#they'd turn a blind eye REAL FAST

[soupmanspeaks]

I have this silly little au where everything is sort of the same, except the Afton Siblings just talked out everything, and now Michael just has his two ghost siblings chill around him when he's working This started because I had a thought about Michael, CC, and Elizabeth having a BANGER prank idea, they're going to like, a Walmart or something, and they buy a bag of candy, and when Michael goes to check out, he's holding both Elizabeth and CC's hands. yk, normal brother stuff, the cashier asks "is the candy for the kids lol" yk, for small talks sake, and then Michael responds with "What kids?" The cashier looks back to where the kids were and finds that they're not there, as well as both of Michael's hands being in his pockets lol like fast forward to when he becomes GlamFreddy (I'd assume the fire happened in the pizza sim location because they wanted to get rid of William) and like, so many shenanigans will ensue Like, the Pizzaplex is setting up stuff for Halloween? What's better than to get real ghosts that can induce nightmares onto you! Or maybe one day, Freddy and the two will pass by the Cupcake Shoppe, which'll be selling Ice Cream cupcakes one day (those exist, right?) and Freddy'll say "Omg, look, Elizabeth, you can finally get your ice cream now!" And then Elizabeth will sucker punch him in the chest cavity Speaking of chest cavity, as they're getting the ice cream, Elizabeth points to the ice cream, mid-scoop, and says to Freddy: "Omg, look, Freddy, its you!"

Or like, idk, maybe some kid will be a bit too scared to hug GlamFreddy, or something, and then CC will just go "It's okay, he wont bite" and then just turns to look at Freddy with the most sh** eating grin ever as the guy struggles to contain a robo mental break down so many thoughts lol /pos

[uvobreakmylegs]

Lamp of the Body

first part of a fic long in the making based on some stuff @hypnoswrites and I were discussing about Chrollo :D

Chrollo x female!reader

Part 2

Warnings: mentions of accidents, injury, isolation, mentions of strangulation

Word count: 6.3k

You were struggling to breathe.

You couldn't see anything.

Your heart was pounding hard against the inside of your chest.

You were scared.

Scared of what? You weren't sure. All you knew was that the adrenaline was rushing through your system while you panicked. And what furthered that panic was the fact that you couldn't move. You were stuck, laying on your back and frozen in place while all of your senses told you that you were in danger.

Then you noticed the figure sitting next to you.

It was too dark to make them out, but you saw their general shape and the way they leaned over you.

Once they realized that you had seen them, they moved.

A hand reached out, turning your face towards them before caressing your cheek in slow motions. An act that should have been comforting, but instead the panic in you worsened and you began to cry.

The figure did nothing to comfort you; they only wiped away the tears that fell. Despite that action that to most would have indicated some amount of care, you didn't feel anything like that when their skin brushed against yours.

They didn't care.

In such a vulnerable state, you were at the mercy of such a person, one who had no concern over your distress.

As if you were simply a spectacle to them.

They wiped away another tear in a robotic manner, and still said nothing when those tears continued.

It didn't seem real.

That was your first thought when you woke up in the morning, your eyes going over details in the bedroom: the thin bits of light showing through the cracks in the blinds, the soft rug that lay on the floor that you had picked out when you'd first moved here, and the door to the walk-in closet that was currently closed. If it had been open you would've seen both your own and Chrollo's clothes hanging inside of it.

At the thought of Chrollo, you looked to the other side of the bed, finding that your boyfriend was still there beside you. You took in the sight of his face, how peaceful his expression was and the way his bangs partially covered the tattoo on his forehead, only allowing little bits of the design to be seen through the black locks. It looked as though he was still fast asleep based on the way his eyes remained closed and how steadily his chest rose and fell with each breath. As much as you felt compelled to scoot over closer and cuddle up against him, in the past your boyfriend had proven to be an incredibly light sleeper and you worried that the action might wake him up.

With all that Chrollo had done for you, the man deserved to get as much sleep as he wanted.

As quietly as you could, you got out of bed and made your way over to the bathroom, periodically looking back over to Chrollo and finding him to still be asleep each time you did. But as you looked back at him one last time before entering the bathroom, you were once again struck by how it still didn't feel completely real, that you were able to look at the image of your sleeping boyfriend.

That you were able to look at anything at all.

The lights came on when you flipped the switch, and instinct had you closing your eyes as they adjusted to the light. When it no longer hurt to have your eyes open, you made your way over to the sink, covering your mouth to yawn before you looked at yourself in the mirror. The gray eyes of your reflection stared back at you, briefly flitting about as you took in the messy state of your hair and wrinkled sleep clothes before you went back to staring at your eyes.

Maybe some might find it weird to be referring to them as being “yours” considering that they were definitely not the eyes you'd been born with and had come from an unknown donor, but seeing that they'd been placed inside your skull, it seemed silly to say otherwise.

Still, to think that just a few months ago you hadn't been able to see at all, your original eyes permanently damaged because of that car accident.

You'd lived that way for almost a year, and after getting used to the world being in total darkness with only the images in your memory to go off of, it didn't seem real that you were able to see again.

You brought a hand up to your cheek, watching as your reflection did the same and lightly brush beneath the area under and around your eye, your fingers briefly lingering on the small bits of scarring on your skin.

It didn't seem real, but clearly it was.

“Is everything alright?”

Hearing Chrollo's voice surprised you, and you looked over to find him entering the bathroom, smiling at you when you made eye contact.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” you answered, adding “sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't,” he said, “I woke up on my own a moment ago.”

You were about to reply when another yawn came on that you couldn't suppress, and you covered your mouth with your hand.

His eyebrow raised as he asked “are you sure you don't need more sleep?”

“I'm fine,” you said, “I don't think I'd be able to sleep anymore, anyway.”

He nodded.

Then Chrollo walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your form and holding you close to him. You reached up and grabbed at one of his hands, to which he responded by taking your hand in his and lightly squeezing.

“You came in to admire yourself, I see,” he said.

You laughed a little.

“Don't know if there's much to admire here at the moment,” you answered.

“I disagree,” he said, “there's quite a lot to admire about you.”

“Well, you're biased, so I don't know how much I can trust you on that,” you said.

He chuckled, taking the hand that he held and lifting it so he could place a kiss on your skin. As he did that your gaze went back to the mirror.

It was a nice image, you thought to yourself. You and your boyfriend, both of you with hair that needed to be brushed and looking rather disheveled after getting out of bed, standing together and holding one another in a moment of peaceful quiet.

A definite contrast to what life had been during the last nine months where the days had been filled with anxiety despite how hard you tried to adjust to a new way of living. Unsurprisingly, having one of your senses be unexpectedly taken away was a difficult thing to cope with.

Despite what had happened, you spent a relatively short amount of time in the hospital as Chrollo had been insistent on you returning home with him as soon as possible. You hadn't minded that too much. Even though you hadn't stayed there long, the loss of your eyesight had made your other senses get stronger. As such, you'd grown to truly hate the smell of hospitals, the feeling of needles poking into your skin and the never-ending beeping of the machines you'd be hooked up to.

Being in the comfort of your home while you recovered was preferable.

And hopefully it would be a while before you needed to go back for any doctor's appointment, though when you did, the staff at the hospital would definitely be surprised to find that you were able to see again.

Chrollo seemed to notice that your thoughts had drifted elsewhere as he asked “what is it, love?”

“Nothing too important, I guess,” you said, “just thinking about what'll happen if I ever end up back at that hospital. They'd be surprised if they saw me with how adamant they were that there wasn't anything that could be done for me.”

You looked back at him while asking “why wouldn't they have mentioned the guy in Padokea?”

“I don't know,” he answered, shrugging as he added “perhaps they were worried what might happen if they recommended an experimental surgery and then something went wrong.”

“What do you think could've gone wrong?”

“I'm sure there's a number of things, though I can't say what exactly they might be.”

“I thought you knew everything,” you said teasingly.

He smiled as he answered “I'm afraid I must concede that I only have a basic knowledge when it comes to the world of modern medicine. That's why I usually go to Machi if I have any questions.”

You hummed, looking back to the reflections in the mirror.

You could lose that. In a mere moment your eyesight could be taken away and your world would become dark again.

Remembering the way things had been caused the anxiety to swell inside of you, and this time you voiced your concerns.

“Things will stay this way, right?” you asked him, “nothing's going to happen where the eyes won't work out and I'll need to go back to not being able to see, right?”

Chrollo's hand went to rest on your shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly as he asked “is that what you're worried about?”

You nodded.

“It'd be sad to get back my eyesight and then have it taken away again,” you added.

Chrollo pulled you around so you were no longer facing the mirror. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss against your lips before holding you against himself.

He spoke again.

“Everything will be fine, love,” he told you, “nothing's gone wrong since we came back, and if we were to call up that professional, he'd tell you that everything is fine.”

“You're sure he'd say that?” you asked.

“I'm sure.”

His hand was on your head stroking your hair. That alone was able to quell the anxiety that had begun to grow in your chest.

“After all,” he continued, “I promised that you'd be fine, didn't I?”

You nodded, remembering what he said to you almost a year ago.

You still remembered the way he'd grasped your hand and the feel of the fur that lined the cuffs of his coat sleeves brushing against your skin. You remembered the cast that your leg had been trapped in and the constant beeping of the monitors beside your bed. You remembered the darkness.

And you remembered how easily your spirits were lifted when Chrollo spoke to you.

“Everything will be fine, love. I promise you.”

At the time you thought he was only saying that so you would feel a bit better about your situation, that he was simply doing his best to be a supportive boyfriend as he navigated through the results of this accident with you. While the future may not have been completely bleak, it was without a doubt going to be different than what you could have ever imagined and you and Chrollo were going to need to find a new version of your “normal”.

At the time you never would have thought he'd find a way to make things go back to the way they'd been before the accident.

Yet he had.

And now you were here.

Still not completely recovered as the trauma that had come with being in such a nasty accident remained with you and would likely stay with you for a long time to come, but you were still in a much better place than you had been in the previous months.

And Chrollo had been by your side every step of the way.

He pulled away, cupping your cheek and moving your head up to look at him.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you answered, smiling after.

He kissed you again before saying “we may as well start getting ready for the day.”

He let you go after that, moving over to his side of the sink.

“Are you working today?” you asked.

“No, not today. My schedule is free.”

“Do we have anything planned?”

“Nothing in particular,” he answered, “although I suppose I should figure out something fast, otherwise you'll be insistent on watching horror movies all day.”

You pouted a little as you asked “what's wrong with that?”

“Ordinarily there would be nothing wrong with that. Unfortunately, you never seem to be able to pick any good movies,” he replied.

“Rude.”

“It's the truth, love.”

“Even if it is, you aren't supposed to say that.”

“So I'm supposed to lie to you?”

“When it comes to my taste in movies, yeah.”

“Interesting.”

There wasn't any malice behind either of your words during that bit of banter, and you couldn't help giggling a little bit after. Chrollo also had a soft smile on his face, though the somewhat distant gaze his gray eyes made it seem as though he was thinking about something.

His eyes…

… Huh. You hadn't really thought about it before.

“We almost match now,” you said.

“Hm?”

He glanced over to you, waiting for you to elaborate.

“Our eyes,” you explained, pointing to your own as you continued with “we almost have the same eye color now. It's off by just a few shades.”

Chrollo's hummed as he smiled again.

“So we do.”

Was that a dumb thing to point out? If it was he wouldn't say anything like that. And with the amount of time the two of you had been together, he was probably used to hearing such things from you. How a man like him wanted to be with someone like you, you would never know. But after the events of the past few months, you could say with one hundred percent certainty that he deeply cared about you.

Really, you didn't deserve him.

“I'll do whatever you want to do today, Chrollo,” you said, smiling at him again.

He smiled back at you as he said “I'll need to make sure I come up with something good, then.”

The accident happened when Chrollo was away on business, during one of his trips that he took every few months that lasted up to a few weeks on average. You never quite knew what those trips were about; Chrollo said he couldn't tell you and communication with him during those times was shoddy at best, so you didn't even have much to go off of to figure out on your own what he was doing. There was a constant curiosity burning in you about what he was doing exactly, but since he told you that you didn't need to know, you stopped pressing the issue.

If Chrollo said so, then you trusted him.

Not that your trust helped at all in how lonely those weeks would be while he was gone. With communication being almost non-existent while he was away and no one else around to hang out with or even really talk to, the feeling of isolation would take over fast. For that reason, you figured that things would be more interesting if you were to step out of your routine. That day you headed out to attend a convention that was taking place not too far from where you lived in the hopes you could browse around, perhaps make a few new friends, but mostly to do something different.

When you were on your way was when a careless driver slammed headfirst into the taxi you'd been riding in.

Your leg and collarbone had both been broken, and one of your wrists and a few of your ribs had been fractured. Terrible injuries, to be sure, but those were things that you could recover from.

The loss of your eyesight was a different story, and the doctor who'd treated your injuries had informed you that there was no way to bring that back.

Hearing that had been hard.

It was made harder still when your attempts to reach Chrollo failed.

Even after giving them his number, the hospital had been unable to contact Chrollo as every single call they made failed to go through. With you stuck in bed with all of your injuries and not having anyone else you could contact, it was a devastating few days.

But on the afternoon of your third day in the hospital he showed up unexpectedly, heading straight to your room and calling out to you once he saw you. Relief filled you in the moment where you heard his voice, but the gravity of the situation brought you back down not long after. His hands grasped yours, and you felt the fur that lined the cuffs of his coat brush against your skin as you tearfully told him that you couldn't see anymore.

It seemed to take him a moment to process that information as he remained silent at first.

After a few moments, he pulled your hand up to his mouth and placed a kiss to your skin.

And then he spoke again.

“Everything will be fine, love. I promise you.”

The words had been spoken with conviction.

And he was right.

Everything had seemingly gone back to the way it was before, and that fact in of itself was better than you could've hoped for.

It was hard to breathe, and you could feel the adrenaline pumping through you while you lay frozen in place. You couldn't move. No matter how many times your brain ordered your limbs to break free of their state of stasis, they wouldn't comply, and you were stuck, laying as though rigor mortis had set in.

The figure was there. Though you still couldn't see them clearly, you felt them watching you.

Why wouldn't they help you? Why did they only ever watch?

Your jaw refused to open so you could ask those questions, and you were left to harshly breathe through your nose while the figure continued to observe you.

The next morning, while you fought with the eggs that didn't want to be unstuck from the pan, a thought came to you.

“What sort of things does Kortopi like?” you asked, looking back to where Chrollo sat at the table.

“Kortopi? He likes books. He also enjoys making miniatures.”

“Miniatures?”

“Those sets you can get from hobby stores,” Chrollo clarified before adding, “what makes you ask?”

You turned back to the pan as you answered “I wanted to do something for him since he helped us out. I thought maybe I could get him something nice; like I could put together a basket of stuff he'd like as a way to say 'thank you'. Same with Pakunoda and Machi.”

You paused before adding “and Shalnark.”

“Why the hesitation in naming Shalnark?”

Of course he picked up on that.

“… I don't want to say anything bad about your friend,” you replied.

You glanced back to find that his eyebrow had raised slightly.

“Oh? What did he do?”

You were hesitant to answer, because while Shalnark had been rather intrusive when he'd been here with you, he had been helping you and Chrollo out. Still, you knew from past experiences that Chrollo wasn't going to let this go.

“…. Some of the questions he asked me were a little invasive,” you admitted, “and I think he might have been going through our stuff.”

Chrollo didn't seem surprised.

“Shalnark does have a bad habit of being a bit too nosy,” he said, “but I doubt he meant any actual harm in anything he said or did.”

“Why didn't you bring this up back then?” he then asked.

“He was doing us a favor,” you said, “and you said that I could trust him. Just… Maybe if he ever comes back, we should make sure you're around to keep him in line.”

You heard him let out a chuckle as you went back to your cooking.

“He usually listens to me, so that shouldn't be an issue,” Chrollo said, “and if you'd like, I can take care of getting him something.”

“Nah, I'll still get him a gift as thanks. It'd be rude if I didn't,” you said, “hopefully I won't need him or any of your other friends to babysit me again.”

The eggs managed to not be burned when you pushed them out of the pan and onto your plate, and after months of being out of practice when it came to cooking, it felt good that you'd managed to do that much.

“I still don't think you needed to call on them as much as you did,” you added, “I would've been fine on my own for a few hours those times you were gone.”

“It was better for you to have not needed them than be in a situation where you were having an emergency and couldn't get help,” he answered.

“I'm not sure how much trouble I could've gotten into on my own, honestly,” you said.

“You never know.”

“I guess. I feel bad for taking up their time like that, though.”

“They were happy to help,” he told you, “but I do think your idea of gifts as a way of thanking them is a good one.”

Setting the plate of eggs down at the table, you sat down as you asked “where are you heading out today?”

He was already dressed to go out, and he'd finished up his coffee just as you took your seat.

“Nowhere special. I just need to take care of a few things in relation to my last job,” he answered.

“How long will you be out?”

“Not long. I should be back after lunch.”

“So not long enough that I need someone to look after me,” you said.

He smiled as he said “not this time, no.”

A beat of silence passed, and though you suspected you knew what his response would be, you decided to make a request anyway.

“If I finish this really fast, can I come with you?” you asked.

Though his smile didn't falter, Chrollo shook his head.

“It's not the sort of trip where I can bring you along,” he said.

“Not even if I stay in the car while you go do whatever?”

“Do you really want to be stuck in a car for hours?”

“No,” you admitted, “but it'd be nice to get out for a little bit.”

He nodded while reaching over so he could grasp your hand.

“I know that you're feeling closed off from the rest of the world, love,” Chrollo said, “but I'd much rather you stay in here while you continue your recovery.”

“I feel fine, though. Better than I have in a while,” you replied, “I could start going out a little, right?”

“Perhaps. But not on a trip like this.”

“What then?”

“We can figure that out when I get back.”

He stood up then, and there was a sense of finality in the conversation as he pushed his chair back in place, though he kept his cheerful demeanor when he smiled at you again.

“No need to get up,” he said to you, “I'll see myself out. Don't stress yourself and stay inside.”

That last part was definitely tacked on because of what you'd said.

“Even if I feel fine?” you asked.

“Do it for me, love.”

He finished that off by placing a kiss to your forehead.

Well damn. How could you refuse when he asked you like that?

He smiled at you, and you smiled back at him. Everything was fine.

You were fine when he walked out of the room, gathering his things before making his way to the door. You were fine even when you heard the jingling of his keys and the sound of the door opening. You were fine when you called out one last “goodbye”, to which he responded in kind.

But the instant you heard the front door lock behind him and you could no longer hear his footsteps, your mood fell.

Life got lonely when Chrollo wasn't around. Largely due to how small your world had become as you were lacking when it came to other people you could be around. And while the accident had made things smaller, it had been getting to be that way even before the crash. Friends and family didn't contact you anymore and you didn't know anyone outside of Chrollo's social circle, of whom you very rarely saw. The most time you had spent with anyone aside from your boyfriend was a few hours at a time during those months of recovery when he got his friends to look after you when you were bedridden.

Did your old friends or any of your family even know about the crash?

You had no clue, but since Chrollo said you didn't need to worry about them, you didn't think about them most days.

Though it didn't help how the apartment felt incredibly empty whenever he was gone.

But it was okay.

It would be fine, you told yourself as you finished up your breakfast. Chrollo wouldn't be gone long. His lack of packing an overnight bag or getting one of his friends to stay with you was proof of that. He'd be back before the day was out and everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine as long as Chrollo was with you.

After all, he'd said so.You had your eyesight back.

Though it had taken a while to get to that point. Months of staying put in bed so as to not strain yourself, and then getting used to walking on your own again after your broken bones had healed up. Despite having no vision, muscle memory had kicked in when you were feeling well enough to walk without assistance, and you didn't have much issue navigating the layout of the apartment once your leg had fully healed.

That was when Chrollo came to you with a proposal.

The medical professionals told you there was nothing that could be done about your sight, yet Chrollo had found a way around it, telling you of an experimental new surgery being done somewhere within the Dentora Region of Padokea. Under normal circumstances, you might have been skeptical, and just hearing the word “experimental” made you nervous. But Chrollo managed to convince you to give it a shot. All it took was a single conversation and he had gotten you to agree.

You were glad that he did, otherwise you might not be here like this right now. Back to what your normal had been before the accident, at least for the most part. Being able to be on your own and not needing to worry if you were becoming a burden to your boyfriend. Going back to waiting for him to return from his work and eagerly greeting him when he walked in the door.

Chrollo had done a good job of keeping up a positive attitude while you recovered, but now you were feeling better mentally, his happiness seemed a bit more genuine.

Maybe at some point soon, you could start to go out again like you had before the accident.

That would be something to discuss once he was back.

You woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard as you sat up in bed, your arms shaking as you struggled to support yourself.

Another nightmare. The same as the others where you couldn't move and someone sat by and stared at you. But this time had been different.

You could still feel their hands around your throat as your air was cut off completely.

A quick check by placing one of your hands to your neck confirmed that it had been a dream; no one was trying to choke the life out of you.

That only brought minimal relief, however. Even if it was only a nightmare, the images were still fresh in your mind, and it had left you shaken. The thought of being unable to fight back or even cry out while someone sat on top of you and tried to kill you was one that made you feel incredibly helpless.

And you were so, so tired of feeling helpless.

Glancing next to you, you were able to make out Chrollo's form on the bed. He was still asleep, otherwise he no doubt would've asked you what was wrong.

Maybe you should tell him.

They'd started weeks after getting back from Padokea, and the first few times you hadn't thought much of them. And even when they continued, you decided to keep it to yourself. They were simply been the result of stress, likely in relation to the accident, and that at some point they would stop on their own. You didn't want to bring it up because you didn't want to saddle him with anymore of your issues. After all, you weren't a child and Chrollo deserved better than for you to go crying to him whenever something mildly inconvenient happened.

If the nightmares had stopped quickly you wouldn't have considered talking to him.

But if anything, they were only increasing in frequency. Not only were they leaving you emotionally exhausted, but you felt that you were being drained physically as well. Your nights were becoming restless and you spent almost all of the next day tired as you tried to recuperate.

No wonder Chrollo didn't want you going out; he could easily see that you were tired and took that to mean that you still weren't well enough for the outside.

It still seemed strange that they would continue as long as they did, though. Especially when you were considerably less stressed than you'd been before the surgery. Why were they happening when things were going well?

… You didn't know. You just wanted them to stop so you wouldn't need to deal with them anymore.

For now just rest, you told yourself.

With that, you settled back down onto the bed, though your gaze went to Chrollo, still asleep and with his back turned to you. After a moment, you scooted over to be closer to him, resting against his back and placing a hand on his arm. Chrollo didn't wake.

A little unusual given how often he awoke to even the slightest of movement on the bed. He must have been more tired than usual. Part of you was sad because of that; it would've been nice to feel him hold you back, to give you some form of reassurance, even if it was one small piece of physical affection.

But waking him up would be selfish.

So you stayed still, not moving any further, keeping your hand on his arm and your face against his back while you took in his scent.

You can deal with this much on your own, you told yourself.

Just rest for now.

“How would you feel about moving?”

You looked up from where you sat on the couch over to where Chrollo stood on the other end of the room. Moments ago you'd both been reading separately, and he'd gotten up when his cellphone had gone off so he could take the call in another room. He had just come back in and that was the first thing he said, and it managed to catch you so off-guard that it took you a bit to process what he just said.

“Moving?” you repeated.

“Yes.”

“And go where?”

“Out of the city,” he said, “somewhere in the country. That would be nice, wouldn't it?”

“…. Huh.”

He seemed surprised at your reaction, as he asked “you don't want to?”

“I don't know,” you said, “I was really looking forward to walking around here again when it's okay for me to go out.”

Shutting your book and placing it to the side, you asked “where exactly are you thinking?”

“Somewhere near the mountains would be nice.”

“…. Wouldn't somewhere near the mountains be several hours away from here?”

“It would.”

“Won't that interfere with your job?”

He shrugged.

“Relocating won't effect me much,” he said, “my work already requires me to travel. Adding a few more hours to my trips is hardly a sacrifice.”

“Besides,” he added, “I think a new environment would be better for you, especially one that kept you away from the stresses outside here.”

That made sense. Everything he said made sense, as it always did.

But still.

“I really like it here, though,” you said, “there are specific places I haven't been to since the accident that I want to visit again, and I won't be able to do that if we move. Not easily, at least.”

“I understand, but you shouldn't be sacrificing your health just to see certain places again.”

“I'm not sacrificing anything.”

At that, Chrollo leaned against the door frame before he sighed.

“You haven't been doing well, love,” he told you.

You frowned.

“I thought I was doing pretty good, all things considered,” you said.

“You spend most of your days exhausted.”

“I'm not that exhausted.”

To that, Chrollo gave you a pointed look. One that clearly told you that he didn't believe you and you knew you couldn't continue to insist that he was wrong.

“Okay, maybe I'm not doing as great as I'd like, but I'm still getting used to things. It doesn't mean we need to completely leave the lives we have here,” you insisted.

Should you mention the nightmares, that those were probably part of the issue? No…. He might use those as another reason as to why what he was suggesting was the correct decision, and therefore, the decision that you needed to go with. Like most things when it came to your life.

Not that there were any bad decisions that Chrollo had forced on you, but you generally had little input on them as he expected you to go with what he wanted. Like the eyes. He had basically told you that it was happening and you had been in such a depressive state that you didn't offer much resistance.

But it was different now. You liked it here and you wanted to stay. Plus he'd had this place even before meeting you, and the thought of forcing him to move out of his longtime home made you feel guilty. Even if he was the one who wanted it.

“Moving somewhere else just feels like a really extreme reaction,” you continued.

“Trying to keep your health in mind is extreme?” he asked.

“…. Maybe just a little bit, this time.”

Your voice was a bit more hushed when you answered.

After a moment, he pushed himself off the door frame and began to walk towards where you sat.

Chrollo would get his way again. You could already tell: he was going to talk to you, explain all of the reasons as to why he was right and shoot down every argument you had until you were forced to agree that there was no point in doing it in anyway other than his. Then by the end of the week he'd have found some home away from here, if he didn't have his eye on something already, and you'd find yourself packing up everything before the end of the month.

You loved your boyfriend. You really did.

But you didn't want to leave your home.

Maybe you could find some sort of compromise, figure out something to say that would get him to back down temporarily.

So before he could speak, you asked “what if we just held off on that for a few months? Wait and see how I'm doing after a longer period and come back to the topic of moving?”

“It's been some time already and you haven't gotten better,” he countered.

Sitting down next to you, Chrollo reached out and took your hand in his.

“I understand why you don't want to leave,” he continued, “but we do need to consider what is best for you. And I think staying so close to where that crash happened is having a negative affect on you.”

Giving your hand a light squeeze, he asked “don't you agree?”

You surprised him again when you shook your head.

“I get what you're saying,” you then told him, “but I don't think I'm going to get anywhere if I keep running from my problems. Yeah, I'm tired, but I really want things to go back to how they were. I really want to move past what happened.”

“So I'd feel a lot better if I could at least try to tough it out for a little while longer,” you continued, adding “and maybe you're right, that a change in environment is better for me. So maybe in a few months, if we find that I'm still in the same place, we can look into leaving.”

You stayed quiet a moment before adding “if that sounds good to you.”

It didn't seem like he felt that way. Or did it? You couldn't quite read him at the moment, his expression rather stone-faced as he presumably thought over what you said.

At least he was taking your argument into consideration. At least that was something.

“Alright then, love.”

You sat up straighter when he said that and stayed quiet so he could continue with “we'll hold off on it and come back to this discussion at a later date. However, if it seems like you're getting worse, we will be looking into moving.”

You nodded.

He squeezed your hand again as he then asked “you will tell me if you aren't doing well, won't you?”

“Of course.”

Chrollo stared at you for a moment.

Then he finally conceded, pulling your hand up to his lips so he could kiss it.

You responded by placing a kiss on his cheek, which he couldn't help but smile at.

It wasn't good to lie to him. You knew that.

But you were going to get through your issues without bothering him.

You weren't going to burden him anymore.

[wild-flowerhoney]

okay well. here's my version of the percico hunger games au:

nico's meant to be part of the careers, being reaped in district one (luxury) when he's sixteen/seventeen - except, well, he didn't actually receive training. bianca had and tried to pass on what she knew but it was clear which child hades was interested in keeping alive (or is it). she died in an accident exactly a week before the reaping. and it was decidedly too late to fix his mistake and teach nico what he'd passed onto bianca. the other careers know this and to be frank, nico's just been abandoned and considered useless by pretty much everyone, mentor included. (the di angelo aren't even from district one. hades and maria met during his victory tour - and the capitol turned a blind eye when he kept visiting district twelve and eventually brought the kids back with him after her death.)

percy's the one to volunteer from district twelve, in his last year being reaped too (eighteen), in place of estelle (12, in her first year being reaped) - and he knows he's doing everything to get home. he has a sister and a mother and paul, the only father he's ever known. percy has something to go back to (in the same way nico doesn't), he has no training but he's strong enough from physical work that it's not impossible and that's what matters (percy would be from district four, conceived from poseidon's own victory tour. except he'd really had no interest in the child, not like hades had).

here's how it starts:

day one: nico, the supposed career, is shunned by his group. percy hears them say it'd be mercy, to send him back to his sister and mother (he doesn't like it. not a bit. percy's an older brother, values his family more than anything. they couldn't have said anything worse than that in his mind) and witnesses the fight that ensues - nico is fast, skilled enough with knives but not nearly on their level. it's the anger that fuels him enough to come out of it bruised but whole (after that, they get even more ruthless). the anger and percy, who's quite eager to put them in their places too (if he breaks one of their arms, will the capitol be able to heal it before they get into the arena? he's more than willing to find out). that's their first real interaction - and nico comes out of it angry at percy for getting involved, asking if he really thought nico was this defenceless. percy's just as mad and yells back that they both are, when everyone thinks they're easy pickings.

day two: day after, nico doesn't apologize but he trains near percy and gives him what little information he has on the other careers and from what bianca taught him. they're not friends, they bicker and pretty much bring out each other's most sarcastic self (and maybe that's the closest thing to friendship they've got so. you know).

day two, evening: training scores - percy gets an 8, incredibly high for someone with this little training but not overly so ("don't become a priority for them"). nico gets the full 11, to percy's concern. when asked how he achieved that score and if he knows that he just put a massive target on his back, nico seems decidedly unbothered.

day three: the interviews. they're both dressed up obviously but they joke (kind of) backstage about missing the cuts and bruises they'd given each other ("oh, you don't have my gift anymore? well that's ungrateful of you."). and here's the moment we've been waiting for: nico is asked about girlfriends and shrugs it off, it moves onto boyfriends. other tributes are mentioned, nico looks uncomfortable and blushes but doesn't reveal anything. at this point the interviewer is convinced it's another tribute, though, and brings it up with every other male in the other districts. it gets to percy who, having been "taught" to keep the public's attention by his mentor, runs with it (the blush is real, it's embarrassing, but he spins his little alliance with nico into a full blown friendship, not revealing anything truly incriminating but giving them hints of what they want). nico's mad, again. percy is also mad at him for reacting with anger - didn't percy just ensure them a better shot at victory? what exactly has him so pissed off?

night before the games start: percy doesn't want to go into the arena mad at his only ally, nico agrees. percy tells him about his family, his reasons to go home - when asked about his own, nico says he has nothing (hades and his stepmother didn't even visit after the reaping). percy is uncomfortable, asks him what he means by that, surely there must be a single reason. nico doesn't answer. percy understands what he's not saying, nico has no intention of going home and he never did. probably got an 11 just to make it easier and got mad when percy ensured them at least a couple sponsors for the same reason. nico leaves, giving him a last goodbye. this is when his safety becomes another priority for percy (mirroring canon percy with his search for nico), if percy himself can't win he wants it to be nico - he'll drag him kicking and screaming to the end if he has to. when the thought of having to kill nico pops up he pushes it down, unwilling to entertain it. no need to be worried about it, just yet (literally going "that's future percy's problem").

stopping here bc i might actually write this and im not giving the whole plot JUST YET (suggest mentors/tributes btw just be aware most of them WILL die, the only ones that are 100% going to live are percico).

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 17 - Absentee

prev - chapter 1

The dark, uncharted corner's of Hosah's mind once served to be quite comforting, but even now, the sense of familiarity in his dream he'd always found himself back in had began to slip. As the plot thickened, so did the miles of dense and viscous mud that pulled him down and kept him in place, soon he'd be unable to move completely, it was just a matter of when. And when that happened, he was sure to suffocate under the weight of his own deep rooted mental struggle that even he couldn't reach or understand in the depths of his sleep.

The shifter awoke with a start, gasping for air that had been there the whole time, as his mind and soul had once again connected with his physical form, reaching the blinding light in the sky which was consciousness. It was just a shame he'd happened to have been rustled back to life in the belly of the night, surely now being unable to fall back asleep after years of struggling in his dream's time, although just a few hours in the world he resided in.

To Hosah's surprise, the man laid next to him was also awake, and staring at him with wide eyes and a flushed face, his reading glasses having slipped down to the tip of his annoyingly perfect straight nose.

"Bad dream?" He asked, turning over and leaning down onto the shifter's level.

The three inch tall figure rustled between the various sheets and blankets sat breathless for a few seconds before being able to respond accordingly, "Not necessarily, just, knocked the wind out of me."

"Watching you shrink in your sleep in real time is so surreal." Teddy spoke without really considering what the shifter had to say about his previous question.

All Hosah could think to say was, "How long have you been awake?", as the bedside lamp remained on as it did when he'd first fallen asleep hours ago.

"Oh, I haven't slept yet." The giant said these kinds of things so casually, you wouldn't think it were a real health concern if tone was the only thing to go off of.

Then again, Hosah was similar in that right. They could both worry about eachother as long as they neglected the ability to worry about themselves first, a nice balance.

Quiescence like this had become a reoccurring theme in the shifter's life, in a world that moved so fast and attacked him so viciously, it was nice to find a safe haven in the ornately decorated apartment. At first, he found it garish and tacky, but he'd come to appreciate every single object that Teddy held onto so dearly. Soon, they'd probably have to do a little clear out as the Hosah got all of his things officially moved in, but for now, he could enjoy all of the clutter, even if it annoyed him at times.

Teddy turned to lay on his stomach, his face leaning against his folded arms as he edged down the bed which was already too small for him, just so he could be at eye level with the shrunken man that sat beside him.

"You should go back to sleep." The giant put on a tired voice, but Hosah knew he wouldn't also be going back to bed even if the shifter decided to.

Instead, he shrugged and stood to his full, minute size, "I'm awake now. And it's not like you're drifting off anytime soon." Hosah leant forward with his arms crossed, his eyes squinting in the dark as Teddy's form blocked all light from the lamp beside them, "You should read to me. You're always reading."

"Hmm," Teddy hummed, his smile poking out from underneath his bare arms, "I don't think you'd like it; it's not a story or anything. Trying to learn greek."

"Jesus christ," The shifter sighed, "You know enough languages, you're so greedy for.. Knowledge."

"That's a good thing! Everyone should be greedy when it comes to learning, get with the times, we have all this information right in-front of us, the New York public library is one of the biggest in the world," Hosah wasn't really listening to what exactly the giant was ranting about, but he enjoyed the sound of his voice nonetheless, his accent poking through with his melodic intonation, almost acting like a lullaby to the already sleepy shifter.

"Keep talking, I might be able to fall back asleep," He said as he climbed his way up the giant's arm, who'd now turned to lay on his back again, making his way into the space between the collarbones.

The vibrations from Teddy's contracting diaphragm as he laughed proved to be extremely satisfying, shaking through the shifters whole body, feeling every hum rattle his innards, "What, am I boring you?"

"Mm," Hosah lay flat against the exposed skin multiple shades lighter than his own, "Don't stop, it's nice,"

"Okay," The giant whispered, a hand inching closer until it coincidentally fell right over the sprawled out shifter, a finger stroking up and down the protruding spine almost as rhythmically as his speech, "Tell me about the dream you had,"

God, where should he even start. "I have the same one every time I shrink in my sleep. It's like.. I don't even know. My body freezes up and my blood freezes, it's like being mummified whilst still being alive or something."

"Sounds more like a nightmare." Teddy commented, the movement of his hand stopping, his grip around the shifter's waist tightening just slightly.

Suddenly, Hosah didn't really want to talk about it anymore. It always made him think of his uncle, despite the lack of connection between the two, whenever he was sleeping he always felt like his soul was only half of himself, his unconscious form being partially the man that came before him, like twins that were conjoined at the hip, two minds fighting for control over one body.

His dad always told him how much they looked alike. The few photos he had of his brother, Hosah would confuse them for his own. Even when looking in the mirror, he'd see glimpses of the man in the pictures, in the corner of his eye when he wasn't really paying too much attention. Before it scared him, he didn't particularly believe in ghosts or any sort of supernatural entities, but there were times where he truly thought there was a wandering soul fighting for his bodily power. But now, the thought was more comforting than anything, so much so in fact that the shifter found himself addressing his uncle when monologuing in his head, or even just when speaking to himself out loud, expecting a response from someone that was never there in the first place.

".. Hosah? Are you asleep?" The giant whispered, his voice gentle and velvety on the ears, although the humming of his chest beneath the shrunken figure he addressed was anything but soft, shaking him to his core.

He debated not saying anything, but in the end, Hosah decided to just tell the truth, "No, I'm just thinking."

The room fell into an expectant silence, the shifter holding his breath as he tried to fight the unusual urge to carry on and verbalise what exactly he was thinking about.

"..What's the date?" Hosah said in a sigh.

"Um," Teddy sat up, instinctively holding the shifter to his chest as he did so, and checked his phone, "September twenty ninth.. Why?"

"That's right. It's the anniversary of the day my uncle was declared dead. Twenty eight years." He spoke quietly, almost being completely unheard if the giant hadn't trained his ears to pick up on the, close to, silent voice by now. "..He'd probably been dead a while before everyone decided he wouldn't be coming back, but, you know."

The finger that once rested perfectly in the space between the shifter's neck and upper back moved to ruffle the hair on his head, "I'm sorry. Were you close?"

Hosah wished he had a glass of water or something to spit out for dramatic effect, "Do I look older than twenty eight?!" He choked.

"No- wait," The hand from underneath the shifter moved frantically, his shrunken form now up close to the giant's face as he laid sprawled out in the cupped palm, "I didn't hear the last part of what you said properly,"

Hosah laughed as the warm breath ruffled through his hair, raising a hand to just barely touch the bridge of the giant's nose, "Sure, sure, It's your birthday soon anyway, you'll be the old one."

"Oh, god, right," Teddy's smile dropped slightly, his eyes lingering off into the distance.

The shifter sat up onto his knees, his palm now able to fully rest on the face in front of him, "What, do you not like your birthday?"

"Well, I don't dislike it," The giant exhaled sharply, "I've just never really celebrated, it's a lot of pressure, I feel like this it's the one day I have to do something and I have to have the most fun possible, then I get stressed out about it and end up not doing anything at all."

Hosah wasn't really sure how he could fix everything, how he could make it all better, but god would he try. "What would you want to do?" He asked.

The prospect of doing anything he'd like for one day was one that brought the light back into Teddy's expression, putting that 'up-to-no-good' smile right back onto his face.

"Let's go on a date. Like, a real actual date at a nice restaurant or something."

Great. Sounds perfect. Making a public display of his romantic relations was probably the last thing Hosah would ever choose to do himself, but if that's what the giant really truly wanted, who was he to deny him the right to do what he pleased on his birthday of all days. The thought of anyone else knowing how he felt towards Teddy terrified him. Sure, there was the possibility of facing bigotry, which the shifter was far too used to to even consider that aspect to be the worst part, but the real thing that scared him so deeply was the chance that his stalker would target the one thing in the world the shifter actually loved and cherished at this point in time. So far, Teddy hadn't really been mentioned in the countless letters of empty threats made towards his life, but the prospect of the person hellbent on getting him seeing their relationship and deciding to specifically try to destroy it was a thought that kept Hosah awake at night.

Despite all his worries, the shifter just couldn't voice his concerns. He didn't want Teddy to get the wrong idea, it's not that he didn't want people to know about them, not that Hosah wasn't extremely proud of the person he was with, and it would kill him to know that's how the person he loves the most perceives his feelings on the matter.

Instead of saying what he truly felt, the shifter gave his best, most convincing smile, patting the giant's nose as he spoke, "Cool. I'll look into some places we could go, make some reservations, whatever you want," .

The conversation had long shifted from the matter, but even in the seemingly sweet moments, Hosah still thought about his uncle, and what he'd do if given the privilege of living that the shifter currently held, and took for granted. He never knew the man, which made him even more curious to know what he'd do if put into the situations he'd found himself in. But most of all, Hosah wondered if he'd be proud of the person that continued his legacy in the form of taking his name. There was no way to answer these burning questions, but god could he hope the truth would lean one way rather than the other.

-~-

When it came to actually beginning to plan for the occasion, Hosah was completely and utterly stumped. It was clear he didn't go out to eat in the city often for various obvious reasons, as when he actually sat and thought about where exactly he knew to take Teddy, he couldn't name a single place. Now that they were off work for the day, the pair of detectives decided to do some loitering around Manhattan to seek out some potential options for how they would spent the upcoming October nineteenth.

The mall was a new edition to the general area, as far as Hosah knew since he'd never actually cared to really pay much mind to it, and this particularly day seemed perfect to give it a chance, especially since word of an integrated shifter-friendly area had been spreading around like wild fire. The shifter himself had the great pleasure of overhearing plenty down right cruel opinions on the matter, what a waste of money it was, how 'those people' need to just suck it up and control it as if they wouldn't already being doing as such if it were possible. As much as it pained him to just ignore these kinds of people, it was probably the better choice to make, it's not like they're particularly open for discussion or changing their views either way, so Hosah didn't really feel the need to bother himself by entertaining the idea of that possibility, even though he so desperately wanted to be the one to show them the truth, to change their ways, it just wasn't an option, at least not for an actual shifter like himself.

As foretold, Hosah's eyes instantly landed on the various different kids of fencing around the walls, with signs all around telling people of Teddy's height to watch their step, and on the contrary, some images more to his own scale saying that shifters should try walk alongside the walls. Then, his gaze rose, from the space on the giant's shoulder, the whole shifter section was visible. Tiny replicas of identical concourses covered by a thin glass wall. Looking back at the doll house adjacent shopping centre almost made Hosah feel normal sized, despite the lack of actual people utilising the space.

There were many different integrated spaces being put into place for shifters nowadays, with those in power even going as far as to encourage people to live their lives in their small forms as a variety of different shrunken towns were created around different places of the world, despite imminent disaster lingering around every new welcoming space that existed. It had barely been five years since a similar structure was built back nearby his hometown, and some unsupervised serial killer in the making had already come over with a kettle of boiling water in an attempt to kill everyone who dared utilise what little they were given. Hosah was sure he'd be seeing that face again across the table from him in an interrogation room after hearing of the incident on the news.

This, however, seemed to be going swimmingly. Both Teddy and the shifter himself stood, mesmerised by the sight for a moment. He wondered what the giant actually thought of it all, it was something he'd been meaning to ask actually. There were a lot of different things to debate with non-shifters, their stance on whether they even really saw you as human at all being a telling one of how they'd treat you. Of course, he has no worry that Teddy would be that type, given how he'd been with the shifter so far. How he got so lucky, Hosah would never know. Maybe it was to make up for all the terrible things that had been going on, a beacon of light that'd stop

him from just completely giving up.

"You should go check it out." Teddy commented, turning his head toward the shifter, although given his position on the shoulder, neither of them could properly see each other's face, "The, I don't know what it's called, the shifter-space?"

The title the giant had given the size appropriate add on to the mall lightened Hosah's mood, having it being soured by all the memories of how badly these kinds of things usually went despite their good intentions.

"Hm, there are some things I need, I guess.. Okay, yeah, I will check it out." Usually, Hosah didn't bother with any accommodation to his size, preferring to just ignore the fact all together, pretending like it wasn't a big deal to be only slightly bigger than someone's thumb whilst living amongst those that weren't as vertically challenged as himself.

What was on his list again? Right, new clothes, for a start, and maybe some stuff for the apartment if there were any shops like that in the newly built shrunken mall. Lately, all his things hung loose on his body as he'd uncontrollably been losing so much weight. That reminded him, he had another therapists and doctor's appointment coming up later in the week, how fun. It's not like he didn't want to get something nice to wear whilst celebrating Teddy's birthday either way, so it did really seem like things were finally working in his favour after all, he just hoped there weren't some crazy shifter hating folk waiting to run up and cause a scene.

The giant looked around briefly, before quickly and discreetly shuffling his way toward the integrated so called 'shifter space'. The flight of stairs appointed to the section that Hosah would have to hike went up at least six feet, nothing to Teddy as he was already about four inches taller than that, but quite the trek for such tiny legs, surely. It was much easier to let the shrunken man slip down from his hand right where he needed to be, they just needed to time it right when the various employees and security guards weren't hanging around and watching over the area.

Letting Hosah slip down from his palm onto the little balcony and parting ways wasn't going to be easy. His brain felt fuzzy, along with the rest of his body as the giant felt himself almost trembling as he reached his hand out to allow the shifter into his grasp. He'd be fine, surely. They'd be separated for maybe an hour at most, there was security pacing back and forth around the area almost constantly, but he still couldn't help but feel as though he was about to make a terrible mistake upon letting Hosah go, even if it's just for a short while.

Teddy wasn't sure what to do with himself. As the pair parted ways, they both looked back at each other once, but it was Teddy that looked back two times. It reminded him of the greek myths his latin teacher was so interested in, at the time, he was frustrated that Orpheus had gone such a long way just to fail at the last moment, but he could understand where he was coming from now. He wandered aimlessly, despite having supposed to be looking out for places he'd like to eat on his birthday, he couldn't see the positives in anything at the moment. All he could do was worry deeply.

He found himself in a tech store, strolling through the aisles upon aisles of televisions, looking at all the fancy new flatscreens that had began to rapidly grow in popularity. Teddy preferred his big clunky thing, he thought it looked a lot nicer than the sleek and modern design of the LCD systems, as did most 'vintage' things, to be honest. All of the screens were set to the news, in sync as the reporter's voice echoed all around him.

A familiar voice, in fact. And no doubt about it, a familiar face. What a pleasant surprise to see Arthur Emily facing him from the other side of the screen. It would've felt surreal to see someone whose house you were just in a few days ago on the TV if Teddy wasn't already far too used to it given his father's career.

"Well, it's just a waste of money, Emily. I mean, I'm sure many of you can relate, you've been to the hospital and had an insane medical bill, or you've got a relative waiting and rotting away waiting for some kind of aid in the back end of their life, and this is what our taxes go to? You see what I'm saying here? It's ridiculous, we're working American citizens that actually provide for our country and society, what do those shifters do aside from get killed and drain our money on being inclusive toward them?"

Eugh. The political figure spoke as if the people he was arguing against the basic rights for weren't even people at all. And what business did Arthur Emily have being the opposing side to the argument, besides the fact having someone he can have in his hand gets him hard to the point where he's willing to pay for such kind of attention, of course. He was a comedian, a radio host, someone to make the argument for shifter rights look ridiculous, that's what he was. It made him so, uncontrollably frustrated, but even worse, it made him feel guilty. Guilty he held the privilege of being his height.

"It's an infringement of human rights, to not allow a group of people equal chances just because of their genetic makeup, I mean, I thought we learnt this with the equality act, right? We're all just people, shouldn't we be blaming our government for the mess of a world we live in rather than the people that are trying to get by alongside us? It's those in power that are the enemy."

"That's what I'm saying, can we even consider them to be human? The spider you crush just for being in your kitchen doesn't get accommodations in your city, so why should these shifters that are wiped out just as easily?"

"Why not? If we're punishing those whose only crime was to be small, then god, are we overdue for an armageddon."

Yeah, that was about all Teddy needed to hear before he'd gotten a gist of what the debate was over and how it would end. As much as he disliked Arthur Emily, he had to admit, he was on the right side of history with his argument. The prophetic perfect tense used when describing the mortality of shifters was disturbing to say the least. It was a given that they were to die in possibly the most gruesome and horrific ways, so much so that these events weren’t even being reported on, they were just expected, so normal that they might as well have already happened. Maybe that’s what caused such a change in heart in Mr Emily, being face to face with death in the form of his… ‘Friend’.

Meanwhile, Hosah was more struggling to find sign of human life in the small section of various shops that catered to shifters and shifters alone. He’d seen maybe three other shifters in the past twenty minutes, other than the single cashier in the only shop he’d been in. Two teenagers using tech-decks as size appropriate skateboards had passed him by not too long ago as they took pleasure in all the empty, smooth floors they had to ride around on. As annoying as it was, Hosah couldn’t be annoyed. They reminded him too much of himself and his older brother. Oh, how he missed the nineties, being a teenager, and being able to spend all day riding skateboards and loitering, despite how much his parents hated it.

Entering the only other clothing store that seemed to even be open, Hosah told himself it was here or nothing, not that he’d have any alternative choice on the matter anyway. The last shop’s smallest size in men’s was a small, which wouldn’t have been a problem if Hosah wasn’t below average in every way of the word. How even the smallest of clothes hung loosely around his body, even when buttoned all the way up, his chest still poked out, his painfully sharp collarbones drawing in all the attention despite how badly he’d wanted to cover them, to cover his entire body. He wanted to change for the better, so, so badly, but he’d grown used to seeing himself all disheveled and sickly. As embarrassing as it was to exist in this form, it was all he really knew anymore.

There really wasn’t much in Hosah’s preferred style. V-necks and scarves paired together was an insanely popular male fashion trend, but the shifter himself hated the hipster style. Same with skinny jeans and graphic tees, all the shifter wanted was a nice button up, or even a nice woven sweater. There was nothing wrong with dressing like a grandpa, in his eyes. Honestly, what there wasn’t much of was a real point to this all. He’d searched and searched but again, everything just looked far too big to ever fit him comfortably. It was frustrating, not only because everything was grossly up to date with the latest fashion, but because Hosah had been hit with this inexplicable feeling of guilt and disappointment in himself as he felt inadequate and unable to impress Teddy.

The sudden realisation of the feeling brought a hot flush over his entire form, he’d never felt this way about anything, never mind a single person.

If just his clothes were going to cause this much stress, god, please help him on the actual day.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

spiritual sequel to this <3

He gulps, his adam's apple pressing against the broken bottle. For a second he is transported back to an eternity ago, when he and Nance had still been together. The weird freaky loner was suddenly imposing, a real threat that could be enacted upon at any moment. His heart is beating too fast but he knows it isn't just out of fear. First Jonathan Byers, now Eddie Munson. He clearly has a type.

And then he thinks: no. And he simply refuses.

See, Steve has learnt over the years that he is very good that. Refusing. His parents commanded him to maintain an upstanding reputation, rebellious and neglected as he was he obviously refused, and somehow they never found out about the parties he used throw in their residence. Tommy and Carol - his closest friends since kindergarden - told him again and again to drop Nancy, and he refused. Billy almost killed him because he refused to let him harm his kids. Robin told him she was a lesbian, so he refused to have romantic feelings for her and now she is the best friend he has ever had and his literal soulmate (platonic with a capital P, of course)

So he remembers how disappointed Lucas looked when he didn't see any of his friends - or even his sister - on the stands. He remembers how much fun Lucas always has playing D&D, how his eyes shone when he talked about Eddie and his awesome campaigns. He remembers how much of a jackass Jason Carver - who somehow managed to become team captain - had been back when he'd first started basketball (and from what Robin tells him, he only got worse). He hadn't even instigated this particular bout of violence by insulting Munson's little brother who had recently disappeared and been presumed dead (his insides still try to tear themselves to pieces in shame every time he thinks about that) so he doesn't need to feel guilty.

Suddenly it is much easier to focus on the ugly raw desperation in those eyes instead of their warm brown color. The strong grip on his arm is nothing but uncomfortable (and no, definitely not in that way). Eddie's self-care routine must be awful judging by the chapped state of his lips (no, the fact that Jonathan Byers did not own a single moisturizer when he'd had a crush on him does not come into play here. Neither the fact that Munson's lips are very close to his). And, most importantly, he must be an awful person because not only did he steal Steve's kids away, but he doesn't even do the bare minimum and properly take care of them. On the contrary, he had the audacity to turn Dustin and Mike against Lucas. Who had been best friends since before middle school.

(Steve doesn't even have to actively suppress any details this time. He remembers how Lucas tried to hide his disappointment when Steve and Robin had been the only ones from their little gang who came to congratulate him. The thought alone makes him angry enough that the only thing he can see is red.)

Dustin pleads for Eddie to let go and it is even easier to ignore how "weirdos who look like they haven't slept in a week and can absolutely kick his ass" seem to really do something for him while not feeling the other's warm breath against his face. They have a short discussion that ends with them leaving Eddie behind for now. Alone. Doesn't feel too good, huh?

It's not like he thinks that Eddie committed the murders. The tremor in his voice and tears in his eyes remind him of his own first few days after finding out about the upside down, and he doesn't think that Dustin and Mike would be so blinded by their adoration that they'd miss the fact that the dude they worship is a literal serial killer, nosy little shits that they are. And sure, the guy doesn't deserve to have the entire town call him a satanic serial killer and chase him like a wild dog. And sleeping in a fucking boat can't be really comfortable.

However.

Eddie is also the reason that Lucas had to celebrate his victory with a bunch of strangers he didn't feel comfortable with. Eddie is the reason that Lucas isn't here right now, where Steve can keep an eye on him. The upside down is making their move once again and Hopper is dead and Joyce is gone and at least Mike flew away into safety (please be safe) but Max is gone and Lucas is gone and he has to take care of Robin too and also fucking Eddie Munson who is the fucking reason their group isn't complete right now and he can feel his nerves fraying and he is losing his fucking mind.

So maybe he resents Eddie for being able to befriend the kids without having to go through multiple traumatic experiences with them. Maybe he resents how obsessed Dustin and Mike are with him even though he doesn't even care for them. Maybe he resents how Lucas' disappointment reminds him so much of when he still searched for his parents after a good game: that stubborn glimmer of hope he couldn't erase even if he knew how foolish it was. Maybe he resents how Eddie never felt the need to pretend to be someone else, how he was always loud and weird and a freak and stood to it no matter what people said. Maybe he resents Eddie for being another person he has to look after even though he is the eldest (it is his responsibility to keep everybody safe but he isn't sure he can do it and why is Eddie allowed to be scared when Steve has also seen death and blood and guts and Eddie is just as close to the kids and he's even older than him and it isn't fucking fair). Maybe he is just tired and terrified and fucking mad because they don't fucking deserve this. Eddie was the one thing that made school less unbearable for the kids, and the upside down had to come and taint that, too.

Well, it doesn't matter either way. This isn't about him. This is about Robin and Nancy and the kids and now also Eddie Munson. Maybe he doesn't like him, but that doesn't matter. Because he is the protector, and it is his job to keep everybody safe, and he has already failed way too often. Protection - the right to live and not be ripped into pieces by terrifying monsters from another dimension - isn't something that has to be earned.

The door falls shut behind them. The last thing he sees are wide terrified eyes.

He can't stop thinking about Lucas and Max.

[devilw-rites]

Chrysalis

Tags: transfem!Matt Murdock x Reader, coming out angst, references to transmisogynistic violence (not toward Matt), transition from he to she pronouns.

You thought you knew Matt better than anyone. There were no secrets between you, not even about Daredevil. Except all week he's been acting strange and hasn't won't say anything to you about what's bothering him. Until this morning. (Read on AO3)

When you first met Matt, it was love at first sight.

You were in Torts, all alone without any friends to buffer the awkwardness and nerves of your first day of law school. You wrote scribbles in your notebook to at least appear busy, but you were anxious the people behind you thought you were a lunatic. It really shouldn't matter, you thought to yourself, they're all in the same boat that you're in.

To your utter horror, two people sat beside you. A blond man with frizzy locks and a brunette wearing rectangular shades. It didn't take you long to pick up that the latter was blind, folding up his white cane and stuffing it in his backpack, or to know that they were close friends. The blond wouldn't stop talking, a nervous edge to his voice as he found a million ways to affirm that what was happening was real and not just a fantasy. You felt so awkward being seemingly the only one without a companion, everyone else in the room at least chatting with the strangers sitting around them.

Almost as if he could read your mind, the brunette turned his head in your direction and smiled. That fucking smile. Little fireworks errupted in your chest while you tried to scramble for an appropriate response. You settled on smiling back with a raise of your hand in a vague reference to a way, that seemed reasonable enough.

“She just waved at you, by the way,” the blond informed his friend, turning his attention to the interaction once he realized he wasn't being listened to anymore.

Your eyes widened and your whole body tingled from how fast it heated up in embarrassment. “Oh shit, I'm sorry–”

The brunette chuckled a little bit, still grinning at you. “No no, it's okay, Foggy here does it all the time,” he reasured.

It eased you a little bit to hear that, but you still felt flustered by the interaction. The blond, Foggy, quickly introduced himself to you as "Matt's" best friend and wingman. Despite your initial apprehension, you found yourself increasingly grateful that they chose to sit with you. When the professor walked in and began introducing herself, you felt much less intimidated by what lay ahead of you.

Ever since then, you and Matt were as attached as he and Foggy were. You shared secrets, accomplishments, and hardships. No matter what, he always had your back. When your relationship developed romantically, just a week after Matt and Foggy decided to start their own firm, that flourished as well. He shared Daredevil with you, showing the suit to you when it was made, and coming to you for comfort when the work got particularly draining. Nothing was hidden between you two, you knew each other better than you knew yourselves.

At least, that's what you thought.

The past week, Matt had been exceptionally quiet, but you chalked it up to stress or just one of those moods. He didn't always feel like talking, about his feelings or in general, so you'd gotten used to periods of comfortable silence. They'd never lasted this long, though, and you were starting to worry he was shutting you out about something to do with work or Daredevil. You knew you couldn't pry, it would only push him deep into his shell. You had to wait for him to come to you, like he always inevitably did.

This morning, things were different. Matt barely said a thing that morning, he seemed spaced out, and his hands shook the slightest bit when he poured you both a cup of coffee. You bit your tongue and resigned yourself to leading the conversations and offering him affection, hoping it would melt away whatever was holding him back.

After breakfast, the two of you lounged together on the couch. He had his head on your shoulder and eyes closed as he listened to the TV show you were currently enthralled in, his own way of watching things with you. At least, you thought he was listening, absentmindedly scratching your nails in his hair and focusing your attention on the scene playing out. You felt his legs shaking a bit, like he was refraining from bouncing them in anxiety.

Then, Matt took a deep breath.

He pulled himself out of your touch, opening his eyes and raising them to about where your face was. You looked at him, the TV, and then back at him. You grabbed the remote and paused your show, already knowing whatever was happening was probably a big deal.

You saw the fear in Matt's whole face. A wobbly bottom lip, wide eyes, shaky breaths. He was trying to say something, but it was taking everything to convince himself to do it. You placed your hand on top of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you okay, Matty?” You gently coaxed. He shrugged in response. “It's okay, baby, you're safe. It's just me, okay?” This appeared to put him at ease, albeit just a little.

With a sharp inhale, Matt stilled all at once. His words still shook as he began.

“I've been thinking about this for a really long time, and I came to a realization a few weeks ago,” Matt began. “I didn't want to keep it from you, because you deserve to know, but I'm just so scared you'll hate me or feel differently about me.”

Now you were full of nerves. Your heart beat rapidly as you tried not to jump to conclusions. You couldn't think of any reason you would hate him, not unless he cheated or something else just as extreme. That wasn't possible, though, Matt loved you and would never do anything like that. What else was there?

Finally, the words fell from Matt's lips.

“I'm a woman.”

Your eyes widened, absolutely blindsided by the revelation. You never expected this from her, not in a million years, and you weren't sure what to say other than–

“I love you.”

Maybe it was the right thing to say, or maybe she could just tell from sensing your body's reactions, but she let out a cry of relief. All the pent up emotions, all the fear, flooded out all at once as her face crumpled and her eyes turned red from the salt in her tears.

You jumped into action, pulling her into you and resting her head on your shoulder. She clung onto you, gripping the back of your shirt and letting out sobs into your neck. You shushed her quietly, holding her tightly against you with one hand and enveloping your other in her hair, scratching her scalp how you know she likes. The two of you rock back and forth slightly, letting out all of your emotions into each other. A few tears slipped from you, empathy crying for the pain she must have felt all this time.

The pair of you stayed like that for quite a while, Matt letting everything out. Eventually, she pulled back and faced you again with bloodshot eyes.

“Are we okay?” She whimpered, probably searching for any sign of disgust, anger, or hatred from you. But there was none.

“Yes, Matt, we're always okay,” you said, kissing her for a moment as confirmation. “I'm sorry I made you think you couldn't come to me about this. I'd never hate you for being trans or anything else, I love whatever you are.”

Matt shook her head, a weak smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just still scary. You can never know exactly how someone will react.”

You hummed in response, grabbing her hands for probably the millionth time that day. Questions lingered on your tongue, but you weren't sure what you were supposed to say and not say for this.

“You can say what you want,” Matt interrupted your thoughts. She sensed your sudden apprehension.

“Um, is it okay if I ask questions? It's totally okay if not, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable! I just, uh, wanna make sure I get everything right,” you rambled.

At this, Matt finally did smile, laughing a little bit at your eagerness to support her. “Yeah, go ahead and ask whatever you want.”

“Okay,” you began, “when did you find out? How did you find out?”

Matt blinked a few times, biting her lip. “Uh... Late September.” That was almost four weeks ago. “I first started feeling confused in July, when I had that defense case with the woman who stabbed her boyfriend? She was... She was like me, as you know. I don't know, I guess I knew people like that existed, but I'd never met them. So coming face to face, talking with her about how she felt, it made me... Scared, I guess. Because I related so much to her.”

You nodded in understanding, knowing she sensed it. “I remember her, Courtney. I felt really bad for her, she had it rough.”

“Yeah, she did. Um, then I went online, and the library, and tried to find anything about transgender people. Everything I heard hit so close to home, but I couldn't accept it,” Matt said. “And one night, I just... Woke up. I forgot to shave that morning, and it bothered me all day. When I finally go home late, I went straight to the bathroom and shaved my face and then... I just started crying. It was like all at once I knew I couldn't stop pretending to be someone I'm not.”

“Thank you for telling me all this. It was probably really hard for you,” you said.

Matt sighed. “Yeah, it was, and I hated hiding it all from you. I just wanted to tell you, to tell Foggy and Karen, but I was scared. So scared what happened to Courtney could... could happen to me. Even if I know none of you would ever do something like her boyfriend did.”

“I understand, you knew the horror stories, I take no offense,” you reassured. ”I do have, um some more questions. One, what can I call you? Two, what are the... physical changes you'll make?”

You received a sheepish smile in response, Matt clearly a little embarrassed about revealing even more personal details. “Matt is, uh, Matt is fine. I like it. She-her works too,” she tried to play it off nonchalantly. “And I don't know about hormones or surgeries or anything. I don't not like my body, I just wish it wasn't seen as a man's body. I've been looking into laser hair removal for my face, though, I want that gone.”

It was a lot to take in, but nothing you weren't ready to accept. You pulled Matt into another hug, just as tight as before, earning an "oomph!" from her. You kissed the side of her shoulder lovingly.

“Whatever you do, I'll always support you. I love you, I love my beautiful girlfriend,” you said. At this, Matt teared up again, finally reassured once and for all that you accepted her as the woman she is.

“I love you too, so, so much,” Matt whispered back.

Once you were done hugging, crying, and kissing it out, Matt told you about the websites and books she read. She curled up close to you while you tapped away on your phone, soaking in as much of the information as you could. You were thrilled to have your happy woman back.

[griseldabanks]

Okay, here goes. For my birthday I'd like 21 and 29 from Let Me Count the Ways, in one fic for Ed and Al in the foster family au. Make it angsty, but also lots of hugs please! (You know what I like.)

--Rain

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Prompts: "I should have told you this a long time ago." and "It's not my fault."

Ed couldn't sleep. It was one of those warm, clear nights where the moon was full and so bright it lit up the room almost as bright as day, only with cool silvery light instead of the golden warmth of the sun. On nights like this back home, Mom would take them stargazing. She would point out all the constellations, and they would take turns looking through the telescope until Al was about to nod off, and then they'd go home and fall asleep over mugs of hot chocolate.

But now they lived in the suburbs. Roy and Riza were fast asleep, and it had probably never occurred to them to go stargazing, and you couldn't see many stars anyway because of the city lights.

A creak in the bed across the room made Ed roll over to look. Al sat on the edge of his bed, gazing out the open window with a wistful expression. The moonlight washed over his skin, turning it to ivory. He could have been a statue. The statue of a sad little boy whose mother would never take him stargazing again.

Ed sat up, drawing Al's attention. Sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed and dangling his one foot over the edge, Ed said softly, “I miss it too. Looking at the stars.”

Hugging himself as if chilled by the warm breeze, Al looked mournfully across at him. It wouldn't be the same without Mom, his eyes said. He could always tell what Al meant to say, even though no sound passed his lips.

Ed swallowed hard. Al's grief was like a knife in his ribs, in a way harder to bear than his own. It wasn't fair that Al had to grow up like this. It wasn't fair that he had to live with foster parents instead of real ones. It wasn't fair that Ed had to interpret his words instead of listening to them.

The knife stabbed harder into his side. It had been there all along, ever since that awful day....

“Al...” he whispered. “There's...something I need to tell you. Something...I should've told you this a long time ago, but I was...I was scared, I guess, of what you might say.”

Al's brow furrowed and he tilted his head to one side in confusion.

Clearing his throat, Ed dropped his gaze to the floor, where the blinds made stripes of moonlight and shadow on the floorboards. He hesitated, heart hammering against his ribs. Then, just like the first time he'd jumped into the deep end of the pool, he took a deep breath and plunged in before he could lose his nerve.

“It's my fault Mom's dead.”

He didn't dare look up to see Al's expression, but he could easily hear the sharp intake of breath. “You didn't know where we were going that night, did you?”

He heard, more than saw, Al shake his head.

“We were going to meet...him.” Ed grimaced around the sour taste in his mouth at the hazy memory of their father. He only had one image of his father in his head: the day he walked out the door.

His hands curled into fists on his knees. “He'd been sending letters. For weeks. Asking Mom if he could see us. You know how it was always my job to go check the mailbox? Well, I saw his name, and so I...hid them. Each time one would come in, I wouldn't give it to Mom, I'd read it myself and then I'd hide it under my mattress. But I didn't think about him calling on the phone. So that night...you remember how she took that phone call into her room for like an hour, and then she came out and said we had to get in the car? That's why. Because she was taking us to see him.”

All he'd wanted was to protect Mom from that jerk who'd left them. He was a traitor to their family, so they shouldn't want anything to do with him. But Ed wasn't an idiot. He may have only been eleven, but he'd heard the way Mom would talk about him, the longing way she'd look at his photos in the hallway. If he ever showed his face around town again, Ed knew she'd go running to him in a heartbeat. And just end up heartbroken all over again.

“But...if I hadn't hidden the letters...if she'd been reading them all along...it wouldn't have been that night. They would've arranged a meeting some other time, when it wasn't raining, and then she wouldn't have been so...crying and distracted...and then it wouldn't...she wouldn't have....”

A warm arm around his shoulders brought him up short. He squeezed his eyes shut, and only when he felt tears dripping onto his knee did he realize he was crying.

He sat stiffly, not leaning into Al's embrace. He didn't deserve this sympathy. He didn't even deserve to cry. “It's...It's my fault,” he choked out. “It's my fault we're...like this.”

Al's hand covered his, but he said nothing. He never said anything. He was locked in a prison of silence, all because of his stupid, stupid brother....

“You should hate me,” he whispered. “I wouldn't blame you if you did.”

Al let go of his hand and cupped Ed's cheek, gently raising it so they could meet each other's gaze. Ed looked into his brother's eyes, turned silvery in the moonlight, and he knew what Al would have said if he could: I don't blame you, brother.

“Why not?” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the forgiveness and gentle understanding anymore. “Why don't you hate me?”

A warm forehead nudged gently against his. Keeping one hand pressed to Ed's cheek, Al reached for Ed's and pressed his palm against his own cheek. It was wet too now.

“I know,” Ed murmured. “We're all we've got. But...that's my fault too.”

Pulling back just enough to look each other in the eye again, Al shook him slightly. Suddenly, he was all steel and stubbornness, despite the tears still trailing down his cheeks. He stabbed a finger at Ed's chest and shook his head emphatically.

“What?” Ed frowned. “You're saying it's not my fault?”

Al nodded.

“You don't blame me because it's not my fault?”

Nod.

Ed looked away, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “That's nice, Al. But I don't believe it.”

A sudden punch in the shoulder brought his attention back to Al. The glare sent his way said louder than any words, You should. Because it's true.

Scrubbing his hands over his cheeks to wipe away the tears, Ed shook his head. “Yeah, that's what all the shrinks tell me. But what do they know?”

Al leapt to his feet and smacked a hand on his chest. I know. I was there. Then he marched over to his dresser and grabbed the framed photo sitting there between piles of library books and the little collection of rocks and feathers he'd begun to accumulate. He stomped back over to Ed and shoved the picture right in front of Ed's face.

Their mother beamed back at him, her arms around a much younger Ed and Al. They all looked so happy. So content.

Ed glanced up at his brother, who insistently shoved the picture into Ed's hands. He looked down at his mother's smiling face, and for the first time, he tried to imagine what she would say if she were here. If he'd actually gotten a chance to apologize for what he'd done.

No, Ed. Don't blame yourself. It wasn't anyone's fault. The road was slick, and neither of us saw what was happening until it was too late. I'm so sorry that you and Al were hurt. But most of all, I'm sorry that I'm not there to tell you in person.

Maybe it was because he'd gotten so used to interpreting Al's silences and facial expressions, but Ed almost thought he could hear his mother's voice. A drop of moisture fell onto the glass in the frame, right over her smiling face, quickly followed by another and another.

“She'd say...sh-she'd say...it's n-not my fault....”

Al sat down on the bed beside Ed again, and when Ed blinked the tears away, he nodded with a sad little smile. Encouraging him to say it again.

“It's not my fault....” Once he said the words and really, truly believed them, Ed couldn't seem to stop saying them. “It's not my fault...it's not my fault....”

Crawling into Ed's bed, Al tugged at Ed's sleeve until he slid under the covers as well. Together, they sat and looked at the picture of their mother, resting their heads against each other.

Sometimes, Ed broke the silence by whispering, “So you don't hate me?” or “You sure it's not my fault?” And each time, Al shook his head and dried his brother's tears with a corner of the sheet. Slowly, slowly, the words settled in his heart and began to sound true.

The next morning, when Riza came in to wake the boys for breakfast, she found them slumped against the headboard, heads resting against each other and hands tightly clasped. With a smile, Riza softly backed out of the room and let them sleep a little longer.

[lunarbuck]

Hi! I hope your doing okay and well, please ignore this if this makes you uncomfortable or you don't want to do this.

Request: Bucky Barnes oneshot with a military partner? Sounds cringe, but I would like to know what they'd do? Especially if their badass and able to take down multiple people?

I hope this makes sense, if not: send me a message for more clarification. Please make sure to stay hydrated, eat something, and take frequent breaks!!

Thank you so much for your request!! I had a lot of fun writing this :) but also..... I am so so so sorry it took me so long to get to this, I've had it written for a while but I just didn't know how to end it!! i hope you enjoy <3

Touch the Sky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Pilot reader (any race)

Summary: You and Bucky go on a mission that doesn't go as planned

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: military, fighting, violence, mentions of weapons

full masterlist | bucky barnes masterlist

When you’d first been assigned an Avenger as your partner, you’d laughed a little bit. You couldn’t really imagine sticking Thor in the rear seat of your jet. 

But when you’d found out you’d be working with Sergeant Bucky Barnes, well, you couldn’t really be too mad. Not only does he have real military experience, but he’s easy on the eyes. That’s always a plus.

When you enlisted at 18, you’d never thought you’d make it this far. After basic training, you were selected for a unique government program that put you on the fast track to becoming one of the most highly decorated pilots the country has ever seen.

To then be assigned to work with an Avenger was an honor, especially Sergeant Barnes. 

You work better with him than any other partner. Your skills complement each other, and he has your back at every turn. He’s a fierce protector, he never lets you get hurt, and if you do end up injured, you know he’ll take care of you.

So today, you know that he’s got you when everything has gone wrong on your mission. It’d started going wrong when you’d had to land your jet in the water just off the coast of the island you were supposed to be scouting. A base for an organization known for smuggling weapons to gangs and other crime families is at the center of the island.

They’d somehow hijacked your comms and messed with your jet’s system. You lost control, and your only option was to land in the water. But Bucky was there, the voice of reason in your head the whole time.

You’re a strong and capable person, it’s how you rose so quickly through the ranks, but it’s always nice to have someone there as support. Bucky never steps on your toes; he respects the fact that not only do you outrank him, but you’re more experienced in the air. You’re in charge. 

Now, he has your back just like he always does. The two of you, despite your disadvantage, make your way through the base and take down everyone in your way. The two of you are unstoppable, even as a group of men comes barreling toward you.

Bucky only gives you a glance before making his moves, protecting your blind spots as you fire at the oncoming attackers. You work seamlessly together, wordlessly communicating as if speaking telepathically. 

Your gun clicks, but you don’t let running out of ammo scare you. Bucky hears it, too and changes his tactic, covering you with his own shower of gunfire while you pull a knife out of your belt. 

Bucky taught you everything you know about fighting with knives, and you have to give it to him; it’s very effective. 

You swipe at the man in front of you, cutting him deep before punching him hard. He goes down, unconscious for the time being. 

Before long, all the men are down, and you and Bucky are moving on. 

It was practically inevitable that the two of you would develop feelings for each other. It happened quicker than you’d care to admit, but come on, one look at him, and you were sold. He’d even gotten approval from the higher-ups before asking you out. He made sure to do everything right.

Six months later, he still does it right. On missions, at home, everywhere, he’s your right-hand man. Your number one fan.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks, not even slightly out of breath despite running through the base and fighting off dozens of agents.

“Of course,” you reply, smiling as you pump your arms. You’re no super soldier, there’s no serum flowing through your veins, but you keep up as best you can.

“It’s really hot when you do that.” Bucky comes to a stop in front of a closed door and starts working on the keypad to unlock it.

“Do what?” you ask, turning around to watch for anyone who might be coming your way. 

You hear the door slide open, and you grin. He’s good. Bucky’s metal fingers circle your wrist and guide you back into the new room. You relish the feeling of cool vibranium against your skin.

He turns you around, and you catch his eyes. The bright blue pulls you in, and heat floods your body. 

“When you take down those guys like it’s nothing. You’re so fuckin’ strong,” he whispers hoarsely. You smirk and shake your head; as much as you want to pounce on him and show him just how easy it is to take someone down, you know you can't afford to get distracted.

“Thanks, Sarge.” You give him a wink and take in the new room. It’s some sort of control room, full of screens and different security equipment. Bucky grumbles something to himself but joins you to watch the footage playing out in front of you.

You flip through different cameras and eventually find one that shows a warehouse. People packing different weapons shipments fill the screen, and you hum in satisfaction. 

Bucky reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his comm equipment. Even though while you were in the air, it had all gone dead, they were equipped with flash drives. He plugs the drive into the system and downloads whatever footage he can.

The two of you stay, soaking up whatever intel you can get before someone inevitably realizes you’re in the security room. 

“How’re we getting out of here?” Bucky asks, tucking his communicator back into his jacket. You’d been trying to figure that out as well. Your jet is out of the picture, probably already full of water and unsalvageable. Your heart tugs at the thought; you’d been through a lot with her. You aren’t ready to say goodbye.

You flip through the cameras, searching for their jet hangar. The island is impossible to reach unless you fly in or have a small enough boat to navigate the waters. There has to be somewhere to store their aircrafts. 

It takes a little while, but eventually, you catch sight of a few jets, and luckily, you know how to fly them. Bucky figures out how to get there, and then you’re off. 

You don’t run into anyone as you weave through the hallways, much to Bucky’s disappointment. However, you have to take down a few guys guarding the jets. 

Bucky makes easy work of them, and you stand back, enjoying the view. His muscles strain, bunching beautifully beneath his uniform. You could watch him do this all day.

Bucky pretends to wipe the sweat off his brow as he flashes his perfect smile at you, and you roll your eyes. You circle one of the jets and go through your preflight ritual and checklist. You move with precision, and Bucky takes a step back to let you work. It’s been a while since you’ve flown this particular jet model, but you’re confident in your ability to make it work.

As you check off the next item on your mental list, Bucky moves to stand behind you, letting his hands linger on your waist. He lets his breath fan across your neck in a way that makes you shiver. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you jokingly scold, tilting your head back on his shoulder for just a moment. “This is no way to treat your superiors.” Bucky chuckles, squeezes your waist, then steps away.

You get through your checklist and finally board your jet despite the distractions. Bucky squeezes himself into the rear seat, and you can’t help but smile. You can’t use the headsets in the jet in case they’re broadcasted throughout the base, so you have to do any verbal communication before you get in the air.

“How ya feelin’ back there, Sarge?” you shout back to him, grinning as you begin your take-off sequence.

“Tight as always, you know I have long legs. There should be more leg room in these things,” he groans obnoxiously. A moment later, you’re in the air. You laugh to yourself as your jet starts to climb in altitude.

There’s something about flying: how your stomach sinks and your heart races when you take off that you’re addicted to. It never gets old, no matter how many times you fly. It’s always new, always so incredible. There’s nothing like it; nothing comes even close.

Usually, you’d be joking around with Bucky, but without the headsets, you sit with your own thoughts, focused entirely on getting the two of you home safely. You’re so in tune with the equipment that it’s practically an extension of yourself. Bucky has always been impressed by that.

After what only feels like a few moments, you’re approaching your military base. No one came after you; no one even tried to stop you. 

You land easily and take a deep breath as you taxi. 

“Attention passengers, this is your Captain speaking. It is currently 11:56 pm here in New York and a crisp 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Thank you so much for flying with us,” you say in your best professional voice.  

“You’d be an awful commercial pilot,” Bucky chuckles. You hum a laugh as you bring the jet to a halt. 

The debrief for the mission is long and tedious, but the second it’s over, you and Bucky make your way to your favorite 24-hour Chinese restaurant near the base. He pays for your food like the gentleman he is, and the two of you sit together in the nearly empty restaurant.

Moments like this make you feel practically normal, even though the two of you never will be. But honestly, you don’t want to be normal. You love being the badass couple. You love knowing that you make such a good team, that no matter what, you’ve got each other’s backs. 

After dinner, the two of you head to Bucky’s apartment and get ready to do it all again in a few hours.

please let me know if you'd like to be added to my taglist

you must have your age/age range in your bio!!

All Bucky Taglist: @peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @hawsx3 @meetmeatyourworst @harrysthiccthighss @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @luxeavenger @cloudyfeel @searchf0rtheskyline @keliiii @pono-pura-vida

strikethru means i couldn't tag you for some reason

[derelictlovefool]

Summary: Dean Sinclaire used to consider Jacob Seed his best friend, the only person in the world he could rely on. Now, he was the only person he couldn't run from fast enough. In their years apart the little boy who had promised to take him to the stars had become a living nightmare hellbent on making him the same, would he succumb to his trials or was there a chance he could bring his old friend back to the surface?

Wordcount: 3k

read on ao3

This was insane.

It was more than insane, it couldn't be real—this couldn't be happening.

But it was. No matter how many times Dean Sinclaire blinked or shook his head the blue eyes staring back at him didn't go away. Jacob Seed, a name and a face he hadn't seen in a very long time, stood up on the church's stage with a similar look of shock on his marred face. Dean felt like a deer in headlights, staring down an impending doom he couldn't ever hope to comprehend.

The voices of his Sheriff and the outta town Marshal were like white noise, none of it made it through as Dean stared at his old friend in utter confusion. What the hell had happened to him? A lot by the looks of it. Dean ducks his head down, unable to handle the foreign yet so familiar face zoned in on him. He'd really been hoping the last name of this cult family had been a coincidence, that it was possibly more common than he thought. But now faced with the truth of it all Dean felt the weight of reality crushing him into the old, creaky floorboards.

This sucked. His breath caught in his throat and his ears rang, hands balling up into fists as the Marshal grabbed his shoulder.

"Cuff this guy Rook."

Dean lifted his head.

Joseph Seed stared back at him, a look in his eyes that unsettled Dean and rocked him to his core. It was an expectant look, like he had been waiting for him much longer than the short minutes his superiors had been talking for. He tried not to glance over his shoulder at Jacob but he felt his heavy stare as he cuffed the cult leader, hands shaking as he secured him.

"God will not let you take me." 

The words were sharp. They made Dean want to turn back time and crawl back into his bed and forget he ever got a call from the sheriff.

Dean felt his mouth fall open as Joseph leaned in closer to him, blue eyes glazed by the golden aviators and promising a fate none of them were ready for. He felt like he was going to be sick, the small church was even more suffocating than before. His brown eyes flickered to Jacob, an unconscious action he quickly regretted. There was no comfort to be gained from his face which had steeled, his eyes that had hardened and he looked like nothing but a stranger to Dean. An angry cultist ready to cut his hands off for even daring to put them on his brother.

He realises then he'd never been this close to Joseph, not even when they were kids. He'd only ever waved to him and John from the sidewalk before he and Jacob ran off to their spot. His hands hovered over Joseph's wrists, the little boy who so often had his shirt on inside out now covered in scars and tattoos, he was someone else entirely. His skin was clammy or maybe Dean's was. He tugged Joseph forward, stepping around him and placing his hand on his bare shoulder in a robotic motion. He had to focus, despite so many visions blurring together behind his eyelids and confusing his mind, he had to stay in the present.

He had a job to do and these people were dangerous criminals. The past was the past. He didn't really know them, despite what his mind said to him. Not any more, anyway.

The thoughts churned away in his stomach as he led Joseph out of the church, feeling Jacob and John's eyes burn into the back of his head. He followed his coworkers, almost deaf to the rioting Peggies, blind to their swarming bodies as he stared at the side of Joseph's face. He thought back to the video he'd watched in the chopper, glanced down at Joseph's hands and remembered how they were stained in another man's blood. He remembered a time they'd been covered in paint, did he still like to paint?

What? What the fuck was he thinking? That wasn't important—He sucked in a sharp breath as something knocked into his shoulder, Joey rushing back to him to shove away a Peggie that had apparently gotten too close without him realising.

"Fuck Rook, keep your eyes open! What are you doing?" She shouted at him. He uttered a quiet apology and tightened his grip on Joseph but he couldn't focus, everything felt wrong. This wasn't right. None of this was right. He caught Joseph's gaze and shoved him forward, fighting to get away from those haunted eyes as soon as humanly possible.

This would be over soon and he'd just fucking quit. Forget this ever happened and finally learn how to play the stupid guitar gathering dust in his room. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Sounded better than the possibility of having to face whatever this was.

He pushed Joseph into the helicopter, climbed into his seat and buckled himself in, off balance amidst the chaos. Peggies climb over the vehicle like ants, the shouts are like bullets and Dean focuses his gaze on the eyes staring him down. Joseph is singing, he can barely hear it but he can see his lips move as the words flow out. Amazing Grace. Dean swallowed thickly, feeling a hand wrap around his arm and nearly pull him out of the plane. As he kicked the Peggie off of him the chopper lifted off the ground and Joseph, he just kept singing.

Vaguely Dean can remember Jacob mentioning a school choir, the thought of Joseph being in it is soured by his current visage. Any warm feeling Dean could have felt about it is dust in the wind as the chopper went up and bodies dropped down. Bullets whizzed past his head, bounced off the metal and into the blades of the chopper. His coworkers' shouts finally registered in his ears but there was nothing he could do but sit and helplessly listen.

Dean's head knocked back against the headrest, the helicopter turning sideways and wind and smoke stole all the air from his lungs. The horrid feeling of falling filled his gut and the hand that grabbed hold of his flying hand brought not even an ounce of relief. Joseph was still singing even as they descended to the earth. They didn't even make it off the island, the wreckage lying just outside of the compound.

The world was white noise, Dean didn't want to open his eyes, even as he heard Nancy's pleading voice over the radio. He wanted to check on his fellow deputies, his sheriff, the Marshal…. But he had never wanted more for something to be a nightmare. He willed himself to wake up but his body already had and he was still hanging upside down in that fucking chopper. Pain bloomed in his neck as his senses came back to him fully, the sensations and aches all over his body bringing tears to his eyes and forcing them open.

The smoke from the flaming vehicle stung his eyes and he coughed as it snuck past his lips. He could see the Marshal and Joey, both unconscious and looking worse for wear. Dread washed over him at the empty seat in front of him, he twisted his neck to the side but immediately hissed and pulled it back. That hurt. That hurt real bad.

Nancy cried through the radio and Dean tried raising his arms, not to grab the dangling headset but to see if he could unbuckle himself. The faster he got out of here the better. But fate really wasn't on his side today and a hand grabbed his wrist halfway to its destination. Dean wanted to scream, yank his arm away and block him out like a bad memory. But he hadn't been, until now. He'd been a sweet one. 

Joseph crouched down in front of him, and Dean recalled a time he and John peaked down at him from their roof as he hid candy bars under their porch. That was just before they left… Dean squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, fighting away the memory and focusing on the dirtier, bloody image of the man in front of him now. Stay focused. He chided himself silently as Joseph leaned closer.

"I told you God wouldn't let you take me."

Dean wanted to bring his head forward and slam into his, knock him out and maybe give himself a moment to escape but he knew from where he was that would be almost impossible. Joseph grabbed the headset and brought it to his lips, keeping his eyes locked onto Dean as he did. He wanted to watch his expression, see the look in his eyes as he got out what he had to say next.

"Dispatch?"

Nancy gasped, Dean's jaw tensed.

"Everything is fine, no need to call anyone." Joseph's voice is monotone, deceptively soft to anyone not staring into his cold eyes at that moment. Dean tunes out Nancy, the assured tone in Joseph's voice told him all he needed to know about his sweet old coworker. Of course he'd had plants in the department, probably Jacob's idea. He was always the strategist. Dean felt his face twist involuntarily, his emotions clear as day on his face and for a moment it looked like Joseph's softened. Something deep in his eye as he let go of Dean's wrist and cupped his cheek in his hand.

"Jacob used to talk about you every night, when we were in that old barn… He missed you…" Joseph studied his face as he spoke quietly, gaze calculating and his touch anything but welcoming. Joseph nodded to himself after a moment, a silent thought he didn't voice lost on Dean as he finally turned and crawled out of the helicopter's decomposing carcass. Peggies rushed to him, shouting in rejoice of his safety and Dean brought his arms up again to grab at his seat belt.

That white noise returned as tears welled in Dean's eyes. What the fuck had been the point of telling him that? It would have been kinder to stab him.

He cursed as he fumbled with the belt, noticing Joey and the Marshal beginning to stir as Joseph spoke to his followers in a loud, booming voice. A voice that commanded attention yet failed to keep Dean's. He glanced at Joey, a fleeting thought to maybe reach over and help her out first fizzled away by the sight of familiar red hair once again. Jacob stood by the car his brother had taken to standing on, his blue eyes zeroed in on him with a look he could no longer read.

Panic filled him. It was odd. He'd never been scared of Jacob, not once. But right now… He felt a pang of fear at how he was looking at him.

"Begin the reaping!" Joseph's voice roared out into the night air and like a tape being put into fast forward everything started buzzing forward at an alarming rate. Anxiety built up in Dean as the Peggies descended on the helicopter, he shouted uselessly as they grabbed Joey, grabbed onto her and tried to yank her back into the helicopter as they dragged her out. He cried out in frustration as she slipped through his fingers and again as flames erupted and pushed back the oncoming Peggies.

The Marshal was out of there before he could blink, the Sheriff and Staci had been pulled out by the Peggies and Dean finally got his seat belt off in a messy motion. His neck ached as he hit the roof of the chopper and he almost cried from the anger he felt, flopping onto his side before he crawled out of the ticking time bomb. He fretted seeing Jacob waiting for him but as he pushed himself up and began to run nothing stopped him, no one grabbed him. Bullets whizzed past his head but he avoided the cascade of them as he sucked and swerved through the trees.

Dean skidded down the wet forest floor, jumped over a small trickle of water and stones, climbed up a steep hillside and past a bridge that looked far too out in the open to have crossed from the other side. He was running on adrenaline and he almost missed the radio call from the Marshal spouting off his vague location. He was still thinking about the haunting faces that refused to leave his mind.  What had gone so wrong, what could have led them here? He had so many questions, so many regrets and no way to get conciliation with any of them.

Somehow, almost by pure dumb luck, Dean stumbled upon the trailer the Marshal was hiding away in. He carefully made his way to the door, glancing over his shoulder as he turned the handle. Hands grabbed onto the front of his uniform and yanked him inside, he gasped from the swift movement and blindly grabbed at his attacker. The Marshal's face became clear in his vision and he threw his hands up in defense.

"Wait! It's me, it's me!" Dean squawked, twisting away and frantically waving his hands in an attempt to dissuade the Marshal's misguided attack on him. Relief and recognition washed over the Marshal's face and his shoulders slumped as he lowered his arm.

"Oh fuck Rook, you made it, thank God."

The Marshal patted his shoulders in a friendly way but Dean didn't lower his arms, he really just wanted to go home. He cautiously followed after the Marshal as he walked further into the trailer, pausing as he grabbed a mock family photo off the wall and smashed it to the ground with a promise to put them all away. Dean stared down at it, three faces he knew and one he'd never seen before. Well, they may as well all have been strangers to him, the three men nothing like the three boys seared into his memory.

"We're gonna get out of this Rookie, first things first, we gotta arm ourselves—Here." The Marshal pulled Dean from his frozen stance, tossing him a gun. Dean fumbled but caught it, watching as he grabbed another gun and checked it over. This was really happening. He was stuck on an island full of people who wanted him dead and his childhood friend and his siblings were at the forefront of it all. Fuck, how did he get here?

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do…"

Dean had never envisioned himself as a cop, never envisioned himself living in a County in Montana either. Of all places, why did he end up here? Of all places, why did they end up here? What sick and twisted turn of fate was this? This was not how movies showed reunions going down, one party turned into a cult and the other a cop meant to arrest them. This was so out of the realm of possibilities Dean had run over in his head, it was unfair. This was all un-fucking-fair.

"You hearin' me Rook?" The Marshal shoved his shoulder and he realized he hadn't heard a word he'd said to him.

"Man this is life or death right now are you really daydreaming on me?" The Marshal asked incredulously and Dean bowed his head bashfully.

"Sorry I… Fuck. I'm just—I don't know." Dean ran a hand down his face, a tightness building in his chest as he put himself into a ready position. He shook his head and forced his gaze back up to the window.

"Okay look, just—"

"Come around here! Check the trailer first!"

Dean's heart sank just as fast as the Marshal's face dropped. He shushed Dean as his mouth flew open to ask what the plan was and Dean nodded wordlessly, gripping his gun nervously. He'd never been in a firefight before, fuck he'd never used a gun before. The one the department gave him was more of a prop and he never even had it loaded. This was so fucked.

The Marshal nodded towards the other window and Dean crouched down and shuffled towards it, gasping as the Peggies began to shout and the glass in front of him exploded from a bullet breaking through. He ducked down and hid under the frame, heart hammering in his chest as he watched the Marshal shoot out the window with a confident aim Dean knew he didn't have in him. Still, he couldn't let him go at this alone so he sucked up his fear and pushed himself back up.

He fired warning shots, close to the Peggies but nowhere near landing on them. The Marshal hurried out of the trailer to make ground, firing away as Dean provided him cover. A bullet went right past Dean's cheek, the heat and sting searing his skin and forcing him back for a moment. Fighting the shock Dean messily reloaded his gun and followed the Marshal out of the trailer, ducking down behind the small cover they had.

"Keep 'em off me Rook I'm goin' for the truck!" The Marshal instructed him through a short yell, not giving him time to reply as he jumped up and started moving. Dean swirled to a kneeling position and raised his gun, firing a shot at a Peggie pointing their gun right at the Marshal. Time seemed to slow as his bullet made impact with their body, he hadn't meant to actually hit them. He froze, watching their body curl and face twist into one of pure agony. The world went quiet, white noise enveloping the shouting and gunfire. 

He watched as the Peggie fell out of sight and he felt his stomach drop. Had he just…? 

"Rook, cover me!"

A bullet clipped his hair, another skidded over his shoulder.

He moved in slow motion, firing more shots at the Peggies and making the ballsy ones duck for cover. His vision got blurry, his throat tightened and his hands shook as he heard the truck engines start. He kept glancing to where the Peggie he shot had fallen, praying to see their matted hair pop back up and an angry face glower at him again.

But they didn't.

"Rook, get in!" The Marshal stopped the truck and shouted at him and Dean didn't dawdle, he jumped up and into the truck, falling into the passenger seat and slamming the door closed. Everything felt like a bad trip, Dean felt like he was about to puke and he hung his head between his knees as the Marshal began to drive, bullets reverberating off the truck's shell.

"Fuck…" He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as he sucked in deep breaths. Panic spread out along all of his limbs and he rocked gently as he tried to keep his breathing even. He just killed someone, he just killed someone—

"We're not outta the woods yet Rookie, up ahead!" The Marshal yanked him back up, and he was right back in the seemingly never-ending nightmare.

[ghoulcountry]

SLASHER MANS SLASHER MANS

ohhhh blorbo from my own OC... i play favorites so hard with this man and i gave him the worst, most dramatic emocringe backstory bc i. deserve it.

wolfgang holt was born in the mid-late 70s in a small town in mississippi. his mom was a practicing witch and his dad walked out on them pretty early on. money was tight but life was good for a while.

then his mom remarried. the guy was fine at first. he helped pay off their house, he took care of them, he wasn't the most emotionally vulnerable but he wasn't outright awful. but things got worse. as they do. wolf's step dad's social drinking became outright aggressive alcoholism. he started abusing wolf's mom. he started abusing wolf. he would abuse wolf's mom even more when she tried defending her son. some of his friends would try to convince him to go to church with them to get "healed" of his drinking problem and get him away from the "godless whore" he'd married.

it turned out he'd assumed his wife saying she was a witch was some kind of joke. just a way of flirting. some oo i put a spell on u type shit. one night he caught her casting protection spells on her son while he slept and snapped. the drinking, the persistent brainwashing from friends and family, and the general closed mindedness of their little conservative town resulted in him dragging wolf out into the woods behind their house and beating him to near unconsciousness and leaving him for dead in the snow, promising that his mom was next and they'd meet again in hell.

left alone and wounded in the cold, wolf was an easy target for hungry predators. a small pack of (WHAT ELSE) wolves found him. they started ripping him apart, tearing mostly into his throat and chest.

as far as wolf remembers he escaped on pure adrenaline alone, just running as fast as he possibly could towards home. he's never questioned how he was able to move at all.

when he got home his mother was already dead and his step dad was blacked out. it only made sense to shoot him before he could wake up again.

orphaned and effectively homeless, he stumbled out into the woods again, walking until he reached the next town and stumbling into the first emergency room he could find. the drs were understandably alarmed that he was even alive. in fact, his injuries had already started to heal. the injuries to his throat had left him mute, and they were unable to get him to communicate with them in any other way, so they got him patched up and put in a room to rest while they tried to find out who his parents were and what could've possibly happened. officers were called to the er, and wolf (who had been pretending to sleep and listening for signs of cops, afraid that he'd be arrested if they found out he killed his step dad) bolted while they were all distracted.

he's been alone since. his mom's spells were more real and more powerful than even she would've guessed, and now he's effectively immortal. he hasn't realized this himself yet, whether through willful ignorance in order to ignore the trauma or because he doesn't believe in those things so he's unable to accept them no one knows. but any wound he sustains will heal, eventually, no matter how bad. truly traumatic injuries leave marks--the wolf attack left him mute, scarred, and blind in one eye--but the more minor ones can heal in minutes with no lasting evidence.

wolf now lives in a cabin he built himself in a dense forest bordering some mid-sized city. every now and then he needs to make supply runs, so he sneaks into city limits at night to steal whatever he can't hunt or grow or make himself. unfortunately, he has an overactive sense of self preservation... and unfortunately, a city is full of people. anyone who seems even remotely like a threat ends up dead, and the older he gets the looser the definition of "threat" becomes, to the point where someone even slightly annoying could end up missing a head or with a shotgun shell in their chest. stories start to circulate of the slasher in the woods, and it becomes the ~cool~ thing to do to go party in there and make it home alive. and nothing's more annoying than teenagers who think they're immortal.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Manuscript Search Tag

Thanks for tagging me, @blind-the-winds! :D

Words: catch, call, class, chase and close. These are from Totentanz:

Catch:

Through the arched doorway, up the spiral staircase, round and round the tower. Diarnlan tried to keep walking as fast as she had before. But eventually she had to concede to physical limitations. The tower was simply too high, and she was simply too tired. She stopped to catch her breath. Karandren caught up with her, puffing and panting. He gave her a look that suggested he would happily throw her off the tower's top if she didn't slow down.

Call:

No one who had ever attended Laoivere Academy would ever forget that infernal bell. It clanged to wake everyone up, it clanged to call them to meals, it clanged when lessons began, it clanged when there was an emergency -- real or imagined -- and sometimes it even clanged when a stray spell hit it. The noise it made could never be described. It was like a creature being tortured at the same time as a construction crew smashed rocks with sledge-hammers. Mentioning it to former students would prompt anguished groans. Current students spent much of their time planning to destroy the damned thing.

Class:

Karandren's classmates generally tried to ignore his existence. They'd stopped outright bullying him after their ringleader died so mysteriously. After that they adopted a policy of pointedly turning their backs on him when he walked into a room. The students at the table closest to the door automatically began to turn away as soon as he entered the dining room. Then they stopped. Their heads swivelled round. Their eyes grew rounder and rounder until they were practically standing out on stalks.

Chase:

"We'll have to lure them in ourselves," Karandren said. "Remember the one that chased us to the forest? We could hurt them but not kill them and then they'll chase us anywhere we lead them."

Close:

It was Karandren's turn to open and close his mouth wordlessly. When he finally thought of something to say he snapped, "Well, if I'm going to get arrested I want it to be for something worthwhile! Not because you stole a few coins!"

Tagging @zmwrites, @primroseprime2019, @theimperiumchronicles, @author-a-holmes, and anyone else who wants to do this! :D New words: borrow, before, become, bring and blood.

[vsnotresponding]

EXTRA SCENE - LYRIC

answering this ask. does lyric get scared?

Lyric was scared of many things.

As a kid, he'd been both fascinated and afraid of the war, of the concept of undead souls roaming the earth seeking revenge. For what, no one knew; only that they did. That they were ruthless and always went for the kill, no matter who you were.

He'd also been scared of the throne, the first time he saw it. They'd brought him to the chamber right above Sorrow's temple, and there lay the throne. Old and cracked between white stone columns, elevated on a dais and covered with a red cloth—a silver thin crown waiting on the seat. He'd felt small before it, the rush of being chosen as the messiah vanishing like the smoke of the funerary pyres after days of burning.

They told him it was his throne, and that he'd never sit on it. Not unless he won the war for humanity. Not unless he found and killed the first soul.

He was afraid of her, too, of them.

The first time he saw a lost soul, he was fifteen and stupid. He and Akira had run off to fight next to the camp they were stationed in. Alone, or so they had thought, they parried and played. And then, out of nowhere, thick smoke began to rise around them, and there it was: a lost soul, towering over both of them. Sun at its back, its shadow covered them, and the warm summer day turned into winter as its blade fell towards him. Lyric saw it all: the light on the solid smoke, its dark blue smoky eyes, like his own hair, the soul trapped on its chest. Paralyzed with fear, stare was the only thing he could do. 

Akira moved him out of the way, and they managed to kill it together.

He did not manage to save Akira in turn, years later. And he was still afraid of that. Of Akira dying, of him failing. To save him, to save humanity, to kill the first soul.

Yes, Lyric was afraid of many things.

But he wasn’t afraid to die. He was the messiah, after all, he was destined for greatness.

He did not see the blow, that first time. It was a harmless training exercise, and bored, his unit had decided to use real swords for practice. He was against a soldier he vaguely remembered from the house where he and Kira had grown up in, swords glistening red in the midday sun, low on the horizon. The earth, dead, tinted with yellow from the glare of the sky.

Then red, as a sword plunged into his stomach, blood splattering on his feet as the sword came out. He heard shouts, and felt pain. In the confusion, he didn’t have time to be afraid.

Lyric blinked. His arm moved on instinct. It was the same training exercise, the same soldier, the same red sun above their heads. He parried and disarmed his opponent, his heart beating fast. Why, Lyric didn’t know.

He also didn’t see death coming the second time. The lost souls had ambushed them and most of his men had died. Still, they fought. His back was supposed to be covered, his blind spots safe. Kira on his side, fighting two monsters that had come from him, he himself moving away from the blade of the first he was facing and stabbing the second one.

His back was supposed to be covered.

But it wasn’t.

When the blade came through his back to the other side, he didn’t even have time to feel anything.

On awakening, the Death Prince talked to him. Words he had heard before were spoken. And then they were gone. And Lyric forgot.

And died, again, in the same way he had before.

The next time he awoke, the Death Prince was there too. And, this time, he remembered his words. “You are destined for death. But not yet, not today.”

Not yet.

Only that he did. He kept on dying, but then awoke as if nothing had happened. Only that it had. He couldn’t remember it, but he knew it, he felt it. He had lived all of this before.

Not today.

Still, that didn’t prevent him from dying. Again.

And again.

And again.

Only that now, unlike who knows how many other times, he remembered. Snippets, instants. Smoke and fire and a blade reflecting the sunlight over his head. Pain on his cheek. Pain in his chest. Knives and blades. He marked them on his wall, keeping count.

And Hannah’s words. She’d seen his grave. He had died before. He will die again. And Death will keep bringing him back. But he’s not afraid of Death.

He’s angry.

Because Death has brought him back countless times, and yet they have let his soldiers die, they’ve let innocent villagers die. They’ve let Kira die. And they refuse to bring him back.

So if they insist on bringing Lyric back, he’ll let them.

When he lets the blade fall on him, he’s not afraid.

Because he knows he’ll be brought back. And he is, of course he is. Only, that he’s brought back later than he expected. Akira’s dead. Irrevocably. Forever.

Death comes to bargain with him. They talk, but Lyric doesn’t want to listen. He’s angry, and grieving. Death tells him he’ll die in the next battle, that the first soul will be there, that his time has come.

Still, Lyric isn’t afraid.

He charges at the soul protecting its master, and stops when Death appears in front of him. Their back to him, Death is unaware of Lyric restarting his charge, of the sword destined for them. 

Nothing happens, because you can’t kill a god. But the smoke around him trembles, and Death turns to look at him, horrified. Lyric didn’t see, but he struck Sorrow instead of Death, because Sorrow had moved to protect its master, stuck in between smoke and wolf. Sparks fly around them, different from all those other times he’s seen Death changing time. They are duller, fading. And Death is bleeding.

Lyric doesn’t see the blade coming from him at his own back.

He does see his wall when he awakens, and he knows he’s made a mistake. 

The wall is bare.

He’s back at the beginning. And he’s done. So they’ll all be.

He does it all over again.

And, for the first time in his life, Lyric is afraid to die.

@my-cursed-prince here you have some lyric crumbs

also tagging @e-klair because they asked

[cecexwrites]

⌨ + wasting time with rabbits?

So this got out of hand real fast

tw for blood and traumatic birth stuff

Snow fell to the street- adding to the layer of white that already dusted everything in sight. Winter wasn't her favorite time of year but she liked what it promised. A fresh new start, spring was on the way and with the summer and autumn they'd had, there was nothing more necessary than a new start. At least in the eyes of The Orange Fairy.

'Oonagh' she corrected herself mentally. ”You are Oonagh now. She rubbed her hands together, her mittens were packed up in her bag, she hadn't realized it would still be snowing when she left her work at the hospital.

Once upon a time she would have solved the problem by summoning a small flame, just big enough to fit in the palm of her hand, she'd protect it until she got home then she would set it free in her fire place where she'd let it go until it burnt itself out.

that wasn't allowed anymore. Her copper eyes flicked back and forth, the streets were empty but informers were everywhere.

She simply rubbed her hands harder and picked up her speed, making her way to her home.

The woman had just gotten to her door when she heard the sound of feet running up behind her. She reached out to the broom next to her door, ready to snatch it and use it as a weapon, she whirled, gripping it in her hand- stopping when she saw him.

He was young, relatively speaking. Probably not even twenty two years old. His head was uncovered, the snow piling on his dark brown hair, his ears already turning red. He didn't have any coat, instead he stood there in a thin linen shirt and brown pants.

“Are you- her?“ He asked, his teeth chattering. ”Please- I need help.“

”Her?“ She asked, quirking an eyebrow. He glanced back and forth rapidly before leaning in close.

”The Fairy.“ He whispered. This close up she could smell it- blood, not just blood- bad blood. She stumbled back, her door at her back stopping her from getting any further.

”Please.“ He begged. ”My wife- she's pregnant, our first.“ She could have guessed that based on how young he looked. ”Something is wrong, the babe is the wrong way, she can't get him out- please we need you. We need your… skills.“ He emphasized. Oonagh looked back at her door, she was so close to being home, behind closed doors she could do as she pleased- as long as her blinds were drawn shut.

But could she live with herself if she let this man's wife and child die?

”Lead the way.“ She acquiesced. His shoulder's sagged in relief- at least she hoped it was relief, and he turned, rushing back out to the road and she followed on his heels.

Her cloak billowed out, she didn't have the time to bundle it about her, as she could feel it- there was something wrong, something very wrong happening with this man's family.

He hurried up the walk to a small home and she could hear the screams, smell the blood, before he even pushed the door open.

She went right to work, untying her cloak and letting it fall to the floor.

”Bring me water- clean hot water.“ She ordered the man. ”What's your name?“

”John, John Jacob Jingle-”

“I've heard the name, go get the water.” She stopped him and he nodded, turning and running for the kitchen. She followed the screams and found a young woman in the bed, her stomach round, blood coating her night clothes and the bed under her. At the foot of the bed was an equally young woman who looked terrified.

“Who are you?” The woman not giving birth demanded.

“My name is Oonagh, I am the Orange fairy and I am here to help.” She pushed up the sleeves of her top to her elbows and nudged the woman out of the way. “What is your name?” She asked the pregnant woman.

“It's- My name is-” She struggled to form the words. Oonagh looked to the other one.

”Amber. Her name is Amber.“

”Amber, listen to me, I need you to lay back, this is going to hurt.“ She warned. ”Why didn't you go to a Hospital?“ It was a question put out to everyone in the room.

”It happened to fast, we weren't able to get here there before- well this.“ Oonagh glanced up at the friend then at the door.

”Go help Jacob with the water.“ She ordered.

”I want to stay here with-“

”Go.“ Oonagh snapped. The woman jumped back but complied, running out of the room. Oonagh stood, moving up tot he head of the bed, looking down at Amber.

A fantastic name.

“Amber, I need you to look at me.” The woman whimpered, but lifted her head. “I can't save you both, I can get your son out, but you will bleed out. Or I can stop the bleeding- but that means your son won't survive the birth.”

The look in Amber's eyes was pure heartbreak.

“I didn't- we tried.” She was growing weaker by the second.

“There is a way.” Oonagh's voice lowered. “But it's not allowed, not by the new rules of Auradon.” She admitted. Amber's eyes, which had quickly filled with hope- began to face. “But if you give me your consent, if you give me permission, I will do it. I will save you and I will save your son.” She promised. Amber didn't even hesitate. She nodded.

“Please.”

And that was all the permission Oonagh needed. Beast be damned.

[janspar]

The Basking Maw

Laugh all you want, youngsters, but this eye of mine is the last remaining eye in this Company who saw the Basking Maw and lived to tell the tale. They try and tell you it's only a story, something the elder hands use to scare the fresh blood. But those scriveners and scribblers in the towers haven't seen not a hundredth of what us old airmen have seen, and I've seen enough to tell you I've not seen a hundredth of the mysteries that are abroad in these skies.

I was no older than most of you – I say I was good deal younger than many, for in those days they took us in young. This was before the Temar Company ever flew a vessel, I was taken as a junior hand on a freight-runner out of Zhikav. We used to ply all along the Ussin Belt and beyond into the wilds, bring goods to the Abheski and any other folk that would trade with us, places the Erthani or the caravans couldn't reach.

Well, I'd not been on the crew half a year when we got a contract to fly way out West, where few Abheski ever traded, but this one town was hacking out a living in the shadow of a smoking mountain – oh yes, those are real too, even the scribblers in their offices won't tell you otherwise. They were convinced they'd find gold, picking away at the ground like some godless Anshessi beneath this smoking brute of a mountain – it smoked and spewed all year long, a great dirty crag rearing into the air, not like those slumbering hills in TransOlyen that spit once in a lifetime!

We'd flown far beyond the routes any of you have ever taken, and twice as far again, before we found this tired little camp. We spent barely a day there before turning and coming back again. Our navigator, senseless drunk on what must have been all the brandy those poor miners had stored away, led us straight into the smoke plume from the burning mountain and we got turned every way, blind to all compasses and charts. One and all the crew coughed and spluttered and retched the sick atmoshpere, until the lookout recovered enough to sound the alarm – another vessel, her signals bright and guiding us from the smoke. We gathered ourselves enough to fly towards them to safety – and never was a greater mistake made in all the history of flight.

It's just as you've heard it described – if not worse, for no uncle scaring his nephews or master scolding his charges could truly tell the horrific sight of the Basking Maw. A hull as black as night, somehow sucking your eye to it. Though it was full noon, the sky all around was darker for its presence. Bristling with ragged and fierce batteries, gaping holes promising destruction no lesser than the mouth of that smoking mountain. Its dvint leaving an oily wake in the sky, hanging clear behind it as though untouched by current or cloud.

We turned and fled as fast as any vessel I've ever crewed, and I've crewed them all! The Basking Maw hung behind us all the way, never straining though we pushed our vessel for all it was worth. Jettisoning all the cargo, packing in our few batteries, every prayer every aviator could offer, and yet the Basking Maw hung astern, never falling a handsbreadth further behind no matter what speed we set.

Four days and four nights we raced ahead of the evil craft; not a hand among us slept a minute in all that time, and that, at last, was what brought our downfall. The captain ordered us to ride the edge of a storm, hoping we could lose our pursuers, but the exhausted crew could not match the violence of the winds, and we lost control, tossed asunder, pulled into the heart of the storm and finally cast into the valley below.

Those of us who survived huddled in the cabins and the hold, gripping our pikes and axes lest Grey Baurin and his crew descend to snatch us away, the storm raging without all the while.

And Grey Baurin never came. Whether the Basking Maw was finally put away by the storm, or the deaths of half the crew satisfied their thirst for violence, who can ever tell? When the storm blew over in another half a day, the Basking Maw was no longer in our wake.

After burning the captain and the hands, and burying the navigator and damning him as a fool, we picked ourselves up and began the long flight back to Zhikav. Most of the crew never signed on again, and didn't fly another day in their lives. The vessel was scrapped the following year and as for myself, I've never ventured further west than the Lenla since.

And yet, the east, the east has its own share of horrors and wonders. I could tell you about the time I lived among the Urselk of Hoitan for a season... but you'll have to buy me another drink.

[estel-eruantien]

“I will never let anything or anyone hurt you.” - Aspen to Abbie please?

This features Aspen (mine) and Abbie (@takingback-thepenguin) from the Crystal Force team! Think of the context for this as your basic "everyone hates each other" kind of evil spell! I hope you like it!

---

It had been a long day for the team. The enemy had tried to pit them against one another through their magic. For a moment, they had all lost sight of their goal: defeating Naganta and Snakeyes. If it wasn't for Abbie, they'd all have continued fighting each other. Abbie had saved all of their lives, but she had especially saved Aspen's. She sense the danger coming before anyone else had and she urged Aspen to use his shield. If they hadn't, then he might have become just like the others had -- angry and blind to their real enemies.

Now, late after the battle, everyone was back to normal and trying to get some rest. Aspen didn't even check with Abbie about staying in her room tonight, but she seemed to have expected it. She always knew when Aspen needed comfort. Laying in bed, holding her close, a shield wrapped around them. "I almost hurt you today." He said softly, voice muffled in her hair. "I could have hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me, 'Pen." Abbie responded, snuggling into him for warmth. "You saved me." "I could have hurt you. I was fast enough today, but what about tomorrow?" Aspen asked, voice shaking slightly. "I don't want to lose you or the others." Abbie turned in his arms, facing her lover. His dark eyes shown almost like that of his labradorite crystal, the purple and blue swirls in his shield reflecting in his eyes. She placed a gloved hand on his cheek, keeping his face looking at her. "We'll protect each other, like we always do." She answered him, leaning in to kiss his lips softly.

Pulling her in closer, he wrapped her in a hug tight than he'd ever hugged her before. Abbie felt the wave of fear wash over her, her lover's emotions so much stronger than they normally were. Steadying her breathing so she could continue to touch him, she settled against his chest again, pulling the blanket around them both.

After several long minutes, Aspen spoke, pulling Abbie from almost-slumber. "I will never let anything or anyone hurt you."

"I know." She responded, softly, running her fingers along his chest. She wished she had the words to quell his fears, to bring him comfort.

"Thank you," He whispered, and they both fell asleep within each other's arms.

[im-an-anxious-wreck]

Hold Out Your Hand And I'll Reach For You Too

Chapter Six • Virgil

Word Count: 2,207

HOYHAIRFYT chapter collection

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Glamour, Glory, And Gratuitous Consequences

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Beautiful flowy dresses of every colour and suit of fantastic construction, corsets that squeezed at waists, stiff straight-backed men, elegant hands in sturdy ones. Rings on fingers, gold around necks, and silver in ears, shinny, flashy, dazzling, blinding — It was like a soft hazy dream… and it all made Virgil absolutely sick. 

None of it was real; it was fake. Just a show the rich folk put on to inflate their ego, flash people with bling, and the most truly cunning ones (or the wealthiest) waltz humans around like property.

Virgil wouldn't admit to being nauseous exactly, but he was a bit clammy and far too dizzy to properly hold a smile and that was a dangerous thing, for any second G wou—

G pulled Virgil in closer and hissed in his ear, "Look like you're enjoying yourself, pet, or there won't be much for you to do." To the untrained ear it would've sounded like nonsense if they'd heard, but it certainly had meaning to Virgil; an awful, terrible meaning.

It meant that he'd be spending the next few days in what he'd quickly dubbed 'the boredom room', unless he pulled himself together, and fast.

By some miracle, Virgil managed to paste an approximation of a smile on his face, straightening his back a bit as well before G got onto him about that too.

It was a little while longer before Virgil really paid attention again as he locked eyes with The Prince and minutely shook his head before looking away again. It'd be nothing but trouble if G saw The Prince, and especially after he'd forbidden the two of them from speaking to each other.

It was too late though, Virgil felt his stomach turn and twist in knots as fingers dug into his left side, near the bottom of his corset, even though it wasn't enough to hurt him. 

G was pressed up against half of Virgil's back and practically seething into his right ear as he said, "Don't even think about it."

"I wasn't! I swear."

G just hummed, quite displeased, despite Virgil's assurances.

G walked Virgil around the room, talking with people Virgil didn't know or care about —not that he'd really remember even if he had actually met them before—.

Things almost seemed to be going alright for the next few minutes. Though he should've known. He should've known things never went his way. That he'd fuck everything up.

He should've known.

A waiter passed by with a tray of some bubbly drink in glass flutes.

Virgil's hand shook slightly as he recalled what G had told him in G's office, that the next time he embarrassed G, made a mistake or fucked up in any way, that G would make him more than simply regret it.

But, despite the shaky hand, he reached out to grab a glass of… well, some fancy drink, hoping it would help his nerves. He never got the chance to see if it would though.

His hand almost knocked the glass he reached for over and, in overcompensating, ended up knocking over a different one that knocked over two more and dumped several drinks worth on the poor unsuspecting waiter.

Virgil yelped when G pulled him aside harshly.

"Sorry, everyone, this one just doesn't behave sometimes, even after all the training and everything I've given it." G's smile somehow got even more plasticky. "The matter will be dealt with."

G's grip around Virgil's waist tightened as he subtly pushed Virgil to a grand hallway on the far side of the ballroom.

Once away from the curious glances and  judgmental stares, G said, "I've had just about enough of your bullshit. How dare you act like this, after everything I've done for you and yet you still act this way?! Pathetic. Why you'd think I've been letting you starve and whipping you everyday! Now tell me, *******, have I been doing those despicable things to you?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, sir," Virgil gritted out.

"That's right. I haven't." G was leading them farther and farther away from the overwhelming crowd, but somehow that only made a sense of dread form in the pit of his stomach. 

G continued, "That's in our deal, isn't it? But you got to be reasonable and cooperate. But you don't like to behave, do you! You just act bratty and disobey and make me look bad on purpose!"

"No! I never mean to—"

"Be quiet," G admonished. "I didn't ask for your opinion. But you just can't help yourself, can you? You never fucking shut up!"

Something in Virgil snapped and before he knew it, he was struggling, but it was no use, G was a fae and their strength was naturally at least ten times stronger than humans. G's grip on Virgil's waist shifted as he let his whole arm wrap around it instead.

Virgil started to feel a bit panicky as he couldn't even get his breaths in right and his complete lack of control definitely wasn't helping.

G half-held, half-dragged Virgil with one arm, like a limp rag doll, his other hand reaching into his inner suit jacket pocket, pulling out a small bundle.

"What are you doing?"

"Quiet," G growled as he flipped a little switch on the bundle and threw it down a hallway as they passed. A whooshing sound not unlike… flames echoed behind them, but G paid it no mind, instead just continuing on, taking Virgil along with him.

They passed another door or two, but Virgil couldn't see exactly how many from all the jerking around G was doing. Even if none of it hurt, as that'd break their deal — although if G considered it broken because he thought Virgil hadn't been responsible… — it still felt so wrong and Virgil was having a hard time not letting the panic consume him entirely, even as it squeezed his throat and made him want to scream.

He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't just scream, except… he knew it wouldn't do any good, they were pretty far away from the ballroom and even if someone heard him, no one would care and he needed the air —if his panicky breathing was anything to go by— more than the physical act might help him release some tension.

G had opened a door and shut it behind them, pushing Virgil down on the floor in the middle of the room as hard as he dared.

The room vaguely registered as an office type space before his attention snapped back to G as the fae's anger was quickly pulled to the surface.

G spoke, practically snarling, "I think I've let this go on for long enough. I'm just glad I came prepared.

"You know, I never expected you to be quite this bad of a screw up when I first took you in, but then again, you always manage to surprise me, don't you? Just one screw up after another.

"Well, fortunately for you, I'm willing to forgive and forget, well, at least one more time. Another deal, if you will.

"And you'd better do what I ask, or well… I don't think you'll like the alternative."

"Wh—"

It wasn't until Virgil could start to faintly smell smoke and could see it starting to seep in through under the door when a strange feeling of horror crashed into him as he realised that starting a fire is exactly what G had done after all.

A foreboding feeling fell over Virgil and his guts twisted up in knots when he finally knew G's plan and knew that this wasn't going to end well, was it?

G continued on as if Virgil hadn't tried to speak at all. "I almost can't believe I kept you around so long. I really thought I could teach you, train your horrible, awful, defiant spirit out of you. But no, you just had to be unteachable. You never fucking learned. You just kept being a fuck up!

"Your usefulness has ended, you're just far more trouble than your worth. But hasn't that always been true? So fucking worthless.

"Anyway, I'm not letting that stupid prince get the satisfaction of winning you, but I finally found a way to get rid of you.

"There's only so much I can do to save you from yourself, you know."

"Wh—" Virgil broke into more coughs, smoke all but ashy now. "What are you talking about?" Some feeling of dread twisting in his gut.

"Well, you got yourself into this. If you'd just been good and didn't talk to the prince, it wouldn't've gotten to this point. But since I'm just so benevolent and did in fact make a deal with you that I'd do my best to prevent any physical harm coming to you, I'll offer you this deal.

"The only way I can rescue you, and really what's the point if you're just going to get into this kind of trouble again, so I'm afraid you can never look at, talk to, or communicate with in any way with our dear old prince. And in return I'll save you from yourself and well… may help you make sure that you don't accidentally break our deal."

"What do y—" Virgil broke into a fit of coughs before he continued, "Do you mean by that? 'Help me make sure I don't break the deal'."

"Well, if The Prince tries to come see you sometime and doesn't heed the warning… then I'll have no choice but to force him to stay away. But let's not worry about that right now. I just think we should focus on getting you out of here, yes? Let me save you, let me help you, *******." And there it was again, that toxic fake sweetness that had dragged Virgil into this whole mess to begin with.

Virgil shuddered, but he realised that for once it wasn't out of that name having any power over him, it was just out of the pure wrongness that name brought. 

He wasn't going to let G mess with the best person Virgil had ever met.

Virgil brought himself up as much as he could , arms shaking under him, but not from exhaustion. "You stay— the hell, away from The Prince." He started clawing his way up a desk and subtly slipped the letter opener into his hand.

G's face pinched for a moment, barely noticeable through the haze, but Virgil knew to look for it. G stepped closer. 

"Now now, don't throw your insignificant life away for the silly prince. Haven't I always provided for you? Is this really how you're going to repay me?"

"Not gonna… throw it away for you actually. I'm gonna— he's actually —" More coughing, perhaps he shouldn't've stood up into the thick of the smoke, but then again… maybe it didn't matter now anyway. 

Virgil pushed off the desk and shuffled towards G. "He's actually everything you pretend to be. The Prince is actually… actually kind and caring and I'd much rather have a day with him then a lifetime of your fuckin'. Bullshit." 

He tightened his grip on the letter opener and stared G right in the eye as he said, "Leave us the hell alone, and rot where you belong." And with that Virgil stabbed him deep as if it were a dagger, and pushed him away, dragging the letter opener down and out, the wound poured out black oozing liquid down G's front and onto the floor.

G took a deep breath in more annoyed and disgusted than actually hurt. "Wow. Can't say I'm surprised… but I'm still a bit disappointed in you, *******." G whipped forward at only a speed a Fae could and smacked Virgil in the side of the head, making him careen back and bang into the desk.

What little air Virgil had left in his lungs escaped him as he fell to the ground. From his viewpoint on the wooden boards, he could see the fire was eating away at the wall, it was so close now.

He tried to take a breath or at least wipe the fiery sweat off his brow but failed at both. All he could do was flail on the ground and after a strong kick to his ribs, Virgil was almost out of air, wheezing around coughs, smoke, and ash.

"I knew you were pathetic." G said dryly, mildly disgusted, but ultimately like Virgil wasn't even worth the time of day. "But this is a new low, even for you… Well, have a meaningless death."

Virgil could just make it G muttering, "So useless." As he walked out the door at a soul crushingly comfortable, casual speed and locked the door, not even sparing Virgil a second glance. If he'd ever really looked at Virgil to begin with.

And that was it, wasn't it? He'd never seen Virgil as anything but a stupid plaything.

The footsteps got farther and farther away as the fire crept closer, the the side of the rug right in front of Virgil catching fire.

Virgil couldn't do anything but lay flat on his back, crushing weight on his lungs as he slowly choked towards the end.

Virgil just hoped that The Prince would be okay now.

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