning house. No one really knows who, but things have started to change. Streetlights are replaced, graffiti is painted over, and cracked windows are fixed. It's a nice thought, but all this had the gangs up in arms, especially when their tagging disappeared.

To control the goodie-two-shoes, a few gangs burn down a few local parks- mostly the ones near or around Crime Alley- and they also loot the smaller businesses. It's a warning that the mystery housekeeper should be reminded of their station, but- well, it's all for nothing because, like magic, the following night, the damage is repaired and somehow better than before.

What's crazy is the water change. Everyone notices that right away.

Gotham's water system was just as corrupted and descriptive as its class system. If you were one of the elites- your water was clean and crisp- if you were one of the poor- your water was practically tar with how contaminated it was. Anyone in between got a fifty-fifty chance of drinkable water, depending on what side of the city they lived on.

It became an identifier, really. Depending on how often you were seen at stores buying bottled water, people could tell how well off your family was.

That's why, on a random Wednesday, Gotham lost their collective mind that the entire water system was fixed. Regardless of class, every household had clear, scent-free water from the tabs.

The few who wandered outside trying to figure out what in the world was happening were left stunned at the sight of Gotham's surrounding bodies of water.

They were clean.

All the rivers, the harbors, the silly little fountains found around Old Gotham- everything. It was safe to swim in them now. That was just wrong.

"What's happening?" Jason growls, crouching at one of Wayne Manor's main windows. His eyes are barely visible over the edge, allowing him to peek out into the yard, but he must not be fully visible, lest he become a target.

"I don't know," Tim hisses, taking a similar position on the second floor. He grips the communicator with a white-knuckle grip, trying his best to ground himself. "I just don't know. There are no witnesses, no evidence, no clues whatsoever on who's doing this to the city!"

"I don't like this!"

"No one does, Jason," Bruce intervenes; the accompanying sound of keys typing is familiar background noise. He's still in the cave, attempting to run through all reports of horrified Gothamites on social media, trying to find a pattern. "Babs? Do you have any new updates?"

"No!" She hisses, her typing sounding far more aggressive. "I can't find anything on those responsible. Nothing on the internet, nothing on public camera feeds, and nothing on rumors through dark web chats. It's like I'm trying to track a ghost!"

"This isn't natural, B," Steph cuts in. She's hiding in her bedroom closet, voice low in case her mom hears. After they realize some new lunatic is running loose in Gotham, her mom calls her back home to barricade them. If they had a bomb shelter, they would have been in it long ago.

"It's worse than we think," Duke huffs. He's somewhere near the top floor, having chosen a higher vantage point, hoping his meta powers would spot someone coming towards the manor. "I think I see glimpses of blue in the sky. If this continues at this rate, we'll have a clear blue sky in about two hours."

Multiple gasps of horror are heard throughout the communication lines. Bruce starts to type faster, barking orders for everyone to remain where they are and not go gather information. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Damian stands with a confused Cass, Dick, and Alfred. The only bats not originated from Gotham, so while they can claim to have years in the city, none of them truly know. "I do not understand. Is this not beneficial to Gotham?"

"It may be too much at once, Master Damian." The Bulter tells him carefully. He only speaks that slowly when Alfred thinks of every word before saying it. "Whoever is behind this must not be from Gotham. If they were, they know that people would lose their collective minds upon the improvements."

"But who could be responsible?" Cass asks, watching Jason duck and army crawl to a new window once some sunlight manages to break through the clouds where he was originally hiding.

"I wish I knew Miss Cass."

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton leans back in his computer chair in a dimension of hope and a skip away. He laces his fingers together, bending them until satisfying cracks are heard. It was a productive hour of work, but he thinks now that his virtual city had cleaner water, his NPCs should start healing and developing better.

He was suspicious of Madam Gotham—a new ghost that appeared within his territory of the Ghost Zone—but after a quick conversation, he decided to befriend her. Danny is glad he did, seeing as she was in danger of fading away. Her core had suffered severe damage due to denying her obsession for so long.

Danny could do nothing for her. Madam Gotham needed professional help that only certain Yetis could offer. Although the Yetis usually turned away anyone not of their kind, with Danny backing her up, they had been willing to take in Madam Gotham.

She had been stubborn, though, refusing to get help because she was too busy playing her silly little game. The computer she played it on was unique to her realm and could not withstand the cold temeture of the Far Frozen. Danny was literally watching her melt—a horrific reminder of Dani and her siblings' disabling—before he could take it anymore.

Only after agreeing to watch her video game did she decide to be moved to the Far Frozen to receive medical treatment. Now, Danny never really liked those farming simulator games, but this was different in the sense that the city was already there.

His job was to further develop the city into a utopia. It was interesting to learn what modern issues the city had and how he could make decisions based on point costs on what to fix.

He gained points from making his citizens happier, supporting the Bats—the city's defenders—or choosing to develop options that significantly raised the value of his city.

It was rather addicting, really. He could see how Madam Gotham got so sucked in, even though it didn't really have much action for him to make. Mostly, he would let his citizens react to his new choices and use his points to delete trash and gunk.

There were some side quests he liked to work on, too, like helping certain citizens with drug addiction, depression, anxiety, or anger issues. Danny has no idea why Madam Gotham allowed so many to develop so badly, so every day, he would give them all one good luck point to brighten their days.

He had three full tabs of characters, a brief explanation of their lives, and whatever issues Danny could make them go through. He would tackle the number of homeless youth next by fixing up the city's affordable housing and infrastructure.

It was a bit narcissistic of Madam Gotham to name her game town "Gotham City," but it's better than any name Danny could have come up with.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Crimes and Punishments Part 2: Speedsters

Masterpost

“Why are we all here again?” The Flash asked Batman.  Batman just made a noise in response. Like a hmmph, that somehow insinuated that Flash should know the answer to that question. 

Robin hangs up the phone with this Danny person, and states that he should be arriving shortly. And he does, coming right through the window, gaping the whole way.

“Guys, I can’t thank you enough for hosting this meeting. And setting it up and everything, but mostly for hosting. Because my realm is slightly poisonous to you guys and because you’ve given me the chance to visit space! We’re in space right now, how awesome is that?! Can someone tell me all about this place later?” Danny rambles, as excited as Red said he would be. 

Red gives Bruce a smug look in response.

“You’re welcome, Danny.”

“Now that we’re all here.” Batman grunts and everyone starts taking seats around the table.

Danny sheepishly takes a seat at the middle seat facing the window. The three speedsters sit across from him, Bruce at one head and Nightwing on the other. Red sits next to Bruce and Danny, Robin sits next to Nightwing and Danny. Danny pulls out a few pieces of paper and a pen.

Once everyone is situated, Batman gestures to Danny. “You called this meeting, about some broken laws?”

Danny nodded solemnly, his aura becoming slightly darker and more oppressing. He faces Bruce, “Yes, I have on my council the ancients of time and speed.” He turns to the speedsters. “You have been accused of breaking Clockwork, the ancient of time’s, rules about interfering in the timestream. He has stated many instances that you have left your own time, changed the past, and changed the future. Unfortunately, in doing so you have also corrupted reality and interfered in more laws of my dimension in bringing back the dead.”

“I’m sorry, but who exactly are you to be the authority on time and speed and, what, the dead too? Who are you at all?” Flash asks.

“We were told you were King of an alternate dimension, how does our dimension affect yours at all?” Kid Flash asks.

“I’m not the authority for time and speed, those are members of my council. Clockwork has been bringing complaints to me about all of you for a long time, but it wasn’t until I started investigating the other matter-” He makes a gesture towards Red, who nods, “that I discovered that the main cause of these problems has been your meddling with reality. You have created cracks in reality, caused by the fracture in the space-time continuum, and these cracks opened your realm to mine, which is poisonous to yours by the way. Clockwork has been cleaning up your messes in the timestream, and now I have cleaned up the leaks, and there is patchwork being done on reality right now.” He checks the last few points on his paper, making marks for each correction being made.

“You have control over all of that?” Impulse blurts out.

“More like I have control over the people who control all of that. Mostly. I’m in charge of space!” Danny smiles wide, fangs out and aura glowing for a second. “Your main interference with Space is the fact that you broke holes into your dimension, but I’m not big on punishments. Speed, the one who gave you your powers, she said you’d met with her before?” Danny pauses and glances between the speedsters.

“We’ve met the Speedforce.” Flash states. “We don’t fully understand the Speedforce or how it works though.”

“Yeah, that would be her! Dani doesn’t take the time to explain anything, always places to be, you know? But, she presently doesn’t have any complaints. Which complicates matters for me. Clockwork is demanding that she take the gifts she gave you, your powers, but she is refusing.”

The speedsters, having tensed, all relaxed at that.

“But Clockwork demands reparations for all the damage you have caused, and all the work he has put in to correct your mistakes.” Danny shrugs in a what-can-you-do manner. “And you have each meddled in the timestream correct?”

They each confirm.

“Right. We’re going to have to come to an agreement on repercussions for your violation of time law and space law. Now, I can’t say for sure who did what, or how many times, and what damage in particular it caused, which means unless you want to fess up right now, you’re all going to receive equal punishments, on the assumption you each caused a third of the damage.”

“I did most of it.” Flash says immediately. “I was the first to get my powers, I didn’t know how to use them, or how badly messing with the timestream ends up until I did it multiple times.”

“But we all did it!” Kid Flash argues.

“I’m technically messing with the timestream right now.” Impulse mutters.

“You did it while learning too! At least you figured it out before creating something like Flashpoint.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Danny raises his voice over theirs as they start to argue. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He rubs his head for a moment. “Now, mistakes are understandable, especially while learning new powers. So, in the future, new speedsters will be given leniency so long as you three take responsibility for teaching them the dangers and the rules. We will not punish those learning unfairly.”

The speedsters settle back down in their chairs.

“We can teach new speedsters.” Flash agrees.

“Wonderful! That burden is now part of your punishment.” Danny makes a note on his paper. “One of the main damages done, raising the dead in your alterations of the timeline, will at this point not be undone. From this moment on, everyone stays how they are. We don’t want to go around killing people for your mistakes.”

The speedsters start glancing at the Bats, not having known that was even an option.

“Thank you.” Red states on behalf of the speedsters. Danny nods.

“With that covered,” He looks back at his papers, shuffling through a few. “Clockwork has made an agreement with Dani, as punishment for abusing your powers they will be taken away-”

All the speedsters start to interject, but Danny lets out some eldritch features and lets his aura become more and more powerful and fear-inducing until they all cower back in their seats. Once they are quiet he continues.

“I have been informed that you are all heroes on this planet, so we have all agreed to call this community service. Based on how long you’ve been helping and a few other factors, we made this decision: you will each lose your powers for a total of two months, and then be placed on probation. If you continue to serve your community and use your powers for good, then we will have no further problems. If any of you mess with the timestream on purpose your powers will be revoked permanently. If it is an accident, your powers will be removed again temporarily, but for a time period yet to be determined, but that will be longer than two months. Do you understand?”

They all nod slowly, but the Kid Flash speaks up.

“What if they need us while our powers are gone? We do help, we have people counting on us, what if our teams need us?”

Danny gives him a smile. “The Bats, when I spoke to them about the situation earlier, were concerned about that as well. If you agree to this plan, and we agree to only take one of your powers away at a time, that way the other two can coordinate and help when needed.”

“Will I be sent back to my own timeline?” Impulse’s voice is small and quiet.

“No. Just like with the dead, what is done is done.” Danny makes sure to have eye contact with Impulse. “This agreement does mean you could never go back though, so if you did want to…” Danny trails off.

Impulse shakes his head.

“Okay then.” Danny checks his papers again. “Were there any more questions?”

He gives it a moment.

“Then I will take this agreement back to my people and make sure everything is set. Then we will need to set up a time frame for the removal periods. For now though, everything is done. Thank you so much for your cooperation!”

[ghouljams]

In honor of the holiday dearest to tumblr, the ides of March, can King! König get another attempt on his life? Poor guy is probably bored

Oh my god of course, how silly of me to neglect him like this. Have a couple assassination attempts.

You wake up before König does, a light sleeper by practice not by nature. You yank yourself out of his firm gasp to sit up at the first odd noise, and you think that's what rouses him more than anything else. More than the knife poised over him, or the shadow clad assassin that hovers beside the bed. You stare at them as your king blearily pushes himself into wakefulness. Just enough to grab the assassin's wrist and jerk it to the side with a sickening snap.

The knife falls with a pained whimper, grabbed tight by König and flipped clumsily in his tired hand to be forced into the side of the assassin's neck. König yanks the knife free of its ghastly lodgings and blood spurts over his hand. The assassin pitifully grasping at the wound as he collapses back, crimson painting every direction he turns. König tosses the knife into his chest, it sticks with a solid thunk, as the man writhes.

You're gathered back into your king's arms with a tired grumble, and dragged down to the mattress. König is wet with blood, the drip of it smearing the pillow as you shudder at the slick gurgling coming from the side of the bed. König seems unbothered, his breathing even and regular, his hands gripping you with the same possessive tightness he had before your sleep was interrupted. Your heart hammers in your chest. You don't sleep.

-

König pauses what he was saying, staring down at his cup with rapt attention. You sip your own wine with a raised brow. His eyes grow darker, hungrier, the longer he stares. Redder, you think, he gets this glow to his eyes, murderous and blood tinged, when he's particularly excited. You glance at the servants in the room, all of them standing at rigid attention. He's already standing when your eyes grace him again. You settle your cup on the table and blink at the discolored metal. Ah.

You fish through your pockets for your charcoal, and eye the unfortunate soul still holding the wine pitcher. Actually as far as poisons go, you're finding this one rather mild. You lick the last drops of wine off your lips and decide on another sip. It can't do any more damage than it's already doing, and focusing on this is easier than focusing on the awful crunch of bone against bone.

Your stomach turns, you're unsure if it's the arsenic or the knowledge that König has no sword on him, and yet you can still hear the visceral squelch of blood. You hazard a peak in his direction and catch the raise of his fist, blood dripping from his knuckles into the concave remains of the wine-bearer's face. König, for all his frenzied glee, has a stillness about him that unnerves you. His body poised to put all its power into every beat of his fist against the bloodied pulp he's already reduced the would-be assassin to.

You raise a hand for König's aid and he's beside you without fanfare. You swallow and settle your cup on the table, breaking off charcoal from the stick you carry. "Would you find out who else touched the wine?" You ask, polite and collected to hide the way your bones are starting to shake, "and order some vervain in hot water." The man bows and disappears as quickly as he'd shown himself.

You chew your dose of charcoal, force yourself to swallow the sludge before you turn your attention to the king. His heaving shoulders and blood splattered clothes prickle like ice over your skin, exciting and terrifying in the same breath. You wonder sometimes if these attempts on his life aren't without good reason.

-

You don't know why the fuck you're here, except that König asked you to be and you didn't have an excuse quick enough. The kingdom is airing their grievances, mostly the general populace complaining about uneven roads, crops dying, taxes still being too high. There's always too much that König would have no hope of solving, but through divine right has to listen to. You're only here to ask about moving your perennials to a different bed. You didn't think you'd have to go through such a demeaning process just to do something you were going to do anyway.

You think König gets a kick out of seeing you bow in front of other people.

Not that you get a chance to. The relatively tedious and boring display interrupted by the flash of knives and the death grunts of several guards. The instant panic that the collapse of the king's protectors sends through the crowd leads to a stampede towards the chamber doors. It's the sort of atmosphere you know König relishes, pulling a sword from the guard nearest him and thrusting it through the nearest assassin's middle. He rips the sword skyward, stopped only by the man's sternum. Though you suspect even that wouldn't have stopped König if another hadn't lunged for him.

You're pushed by the crowd, but you hardly feel it, too focused on the draw of König's sword through the air, the way it slices through a man's neck and turns to pierce his chest. There is a madness to the way König moves, nothing short of joy spreading through him as he turns and brings the sword down hard between another man's eyes. Three lives ripped away without a scratch on him.

He holds his sword as his side, rolls his shoulders as he eyes the last assassin, baiting the man into action. You watch, with your breath held, as the man darts forward and plunges his knife into the meat of König's stomach. Your heart hammers against your ribs, anxiety twisting your stomach as König drops his sword.

Two big hands fix themselves on either side of the man's head, and twist sharply to one side. You may be the only person in the room to head the snap of it, to see the jolt of death's motion through the body before it goes limp, held aloft only by the king's hands. Your breath catches in your throat as König tosses him to the side and tugs the knife from his stomach.

It's hard to tell which red is from the blood, and which is from his usual clothes. You don't try to identify either one, frozen where you stand as König turns and walks out of the room. People file past you, still pushing and shoving in a panic. A servant grips your arm, your eyes still fixed on the throne.

"The king is asking for you," they tell you.

"Right-" You mutter, before you can shake yourself awake, "right, yes, of course." You swallow, pull your wits about you, and offer them a smile. "Lead the way."

There are many reasons you cannot be queen, a lack of affection for the king isn't one of them.

[thebibliosphere]

I always forget people don't know I'm hard of hearing.

Probably because it doesn't affect my life as much as my other disabilities/chronic illness shit, so I don't bitch about it as much. But yeah. I'm hard of hearing on my left side. It started after the whole heavy metal poisoning/jaw bone infection thing, where I ended up with some nerve damage and bone loss.

Turns out that's bad for your hearing.

And if you're thinking, "oh, that's where she got Nathan's arc from in Hunger Pangs," yeah, I uh, I wrote Nathan's arc before we found out I had mercury in my mouth.

That whole first book was just my subconscious jumping up and down waving red flags and yelling, "wouldn't it be WILD if METAL POISONING was killing someone??? wouldn't it be even wilder if MOLD SPORES turned out to be [REDACTED]"

'Cause, yeah, I wrote that plot point before we knew about the deadly mold in the walls that was making my health worse. Wild.

Anyway, yes, I am hoh on my left side and also have an audio processing disorder, so, y'know, sorry if you ever meet me irl and I'm awkward af, but unless we're in a quiet room with limited background noise, I will not know wtf you're saying lmao.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: ocean sunfish

Everybody knows ocean sunfish, right? Those giant, slow, silly-looking, parasite-ridden morons that eat jellyfish and can't defend themselves from predators really are the worst fish right?

(GIF: Lex Luthor screaming "WRONG!" from the movie Superman Returns)

First of all there's no such thing as a "best" or "worst" animal and judging animals by human standards of what is cool or successful is silly because our standards are not even universal among humans, let along other species. Secondly, the closest thing we have to a way to judge a species is how successful it is in its niche and sunfish are doing pretty good, thank you very much. Today I'll be talking about sunfish and how they are not bad fish at all.

(Image: a Mola mola located near the surface of the ocean, with the tip of its dorsal fin and part of its head breaching the surface. It is a round fish with no tail, only a wrinkly region of its body. Its dorsal and anal fins are long and slender The eyes and mouth are proportionately small. It is a pale white with light grey spots. A SCUBA diver is visible in the background. End ID)

Ocean sunfish, or molas, are members of the family Molidae, which is divided into five known species across three genuses. Im mostly going to be talking about members of the genus Mola, but I'll mention the other two as well. Molas are known for their size and odd appearances, looking like someone chopped a fish in half and the front half went swimming off on its own. They are members of the order Tetraodontiformes, making them cousins to pufferfish, triggerfish, boxfish, and others. While many members of that order are known to be highly poisonous, molas are not. They also lack several other common traits. Despite being bony fish, most of the mola skeleton is made of cartilage and they do not have swim bladders, forcing them to actively swim to maintain their position in the water column. Instead of a tail and caudal fin, sunfish have a structure called the clavus. The clavus is formed mostly from connective tissue and is used as a rudder. Because the clavus is mostly made of connective tissue, damage to it is not particularly harmful to the fish. There have been molas found alive and well that have had portions of their clavus eaten by predators. Because of their shortened stature, molas have the fewest vertebrae of all fish. The dorsal and anal fins are elongated and are used to provide propulsion by flapping back and fourth similarly to how birds wings move, albeit slower. Minute alterations in the angle each fin moves through the water help with steering, while more sharp turns are aided with jets of water ejected through the mouth and gills. Like their other Tetraodintid relatives, mola teeth are fused together into a beak-like structure that prevents them from closing their mouths. They also have some more regular pharyngeal teeth in the backs of their mouths. Some reports say that the fish can make noises by grinding the pharyngeal teeth together. Mola skin is thick and rough, described as being similar to sandpaper in texture. Like most fish, the skin is covered in a layer of protective mucus.

(Image: a mola sunbathing. It is positioned with one side of its body facing the surface. Its body is just under the water's surface. End ID)

The three species in the genus Mola are Mola mola, the ocean sunfish and most well-known of the molas, Mola alexandrini, the giant, southern, or bumphead mola, and Mola tecta, the hoodwinker sunfish. Mola mola has an average weight of 247 to 1000 kg (545 to 2205 lbs), mouth to clavus length of 1.8 m (5.9 ft) and dorsal to anal fin length of 2.5 m (8.2 ft), though some individuals can get much large. The largest individual on record had a length of 3.3 m (10.8 ft), height of 3.2 m (10.5 ft) and weighed 2300 kg (5100 lbs). M. alexandrini is the largest of the species. The largest known southern sunfish measured in at 2744 kg (6049 lbs) and 3.25 m (10.66 ft) from mouth to clavus, making it the largest known bony fish in the world. They can be distinguished from M. mola by the presence of bumps on the forehead and chin, a more rounded clavus, and differently-shaped scales. M. tecta is known as the hoodwinker sunfish because it was long mistaken for one of the other two species and was only identified as a separate species in 2015 after the body of one washed up in Christchurch, Aotearoa/New Zealand and was examined by scientists. Because it has only recently been discovered, little is known about this species. They appear to have the same range of sizes and weights of the other two species and can be distinguished by a slimmer body shape and a smooth clavus. All three species are found in tropical and temperate waters worldwide, though M. alexandrini and M. tecta are more commonly found in the southern hemisphere.

(Image: a Mola alexandrini underwater. It is distinguishable from Mola mola by the two bumps above and below its facial region, making it look lumpy. It is surrounded by striped cleaner fish. A SCUBA diver is in the background. End ID)

(Image: a Mola tecta seen from the side. It is smoother than the other two species. More of its body is grey with white spots. End ID)

Molas are open-ocean dwellers that live life in the slow lane. For a long time, it was believed they were moved around by ocean currents they could not swim against, making them plankton. We now know they not only can swim against the current, they are capable of bursts of speed fast enough to breach the water's surface and briefly go airborne. Sunfish are named for their habit of basking at the surface of the water. It was formerly believed they spent most of their time at the surface, but thanks to tagging, we know they make frequent dives into the deep ocean. They likely bask at the surface to warm up between dives. You may not expect something as slow as a sunfish to be a predator, but they are. Much of their diet consists of gelatinous animals including jellyfish, siphonophores, ctenophores, and salps, though they will also eat small fish, fish larvae, squids, crustaceans, and even seagrass. Because they can't chew, sunfish move prey into and out of their mouth by rapidly switching between sucking water in and spitting it out in order to shred the prey into pieces small enough to swallow. Special mucus lining the digestive system may protect the molas from the stinging tentacles of their prey. Molas and other jellyfish-eaters like the leatherback sea turtle play an important role in the ecosystem by keeping jellyfish populations down. Jellyfish are not particularly nutritious, so the sunfish need to eat a lot of them to survive, something they seem to be pretty good at. Being slow and having a very low-energy lifestyle helps the fish survive on a less-nutritious diet, making them very energy efficient. One thing molas get a lot of flack for online is having lots of parasites (with up to 40 known species). This doesn't really make sense. Every species has parasites. An animal in the wild that doesn't have parasites is vanishingly rare. Having parasites doesn't make an animal suck, it makes them ordinary. Because of their parasite load, molas are frequent visitors to cleaner fish, who will eat their parasites. Molas will also let seabirds land on them and eat their parasites while they rest on the surface. The molas attract birds by splashing at the surface. Adult molas have few natural predators, but are hunted by sharks, sea lions, and orcas. Interestingly, sea lions have been known to kill molas apparently for sport, ripping off the fins and then leaving the mola to die.

(Image: a mola seen from the front. Multiple smaller fish are picking parasites off of its skin. End ID)

Molas are broadcast spawners who release their gametes into the water alongside each other. A female mola can release 300 million eggs at a time, more than any other vertebrate. Newly hatched sunfish are 2.5 millimeters long and are often cited as having the largest discrepancy in size between juvenile and adult of any vertebrate. An adult mola can be 60 millions times the weight of a larva. The larvae look very different than adult, lacking their dorsal and anal fins but having pufferfish-like spines. Juveniles school together for protection and become solitary as they age. The diet of the fish varies as they age, with younger fish feeding more on squid, worms, crustaceans, and fish but becoming more reliant on jellyfish and other gelatinous prey as they age. We don't know the growth rate of molas, but a juvenile in the Monterey Bay Aquarium grew from 26 to 339 kg (57 to 880 lbs) in 15 months, suggesting they grow rapidly. The maximum age of molas is unknown, though individuals in captivity have lives for up to 10 years.

(Image: a mola larva. It is a brown ball with large, black eyes and no visible fins. It is covered in transparent, conical spines. End ID)

The two non-Mola sunfish are Ranzania laevis, the slender sunfish and Masturus lanceolatus, the sharptail sunfish. Both are alone in the genuses, but other species are suspected. I also found references to other species in Masturus, but could find literally no information about them other than that Masturus oxyuropterus is listed in some records. The sharptail sunfish looks very similar to Mola mola and reaches similar sizes, but its clavus has an extension that looks like a short tail. They were initially believed to be deformed molas before being recognized as a separate species. Unlike molas, sharptail sunfish are rarely seen at the surface, preferring to stay in deeper water. The slender sunfish is the smallest of the family, reaching up to a meter long. While we don't know much about them, we know their diet includes a lot of fast-moving squid, indicating they can move faster than their much larger relatives.

(Image: a sharptail sunfish lying on a blue tarp. It looks similar to a Mola mola , but with black clavus and fins. At the back of the clavus is a triangular extension. End ID)

(Image: a person holding a slender sunfish. The fish is small enough to be held and has a longer and skinnier body than other sunfish. Its body is a shiny silver with blue lines. End ID)

Mola mola is classified as vulnerable by the IUCN while the other species are classed as either data deficient or least concern. Molas are vulnerable to strikes by boats and bycatch. Another danger to them is plastic bags, which can easily be ingested after being mistaken for a jellyfish. The bags can suffocate the fish or block their digestive tracts. Despite their size, molas are docile and not dangerous to humans. I found one example of a mola harming a human and it happened when the fish jumped out of the water and landed on a boat. Allegedly, some fish have learned to recognize and approach SCUBA divers. Molas are difficult to keep in captivity due to their size, the amount of space the need, and special feeding needs, so only a few aquariums have them. Molas are captured for food, with the biggest markets being in Taiwan and Japan, where they are often called mambos.

(Image: a SCUBA diver attempting to hand feed a small mola. End ID)

[roach-works]

im working on a thought and it’s not all the way roughed out, so bear with me:

i think western society has been so obsessed with the threat of invasion for so long that it’s poisoned all of us and seriously damages progressive moments that need solidarity to survive.

like, it’s a cornerstone of conservative, right-wing, and fascist ideology that the Our People are under a direct, continuous, obvious threat of invasion by Bad Guys who want to come into our space, use up all our resources, hurt our vulnerable members, and replace us entirely if they can. this fear has been repeated so many times we take it for granted. we assume it’s something to take into consideration when we talk about immigration, about welfare, about voting rights/suppression, about gender relations. there are bad guys out there. they want to come into our space and take all our stuff and hurt us. we have to stay alert, suspicious, hard-hearted. we can’t let them in!

men are easily made fearful of dangerous, gold-digging, manipulative, crazy women, which is of course all of them. because if men give them an inch they’ll take all their money and ruin their friendships and leave them broke and ruined.

real women are easily taught to fear treacherous, sneaky, secretly-deadly trans women. because if they’re allowed into bathrooms or women’s groups they’ll rape and pillage and replace all the real women with horrible fakes, ruining everything.

the queer community was easily made fearful and contemptuous of weird, lying, faking-it-for-attention ace people. because if they were allowed into the community, they would use up all the resources and leave the place wide open for further invasion from other fakers, which would obviously ruin everything.

some community moderation is necessary, on a case-by-case basis, to remove genuinely harmful individuals. but it’s really chilling to me to recognize this pattern of thought playing out over and over: we have to hold the line. there is an US and a THEM, there is an INSIDE where we’re safe and an OUTSIDE where the bad guys come from. we have to protect ourselves from invasion, from INFECTION. your kindness and sympathy is how they trick their way in. stay alert. stay aware. stay safe.

but like: this is such bullshit? this is SUCH BULLSHIT. the more US there is, the less THEM there is. bringing people into the circle with kindness, support, affirmation, education, makes the circle bigger. many hands make light work. many voices make a bigger noise. unions work. solidarity works. immigration makes societies healthier and more vibrant. people on welfare go on to boost their local economies. new perspectives can solve old problems.

aren’t you tired of being a pawn in someone else’s culture war? aren’t you tired of flinching, of cowering, of holding back, of toughening up? don’t you want to be a person among people? don’t you want to put your fear down and learn to love the world again?

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil |VII| pirate!Eddie au

a/n - ok, so first of all, i cannot thank everyone enough for the support on this fic. i am just in awe at the love its been getting recently. so i think it times out perfectly that this chapter is the one i have been the most excited to write and had been waiting to write since probably chapter 3 or something. I really hope you like it. Be sure to reblog and/or comment (and remember asks are also always welcome!)💗

Series Masterlist

word count: 5.4k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near death experiences in water. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 7: Four Corners of Heaven

“The heart of man is very much like the sea; it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls too."

- Vincent van Gogh

The ship swayed from side to side, taking you along with it, stumbling from one leg onto the other as you struggled to find your balance. Wardrobe doors flung open, banging against their hinges. Papers flew all over the ground as the desk shifted from its secured position.

A banging noise sank deep into you, pulling you back to the Red Tail. The panic lasted until you realised you heard waves crashing against the window. How tall would they have to be to reach the glass? How strong to be able to open the hinges? 

It smashed against the wall, nearly cracking, but the damage was still done as water spilt inside with vicious attacks. Cursing, you made your way over, trying to close it before the entire floor would be under water. The spurts hit you in your face, shoving it down your throat. The icy feeling froze your skin as the heavy salt taste burned your tongue. By the time you closed the window, you had been drenched. You heaved for air, bend over with your arms on your knees. 

There was shouting outside the room. Incoherent behind the wood and rain layers, but the sense of emergency remained. 

You let yourself fall to the ground, back against the wall. All the commotion was now accompanied by your heartbeat drumming in your ears. When you calmed down, you realised you had still been holding the letter, scrunched into a wet roll between your fist, the water dripping off it came down in dark grey tears. Quickly, you dropped it into one of the desk's drawers and shut it. 

The ship also began to halt its tilt, regaining its composure, and so slowly, your anxiety faded. It allowed you to think; look around. Two longswords were hanging up on the wall, so you grabbed one and did your best to block the mechanics that opened the window. It should hold the water for some time, but you could only hope. You ignored the metal's clanking sound against the glass as the force pushed against it. 

As more shouting erupted from outside, the smaller the room felt. Suddenly you were back on the Red Tail, under the desk, hiding from these men. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it? They hid you away to keep you safe… and yet. The walls closed in on you. The water seemed to rise, but only in your mind, drowning in helplessness. 

If something did happen to this ship, you thought you would die either way, and you might not know many things, but one thing was certain: you would not die in Munson’s cabin.  

When you walked out of the room the past days, you were greeted with plush warm air, as if you had fallen gently atop a pillow. Now, it was more like a hard fall. The wind slapped your entire body, and the harsh rain cut at your cheeks. Each step felt as if you had been anchored to the ground. 

All around you was chaos. Water was everywhere. Rain poured harshly, a million icy bullets coming down your skin, soaking through your clothes. The waves reached a height as you had never seen, coming in closer by the second, threatening to spill over the railings. Some already did, drowning the wooden panelling of the deck, leaving nothing untouched as barrels rolled around. Crew members ran behind them, with meters of ropes, hoping to steady the load, but it was in poor attempts when their feet could barely remain steady. Munson threw around commands, but in these circumstances, his beloved ship had a mind of her own, and it was protesting her captain. 

The rest, in the meantime, did their best to keep up with what the captain had to say. Pulling the sails, ensuring a hold on all the loose cargo on the deck from slipping away. With buckets, they threw out water that splashed onto the ship, but with each wave, the amount only doubled. The men stumbled over themselves, knocking eachother over as the boat swayed immensely. 

You heard your name being called from the side and saw Harrington at the helm. Seeing him in the rain, you could not help but think of a dog. How the animals shrink in size when met with water, shaking and whimpering, just wanting to escape the cold. All of them, in fact, everyone around you, reminded you of it. They were all simply fighting for their life against the elements. 

Harrington looked at you sternly, and you could tell what he was saying with his expression alone. Go inside. But you stared blankly back, with no intention of listening.

That is when the wind picked up, pushing the ship off course. The helm began spinning in circles, and Harrington held onto its spurs for dear life, turning it back with all his remaining power. You could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. His grip kept slipping. He cursed loudly, but there was no one there to help. No one except you. It took you one quick glance to realise it, and once that occurred, you immediately stepped up to him and pulled at the spurs.

Harrington looked taken aback, for a second forgetting the task at hand, and that one second had been enough for him to fall back a few steps and the helm to begin to unfold again, resulting in another loud curse.

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Helping you!’ you called out; both of you were sputtering as the water of both sea and sky engulfed you. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He yelled out moments before another wave hit the vessel's side, and he got knocked off his feet. For a brief moment, until he had regained his stance, you were the only one holding the helm. The weight of the entire ship fell upon you for those brief seconds, which was overwhelming. It was too much, too heavy. You couldn’t carry on on your own. 

Harrington coughed out as he regained a grip on the wheel. He glanced at you with another expression of displeasure at your presence, but there was no longer time for him to argue. You could barely hold the wheel together. Your feet were slipping on the wet floor. 

‘Pull!’ he shouted almost directly into your ear, but he could have been miles away with the thunder roaring over your heads.

‘I am!’ you shouted right back, but clearly, it was not enough.

‘Pull harder than!’ 

I can’t, you wanted to shout back, but that would have been worthless. You were putting in every inch of power you had left in this, yet it would still take much more for the ship to cooperate. By the time you released the helm with certainty, your arms were burning with exhaustion, and your skin was numb from the thousands of pinpricks of the harsh downpour.  

Not that this mattered much. The rest of the ship was still in turmoil. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought a mist had set in from how dense the water came down, covering everything in a grey mass. The wind blew you back three steps for each that you attempted to make. 

You were both breathing heavily, which was hard as it was combined with trying not to swallow the loads of water that came down upon you with each breath you took. Was there even air to breathe at this point? Or had you already sunk into the ocean? Everything felt on top of its head, spinning around. You barely heard what Harrington said as you pulled yourself out of the nausea.

‘What?’ you asked, shouting everything out to come out above the noise. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. Now, what was he apologising for? And why now, as the storm was only growing stronger, it seemed. The two of you still stood side by side at the helm, holding it tightly, but now more for your own sake, anchoring yourself from the wind. Across the ship, you saw the rest of the crew battling with the weather. Munson had stopped shouting out commands and was part of a group trying to keep the mizzenmast up. He had discarded his jacket somewhere along the way, leaving him to let the water soak into his shirt, which stuck to him meticulously. 

‘That are you apologising for,’ you turned quickly to Harrington. Facing his direction only caused the rain to directly attack your face. 

‘For listening to him,’ he shouted. As the storm raged on, you doubted anyone could hear the two of you anymore, no matter how loud you spoke. ‘I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, it was stupid.’

‘But why—why did he tell you to do that?’ 

To your surprise, Harrington laughed. ‘I’ve realised long ago it is better not to understand how his mind works.’ 

You wanted to reply that, no, you did want to understand exactly how his mind worked because it was making you insane when suddenly, a crash sounded over the vessel. All heads turned to starboard, where something must have just crashed bast the railing beams. A large whole gaped at the rest of you; a crate had already fallen out, but it was the least of your worries as you saw an arm hanging on for dear life from one of the broken wood beams. 

Munson was the first person to reach the crewman in peril. He reached for him just in time as the man’s grip slipped off the wood. The captain lay flat on his stomach across the deck. Some more men reached him and tried to pull him in, but the ship shifted again on the waves; nothing was in their favour. 

‘Harrington!’ the captain yelled, but when his voice reached you, it was less than a murmur against the wind. ‘HARRINGTON!’ He looked over toward the helm, and that is when he noticed you. 

You didn’t give him the same amount of attention, for you had a better view of everything around. You could see the stack of men that had now gathered at the broken ship’s side, pulling their mate back to safety, but you also saw the barrel that was lopsiding, threatening to fall over with each hit of the waves. They must have missed it when securing everything in haste. From its position, it seemed that if it would topple over, the barrel would roll directly into the panicked rescue operation. 

Harrington, who had been trying to steer the ship as best as he could in the circumstances, must have seen it too, as you had only taken a step to the side, and he had already grabbed your arm. 

‘Let go off me, or I will give you another black eye!’ You threatened. 

‘Have you gone mad!’ He shouted over the yelling below you. 

‘Yes!’ You couldn’t help but smile and possibly not even far from any truth. The last few weeks were maddening in every possible way. Whatever had or would have happened, there was no denying that you had changed, and the most evident proof was right there as you ran down the stairs in an attempt to save the men that you had thought would lead you to your death. Just as you thought you had reached it in time, the barrel tipped over entirely, hitting the ground and immediately started to roll. It rolled in your direction, the only obstruction in its way.

Without thinking, you let yourself crush against it, shoulder to wood. The pain was intense but passed quickly, and though you had let your feet slip and there was nothing to mask the fall, you had still managed to stop the large piece of refuse from hurting the others. 

You could see them pulling the fallen crewmate back onto the deck when you got up. Shuffling through your memories of what you had encountered and heard the past few days, his name didn’t come up, and yet you felt a huge relief fall off you. 

‘You’re welcome!’ you said, tired and feeling heavy. 

Someone helped Munson get up. His hair was stuck all over his face, but when he brushed it aside, you saw his face—full of anger. He stormed over to you or tried to, considering how the ship had thrown him off-balance. 

‘What should I be thanking you for?’ He spat out, primarily due to all the rain that had soaked into him. 

‘For saving your life!’ You had not expected him to be thankful, that was not who Munson was, but you had not imagined him to be angry. Yet, his eyes were rageful, his jaw tense as he looked at you silently and turned to his men to yell out: 

‘Someone secure that damn wall.’ 

Aye. There were already three men on it, trying to block the wrecked piece of the ship. Any proper reparations would have to wait until the storm had run its course. There was no way for them to sit there with the waves splashing into their faces at such speed and force and nowhere to stand without a risk of falling. 

The captain turned back to you. ‘I told you to stay inside.’

‘If I had, you would have been in the water now!’ You shouted back, ‘clearly, you need as many hands on deck as possible.’

‘Not yours.’ He wiped his face off from the rain, but it poured over him with even more strength. ‘Go back to my quarters. Now.’

‘No.’ You stood your ground, pushing back against Munson’s and the wind’s will.  You would not let yourself be stowed away. He could not take this away from you. He could not take you away. You wouldn’t let him. Not again.

‘That is an order.’ He snapped. 

‘I do not take orders from you.' You may not have been much help, but you had already kept Harrington from losing complete control over the helm and practically saved the captain from falling into the ocean's depths. Still, it was not enough to convince the captain, as his reply was clear and straightforward, despite all the noise that muffled your voices from eachother.

‘You’ll die out here!’ A wave pushed you forward, stumbling into his chest. He held you up by your wrist before you both fell. 

‘So will you!’ You looked him in the eyes, pleading. Unsure for what. Something. Anything.

For a moment, you thought you had won him over, but then he looked around, shouting out names of his crewmen, anyone who could hear him or get close enough to you. But they were all too occupied. Finally, one of the coopers, who was already tying up the barrel you had so swiftly taken care of with the rest of the cargo, ran up at the sound of his name.

‘Take care of her before I do,’ Munson told him. The boy—as he seemed younger than most men on this ship—nodded, but you saw in his face he had nothing over you. Before he could reach for you, you pushed past him towards the captain. 

‘I’m not leaving you.’ Perhaps that were not the words you had meant to say. Maybe you simply wanted to say that you were not about to leave this deck, but those were the words to come out of your mouth.

As a response, he asked the same question that crossed your mind as soon as those words had left your mouth. ‘Why?’ 

‘Because–’ but before you could answer, a pair of arms grabbed you and pulled you away. You screamed out, demanding to be let go, but it was all washed out in the storm. It couldn’t have been the boyish cooper that had taken you; his hold was too firm and strong. Whoever they were, they dragged you back toward the cabin on the captain's orders, towards alleged safety. What would happen if they opened the door to reveal a waterfall streaming past their feet because those bloody windows broke open once more? What then? 

But you felt a pinch of pride in your heart because you knew that some days ago, you would not have dared to stand up to the captain with such defiance. You certainly would not have dared to kick and scratch at the man holding you until he let you go. You would have been shoved into that room and locked away, and maybe it would have been for the better because just moments after you freed yourself, you locked eyes with Munson. He was ready to speak, yell, and so were you, but all of that was washed out by a wave. One larger than you had ever seen before. It towered over the ship, dampening everything in its shadow. And then it crashed down. You had just about managed to take one final breath and heard a scream of your name. 

There was a push, and something hit your head, or was it your head that hit something. Either way—

Everything went black. 

That must be what death feels like. Floating, weightlessly numb. There is darkness, and then there is light. It grows and grows, overcoming the chasm and suddenly, all the pain from before is gone.

It is disorienting at first as you try to understand where you are. It all feels familiar and yet impossible at the same time. You do not know how you got there but know the way perfectly well. You remember it all exactly—that day—like no time had ever passed. It must have been years ago. Long before the wreckage and the fire and the storm and chaos. Long before him. And yet… 

As you come to, but not exactly, you hear the mewing of seagulls. A flock hovers over your head. The sun shines brightly. As you move your hand, blades of grass tickle your fingertips and that smell… the sweet scent of summer. 

There’s a weight on your stomach. A book. You had been reading it for hours under the tree. The large lime tree in the garden, but to call it a garden is an understatement. The branches rock gently in the breeze, shaking their leaves in a greeting. 

You sit up, letting your back rest against the tree bark. In the distance are voices, children playing, merchants selling their produce, and animals roaming freely over the streets like any other day. 

Then you hear it. 

‘Gentlemen, I think we have an agreement then,’ your father says as he emerges from a corridor. You want to jump into his arms, tears already welling up in the corner of your eyes, but that is not how that day had gone. 

Besides, he has company. 

‘Yes, sir,’ a second man replies. ‘The troops are all ready to go.’ 

‘Brilliant,’ your father says. None of them have realised that you were sat there yet, able to hear every word they said. If they had, they would have sent you away. Not because any of their matters are private or a secret, it is just some light conversation between commanders. They would have sent you away because you, as a lady, have no reason to be bothered by such topics. 

You dare to peek a glance at the men accompanying your father. Like all the others before, they must be some kind of officer; their appearance told you as much. You had seen plenty of these types of men. Your father often invited those who harboured their ships in town. No matter where they were from. Although, they seemed to be wearing similar colours to what the soldiers around your house wore. 

You didn’t know either of the two men’s names that day. Why would you? It was the first time you had seen them in a lifetime full of new faces. And it would be several years until you would see them again. Years that would barely change admiral Carver’s appearance. He had maintained his boyish young looks until the day he died. 

By now, you knew you had fallen deep into a dream, but how much of it was fantasy? It felt like a memory, but why were you haunted by demons? Maybe it was your brain filling in gaps, playing tricks on you, covering up a face you had entirely erased from your memory by one you could never forget. That did not seem right, however. The pieces fell too perfectly into place. Just not in any way, you had expected them to. 

It was a trick. It must be. That was, could, not him, after all. His hair was neatly tied back and much shorter, to begin with. Though mostly covered with the shadow of his brimmed hat, his face was fuller, happier, and clean-shaven. His fingers were clean, and light without the weight of those large silver rings, and his clothes were the pristine uniform of the navy, which could not possibly hide a lifetime of scars and tattoos underneath them. It simply could not be.

And yet, when he catches your eye, that same pair of warm brown eyes catch you off guard. He smiles your way, tipping his hat, saying ‘ma’am’ with a smile before catching up to the rest of his entourage.

You awoke in a sheen of cold sweat, but it might have been the storm's remnants. The gentle feeling of grass blades against your fingers was exchanged into a harch grip on the bedsheets you lay upon. The only thing you could hear was your breathing, but behind that was the tap-tap-tapping of rain against the window. That’s where he stood, leaning against the glass by his side, arms crossed as he looked at you. No expression that you could make out in any sense, not because of the lack thereof, but because the emotions came in abundance.

‘What happened?’ Speaking felt like you had inhaled a bucket of sand instead of water; your throat had wholly dried out. 

‘What do you remember?’ the captain walked over to the bed with a cup of water to hand you, which you took with a shaky hand. 

‘Everything… I think.’ One sip had been enough to heal your drought. ‘There was a storm and a wave—’ 

‘Nearly washed us out,’ Munson filled in the gaps. His voice was steady, emotionless. Somehow, that felt worse than if he had been angry. He was holding back on you. ‘You hit your head and been asleep—we assumed you were sleeping—for six hours. More or less.’ But the longer he kept on talking, the more of a shake you felt in him. How he was holding back the rage that had exploded out of the both of you during the storm.

He continued talking. ‘We should be arriving at the harbour of Saint Claire shortly.’

‘I don’t understand,’ you let your fingers ghost over your forehead, which was wrapped in bandages, and a flash of pain blinded you momentarily. 

‘It’s a small island, not far off course. Safer for the night than the waters.’ The storm had calmed down but had not found its rest just yet. 

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ you said, standing up. 

‘Don’t get up,’ He tried to push you back but decided against making contact, which you took as an opportunity to defy his wishes. 

‘Do not tell me what to do, Munson.’ You were tired of it, and his constant commands made you sick…. Or was it the dizziness you felt as you got up too fast? Munson caught you just in time before you would hit your head again. Only then you realised that his shirt was still wet. It stuck to you like it stuck to him. His hair was a mess too. He must have come out of the rain moments ago.

He set you back up on your feet just to bring you back onto the bed. Once your head stopped spinning, you weakly asked: ‘Is everyone okay?’

‘You seem to have gotten the worst of it.’ 

‘Of course,’ you laughed at your own fortune. ‘Look,’ you made a second attempt to get up, hitting the last of the captain’s nerves.

‘Why won’t you ever listen?’ He grunted as he held you up. 

‘Because I don’t want to.’ You swatted away his hands, letting go of him entirely. ‘Will you stop that!’

‘Stop what?’

‘Pretending like you give a damn about me while we both know that I am not worth a dime of your time..’ 

He sighed, pivoting your tangent. 

‘No, sorry, you have your bounty to look forward to, of course, but don’t worry, I will personally write a letter to my father to tell him to just give you all his money, no matter in what state I return home if you will just leave me alone!’

‘Will you please stop yelling.’ He had his head rolled back, looking up at the ceiling. His fists clenched, and he walked around the room to calm down.

‘No! I am tired of this. All of this. I am tired of being treated like vermin.’

‘Vermin?’ He scoffed this time, turning his head to you in disbelief. ‘I’ve given you my clothes, my bed and two perfectly fine meals every day, and that’s what you think this is?’

‘Yes, and I’m very thankful for that, just as I am for being locked in a cage for days and now—what, you’re isolating me from your entire crew like I have the pest?’

‘I did no such thing!’ He was quick to defend himself from the accusation.

‘So, just Harrington then? Do not lie to me, Munson; I saw how he avoided me the whole time, then tried to not sound as if you had not commanded him to not speak to me.’

‘It was his own will that followed that order. I gave him a choice.’ 

‘What was it, listen or die?’ That sounded about right for you. 

‘We do not kill on this ship,’ he said sternly, seriously, almost more severe than you had ever heard him speak. 

‘Only on every other ship?’ With a snap, the window burst open again, letting in the whistling wind and the last drops of rain into the room, but it went unnoticed by the two of you as all the focus lay in the vicious words you threw back and forth.

‘Only those who deserve it. Yes.’ His face was set in anger, and you backed away, not because of his appearance but what he had admitted to. 

‘What did my men deserve? They were innocent!’’ Everyone on the ship must have heard you if they had not already been listening to the rest of the conversation.

‘Of course, we’re all just innocent men, aren’t we?’ He regained his need for theatrics as he spread his arms invitingly, laughing hysterically. ‘Everyone except for me, that is. I am the big scary monster at the bottom of the sea that you should fear. That’s what I am, right, darling? I’m the monster.’ He also began to get louder with each word, his words slurred with exhaustion. That is when you noticed the bottle on the edge of the desk. The rest of the room lay in disarray, but the bottle stood pristinely on the corner of the oaken desktop, uncorked without anything spilt it, but nonetheless half empty. 

‘Are you drunk?’ You reached for the bottle.

‘You wish, princess.’ He laughed. ‘Then maybe I wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. But please, be my guest, drink–’ he pointed at the bottle you were holding, ‘eat, take my clothes, my bed, men, maybe go through all of my belongings once more, read my personal correspondence like its a bloody periodical. Jump of the ship if you please. I do not care.’ He threw his arms up, and something in you tightened. Of course, he knew about you, having read the letter. But should you feel guilty about it now? When he just admitted to targeting your friends? So many things were going through your head, and words you wanted to say to him, but only one question truly encapsulated it all.

‘What is your problem?’ 

‘You.’ He pointed sternly, so there was no confusion on the matter, ‘You are my problem. Have been since the very first day.’

‘Well, if only there had been a solution to that,’ you threw your arms up in faux-surrender, ‘Like maybe, not kidnapping me, or you could have left me to die on my ship or, even better, not ambushing my ship!’ 

‘You were never meant to be on that ship!’ He yelled out, letting out all his frustrations while all of yours disintegrated at that moment, too, as you let his words go through you. The next word you spoke was too overcrowded by confusion to be heard from a distance. 

‘What?’

‘You know you weren’t supposed to be there.’ He blinked, and something in him cracked. A part of him you had never seen before that had come out by mistake and was now vulnerable against everything. ‘It was supposed to be them—him—’ 

‘How do you know that?’ 

‘Because I know them. You speak of what a monster I am, but I know what kind of monsters they are and what they do, and I know you’re not one of them.’ 

‘You don’t know anything about me!’ You gritted your teeth as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. With each sentence spoken between you, unbeknownst to either, utterly subconsciously, you had both pulled at an invisible string. Pulling each other closer and closer until there was nowhere left to pull; the knot tied you down. Inseparable.

Munson looked down at you, the angles of his features suddenly softer, eyes flickering over all the corners of your face. ‘Well, what do you know about me?’

If he had asked you this any other day, any other minute, even if it had been ten seconds before, you would have been able to answer him directly with no hesitation. But, unfortunately, he had asked it right at this moment, as you stood only inches apart. Breathing the same air in and out. Everything around you dampened. It was just you and him. No sound, no light, no touch. Time sped up and slowed down at the same time. You could have stood there for an hour or a second, which would not have mattered.

You were still fighting to find the words when he touched your cheek and pulled you in. His lips practically crashed into yours with the force of a burning sun, and that is what must have burst inside you as he did. All thoughts fizzled away from your mind to the point that the only thing you could think of was his body on yours. The touch between the two of you. His lips on yours, hand on cheek, chest to chest. 

But as smoothly as those thoughts had dissolved, as quickly they rematerialised when he pulled away. And with the moment of clarity, you let your body speak for itself as now your hand met his cheek.

Harshly. 

The impact ghosted your palm as the red mark across his jawline began to form. Following your hand’s movement, he turned his face away but slowly came back to you, and nothing had changed about him. You could not read anything of him. He was a closed book. A tall wall between two cursed lands.

But that is when you realised that something had changed in you. Deep within.

A fracture.

It must have been there for ages, shattering away small pieces here and there as time passed. Each day, no matter how hard you tried to keep them under control, the cracks would grow and grow, ready to burst out whatever it was hiding on the other side. This thing that was hungry for something. Something you had never known you wanted, even needed, but now could not live another second without. As your chest still rose with anger, and the final crack formed, breaking the foundations apart, you leaned in and let your lips meet his for a second time. Without letting another second go to waste, he grabbed you tightly and pulled you in, closing any possible gaps. Bursting through the walls. 

Like a cannon, 

straight through the heart.

The damage was done. 

Chapter 8

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[edajcheel]

Yandere! Overlord! Leech Brothers take in Villainess! MC after she's been discarded by her family

(TAGS: yandere, manipulation, poison, 18th century, cheating, MC is kinda detached, mentions of blood, the leech twins are lowkey mean, Floyd is obsessed with you and Jade is entertained by you. But both love you dearly!)

(A/N) : been very occupied with college.. But on another note, hopefully my fanfic writing hasn't become dusty!

Imagine this,

The notorious wild hound of the Night Raven Empire. A very well known nickname, throughout the capital and underground, and even in the battlefield. An arrogant, ruthless, and fickle young woman. Anything that slights her ends up getting crushed in her grasp, torn apart and disposed.

Nothing could be unseen with her hawk-like eyes. Perceptive, and sharp.

One would never talk about her greed, an immense inability to let something go when shes shown interest in whatever it is. The result of having a diamond spoon shoved into your mouth after your born. The word, 'wild' describes it all, a stubborn wild hound, that has the capability of pulling the strings behind the curtain to get what she desires.

But just like a wild hound, she can't walk away from the urge to throw, shatter, and break whenever she's outplayed. The teacup that she treasured in her heart was left broken into meager pieces of glass, and the potted flowers that sat beside her bed was thrown across the room. The shattering and tearing upon the middle of her heart was as harmful as poison.

Ironic how the only word she can describe the ache- was 'poison'. The infuriating noise click, clack, and click of heels plays over and over like a broken record in your mind. The stunning light grey of the moon, somehow was brighter that night, gleamed on the forbidden lovers– twirling around on the terrace. So distracted by each other's company, they've yet to notice the girl– you –who was the main audience.

The scene distorted in your mind, and another scene was presented. Your eyes are casted upon the lowly girl on the ground– with her strings snapped. Blood crawling down the corner of her mouth– a result from the poison –and her barely alive eyes looking at you. The glass of red wine was but in mere pieces of shards on the ground, and the blood-like wine spilled. Your arrogant eyes look at her– blaming her– this happened because of your own actions.

"This was your plan all along-..!" The silvery and smooth voice of your fiancée was unrecognizable from all the heavy breathing of panic he was enduring. "Was it not obvious to your keen eyes?" You quirked your brow at him.

His light-grey eyes that you loved, never looked at you even at this moment, busy holding his other companion in his arms. You gritted your teeth, and clenched your fist in pure rage. The realization hit you instantly, his sincereness and gentleness was never real– at least never towards you. The tea both of you shared, the times both of you would unite hands at the entry way of multiple balls, the longing letters– nothing was real. It was just an illusion.

Like a tool, used and discarded.

Like a villainess, just an obstacle to their story.

Like an unfortunate soul, never truly wanted.

Like a criminal, awaiting to be beheaded.

The wild hound sat on her bed, the only thing neat in her trashed room. The portrait of you and Azul were scratched, but the most damage was upon Azul's face. The teacup set– given by Azul –was on the ground replicating the broken wine glass on the terrance. The Hydrangea flowers– given by Azul –was on the other side of your room, ridden of its petals. Chairs, couched, and tables were flipped over. Anything you could have taken hold of, was trashed beyond repair.

"Of all things, you decided to poison that lowly baron girl?" Your dad grumbled under his breath, disappointed. "Whatever penalty you receive, do not drag me or your mother along with your foolish mess." He concludes and finally turns away from your back, slamming your doorway shut.

Over and over, hundreds to thousands, you couldn't count how many times you've caused uproar around the capital. Your irritation at the shopkeeper who didn't satisfy your standards was a victim to your anger, and so was the maids who had the nerve to act clumsy in your presence. Not even the butler was spared from your wrath. But the public had never paid a mind to you, always chalking it up as the wild hound being the same as ever. How very humourous.

Not even your parents paid a mind, no, they couldn't careless. They were already so used to your antics. They'd rather pay attention to your high intelligence, and your accomplishments rather than you in general. Of course, with a society always looking for fresh and new inventions and evolutions– it's a must to be smart so as to guarantee you won't fall behind.

But under unfortunate circumstances, you've finally arrived at your ending line. You've pulled the last straw, and now you'll reap what you sowed. You've done something so unforgivable that your parents have also given up on someone like you.

You've exhausted all your worth, and soon, your life will be taken away from your hands too. Truly, nothing to hold onto in this wrench world.

Your eyes –barely sparking with the same confident and sharp glint –dead and glazed out. You shift your weight off your bed, and walked towards your personal terrace, not bothering to check for any glittering shards of glass. You stride towards your balcony, resembling a lifeless corpse holding onto it's last strings.

The rain was softly drizzling onto your windows, creeping down to the ground. The wind piked up to it's highest volume once in a while. And, the moon, bright, and shimmering over the pitter patter of the rain floated above. Serene, and pleasant just like the eyes of the man who cheated on you.

The perfect calming shade of gray over the turmoil.

You pushed the door open, and walked out under the rain. The very cold droplets of water instantly targeted you, and without a doubt, in a few minutes– you would be soaked head to toe. You stood in the middle of your terrace, with your eyes gazing at calming moon.

Soon the turmoil around you was accompanied by your very own. Your tears were unseen, disguised as just another raindrop. But the agony on your face was apparent. Shortly, your legs had lost all the strength to hold your weight and you toppled onto the ground. The puddles of cold water splashed underneath you, and the rain was the only thing that kept you company while you weep under the moon.

"Oya, planning to neglect your side of the contract isn't a very honorable thing to do." A voice spoke, through the deafening rain. Somehow reaching the other man who stood a few feet away from him. "Sorry shrimpy, you can't die just yet, you still haven't fulfilled the contract!"

The unrelenting words fail to garner your attention. The combination of the loud rumbling of thunder and rain with your occupied mind block them out effortlessly.

Two pair of footsteps were unheard behind you, and a pair of hands– bare and cold –wrapped around one of your tangled strands and playfully twirled it around their finger. "Is shrimpy sad that her little partner cheated?~" He jabbed.

You limply turned your head to the left where you felt the motion, and you were met with glowing heterochromia eyes.

"Ya'know you deserve way better than what that bastard did to you." He hummed, and crept even closer towards your face. "He was just a lame ol' sticky octopus that's been in the mud for far too long~ Neh, Jade?"

The mirrored twin chuckled along with his dear twin's statement. "Eh, Floyd. Apologies, but I was truly unable to see what you thought so special of Duke Ashengrotto."

You were helpless to their tomfoolery, and weren't able to retort back with a snarky comment.

Jade raised his brow to your unusual behavior, "You're not as resistant to our comments as you were before. Have you been downgraded so badly because of the lost of your dear fiancee's love?"

Floyd let out a giggle at his brother's witty jest. "No worries~ we're still an option if you want our help, lil shrimpy!" He uses your head as a hand rest as he waits for your response.

But just like before, they were met with silence. No peep out of your tightly closed mouth underneath the company of the rain. Jade frowned at this, and came just as close as his brother was. He swiftly grabbed your chin and directed your eyes towards his.

"Just one word, and we won't hesitate to help you, under the conditions that you come with us, my dearest."

You took a breath, readying yourself for the inevitable. "I don't understand your thinking. I have not completed my first contract, and yet you propose another deal?" You slur your words due to your weariness. This time, you are the one who is met with silence. And you take it as a chance to complete your thought, "I will be sentenced to my execution in just a few hours. I won't be able to finish our still in-action contract. I apologize."

You are fully aware of the consequences of not completing your side of the contract, which was to marry Duke Azul Ashengrotto. They were the ones to hand you the poison, and you were the one who completely ruined the plan just because you weren't able to hold back your emotions. This contract was an utter failure, and you cursed yourself for thinking you were able to win back Azul.

"That's plenty enough for us. Neh Floyd?"

"Yup. We got our answer."

Huh? In the middle of your self-deprecating thoughts, you were interrupted by two men who nodded along with each other's statements. They both turned to you with devious grins, and stared at you.

"Hehe, your face is really adorable when your confused shrimpy. You look constipated~" You quite literally choke on your own spit in surprise to Floyd's offhanded remark. "Eh? Don't worry, we'll let you into our secret! Enough with the long face." Floyd gripped your cheeks with his hands roughly and wiped it as if he was truly trying to wipe your ever-increasing frown off your face.

While you were distracted by Floyd, Jade sneaked up behind you. You flinch as you felt him nonchalantly rest his palm on your shoulder. He peeked over to your startled face, and smiled coyly at you.

"In all honesty, Ms. ______, we didn't want you wedded to that ruffian in the first place. We are quite pleased at how things are already. So you may rest with no concerns." He said as if he was doing you a big favor, and his dear brother and himself weren't so-called "ruffians" either.

"It's waaaayy better to have you all to ourselves!" Floyd chided in, and shockingly rubbed his right cheek on your left cheek.

"Excuse me?" You somehow mustered the strength to respond, and tried to struggle out of their grasps, but their combined strength made you look like a hamster trying to escape a cat's maws. "L-let go of me, now!"

"Oh? So soon? This warmth is quite enjoyable."

"Yah! Stop thrashing around!"

Floyd gripped your waist even tighter, and you felt like all the air you've kept inside was pushed out of your lungs by force, rendering you weak to their movement.

"Hence, we will propose another deal to you. My dearest." Jade teasingly said in your ear, entertained by your reactions. "I-I refuse the deal! Stop this at once!" You instantly decline his proposal, not even sparing him time to fully explain the full details of it.

"Hey, you love us don't you?" Floyd asked, and your dumbfounded look makes contact with Floyd's serious non-joking face. It was unusual to see him act so docile. "I have no idea what you're going on about, though I do know that if you don't let me go this instant I will call my guards."

"Hm? What makes ya think your guards would help you out?" Floyd tilts his head, "You're practically gone from this family. You don't exist here anymore, lil shrimpy." Your eyes become downcast, and you start to realize the depth of his words. All of what he said was true. You really were going to become a minor villainess who was executed, and the story would end with a "Happily Ever After."

It wasn't the prospect that you were going to die that made you so fearful. But the prospect of dying by your lonesome. All by yourself, with no one who fought or at your side. You grimaced. A villainess in the beginning and to the end.

"Oya, she seems to realize what her fate has been dragging her towards." Jade piped in, and twirled a strand of your hair with one of his long fingers. "See now, lil Shrimpy? You have no one." Floyd's voice fell into a deeper octave. He was done playing around with you since you weren't able to take a hint. "It shouldn't hit you too hard. You're the one with Ms. Yuu's blood on your hands, after all." Jade quietly murmured, loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough so it seems he's talking about something simple like what kind of tea he should have for this gloomy day.

"But, you have us."

"We are the ones on your side, lil shrimpy ♡"

It was a mistake. You shouldn't have agreed to make a contract with two of the most dangerous, and savage people that prevailed over the underground.

How could I...?

It shouldn't surprise you. How obsessive, and dominating the Leech brothers are towards you was your own fault. They aren't normal human beings.

But who am I to talk about human beings as if I'm one?

The baron girl had blood slowly dripping out of her mouth. The glass you kindly offered to her was shattered on the pearly ground of the balcony. Her legs were unable to hold up, and clashed to the ground. You stood there, watching, as she struggled to breath as her terrified eyes locked onto yours. Your dress fluttered in the wind, and your eyes were distant. You turned your gaze towards the Moon. It was so beautiful, but for some reason, it wasn't as beautiful as it once was on this night.

"Today, a new contract will be put into action between the Leech twins and Ms. _____, with the canceling of the contract that was once in operation." You could barely comprehend Jade's soothing voice that spoke softly into your ear.

"In this contract, person A, better known as lil shrimpy, will be faithful and true to person B, better known as the Leech brothers. In return, person B will take care and will not let person A die." Floyd claps his hands, "How do those conditions sound, lil shrimpy?"

Both twins await your answer, and as you slowly raised your head up to meet their gazes once again. You hesitated, but nodded your head along to the conditions.

Floyd grinned with glee and shoved you towards Jade who held the pen and contract in his hands.

A signature to capture your compliance to these beasts.

"Do not be so full of stress, my dearest. We will care for you with all our hearts."

"You won't escape our grasp when you sign those papers, lil shrimpy! Prepare yourself."

A/N : Honestly kinda disappointed in this one. But I hope all of you enjoy it just a lil bit. Felt like I really rushed in my writing and it was pretty messy writing too. But I'm too lazy to rewrite this whole thing. So enjoy this mess 😋😋😋