#this brought to you by: i just impaled my foot on a pin AGAIN

[eisthenameofme]

I have Got to stop leaving random enamel pins face down on my floor

[uzumakichcined]

cheeks.

yes, just cheeks. guess which pair is being referred to.

GIVE MY MUSE A PETNAME AND SEE HOW THEY REACT!

As an added bonus the petname will be rated on how much my muse likes it!

It was swift, with a snap of her fingers and a cleverly placed incision she would quickly throw a needle to pierce the person's Achilles Tendon. Another quick move a second would be thrown, piercing the other on their other foot making walking near impossible. An audible pop signals the severing of it and rendering the person nearly impossible to run unless they too could heal themselves quickly.

" I will not tolerate any kind of name that dehumanizes me to such an extent. " Her tone was cold, near robotic as she approached the unlucky person. Pulling out a scalpel she runs it across her own finger to test its sharpness. Seeing how well it cut her own finger open as blood easily dripped from the small wound Karin was satisfied her tools had not dulled and brought her hand to her mouth, biting down lightly to heal it good as new.

She didn't need to do much now anyway, they couldn't wrist their ankle well at all. One shove with her foot, they would tumble down onto the ground more cracking and popping coming from both of their ankles. " Now, seeing that you know little respect for others. I will teach you a different lesson. " Pulling out other medical needles, she dangles them over the person, letting one fall onto them and pierce their skin. Barely missing crucial and vital veins and arteries. For every dropped needle she would go on and speak about what each of them does. How long it would take for the person to bleed out if she did hit them Karin would remind them, that she wasn't doing so, to be nice, and if they pleaded for mercy she might reconsider making them a full complete pin cushion. As her needles impaled them further up, the legs, the arms, hips, and waist, just as she was getting to the torso she smiled far too sweetly.

" Now have you learned your lesson about giving unwanted, degrading names to women? "

never call me that again | meh | idk how to feel about it | i'm ok with it | i like it | i love it | please call me that all the time

[thesightstoshowyou]

Big Bad Wolf

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Jesse likes to chase and you have no choice but to run.  

Warnings: Predator/prey, knife play, oral, daddy kink, period sex, creampie

I’m back on my bullshit. Blame my uterus.  

 ~~

             Your panting breaths bounce off the concrete walls, blending with the sound of your frantic footsteps until all you can hear is your panic. There’s no way you’re going to be able to hear him approach when you’re making all this racket. Be calm, you must breathe.

            You round a corner, another endless gray hallway stretching before you. Where the fuck has he brought you? You wrinkle your nose as the sharp scent of bleach burns your nostrils. Overhead, florescent lights flicker and you press your back against the cool wall as you try to reign in your noisy breathing.

            You listen intently, straining your ears to hear any other movement besides your own. Your head swings wildly left and right, searching the hall for the glint of a chrome mask. Thank goodness for these fluorescents—

            As if on cue, the lights go out with a click and you’re plunged into darkness. You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your terrified shriek. Great. Now you’re really screwed.

            A blood chilling rattle greets your ears—knife dragging on concrete—and you flinch, pushing away from the wall to hone in on the sound. Sparks fly to your right and you realize he’s closer than you thought. Heart shooting up into your throat, you turn on your heel and stumble, catching yourself on the wall and pushing away. You feel the whoosh as the knife plunges through air behind you, missing you by inches.

            You skid around the corner, sprinting down the next long hallway, almost completely blind in the gloom. You keep your arms raised awkwardly in front of you for fear you’re going to slam headlong into a wall and knock yourself out.

            Heavy boot falls echo off the walls and you have to bite back the scream that threatens to give you away. You do your best to ignore the realization that you’re completely fucked. He has night vision on that camera, there’s no way he isn’t going to find you….

            You nearly collide with a wall, shoes sliding on the slippery floor as you stagger to a halt. With a grunt you land on your ass instead, quickly jumping to your feet and feeling along the wall for the next turn. Wall meets wall under your palms and your heart sinks.

            Hastily, you feel in the opposite direction, only to end up in another corner. A dead end. You whip around and find the red light of Chromeskull’s camera poised at the other end of the hall. It illuminates his shoulder and half his mask, creepy design made more terrifying by the crimson light glinting off chrome.

            Your lungs burn as you try to suck in air, racing thoughts struggling to form a plan, something, anything that could save you. You jerk when he takes a step, then two more before coming to a stop again. He’s teasing you, trying to make you panic.

            Light from his phone screen illuminates the rest of his mask and you wince when you hear the screaming words he’s typed:

            ‘Big Bad Wolf has Little Red backed into a corner.’

            “My, what a big ego you have,” you spit back, dropping into a crouch, preparing for his approach.

            ‘Ready or not.’ He launches himself at you then, racing toward you with frightening speed. Red light glints off his blade and you duck just in time, sparks flying when steel connects with the wall. You scramble past on hands and knees, pushing to your feet and launching yourself down the hall, but something catches on your ankle and you crash to the ground, sliding on the floor and tearing open your knees and palms.

            “Fuck,” you grunt, reaching blindly for the wall to haul yourself to your feet. You bloody palm meets fabric instead of concrete and you freeze, head raising slowly until your gaze meets glowing red chrome. A boot presses into your chest, shoving you back to the floor and knocking the air from your lungs.

            You cough and gasp when the foot lifts from your chest, but immediately still when a sharp blade meets your throat. Chromeskull crawls over you, straddling your hips. He taps the flat of his knife against your cheek and you huff in annoyance.

            “Yeah, you won, I noticed. Not really fair when only one of us has night vision,” you grumble. You watch the camera light bob up and down with Jesse’s silent laughter.

            ‘Go fuck yourself,’ you sign in mock irritation. Truthfully, you’re biting back a smile.

            ‘Think I’ll fuck you instead,’ he signs back and your eyebrows raise.

            “Really romantic location you picked—

            He doesn’t let you finish your snarky comment, instead slipping the knife under your shirt and sawing through the fabric. You suck in a breath when you feel the sting of the blade as it nicks your abdomen. Warmth spills down your waist to drip onto the floor.

            Jesse leaves the half-shredded shirt hanging off your arms and moves to your jeans, slipping the blade under the button and popping it clean off your pants. It clatters across the chilly floor, disappearing in the darkness. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Must he destroy all your clothes?

            Your pants fall open and he tugs them down your hips, only freeing one leg before sliding the knife between your hip and underwear, toying with the band. His fingers, clothed in black nitrile, push your panties to the side and teasingly stroke your folds. You whimper and are about to ask for more when you remember you’re wearing a tampon.

            “Oh, Jesse, I’m on—

            In a flash, the flat of the knife is against your lips, cool steel commanding silence. You wonder if you should press your luck, shaky breath fogging the shiny surface of the blade, but you yelp when he tugs the string, yanking the tampon from your bleeding cunt and tossing it behind him. So, he knew.

            His fingers replace the cotton and you let your eyes flutter closed when he strokes your walls, curling the digits to make you arch off the floor. His thumb finds your clit and you moan against metal. An idea strikes you then that has the corner of your mouth twitching up in a sly grin.

            Making eye contact with his camera, you drag your tongue up the blade hovering over your mouth. You hear Jesse wheeze behind his mask. He rips his fingers from your cunt and you groan irritably at the loss. His hand goes to your hair and he hauls you to your knees, his other fingers ripping his pants open.

            Warm, hard flesh meets your lips and you open wide for him. His thick cock stretches your jaw uncomfortably and you gag when you feel him on the back of your tongue. The hand in your hair forces your further down the shaft until you’re swallowing him into your throat. Jesse bucks his hips, sloppily fucking your throat, knife returning to your face to hang threateningly near your ear.

            You moan between gags, hear your spit splattering onto the floor, feel tears streaking down your hot cheeks. You must look a mess on the camera screen. Your hands go to his ass, pulling him closer in a move you know will destroy his resolve.

            Another haggard breath leaves his mask and he pulls you off his cock, hands slotting under your armpits and heaving you off the floor. He lifts you clean off your feet, slamming you into the wall and pinning you there with his thighs. You wrap your legs around his hips, whining and grinding your aching, slippery pussy along the length of his spit-soaked cock.

            You glance up when he doesn’t move and you find his head tilted to the side expectantly. He’s waiting for something. Again, you must fight the urge to roll your eyes.

            “Please, daddy,” you beg, allowing yourself to sound as desperate as you feel, “I need your cock, please fuck me—

            He must be impatient tonight because he doesn’t make you finish, instead gripping your ass, shifting your weight to his hands and lining up. You scream when he slams home, impaling you in one smooth thrust. The knife handle rests in his palm, between the flesh of your ass and his hand, so the flat of the blade digs into your skin with each harsh pump of his hips.

            You wince when it stings, sharp edge cutting into your flesh, but Jesse acts oblivious, gaze and camera focused intently on the bloody cock popping in and out of your slit. He shuffles his feet so you can lean back further and he jackhammers you into the wall until you forget about the knife slicing your ass.

            Your hands fist the lapels of his suit jacket, knuckles turning white as your screams ricochet off the walls, “Daddy, daddy, yeah, yes, fuck, yes, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease….”

            You hear the knife clatter to the floor as Jesse leans in and you press your lips to the cold teeth on his mask, your hot breath fogging up the surface as you moan his name. You tense, the spring of pleasure coiling within you ready to snap. You feel Jesse shaking against your palms so you wait, poised at the edge, ready to fall when he does.

            Jesse’s hips buck faster, your cue, and your head falls back, lips parting in a silent cry as delicious heat washes over you in waves. More warmth spills into your belly when Jesse releases a long breath. The sticky combination of blood and cum leaks around his cock to drip onto the floor.

            You pry your legs away from his waist and slowly he lowers you until your feet touch the floor. You grip the wall to steady yourself, wobbly knees threatening to buckle. Jesse always makes sure your cunt remembers him the next day.

            “Where’s the exit in this god forsaken place?” you ask, shimmying back into your jeans, wincing when the fabric rubs against your lacerated rear. You peer up and down the hall as though the orange ‘Exit’ sign is going to miraculously show itself. You frown up at Jesse when he shakes his head.

            ‘Round two, baby,’ he signs.

            “No way, Jess, c’mon, I can hardly walk—

            Jesse shoves you down the hall and you stumble, barely managing to keep your feet under you. Incredulously, you stare back at him and he looks at his watch, tapping the face of it with the knife. Holding up his hand, he walks his fingers through the air, indicating you should move.

            “Fuck me,” you mutter, turning on your heel and limping down the hall. The screeched words from his phone send a jolt of adrenaline through your limbs and you will yourself to run:

            ‘Your ass is next, Little Red.’

[imnotrevealingmyname]

When A God Gets Lost

Chapter 1

Summary: There are bad ways to travel; then, there are terrible ways to travel. Teleporting to another dimension through the Æther is the latter, apparently. But as the old Bengali adage goes, even tigers will eat grass when they're starving.

Maybe a Midgardian from a different dimension isn't such a bad travel companion after all.

Author's note: This is my submission for the @allaboardthereadingrailroad 's Marvel Diversity Challenge. The OFC is an Indian- a Bengali, more specifically.

Tags: @what-just-happened-bro @is-it-madness @myraiswack @green-valkyrie @teenagereadersciencenerd @ohdearhiddles @whatafuckingdumbass @poetic-fiasco @mrs-wolfhard @your-favourite-skittles @lehuka123 @kellatron55 @shiningloki @latent-thoughts @outlawangel2020 @loki-yoursaviourishere

Warnings: Gore, mild violence, mentions of death.

Loki had known this would come to pass. He had known what he had signed up for, when he'd agreed to accompany Thor to Svartalfheim.

He'd even welcomed his own death.

At the time, the sweet prospect of release had seemed to be a gift from Valhalla.

So he hadn't tried to stop it from happening.

Except, he had.

Blood dripping from his mouth, Loki struggled to let go of strings of seiðr desperately anchoring him to his body.

Dust settled on his mottled blue skin. His ears were ringing, and blacks spots seemed to have been tattooed into his retinas.

If not for the pain, Loki would've laughed at the irony of the situation. Once again, despite all his orchestrations, he was a helpless spectator, strung tight while instincts battled brain.

White hot pain seared his entire body, radiating from the wound to his extremities, as he fought to make the tendrils of seiðr retreat. Unfortunately, it was tied to his genes, bound intricately to the essence of his consciousness. It kept him from slipping into the much anticipated slumber, tightening its hold exponentially.

Numbly, Loki thought of all the times he had heard people talk about life flashing before one's eyes before the final rest settled in.

Loki saw nothing, however. The only thing that passed before his eyes was the dreaded vision of violet sparks of seiðr curling around his own, slowly drawing his life force from him.

The salt of his tears mixed with the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. This helplessness was something he had vowed to never fall into, ever again. But here he lay, defeated yet victorious, in a veritable stream of his own blood, fighting the very instincts that had brought him thus far in life.

Odin, Frigga, Thor… Asgard. They had all taken everything from him, everything he had ever treasured. Self worth, family, his very identity…

Loki had hoped that he could find it in death. Who he really was.

But no, he had been stripped of that luxury, too. Not once, not twice… several times. Twice at his behest, and several times at another's, humiliated and agonized.

Maybe I should stop fighting.

But that wasn't who he was. Loki may not have known who he truly was, but he knew what he wasn't. He had never been one to stop fighting.

But what am I fighting for? Will this right my transgressions? Their transgressions?

Maybe sometimes… to stop fighting was to land the ultimate blow.

Gasping for breath, pain ripping his innards to shreds, he looked down at his midriff. There it was; his seiðr. The only measure of identity he had left. It was flowing from his fingers, from his mouth, weaving between his wounds, holding him together in every sense.

Loki's head fell back as he gave in to it, letting his instincts take over.

He didn't know how much effect his seiðr would have, but seeing as he couldn't do anything about it, apparently…

Unfortunately, he had underestimated the power of his own magicks. Seiðr, in every form, was sentient in its own right. Unbeknownst to Loki, continuous exposure to two infinity stones had affected his own magic in several subtle ways. Seiðr learns from itself and grows- he had learnt this even before he knew how to speak complete sentences.

Never had he thought that magic of such cosmic levels could mingle with his own.

Until he saw a few straggling fragments of the Æther hovering around his limp form.

In its urgency to revive him, his seiðr had drawn the Æther to itself, having turned into something resembling a magnet for cosmic powers.

To his horror, the bloodred fragments of the Æther clustered around him, forming a small tornado of dust and seiðr, swooping in to throw an eerie light over him.

The light only grew in intensity. The pain was lessening- his body was almost completely numb now. Wind howled in his ears, and flashes of green and red blinded him.

Satisfied with its work, his seiðr rose to greet the Æther.

Loki had been completely pinned to the ground. He struggled to look down, and saw that the wound had healed almost all the way through- enough to let him survive.

Immediately, he tried to draw back the seiðr. Enough damage had been done, he didn't need any more adventures.

The seiðr had other ideas, apparently.

Green and red danced together, shimmering and singing a shrill, haunting tune that rattled Loki to the core, producing a stab of pain in his gut.

Oh. His seiðr could only do so much. The spear that had impaled him must've been poisoned…

Which meant that his control over his seiðr was limited, and it knew it.

And thus, it was trying to regain strength by sapping it off the one of the most dangerous entities in all of the Realms.

Unlike normal seiðr, the Æther- as well as the other Infinity Stones- needn't be bound to an individual. They had their own separate existence.

Loki didn't even want to know what might happen if it bound itself to him.

Unfortunately, the velocity of the mingling magicks was growing, forming a pitch black void above him.

Fuck.

A sound of surprise and shock was the last thing that left his mouth before he was sucked into the vortex.

A deep rumble ran through the entirety of Svartalfheim when the dust settled- almost as though the Realm heaved a sigh of relief.

----

Aakshya's head hurt. Half an hour on the Arambagh local train with two three year olds bawling their lungs out less than two metres away could do that to anyone.

The last few days weighed down on her. It was all so surreal. Her last living relative- the last one she had been on good terms with, anyway- was gone.

Aakshya sighed softly, adjusting her glasses as her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. It wasn't surprising, not really. Her great aunt had been quite aged, but losing her was still a blow she wasn't quite prepared to deal with.

At least here, she could mourn in peace.

The Chandur forest had always been her happy place. After very long weeks at work, she had a habit of spending the weekend in a small resort here, sometimes. It was just quiet enough to help her recuperate.

The resort was still half an hour away. She decided to take her time today.

The sky was darkening, and she could see the moon through the spaces between the canopies of the trees.

The moon seemed larger today. Or maybe that was just the tears in her eyes.

She sped up a little, a prickly feeling spreading over her nape.

Were the trees rustling a bit more than usual? No, that must've been the wind… right?

Aakshya stopped dead in her tracks, clutching her bag tightly.

To her right, someone stumbled in the dark, groaning deeply and uttering a string of incoherent words in a language she couldn't recognize.

Maybe it was just the owner of the resort... Though why would she be here? Wouldn't she be at the resort itself?

"Sukanya Di, tumi?"she called out timidly. "Tumi ekhane ki korcho?" Is that you, Sukanya? What are you doing here?

She whipped around, frightened.

The sight that greeted her eyes was unnerving.

A blue-skinned, armour-clad man, covered in blood, was half sprawled on the ground, chest heaving as he struggled to rise.

The weirdest thing was that he was surrounded by red and green light that seemed to be trying to enter his body.

Aakshya stumbled backwards- but then she yelped when the man's hand shot forward and grabbed her upper arm, preventing her from fleeing.

"What is this place?"he rasped, using her as support to pull himself up to full height. Aakshya's eyes widened- he was over a foot taller than her, and he seemed to have been impaled clean through his chest.

Judging from the blood, the wound was fresh; but it was already closing in front of her eyes.

What in the world-

"I asked you something, mortal,"he snapped, shaking her a little. It affected his balance, apparently, because he swayed dangerously, catching himself by steadying himself against a nearby tree.

"Are you- is this some kind of a prank?"she squeaked, trying to pry his fingers off of her.

The man growled, and then coughed up a little more blood. "Answer the bloody question, girl."

"Earth, we're on Earth,"Aakshya managed, now fighting to get out of his hold. "Unhand me, you-"

If the fact that a man who had been impaled quite recently was stronger than her was a matter of concern, it didn't strike her then, as she attempted to scratch and bite him. The man merely grunted in annoyance, retaliating by giving her another shake.

"You're lying,"he snarled. "This cannot be Midgard."

"I don't know what's going on, but-"

"Unless… no…" He seemed to be speaking to himself now, though his scarlet eyes were on her.

It was completely dark now, and Aakshya was in the hold of some creep in a forest.

Well, I'm fucked.

----

Loki couldn't believe how bad his luck was. His chest stung with every laboured breath, and the Æther was still swirling around him, and now he had been transported to a different dimension.

He could feel it.

Which meant…

There were two of him in this dimension alone.

Oh, fuck.

Meanwhile, the girl was still trying to free herself from his grasp.

Loki gave her a crooked grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me now."

She gave him a look of outrage. "No, I-"

"What's your name?"

She seemed to quell under his gaze. "Aakshya."

"Pretty name. I'm Loki, God of Mischief and Father of Magick."

Aakshya scowled, trying to hit him. "Look, if this is some weird cosplay thing, I'm really not in the mood-"

Loki sighed, using the dredges of his seiðr to still her. "Girl, I've been impaled with a poison tipped spear and thrown into a different dimension, so I'm not in the mood for your tantrums."

Her eyes bulged with rage and she tried in vain to bite him.

"How about you and I go on a nice little walk, hmm? I can sense your loneliness and heartache, girl. I am very perceptive,"Loki said with a small smirk. "I can help you, if you help me. What say you?"

"I say you're a dangerous, senile man who's a bit too obsessed with mythology,"Aakshya spat, struggling to move.

Loki laughed softly. "Oh, but a little danger never hurt."

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash @angels-from-california @jayjaydawn @i-peachesandstrawberries

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Chapter 12: A Boy Like The Sun

Lei’s POV

It was the best dream I ever had— the feeling of Sehun’s lips against mine. His touch was gentle— so gentle that I shouldn’t have felt it long after the moment passed, so faint that it shouldn’t still seize my heart and squeeze my lungs empty and wipe my mind of every thought except those of him. 

Sehun. Sehun, who was never mine. Sehun, who made me believe for a fraction of an infinity that maybe everything in life had led to that moment when he filled my every sense and painted my every thought and memory with colors that I had never seen once with open eyes. 

My best dream. My favorite dream. The dream that blessed me too many nights before and after it became a curse. The dream I would bring back to life every day of every week even if it ended the same way every single time. 

The problem with dreams coming true is that you always wake up or the dream becomes a nightmare. 

Never in a million years would I have believed that his smile and his laughter— the luxuries that were once so rare and more brilliant than the sun in my childhood world— would conspire to break my heart into a million little pieces that were too jagged and sore and bloodsoaked by the piano to pick up and fit back together.

Yes, it was my first kiss. 

He was my first kiss. 

Sehun was my first kiss. 

Sehun. 

And I wasn’t shy— just humiliated by his laughter at my expense. I was just humiliated that I couldn’t catch my breath. I was just humiliated by the urge to kiss him again because it— he— Sehun was everything I was afraid of wanting or needing to feel like one of those people who can smile in the sun and really mean it no matter how many eyes try to rip them apart. 

And I was, for a fleeting second that I wish with all of my soul had lasted forever, proud to have shared my first and only act of intimate affection with Sehun because I always imagined that he was so much more than handsome before he broke my heart with a smile and a wink. 

And if he would have loved me, even in his broken joke of a way that impaled me through the chest, I would have forgotten my refusal to date— just for him. I would have let him in every door, I would have helped him climb over every wall because — well— every wall crumbled at his touch. Not even his ill-timed laughter and mockery would rebuild them. Every door was always unlocked for him, and his kiss blew them wide open with a wild gust of tornado hurricane wind, and it would take all of my strength to lock them.  

I guess I have Minseok to thank for saving my pride. If he hadn’t called Sehun to his side and allowed me to run up to my moonlit bedroom where I could reconstruct my defenses— the defenses that I once imagined applied to everyone but the one who already held my heart in the palm of his hand— maybe I would have acted on that urge to rise on the tips of my toes to kiss Sehun again and again and again even if it was just a joke to him and Chanyeol, even if his heart could never swell for me or break for me, even if I could never look at him while remembering the beloved boy who was always beautifully too far out of reach, always opposed to love despite frequent expressive actions, always just slightly out of step, never quite on the same page, tragically never on the same path for long, never once in a million daydreams close to being mine. 

I closed the door on years of memories, years of looking at one person who never needed to look at me to have my love, years of falling for Lucas’s adamant belief that everything works out for those who are meant to be together, years of praying in the tiniest, most irrational piece of my heart that Sehun and I would someday—

Every thought died when I made eye contact with his poster that hung on my wall since his debut. All at once, as I removed it pin by pin, imagining that this was exactly what I would have to do in my mind with every one of his memories if I ever wanted to stop bleeding, tears streamed down my cheeks. 

Would you think that I’m pathetic if I told you how hard it was to be angry with Sehun for hurting me? Would you think that I’m weak if you knew how long I struggled to pack Sehun’s poster back into its container? Would you call me a fool if you knew that I almost left his photocards up on the wall because I wanted so desperately to remember him without that stabbing ache in my chest— because I wanted to forget that he told me I was annoying for following him and that he laughed at my first kiss and that he dashed my every conception of him? 

I don’t care if you would. 

It killed me to lock our memories away in that box. It killed me to unfasten his bracelet. I hated that I couldn’t just close my eyes and think of Sehun as I always had. I hated that I couldn’t trick myself into believing the lie that nothing had changed— that I wasn’t shattered. 

I don’t care if you think I’m weak because I don’t care about being strong anymore. After all this time, I have accepted that there is only one person who has ever held the power to fragment me like that. I have accepted that I am foolish enough to trust him with that power in every universe. What’s worse: I am okay with spending all that time crying in the dark if it gives me the vaguest hope that he could love me someday. 

I was hugging Sehun’s note that came with the bracelet against my chest when Lucas burst through the door, smiling and unsteady on his feet. “Baekhyun spiked the punch!” He cheered, holding up a clear glass of red liquid. “I brought you some!”

Lucas’s smile faltered when he sat on the foot of my bed. Setting the cup down on the floor, he asked, “What’s wrong, Lei?” 

And before I could decide what was worth sharing and what was worth locking away in the box, I threw myself into Lucas’s outstretched arms, sputtering, “Sehun— Sehun— Sehun—” 

I couldn’t say anything but his name. The name that still made my heart swell. 

Realizing that I couldn’t say anything else, Lucas ran a comforting hand up and down my back, promising, “It’s okay. Just let it out.” 

Until the embarrassment of baring my raw emotions overwhelmed the ache of a broken heart, I sobbed into Lucas’s shirt. If he didn’t smell so different— if he didn’t feel so different— if his voice didn’t sound so different, I would have imagined that (instead of Lucas) Sehun held me together that night. 

When I finally ran out of tears that Lucas could dry, when I finally untangled myself, I rubbed at my eyes. “I’m really tired.” My words blurred together in a pathetic mumble. 

“Oh,” Lucas hummed. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, if you’re sure—” I nodded— “then I’ll just go back downstairs.” He picked the alcoholic punch up off of the floor. “Just text me if you need me, and I’ll come running.”

“I know.” To prove that I would be okay alone— that I could heal alone— I tried to force a smile. Just before he walked out of the door, I asked, “Can you take that box away for me?”

“Sure,” Lucas agreed before knowing its contents. After taking a glance at Sehun’s picture, he swore, “I’ll take good care of this for you.” 

Practicing my hand at pretending to be strong despite the growing urge to snatch my box away from Lucas and return its contents to their rightful places, I lied, “I don’t care what you do with it.” 

Lucas blinked. He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t say so. “Someday you might,” was all he said before walking away with every token of my memories with Sehun.

If I thought that the memories would fade with those objects out of sight, I must have been disappointed breathless at the number of scenes that played in my mind as I stepped out of my white dress and heels into a set of sunflower pajamas. When I settled into bed, rubbing at the headache forming around my temples, I realized that I would never forget Sehun. Only with the greatest exertion of effort would I be able to hide my love for him (and my humiliating utter desperation for his love) behind a mask of exaggerated anger. 

Here’s the truth, if you want it: I didn’t love Sehun any less after he kissed me at that Christmas party. It was with great difficulty that I avoided him over the following two years. The embarrassed anger that would eventually swell in my gut with his mocking flirtatious remarks wasn’t an immediate response. For a while, I was still stupid enough to swoon at his glance. 

I was lying in bed, dreaming of how I would survive without surrendering any more pieces of my heart the next time I saw Sehun, when three knocks sounded at the door. My eyes opened wide to the sight of Baekhyun tiptoeing into my bedroom as if he were afraid to wake me. 

Although Baekhyun and I were not especially close, I didn’t feel bothered by his sudden, unannounced, unsolicited appearance. Spurred by curiosity that burned through my sadness, I sat upright and quipped, “Come on in, Baekhyun.” 

Turning toward me quickly enough to flick his orange-dyed bangs out of his eyes, Baekhyun broke into a glittering smile. “Thanks for the warm welcome!” 

He turned back to trace the outline of the place where Sehun’s poster stood for years. His touch was careful, hesitant as if he feared that the wall would crumble under pressure. “I was looking for the bathroom. It’s a happy accident that I ended up where you are.”

Owing to his devious smile, I didn’t believe that anything Baekhyun did was an accident. Still, I was afraid to say something that would send him away. Forgetting that I wanted to be alone just minutes ago, I didn’t offer him directions to the bathroom. “A happy accident,” I repeated under my breath.

He said, “The party is boring without you,” although he hadn’t said a word since ‘hello’ at the start of the night. “Can’t I convince you to go back with me?”

“I would follow you anywhere, Baek.”

My hand clamped over my mouth after the words fell out as if in an ill-timed effort to contain them. I don’t know why I said that. I had never followed Baekhyun a day in my life— not even that time at the SM showcase when he tried to lead me away from the first Sehun-induced heartache. 

“Anywhere?” Baekhyun winked and melted the block of ice in my chest. 

Stupidly, as if enchanted by his smile, I nodded, conditioning, “Just not tonight.” Although Baekhyun asked for no explanation as his gaze dropped down to his feet in a perfect picture of disappointment, I said, “My heart is too heavy tonight.”

“What if I carried it for you?”

Thinking that he couldn't have been serious, I laughed until I felt his eyes on me. Something about the way he looked at me took my breath away— made my heart thunder as if it wasn’t broken— made me forget that I was supposed to be crying, mourning a dream that I never should have dreamed. 

Once I found my voice, I said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Somebody else is holding it,” Baekhyun muttered, likely assuming that I wouldn’t hear. He reached for the ribbon on my vanity— the one I wore on my debut stage— and I raced to reach it first. 

But I couldn’t beat Baekhyun. I don’t know why I tried in the first place. I don’t know why I didn’t want him to touch the item I hadn’t looked at since the first and only time I wore it. 

The ribbon was radiant in his hands. As he traced his fingers over it, eyes widening and glittering as if it were an artifact of his wildest dreams, I told him, “I’m holding my heart. I can feel it pounding. Breaking. Aching. It’s mine again, for the first time that I can really remember, and I wouldn’t give it to someone like you in its current condition.” 

In a wounded whimper, Baekhyun repeated, “Someone like me?”

My heart stilled. I was quick to explain that I wasn’t trying to insult him. “Yeah. A boy like the sun.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows pinched together to form little wrinkles in his forehead. “The sun?”

“Yeah. Somebody who can smile in the sun and mean it no matter how many eyes try to rip them apart.” I burned at how easily I could speak to Baekhyun, who was little more than a friendly acquaintance, when I was a stuttering, blubbering mess around Lucas, who was my best friend. 

The stars shone in Baekhyun’s eyes a thousand times brighter than they ever did in the sky. I couldn’t look away from them. I couldn’t forget them. Sometimes, I count them when it’s hard to fall asleep. 

“That’s what you think of me?” Baekhyun beamed. His smile made me smile too. “You think I’m like the sun?” 

“You’re probably brighter than the sun, Baek.” 

Suddenly, he was too bright, and there were too many parts of myself that I wanted to hide in the shadows. Although I didn’t want to, I needed to look away from Baekhyun’s smile. My eyes fixed on the ribbon in his hand, and I reached for it again. 

Holding it just out of reach, Baekhyun looked down on me with a muted form of his sunshine smile. “Have you ever heard about ribbons and soulmates?” When I shook my head, flushing at the word ‘soulmate,’ Baekhyun continued, “I learned about it from my second favorite love story. Apparently, if you give a ribbon to someone or if someone gives a ribbon to you, your souls will be tied together forever. So be careful of who you give this to.” 

Struggling to imagine that Baekhyun was the kind of person who watched or read romantic stories, much less believed romantic superstitions, I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for some outburst of laughter. “Do you really believe in that sort of thing?”

Baekhyun shrugged. “The couple in the story was together forever, so it can’t hurt to be careful.” He pressed the ribbon into my palm. His skin was fire against mine— a flame that warmed but didn’t scald. I think that’s the first hint that I was dreaming. Feelings like that don’t exist in real life. 

Maybe I scalded him, though. Maybe I gave him frostbite. Baekhyun’s hand flinched away from mine, and he looked down at it as if expecting to find a scar or a blister. There was nothing there.

Frowning, I said, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

Baekhyun looked up from his hand to meet my eyes. “Huh? You didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me.”

I wanted to ask him how he could be so sure about something like that, but I didn’t even want to imagine hurting Baekhyun, so I made a joke instead. Grinning down at the ribbon in my hand, I asked, “You gave this to me. Does that make you my soulmate, Baek?”

He blinked a few times, mouth falling agape before a smile broke across his face. “Don’t make a big deal of it.” 

Those words— they struck a familiar chord within my heart, within my memory. I closed my eyes and remembered a golden pink sunset coloring a cotton candy sky, a crown of white roses, a white rose in his coat pocket, a fountain where we made wishes. Deja vu. The memory with Baekhyun that played in my mind had never happened, but still I— I could feel it. 

The last time I heard him say those words to me, did I want to kiss him as badly as I did that night in my room? I must have. Whether it was in another dream— because surely, this was a dream— or another lifetime, those words must have inspired the singular desire to bridge all distance between us. 

The dream prompted me to take the first step toward him— the first step I had ever taken in my life— ribbon still in hand, and I would have brushed my lips against his in pursuit of some cosmic miracle if he didn’t wheeze, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.” 

My eyes, which I must have closed in preparation for some eclipse, opened to the sight of Baekhyun’s eyes swimming in tears. I would have done anything to take that look from his face, even if it was a figment of a dream turned nightmare. Leaping away (despite my persisting desire to cling to him) because I knew I was accidentally the source of his tears, I opened my mouth to apologize. 

Baekhyun didn’t give me a chance, though. Gnawing at his lips as if he was afraid that I would try again to kiss them, he bowed to me. “I’m sorry, Lei. There’s something really important that I have to take care of. Don’t—” A tear streamed down his cheek— “If we’re dreaming, don’t forget me when we wake up.” 

Before I could promise that I wouldn’t, he bolted out the door without glancing back. He was gone just as suddenly as he appeared. And I missed him. I miss him. 

Maybe Baekhyun knew how to carry others’ broken hearts, and maybe he didn’t need permission to do so. After he left, and I settled back under my blankets, the ache in my chest was almost gone. 

I fell into dreams about him— laughing down by some lake, arguing in some darkened corner of an SM banquet hall, talking by the side of some pool, driving through my hometown late at night with the sunroof down, tossing coins into a wishing fountain, stumbling into his arms at a party where we matched from head to toe. Dreams— maybe they’re memories from another life. Maybe I woke the next morning, haunted by the hope that I loved Baekhyun in another life and that maybe, someday, if I did everything right, I would get to live that life again. 

I dreamed of Baekhyun, burned as I wondered how I would ever face him, squirmed as I debated whether he was in real life anything like he was in dreams. 

And then I remembered the dangers of wasting one’s life dwelling on dreams— even the best ones. And I learned to be content with his mischievous glittering smiles and the memory of the stars in his eyes. And I never quite packed it away— the hope that there would be a time for him someday. 

Of course, I think I forgot just about everything when I saw him again— the one who could send me falling with just a glance. 

Sehun. 

Maybe my heart was mine, but that was only due to the force with which I held it whenever Sehun stood too close, calling it to him without words. That was only due to the scowl that I sculpted onto my face whenever the white-hot sting of his laughter wasn’t a distant enough memory. 

And even then, if I’m really honest, if I hold nothing back, I’ll admit that my heart was secretly (not-so-secretly) his all that time.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Time Does Not Heal All Wounds, but Scars Tell A Thousand Stories

Stiles has a lot of scars—scars that tell everything he’s been through. Stiles hates them, but Derek finds them infatuating and will do anything to make sure Stiles knows how gorgeous he is.

 For @bluebelle88

There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t scarred. He had a small across his cheek from a shard of broken glass when his father threw a bottle of him in a drunken rage, but you could only notice if he turned his head a certain way. There was another scar in his hairline, just above his right temple, from when he’d hit his head after the hellhound flipped his Jeep. He didn’t care about it though; it was easily hidden, and no one ever really noticed, but the others weren’t as subtle. The others were painful reminders of how frail, weak, and mortal he was.

His left shoulder was marred by the spreading fading pink lines of the lightning-like scar that the lichen had left behind—a painful reminder of everything that had happened during the Nogitsune’s control. The lines stretched across his shoulder blade, over his shoulder and up the back of his neck slightly, but thankfully it was low enough that he could hide it beneath the collar of his shirt.

The curve of his right shoulder was scarred by the ring of teeth marks left behind by the lamprey Donovan spawned to bite him that dreadful night. His hand trembled as he ran his fingers over the ridges of the rippled pink scar tissue. He felt tears well in his eyes, blurring his visions to streaks of colour and light as his mind was flooded with the horrific image—the memory—of Donovan at the bottom of the scaffolding, his body slumped backwards on the blood-soaked iron bar that impaled him.

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, looking down at the faint white lines and patches of pink skin that covered his arms—reminders of the battles he’d fought, the car crashes, the times their enemies had kidnapped him and beaten him.

He had a gash across his abdomen, a wound he only faintly remembers from during the time the Nogitsune was in control. He remembered drifting in an endless oblivion, lost in the tangled mess of his own mind. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream; he could only watch on helplessly as the Nogitsune controlled his body. He remembered the distant feeling of the knife tearing through his flesh, the blood draining from his body as the Nogitsune’s fireflies escaped.

There was a gash across his chest, a scar from the huge shard of glass that had impaled him. Melissa had done her best to stitch him up but even she couldn’t stop it from scarring.

There were others—scars down his back, legs, and a missing toe from when he was shot in the foot trying to save Derek. His hands were scarred from where Allison’s taser had scorched his palms.  

They were hard to look at; even harder not to look at.

Stiles let out a deep sigh as he grabbed his shirt, pulling his arms through the sleeves and lifting it over his head. He tugged it down over his chest, pulling at the hem of his shirt until it covered the scars that marred his pale skin.

He jumped as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

Derek nuzzled his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck, enveloping him in his warmth.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Stiles gasped.

“You know, they say scars are sexy,” Derek whispered, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ neck.

Stiles snorted. “I’m not sexy.”

“I beg to disagree,” Derek replied. He reached up and gently brushed Stiles’ tousled hair away from his face. He pressed a tender kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Not only that, but they show the kind of man you are.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles scoffed, turning around in Derek’s arms to face him. He pointed at his cheek. “My father was a drunk.” He gestured to his left shoulder. “I was possessed by an evil spirit.” He pointed at his right shoulder and added, “And I killed a guy—and that’s just the start.”

“That’s not what I see,” Derek said softly. He leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ cheek. “I see strength.” He hooked his finger around the collar of Stiles shirt and tugged it down, bringing his lips to Stiles’ neck.

“I see resilience,” he said in a low, sultry voice, brushing his lips across the pale scar before tilting his head the other way and bringing his lips to Stiles’ other shoulder. “I see courage.”

Stiles pulled back slightly. His jaw was tense and he couldn’t bring himself to look Derek in the eye.

He hated talking about his scars—hated being reminded of all the things he’d been through, all the things he’d done.

He wasn’t like Derek; he wasn’t strong, he wasn’t resilient, he wasn’t brave.

Derek seemed to catch on to his thoughts.

“Come here,” he said, pulling Stiles against himself. He scooped the young man off his feet and tossed him onto the bed.

Stiles yelped as he bounced on the mattress, sitting up and glaring at Derek. “What the hell was that for?”

Derek stalked forwards, crawling across the bed until he straddled Stiles, pinning him to the bed. He leant forward, closing the space between them and bringing their mouths together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the kiss.

Derek drew back, licking his lips and grinning at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again.

He looped his arms around Derek’s neck as he brought his lips back to Derek’s.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. His fingers toyed with the hem of Stiles’ shirt. He ran his hands up Stiles’ side, pulling the shirt up with it before wrestling it off Stiles.

Stiles giggled as he struggled to pull the shirt off over his head. He laid back against the mattress as Derek crushed their mouths together.

Derek pulled back, craning his neck and pressing his lips to Stiles’ temple, then his cheek, then his neck and the curve of his shoulder, taking his time and lingering on each scar—tenderly kissing the pale flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” Derek whispered as he made his way down Stiles’ body, kissing each of his scars. “Every… last... inch… of you.”

“Derek,” Stiles stated, reaching down to try and block him.

Derek stopped. He took Stiles’ hands in his own, pressing his lips to the palms of Stiles’ scorched hands before pinning them above the young man’s head. His eyes lit up with a flash of crimson as he said, “Keep them there.”

Stiles felt a warmth trickle through his veins, a shiver rolling up his spine.

He started from the top again, pressing hi lips to Stiles’ temple and trailing faint kisses across his pale skin. His lips brushed across Stiles’ bare skin, making him shudder and gasp.

He kissed every scar—every inch of skin—from his head to the waistband of his jeans, lingering on each.

“I’ve also got a scar on my butt from when Scott accidentally stabbed me with a pair of scissors when we were four,” Stiles told him. “You wanna kiss that one too?”

A devilish smirk lifted the corners of Derek’s lips as eh grabbed the waistband of Stiles’ jeans and tugged at them.

“Wait, no,” Stiles said, bursting out in laughter and he swatted away Derek’s hands.

Derek let out a low chuckle, crawling back up the bed and pressing his weight against Stiles, pinning him in place and enveloping him in his warmth as he brought their lips together in a tender, loving kiss.

He drew back, looking deep into Stiles’ eyes.

“A scar is just a scar,” he whispered soothingly. He gently ran his fingers through Stiles’ tousled hair, brushing it back from his face. “And a scar simply means that you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you. You’re strong enough to outlive whatever hurt you. You’re brave enough to keep fighting. And you’re gorgeous—you’re more beautiful than words could ever describe. And every scar is a reminder that you’re alive.”

Stiles cupped Derek’s face in his hands, craning his neck and bringing their lips together in a tender, chaste kiss. As he drew back, he rested his forehead against Derek’s.

“I love you,” he whispered.

A soft smile played across Derek’s lips as he brushed his lips against Stiles’. “I love you too.”

[AO3]

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Not You

John Wick x Reader. Requested. (A/n- Worry not, there will be a second part. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but I got carried away and it got long. Welp)

Now..... Things were quickly fading to black. The pain in her chest had begun to subside replaced with a coldness that rendered Y/n a shivering mess. Hovering over her, there seemed to be three Johns, but she knew that only one was real. 

He cupped her face, breathing heavily, worry pooled in his chocolate gaze. She loved his eyes, though, Y/n couldn’t remember if she had ever told him that. Above all though, she loved him. “John,” she wheezed his name quietly, feeling a metallic tinge taint her tongue. Thick, red warmth leaked out of her mouth in a thin, persistent dribble, running down her paled cheek as she fought to speak, clinging to the thin thread of life, “I love-”

“No,” John swallowed thickly, “Don’t say it. Not like it’s your last time, please. Please,” he begged, “Just hold on, for me.”

1 hour earlier..... The job was going south. Fast. Their target, unbeknownst to them, had been tipped off and had, at the very last minute, doubled his security. What should have been a quick, in and out job, turned into a killing spree. It should have been no more than a dozen low ranking gang members, with more brawn than skills but, it had somehow turned into triple that amount of extremely specialized fighters who were being too well paid to go down without a fight.

Under normal circumstances, the usual combination of John and Y/n’s skills should have been more than enough to get them through it. But without warning and proper preparation, living through it would be a generous reach.

Every time John and Y/n thought that they had made headway, they were disappointed with more guards seeping out of unseen crevices. 

About two hours into the job, they were still on the ground floor of the nondescript warehouse on the edge of the city, struggling with about seven or eight bulky guards. 

John held one in a low choke hold as he swiftly delivered three shots to the one in front of him; two to the chest and one to the head. Without hesitation, he did something similar to the one under his arm, moving on to the next one that came at him.

About five feet away, Y/n struggled between two men more than twice her size. One held her off the ground, stumbling back when the back of her head made bone cracking contact with his nose while the other made a futile attempt to subdue her. Y/n’s arms were pinned to her sides, but her feet kicked wildly, bloodying the man’s face and eventually shoving him to the ground. Before John could point his gun at her captor, Y/n had elbowed him a gut, distracting him enough to shoot him in the thigh. The minute he released her, Y/n ended them both, sizing up the rest of their opponents. 

Her muscles were already sore from being over worked, there was blood in her left eye and her lungs burned, but still, without complaint, Y/n pushed forward. Shooting who she couldn’t stab and stabbing who she couldn’t shoot. John was nearby, doing the same with the kind of effortless grace that had been one of the reasons she had fallen for him. Of course, it was among, many, many other things. Though, the middle of a fight hardly was hardly the time to marvel on the greatness of one’s significant other. 

She had just taken out two more, and John another three. They were still dealing with the remnants of the last wave when more descended the stairs, tucked a the darkened corners  of the building. She was so tired. But there wasn’t room for tire, even if it could constitute life threatening mistakes. 

Hulking men swarmed around Y/n, probably deciding that she would be easier to take out first. As she shot at the one directly off to her left, another tackled her from the right and as she struggled beneath him, Y/n managed to drive a knife hidden in her waist, right up his chest. She thought he was dead and hadn’t bother to waste three bullets on him. 

Shoving him off her, Y/n pushed herself up, trying to blink the redness out of her eyes, brushing messy hair out of her face. Then she heard it, the loud grunt from John’s side and her head snapped up. There he was, caught in a hand to hand struggle of one of what seemed to be the last. His gun laid a few feet away, taunting, as if to say, “I could save your husband, but I won’t.”

In a rare moment where her passion over ruled her better judgement, Y/n clumsily lined up a hurried shot, sending a bullet square in the back of the man’s head. Immediately, he slummed to the floor with John shaking out of his grip just in time to not go down with him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,“ he breathed, surveying their surrounding to ensure that they were truly done. It seemed so. “Thanks,” he half smiled. As quickly as it graced his handsome features, before John had even thought to retrieve his gun and Y/n had reloaded hers, John’s smile faded and he shouted, “Y/n, look out!”

It happened before he could push her out of the way and the world seemed to slow down. She turned, her hair whipping dramatically and a sound of surprise fell of her lips as she jerked back when a lone bullet hit her low in her chest, between her heart and her stomach. The man was still impaled with her knife and his stance seemed wavering but as Y/n hit the floor with a soft thud, John scrambled for his gun, ending him with a couple hasty shots.

By the time he had rushed to her side, Y/n was already laying in a pool of blood.

Now....  John cradled Y/n’s head in one of his large hands, the other pressed firmly to the wound in the middle of her chest. Blood leaked though his touch, warm against his palms, insistently reminding him that Y/’s life was, quiet literally slipping through his fingers. Her breaths were short and erratic and Y/n’s eyes were wide. “Just hold on okay. It’s not that bad, we’ll get you help and- and you’ll be okay. I promise, you’ll be okay.”

Y/n’s blinking slowed and she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open at all. It hurt at first, like hell, but as she lost more blood the pain faded out and she was over come with an overwhelming need to just fall asleep. When she tried to speak, a fit of wet, ragged coughs racked her body and John shushed her, silently assessing her wound.

It was one bullet, but he didn’t think there was an exit wound, she was shivering and life was draining from her face. When she opened her mouth again, blood leaked through the sides of her lips, which could be the consequence of nothing minor. This was really, really bad. The Continental's doctor might not have been much help to Y/n, she needed a hospital. “John,” his name a sickly wheeze that brought stinging emotion to his eyes. He couldn’t lose her. “I love-”

“No,” he stopped her, gathering her up in his arms, cradling Y/n close to his chest, “Don’t say it. Not like it’s your last time, please. Please, “John pleaded, slow tears running down his face. He couldn't believe that he might lose her like that. After everything, it had come down to a couple miscalculations and he could lose the woman who had brought light back to his life. “Just hold on, for me.”

As John stood, holding Y/n against his chest, he blinked back more tears. Memories danced across his mind; the last time he had held Y/n like that, was just after they had come back from their honeymoon, two weeks in Fiji.

(Flashback) ”I can’t believe you’re finally my wife, Mrs. Wick,” he laughed, Lifting Y/n off the ground. Her arms went around his neck, her lips pressed to the scruff on his jaw.

“Well start trying cause you’re stuck with me. I’m in this for the long haul,” Y/n laughed as John carried her through their front door. They had been living together for a while before they got married, but something about being married made it all seem more official. 

As he set her to the floor, Y/n lingered in the circle of his strong arms and he kissed her deeply before correcting, “We’re in this for the long haul.”

Y/n clung to John, smiling broadly, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Neither would I.”

Their current situation was a painful contrast to his memory as John jogged with Y/n to the car. She hadn’t said anything for a while but he could still hear her soft labored breath. He had wanted to talk to her, just to keep her conscious but John didn’t think he was capable of speaking without breaking down. 

Gently, he placed her in the passenger seat, reclining it and then got in on the driver side. “John?” Y/n breathed, all the shivering and blood loss.

“Yeah?” He glanced her way, blood covered hands tightly gripping the wheel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal.

“Did you finish it?” Y/n suppressed a fit of coughs, as she clutched the one inch hole in her chest.

John shook his head, turning onto a busy road, easily swerving through traffic, “Fuck the job,” he spat plainly, “We have to get you to the hospital.” Y/n didn’t respond immediately, her breathing visibly slowing as her eyes slipped closed, head slumping. “Hey,” John reached over, tapping her thigh, lifting his hand to shake her shoulder when she didn’t move, “None of that, okay? We almost there, just a few more minutes.”

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, her eyes only barely opening. Her hand slipped from the lower part of her chest, falling to her side, “I don’t......it’s so cold,” she breathed.

“I know. You can go to sleep, but not yet. Not until we get to the hospital,” which was still a good twenty minutes away, John didn’t know if she had that. In her seat, Y/n was slipping into unconsciousness. John kept his hand on her, shaking her shoulder and she mumbled incoherently, “ Y/n, listen,” he racked his brain, trying to find something that would get her talking, “Do you remember how me met?”

Y/n hummed quietly, a faint smile curving her lips, “Yeah,” she breathed.

“Great! Why don’t you tell me the story. Here, I’ll help you,” John encouraged eagerly, “It was in Spain? Do you remember?”

“Mhm,” Y/n fought to keep her eyes open, trying to get the words out, “And, um, we were on the same contract. The ambassador. You thought I was his girlfriend,” she tried to laugh.

“But I offered to buy you a drink anyway,” John chuckled quietly. It was just two years ago, but it felt like they had lived a lifetime together since then. They had fallen in love, started a life together. Killed together and even for each other.

(Flashback) Somewhere on a beach in Barcelona.... John sat at the bar, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, sipping the same drink for the past hour. His eyes were discreetly trained on the ambassador to Spain, sitting at a table on the restaurant's patio, overlooking the water. The contract was supposedly exclusive, open to only a couple others beside himself. John didn’t know who they were, he didn’t care either. He would be out of Spain, twenty million dollars richer before they could even line their shot up.

The man, his name was of little importance and above ground politics never served John much interest, sat on one side of a roped off table, guarded by to men wearing dark shades. He probably could have shot him right there, he was close enough, but John had preferred to wait for a more.....private moment.

That was when he saw her, walking towards the table, escorted by another member of the security detail. She wore a navy blue dress that cut off early to show of smooth, sun kissed legs. The young woman, who suddenly had most of John’s attention, bent to peck the ambassador near the corner of his lips, his hand secured low on her back. Her identity was hidden by a wide brimmed hat and a pair of dark tinted  stylish sunglasses. John didn’t know her but he wanted to.

They sat with their chairs pulled close together, his hand on her bare thigh, speaking quietly as they ate. When they were finished and presumably when the check was cleared, the ambassador kissed her quickly and left with his security detail. For a while, she sat by herself, then eventually got up, approaching the bar with a leisurely sway of her hips. At the bar, the woman sat a couple stools away from him, removing her shades and hat before looking over the drink menu. She was far more beautiful than he could have ever anticipated. 

John had not actively pursued woman in years, but something about this one was drawing him in. The confidence in her walk, her quiet grace, her beauty- something. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat, looking her way.

As she turned, one of her eyebrows were raised and she seemed to be assessing his worth, “Yes?” She smiled, determining that he might deserve a chance.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked, mirroring her smile.

“Maybe, if you tell me your name your name first.”

“John,” he offered his calloused hand.

She took it, shaking firmly, “Y/n.”

As it turned out, she had already known his name, one could hardly be an active part of the criminal underworld without at least hearing the name John Wick. Y/n however, had been train by the same people who had trained him, though a couple decades later. His name and stories of his work were spoken in whispers around the Ruska Roma. What she had heard had intrigued her, meeting him was something entirely different.

“Your barged in right when I was about to shoot him. No silencer and you made a mess on the sheets.” Y/n swallowed thickly, grimacing at the taste of blood, wincing in pain when she tried to shift in the seat, “You’re such a brute.”

“You fell in love this brute,” he smiled, glancing her way as he skillfully turned into the hospital’s compound.

“Well.....” Y/n’s eyes slipped closed, “You’re.....” She didn’t finish and her head finally slumped down, limbs limp and face alarmingly pale.

He couldn’t hear her breathing and a new wave of immeasurable worry swelled in John’s chest. No, he couldn’t be too late, they were already at the hospital. She couldn’t just die, not like his. Haphazardly, he swung into a spot near the entrance of the emergency room, stumbling out to get to Y/n’s side. “Y/n?” He shook her shoulders, the blood flow from the gun shot had significantly slowed and he couldn’t find a pulse. “Please,” he begged, for the first time audibly crying, “Just.....I can’t lose you. Please Y/n, not you.”

[yuriiocs]

Blood Brothers

Oneshot regarding Bennett and Alexander. TW for intense scenes and some violence.

“Alex, wait up!” Bennett called out breathlessly, sprinting after his older brother. It wasn’t fair, Alexander was taller and faster! He’d never catch up at this rate. Ben came to a staggering halt, doubled over and panting, resting his hands on his bruised and bandaged knees. He felt woozy, as if the ground were going to tip out from under him, but after a moment he was able to catch his breath and stand upright. He scowled a bit as Alex came waltzing over, a smug grin on his face, but he stayed just out of reach. 

“Giving up already? We only just started,” the elder of the two taunted, tilting his head. He crossed his arms, watching Ben carefully as if he half-expected him to lurch forward and tag him.

“It isn’t fair,” Ben whined softly, “your legs are longer so you’re faster! We always play tag and you always win. Not fair.”  The boy stomped his foot, giving a soft huff as he crossed his arms as well, mirroring Alex. “Can’t we do something different?”

“Like what? Go pick flowers, play ring-around-the-Rosie? No thanks.” Alex shook his head. “Either we play what I want, or you go back with Mom and I go play with my friends.” 

“No, no!” Bennett shrieked. While he did indeed enjoy spending time with their mother, he’d spent far too much time already kneading bread and watering the tomato plants in the garden. He liked hanging out with Alex. It made him feel grown, like he could handle himself… Except for when he couldn’t. 

Alexander was fourteen, now. A young adult is what their father said. He did more work to help support the family, and when he wasn’t, he left the house to hang out with his ‘friends’. Ben hadn’t met them. He supposed they were some of the other children in the area. He didn’t bother to ask. Alex was the only friend he needed. Except… Alex was growing more and more distant. He had to be told to bring his little brother along to play, to get him out of the house.

When they had been younger, they were nearly inseparable. To an extent, it was the same- only, it was extremely one-sided. Ben absolutely adored Alex and wanted to do everything he did. Alexander, on the other hand, grew easily annoyed with his kid brother. 

“Don’t take it personally,” Mother had said one day, gently petting Ben’s fiery red hair as he cried into her shoulder. “He’s growing up. It happens to us all, my sweet little devil. He still loves you. He just has a lot going on now.” 

Now, as Ben looked at the teen, he knew he had to prove himself. He wasn’t a little kid. He could do everything his brother could do! 

“Tag is boring. Can’t you think of a different game?” Bennett insisted, pouting. 

“Boring, is it?” Alex scoffed. “Alright, then. If you say so. But you can’t tell Mom. We’ll go to the woods.”

“The woods?” Ben echoed, eyes going round, “But we aren’t allowed-” 

“Are you scared? I thought you wanted to do something interesting. By all means, if you’re scared, you can go home.” 

“No! I’m not scared! I’ll go!” Ben huffed, hands on his hips.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go, then.” 

And so the brothers ventured off, Bennett casting wary glances back towards the field that stretched behind the house the further they strayed from it. Soon, the view was replaced with tall oaks, towering overhead and shading the ground below. It was colder here, almost unwelcoming. Alex seemed comfortable, though, so Ben trusted he knew where he was going. 

They continued in silence until they reached a cluster of trees that had grown together, intertwined and knotting at the base. The combined trunks had multiple carvings on them, showing the pale wood underneath the moss-covered bark. Alex hoisted himself up into the tree with ease, climbing into the lowest-hanging branch and perching there as if he had hundreds of times before. Which, at this point, Bennett believed that he had. 

“So you want to play something more interesting than tag,” Alex thought aloud, tapping his chin. “I have an idea.” 

“Well, tell me then!” Ben pressed, struggling to pull himself up into the tree as well. He made it halfway, before Alex sighed and reached down, pulling him up as well.

“How about we play Angels and Demons?” The older suggested, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“Alex!” Ben hissed, “We aren’t allowed- it’s outlawed! We’ll be in trouble if anyone sees!” 

“ Oh, please. You can’t believe everything that Mother puts into that tiny skull of yours,” Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s perfectly fine. Trust me. Look, this will be your fortress, you’ll be the Demon, and I’ll be the Angel.” 

Bennett seemed to contemplate it, before nodding. “Okay. Okay, I’ll play.” He furrowed his brow, still a bit troubled. “Where are our weapons, then?” 

“Down there, of course. You have to find one.” Alex hopped down, picking up a short stick. “See this? A dagger. And this,” he snatched up a longer stick, “a spear.” 

“Oh! Oh! I want to pick one out!” Ben hopped down, catching his balance, and hurrying to find his own. He picked up a thick branch, hardly able to hold it up. “I have a sword!” 

Alex smirked, shaking his head. “Look at you, you can hardly even carry it. How do you expect to defeat me with that thing?” 

“I can too!” Ben insisted, “I can too hold it up!” 

“Okay, if you say so, Demon.” Alex turned his back to him, pondering his own weapon before deciding on the ‘spear’. “Now, if you know what’s best for you, you’ll leave this fortress and pray for forgiveness. Allow me to take your soul and cleanse it.” 

Ben blinked, before holding up his ‘sword’, giving it a swing. “Never!” He cried, “This is my fortress! No stinky Angel is going to take it!” 

Alex turned, bring his spear around to attempt to swipe Ben off his feet. “Fool! Repent, and I might spare you,” he growled. 

Ben squeaked and stepped back, giving another feeble swing, “Can’t make me! I’ll kill you before you can cleanse me!” 

Something, then, changed in Alex. He stepped closer, and this time, he hooked the play-spear behind Bennett’s legs, sending the other to the ground with a grunt. “In the name of the Holy Spirit,” he declared, standing over him, “I cleanse thee-”

He was cut off when Ben whacked him, hard, with the branch. “Nuh-uh, dumb Angel! No way!” The younger was giggling, still playful, but gasped when the branch was yanked from his grasp and thrown aside. 

Alex stooped down, pinning Ben down. His eyes had gone cold, almost angry looking. “Don’t resist.” 

“Alex, what are you-”

“I said don’t resist!” he hissed, and in a swift movement, he brought his stick down, fast and hard. 

If Ben hadn’t jolted to the side, it surely would have impaled him. It stuck in the ground beside his head, leaving nothing but a rough scratch down his cheek. 

“Stop it! You hurt me, jerk!” Bennett cried out, kicking the elder in the stomach. Alex came back with a grunt, falling backward off him. “I- I’m bleeding! You hurt me…!”

Alex stared at his brother with a small frown. “Oh.” He reached forward, thumb brushing over the wound. He looked at the scarlet stain left on the pad of it when he pulled his hand away again. He shook his head. “... If you had picked a different weapon, you could have fended me off. It’s your fault, idiot. Let’s get back, then… And don’t tell Mom or Dad what happened. Otherwise, I won’t bring you out anymore.”

Ben, holding back tears, sniffled and nodded. He got up, hiccupping softly, and followed his brother back to the house. 

Eight Years Later

“... You were supposed to be dead,” Alexander breathed, staring at his brother, who was very much so alive. “No. You’re dead.”

“I’m not dead, Alex. I thought you were,” Ben was just as shocked. But here they were, one side Angels, the other Demons. Caught right in between the opposing sides. “I- Mom, and Dad… They were… And you were gone… But you’re here, and you’re okay… You’re okay…!”

His joy wasn’t reciprocated. Alex had a blank expression, but the anger growing in his eyes was apparent. He tensed, reaching for the sword at his side. Ben’s smile fell at that.

“Alex…? Alex, it’s me-”

“I know.”

“What are you-”

“Finishing the job.” It came out as a snarl, and Alexander lurched forward. 

Bennett felt the sword breeze past his face, only inches away. If Seth hadn’t yanked him away, it would have struck him down. Game over. He staggered back, catching his balance. And all Hell broke loose. Angels surged forward, past him, ignoring him. The two sides clashed, Demons quick to react to the agitators. But now, Ben was left unprotected, vulnerable. And Alex used that to his advantage. 

Alexander stepped forward, slashing again. Bennett had half the mind to use his bow, blocking the blade. He was on the defense now, doing all he could to avoid the deadly blade. 

“Alex! Stop, what are you doing?!” He yelped. He wouldn’t keep up at this rate. He was a sniper, never showing strength in close combat like this. He could fend for himself for a while, but not long. The dagger at his hip seemed a mile away. He couldn’t catch a break to reach for it- and even if he did, what then? He stood no chance. Alex had speed and strength on his side. Ben was nimble, but that wouldn’t be enough to save him. 

“You’ll ruin everything, you bastard,” Alex seethed, fury in his eyes as he swung at the younger. “All my hard work, just for you to still be alive… I won’t let you ruin this. I won’t! I’ll kill you myself!” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Ben yelped, ducking and stepping back again. “What are you doing? Are you insane?!” 

“Even if I am,” another swing, “it’ll all be well worth it. All of it is worth my sanity.” 

Ben was about to ask what he meant when he heard a cry from the battle raging behind them. Seth’s voice. He made the mistake of turning to look, and the butt of Alex’s sword connected to his skull with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, vision swimming. 

Alexander stood over his younger brother with a wicked smirk, moving to pin him down. Ben didn’t fight it. He couldn’t. 

“Alex,” he croaked, “we’re family. Why are you doing this…?” 

“Because, dear brother, when all is said and done, I’ll be on the right side of history. This is how things were meant to be. I only wish our parents had been wise enough to see that. Unfortunately, they had to go.” 

“You killed them,” the words left Bennett before he realized, putting two and two together finally. “They’re dead because of you. You… You gave them up.”

“Bingo. You never were the brightest, Ben. I guess some things really don’t change… But, yes. I gave away their plans to organize against Ananchel, and they were taken care of. What I failed to realize, is that you got away. You were never supposed to survive. But I suppose it’s better late than never.”

“They loved us. They loved you, Alex!” Ben raised his voice, it coming out as half a sob, half a shout. “They loved us! How could you?” 

“Bullshit. They never cared for me. You were always the favorite. And that’s why I’m going to take pleasure in killing you myself. Be sure to say hello to Mother for me, won’t you?” 

“You’re evil,” Bennett spat, tears spilling. “Plain evil.” 

“Perhaps. But I’ll be rewarded greatly for this. I’ll kill you, then your demon friend, and return Gazardiel to Ana. I’ll be seen as a hero-” Alex broke off, his eyes widening. He looked down, shakily. “... No. No, you- No.” 

Ben had snatched his dagger, and it was now embedded deep in Alexander’s side. Ben twisted suddenly, and pulled the blade forward and out. 

Alex let out a blood-curdling scream, his weapon dropping from his hands. He rolled off to the side of Bennett, desperately pawing at the now-large gash in his side, blood spilling through his fingers. “No-! You piece of shit, no…! What have you done?!”

“Where’s your God now, Alex?” Ben pushed himself up to his feet, staring coldly at his older brother, bloodied dagger clutched in his hand. “In the name of the Holy Spirit, I cleanse thee.”

“Shut up!” Alex screeched, struggling to reach for his sword. “Shut up, I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

“Was she worth it? Will she save you?” Ben hissed. “I would tell you to say hello to Mother for me, but I highly doubt that where you’re going, you’ll see her. Beg for your forgiveness and repent. Maybe then, you’ll have the chance.” He turned away, leaving his brother screaming after him. 

By the time he found Seth, the small skirmish had ceased, the Angels retreating. Outnumbered. Gaz had been kept safe, and Seth only had a few cuts here and there. The forces decided to retreat while they had time, heading back to base. 

Seth walked side by side with Bennett, frowning when he glanced over. “Are… You okay?”

“Fine,” Ben murmured. He looked a little worse for wear. His expression was hard to read, blank. 

“You have a cut on your cheek.” 

“Oh…” he vaguely felt himself reaching up, pulling his hand away to see red staining his fingers. “I’m okay… it can wait.” 

“If you’re sure.” There was a pause. “You’re… positive you’re okay? Your brother-”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Ben spoke softly. “Please. I… can’t right now. Anything but that.” 

“Alright,” Seth agreed without question. He knew better than to push. He too was shocked to find out Bennett’s brother was still alive- Ananchel’s champion at that. He could only imagine how Ben felt right now. Anything but peachy, he was sure. 

But this was war. Nothing was out of bounds. They had learned that early on, and now was no exception. The only thing Seth could do now was be there for Ben when he was ready to talk about it. Or cry about it. Or both. He wouldn’t judge. He knew it would hit the human hard when he came to full terms with it, when he had the chance to focus on himself. And part of him felt a little bit guilty for bringing Ben into all of this.

There was no changing the past, though. He knew that, as did every human and demon with them. They could only keep pushing to better their future. He spared a quick glance towards Gaz, frowning a little.

Hopefully, their future would be brighter. Softer. Kinder. And they could heal together.

[theriversarebroken]

The Wolf (Impaled Palm)

Fourth square for @badthingshappenbingo​! Same as before, I finished it a while ago, I am just absolutely awful at posting.

This features characters from my original story, the Covenant that Fell! The character this story focuses on is Nami, a pit fighter on a winning streak. But that winning streak can have consequences, and they tend to end with people trying to kill you due to their massive loss of money against you. How she deals with it? Well... she’s undefeated for a reason. Des belongs to @snakesonawave​

Nami had been in fights before, that was a given. She’d been in plenty as a pit fighter, she’d been in plenty as a free woman. Most of them were for money, most of them were started by her, and with all the fights she’d been in, she was always aware they were going to happen. 

This fight wasn’t a single one of those. 

This masked individual had come at her while she was facing the bar and chatting up a rather cute bartender. Her guard, for the first time in a while, was completely down and that’s exactly why they managed to slice up the center of her back. Nami fell against the solid wood and shouted in pain. As they reared their hand back to bury the blade in her back, Nami turned. She grinned as she caught their wrist, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I was hoping to make it through the rest of the day unscathed, but what a pleasant surprise this is. I never get tired of a good fight.” Nami actually was tired, extremely so. She was in Pit Fights this morning, more than one, and, Gods, did her body ache. But if she had to fight once more, perhaps against someone who was sore that their chosen champion lost, she’d put on a free show for everyone in the bar. Maybe get some free drinks out of it.

A girl could hope.

She slammed her forehead against the bridge of their nose and heard the satisfying crunch as it shattered. When she felt their body begin to fall back, she let them go and watched the blade fall to the floor. They stumbled away and threw out their hand for something to anchor their body. They found a supporting beam and halted their fall. They didn’t halt Nami’s approach. 

They blinked a few times, tried to focus on her form, and only tried to scramble away once she was directly in front of them. They shouted and tried to turn, but Nami caught the collar of their shirt and pulled them back to her. She opened her mouth to speak, and watched their eyes grow intrigued, but instead sent her boot into their belly. They stumbled backwards, their legs hitting a table and causing them to tumble over it. Glass and drinks fell around and on them. Their palms, already slick with sweat, were now slick with blood as the shattered glass sliced their hand open. 

As they stood, they tried to back away only to find a wall. Nami couldn’t help but grin. 

She didn’t bother to walk around the table, or over it. She simply placed her foot on it and pushed it against the individual. She had her path, she wouldn’t deviate from it. They were pinned now, against the wall, and tried to the best of their ability to push the table away. Nami laughed. 

“How pathetically weak of you.” she tilted her head to the side and chuckled some more. “Here’s a lesson to learn.” she pushed the table even harder now. The individual groaned and clutched their leg as the pain grew more important than the table now. “If you’re going to kill someone, especially me,” she gave the table a shove and heard a whimper leave the person’s lips. “You should aim for the base of the skull. They can’t fight if they’re dead.” 

Nami took her foot off the table and gripped the edge. She threw it aside and stepped forward.

“Please--” “No.” She already knew their question. Nami wrapped her hand around their throat and squeezed. She squeezed so hard that her knuckles turned white. Cuts from the individual’s panicked hand decorated her unarmored hand, but it didn’t stop her. She was tired, more so than when this fight started, and wanted it over.

Actually, now that she thought about it she was exhausted. Abnormally so. Her stamina in all things was something she boasted about, it was why she was able to do so many Pit Fights today. Maybe it was because she overexerted herself earlier in the day, but using this little of energy shouldn’t have her… this tired.

Her head suddenly felt heavy and like a fog had rolled through it. Her grip began to fail and, with a little shove from the individual, she stumbled backwards and fell onto her back. They fell to all fours, coughing and wheezing and gasping as they clutched their throat. It was already covered in vibrant bruises. Nami felt heat lick her skin ashe ceiling had doubled. She saw the masked individual stumble past her, somewhere she couldn’t spot. The bartender she’d spoken to earlier was coming to her side.

“Do… don’t!!” Nami shouted. She raised her hand to stop her, and found it took everything in her just to do so. Her arms felt tied to the floor. The bartender stopped and her eyes focused on someone else as she backed away. Just as she was going to follow her gaze, a hand grabbed onto her shirt and dragged her up.

“Come now, Nami.” they spoke and held Nami’s shoulders as she stood. They steadied her, made sure she was stable before they slammed the back of a jeweled hand to her cheek. Nami stumbled and held out her hands. Though she tried to stop the movement, her ribs hit the nearby table hard. She gasped and stared down in disbelief at what was happening. Her hands blurred and doubled, as if there was water in her eyes. She blinked more than once to try and pull herself from this haze.

A fistful of her hair was grabbed and as they were about to yank her head back, Nami moved her hands to their own. She had to fight back, she wouldn’t die like this. Easily. 

Her fingers dug into their hand and once she felt them break through skin, she did her best to pull. She felt the skin come with her nails and heard a shrieking scream come from behind her. Her hair was released, so Nami let their hand go. She turned, used the table for support, and watched the masked assailant. They clutched their hand and screamed. 

“M..must hurt pretty badly.” Nami laughed, despite the sickening heaviness in her head. Being tired never made it hard to talk or laugh. It also didn’t make her vision blur like this. “Listen. You can go… I’ll forget all about this.” She was out of breath, her lungs feeling like they were filled with fire. Something was very wrong.

“Are you joking?” they suddenly couldn’t care about the pain in their hand. They cared more about Nami’s attempts at getting them to leave. “Judging by how you move, and the blood coming from your nose, you’re as good as dead.” Nami brought a finger up to her nose and found it dripping like a spigot. The next thing she knew, her vision was a bright white and her body hit the ground. Even when she blinked it stayed a blinding white. 

She felt someone straddle her back and she swung her elbow back. It was caught and her palm was slammed to the ground now.

“How pathetically weak of you.” they laughed and only then did Nami’s vision come back. A blade went through the center of the back of her hand. It buried itself in the wooden floor so deeply the hilt pinched her skin. Nami screamed, but it did not reach her ears. Any and all sound was gone, drowned out by the pain from her hand. She dropped her head down and felt tears fall from her eyes. She’d had pain before, that was a given. But this felt like every punch and stab and cut multiplied into one single wound. 

She brought her free hand to the blade and tried, with all the strength she had left, to pull it free. But she could tell from the pain and the shaking that it was a fruitless effort. Once she gave up, a fistful of her hair was grabbed once more and her head was pulled back. She winced at the pain it caused her hand, but did little to stop it. When their lips touched her ear, sound returned. Focused and final, she heard the words clearly.

“What did you say? Aim for the base of the skull?” Nami felt a sharp object poke at her skin at the area they spoke of. “Do you recognize the poison in your body?”

“That’s…” Nami gasped, her lungs feeling so small. “That’s what it is.” now she knew why she felt this way.

“The Stockman says hello.” Just as the blade was going to bury itself deep, she felt the weight on her back get pulled off. A chunk of her hair went with them, but it was of no problem to her. She hit the ground hard again and turned her head to see who was her savior.

If her little body wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the way she fought was. Quick and jittery movements. Des had saved her. She ducked and moved out of each of the masked assailants attacks so quickly, she looked like a specter. Nami watched in awe for just a moment before she saw Des get slammed to the ground and a glass slammed against her head.

“Two for the price of one!” The assailant hooted in joy. “I wonder what Stockman will give me for two heads.” Nami’s heartbeat picked up as she saw the individual kneel down next to an unconscious Des.

“Des!!!” it took forever for the words to leave her mouth but Nami got them out. Her friend didn’t answer. Nami tried again to pull the blade from her hand but found it stubborn. So… she did something very stupid. She got up onto her knees and pulled. It took forever, and the pain almost made her pass out, but she cut through her hand and got it loose. She didn’t have time to care about the repercussions.

The blade remained buried in the ground as Nami stumbled over to her enemy. Just as they were to carve into Des, Nami placed her only working hand on their shoulder. They jumped and turned, the blade finding a home in Nami’s belly. She took it with only a grunt. 

“I… am going to kill you.” Nami grabbed a fistful of their hair. She dragged them off of Des and brought their face to the beam they once steadied themselves with. “This is your grave.” they whimpered once before she slammed their face into the beam.

Again. And again. And again. Whatever tiredness or pain hit, Nami ignored it. She would collapse later, after she got Des to a healer. She didn’t know how long she went at it, but eventually their face was nothing but mush. Nami let their hair go, and heard their body land with a thunk. It wasn’t satisfying. It just gave her a sense of relief. 

She clutched her side as she walked over to Des and shook her shoulder. The woman woke slowly, but once her eyes focused on Nami she scrambled up. She held both of Nami’s shoulders and widened her eyes.

“I’m okay.” Nami had to sign with one hand and it was barely accurate. Des shook her head and wrapped a hand around Nami’s waist. She didn’t even bother to sign back. Nami tried again. “Sorry.”

Des sighed and shook her head. She brought her hand up and responded.

“Does the wolf apologize?” She asked as she dragged Nami out of the tavern. Nami laughed. 

“No she does not.”

[scriveyner]

kinktober #8

Catie attempts kinktober, take #8: oviposition

Oh my god what did I just write, Explicit. Soukoku, 1.1k

Whenever he got free, Chuuya was going to tear out some throats.

Dazai’s first.

With his teeth.

He struggled against the huge, slimy vine that was wrapped over his chest, keeping him arms pinned to his sides - but every time he started to get some footing or brought his gravity ability into play Dazai reached up from where he lay underneath Chuuya and touched his shoulder, or his cheek, and completely negated any progress he hoped to have made. “Motherfucker,” Chuuya yelled, and snapped at the smaller vine that looked to make a nuisance of itself in his mouth. “Dazai, what the fuck-!” “It’ll be over soon,” Dazai hummed, stroking Chuuya’s cheek lazily, eyes half-closed. He was naked - or as naked as Dazai ever seemed to get, bandages loose on his arms and chest - and there was a thick green tentacle oozing between his legs, thrusting slowly in and out, squelching obscenely loud. “Just relax.” “Relax? Relax?” Chuuya kicked his legs - or rather, the one free leg, as the other was folded up underneath him wrapped tight by tentacles, his gorgeously tailored black slacks in shreds - and tried very hard to trigger his ability without Dazai noticing. Both hands brushed up over his cheeks this time and Chuuya tried to twist his head free but it wasn’t happening. “A fucking tentacle monster stole your brain you fucking idiot, this is no time to relax!” Dazai sighed out a noise of pleasure, arching his back, his cock sputtering weakly against his already cum-streaked belly. He wasn’t listening, he was too far gone and he was stopping Chuuya from rescuing them both by being Dazai and once Chuuya got free he was going to go thermonuclear and no one was going to stop him. At the moment though, he had larger concerns - namely the broad, thick tentacle that was now brushing over his backside and pressing up against him, its intent clear. Chuuya didn’t have the time to think of another plan, or anything else at all really because the head of that huge, huge monster tentacle pressed against his rim and shoved inside, opening him up and fucking fuck jesus christ- It was so much. Too much, too, too much and he didn’t even have the courtesy of attempting to get away from it, the tentacles wrapped around him and keeping his arms to his sides pulling him back onto this behemoth, spearing him open so wide he was certain it was changing the shape of his belly - not that he could see it, even if it was. Chuuya choked back a pained sob as his dick decided to help this entire thing along by pulling him through an orgasm, even as the massive tentacle pushed deeper than anything else had been before. Then, it stopped. Chuuya panted, head hanging, gasping and gulping air and still somehow having the wherewithal to snap his teeth at the vine that kept trying to push into his mouth. At least the big one inside him wasn’t moving anymore, allowing his body to begrudgingly adjust to its intrusion. It was freakishly big, though - and Chuuya grunted as it finally started to pull free - before shoving back in just as deep, its manufactured slick making its penetration just that much easier. Fuck, it felt like he was getting hard again. Chuuya strained against the tentacles but didn’t make any headway, couldn’t get away from the one he was impaled on and he sagged into it, shifted and felt the entire thing writhe inside him. He couldn’t stifle the shout if he wanted to; his dick throbbed weakly in response. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse he felt the tentacle thicken inside him, the base of the thing growing suddenly hard and stretching his abused rim even further. What the fuck. The hard, utterly foreign feeling traveled the length of the thing inside him, until it reached the end and Chuuya felt it detach, slap heavy inside him and shift. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head as he realized what was happening, kicking again frantically in a futile attempt to try to get away that he knew did nothing but had to try. It was like having an out of body experience, as Chuuya felt the base of the tentacle harden again, pushing a second egg past his rim and inside, to deposit. It went like this for longer than he wanted to acknowledge. He couldn’t tell the size of them but they felt enormous, heavy and hard, rolling around inside his gut and weighing his belly down; and he wanted to vomit but he couldn’t, couldn’t do anything but lay in the embrace of the tentacles and come, weakly, a painful third and then an impossible fourth time as the thing continued to push eggs into him without respite. Finally, finally the tentacle pulled free - but he was so full it didn’t feel like much had changed. He didn’t even have the energy left to scream as a new tentacle plunged into him, straight into the eggs weighing him down and fucked him hard, stirring them inside and making Chuuya thrash. He hiccuped and sobbed and begged but it was relentless, until it was splattering hot slick just inside, coating the foreign objects in whatever passed for tentacle spunk, before sliding sloppily free. There was barely enough of him left to come back to himself, as the tentacles lowered him gently into Dazai’s waiting arms. His belly, thick with eggs, pressed into Dazai’s and he was so sensitive he sobbed again at the sensation. Dazai panted too, encouraged Chuuya to clumsily spread his legs and stroked his face as a third tentacle probed at him and entered, slowly. At this point he had no fight left; the only thing he could do was moan as the tentacle pulled the eggs out of him, one by one. He was empty and dripping in no time at all, the thick sludge of the tentacle’s ejaculate coated over his thighs and ass, and if he tried to come again he felt like the only thing that would come from his dick would be dust. “Shh,” Dazai soothed him, as he sprawled atop Dazai, unable to raise his head. “It’s over now.” That was the last thing he heard, before he passed out.

[faefictions]

Disappear | Ch 14

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: MENTIONS OF A BROKEN RIB, IMPALING, DEATH, CUSSING (This whole thing has been so vanilla, so don’t ask me why I made this so violent) also the writing is shitty but I wasn’t feeling it and I needed to update eventually I’m so sorry I’m like this

Word Count: 4,229

As Peter and Tony entered the large room, they searched for any sign of y/n. They didn’t know what to expect, but as their eyes gave the room a once over, they knew that spotting her right off was not going to be possible. Tony whispered for Peter to go in the opposite direction of him, hoping that splitting up would give them a better chance of finding her and getting her out of there.

 Peter walked around the room, inspecting every piece of machinery with a quick eye. His mind wandered as he walked. He didn’t know which version of the girl he was looking for. 

He didn’t know which version he hoped to find. Of course he wanted the version of her that he kissed. The version that he wanted to hold and protect. The version that he was finding himself falling for more each day. But part of him wanted it to be the corrupt version. If it was her, then at least he knew she wouldn’t remember whatever altercation was about to occur, and whatever the man had done with her while they came looking.

As Peter explored around the right side of the room, Tony was weaving through the machines on the left. 

“Please be ok,” Tony repeated over and over in his head. No other thoughts could come to the forefront, he was too afraid of what his brain could come up with. In any other situation, he was aware of the possibilities of failing. He knew that there was always a chance that whatever he was doing, there was a chance of injury and death. But the thought of having to see his daughter in that state terrified him. His breath was anything but calm as he roamed, waiting for some kind of sign of her. 

As he rounded the corner of one of the bigger machines, he looked up to see her, standing maybe 20 feet in front of him. Relief washed over him, but that was quickly replaced with panic. The iris’ of her eyes were the same color as her pupils, and her expression was completely blank. It was like looking at a robot version of her. 

The mask to his suit disappeared, bringing them face to face. 

“Y/n?”

She didn’t reply, so he took a step closer. As he got closer, he could see that her eyebrows were slightly furrowed, her eyelids twitching at a pace almost undetectable to the human eye. Her expression was faint, but the closer he got, the more it looked like she was trying to hide some kind of pain. 

When he was only 5 feet away, he said her name again, hoping that he could illicit some kind of response. Anything that would tell him she was ok, that she was there with him. 

His call did make her respond, but not in the way he had hoped. Her face changed suddenly from pain and restraint to nothing but anger. She didn’t know how, but somehow the man had brought all of the pent up anger she had for her father to the surface. Every time she had cried as a child because she didn’t have a daddy. All the times she had asked Maya if she could go visit her father, just to be told that they couldn’t bother him. Every single time she felt completely and utterly unloved. It was all brought to the surface and any part of her that was holding on to consciousness suddenly let go. There was no voice in the back of her head telling her that he was her father anymore, telling her that she needed to get away before she hurt him. Every part of her was screaming, yelling at her to destroy him. 

Tony sensed the sudden change, but instinct didn’t make him move away from her. He moved closer, hoping to be able to help her, although he had no idea how. Her breathing was growing rapid, and her shoulders were tense as she stared at the ground in front of her, anger only building inside her with each step he took. 

“Y/n, I know you’re in there somewhere. Please, listen to me, we gotta get you out of here.”

“Don’t come closer.”

“Kiddo, come on, I know you can hear me.”

“I said don’t!” She muttered each word through gritted teeth. Her tone made Tony pause for a second, but his fatherly instinct made him take another step towards his daughter. Suddenly the machines surrounding him all sent sparks flying towards his body. It startled him, but no damage had really been done.

“Ok, ok. I’m staying right here, not going anywhere.” He put his hands up in defeat, halting his movements towards her. 

“Damn right,” she spat under her breath. His brows furrowed in confusion at her comment, but he soon knew what she meant. His suit started to malfunction, sparks flew from various points, popping noises filling their ears. The metal grew hot against his skin and a panic set in. He tried to make it stop, tried to ask his A.I. to shut down, tried to make the suit come off of his limbs, but nothing was working as it should. He looked up to his daughter, hoping to reason with her to make her stop, but he was met with a face void of expression. The only thing evident on her features was concentration.

Tony fell to his knees in pain as the metal became too hot, causing slight burns on parts of his arms and legs, but suddenly the pain started to dull. His head shot up to look at her, but she wasn’t standing where she had been seconds prior. 

Peter had heard her yell at Tony, and he had never moved faster than in that moment. He was on the other side of the warehouse in seconds, searching between machinery in order to find them. The second he laid eyes on her, he knew that it wasn’t the girl he loved. She was watching her father suffer and she didn’t seem to care. It broke Peter’s heart, but it made what he was about to do a lot easier. 

He shot his web to a machine across from her, launching his body to hit hers, cursing at himself as he did. He would never get used to fighting her. As soon as she was on the ground, he tried to pin her down, but she wouldn’t let him. She threw him off of her and tried to go back to destroying Tony’s suit. She needed to get it done so she could attack the Arc Reactor, that was her best shot at killing him, but Peter was standing in her way. He tried to tackle her to the ground again, but she dodged him, sending him flying to the floor. She stood above him and moved her foot to rest on his chest. 

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she commanded, but there was something behind her strong demeanor. The distraction from her need to destroy Tony was making the hold on her weaker, and her real side was starting to peak through. Peter shot his web at her shoulder and pulled her to the ground, rolling their bodies so he was on top of her. He pinned her hands above her head while the surprise of it was still disorienting her. “Don’t worry, you won’t get the chance,” he snarked. 

She tried to pull free from him, but super strength wasn’t exactly her thing. 

“Y/n, come on, I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. I need you to fight this. I know you can do it. You’re stronger than this.”

Her eyes were searching around them, trying to find something to help her out of his grip, but all she could do was make the machines around them malfunction enough to send sparks flying onto him. His suit protected him though, so her skin was the only thing damaged in the process. 

“You need to fight this. Please, sweetheart, you need to try,” Peter spoke gently.

The pet name struck something in her, and her eyes started to change back to their normal hue, but she could only manage to hold on for minute. 

“Pete, you need to take Tony and get the fuck out of here. I can’t hold off, I’m going to kill both of you. He’s going to make me kill you. Please just run.” 

The panic in her voice made him want to hold her, but he was afraid that if he took his hands off of her wrist, she would get away. He stared down at her, unsure of what to do. 

She was about to beg him to go again, but her eyes faded back into black before she could. 

“It’s a shame you had to bring the kid, Stark. We really could have gotten out of here a lot sooner.”

Tony and Peter’s eyes shot up to where the voice had come from. The tall man was standing near them, barely hidden in a shadow casted by the nearby machinery. 

“Get up dear,” he called. In a few swift movements, y/n had successfully gotten her arms free and punched Peter in the face and gut, making him jerk away from her. She walked over to the man, but Peter watched in confusion as she kept walking out of his line of sight. He was going to go after her, but something in him knew that the man standing between them wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“Who are you?” Tony asked, disgust evident in both his words and his expression. 

“My name doesn’t matter. Only my cause.”

“That’s the worst line I’ve heard since ’07, but ok, I’ll buy in. What do you want?”

“You.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

“You’re just as intolerable as I imagined.”

As the men bickered, Peter scanned the room. He could hear creaking from the other side of the warehouse, and looked in the direction, but the machinery blocked his view. His focus came back to the conversation as the man across from them was passionately explaining his hatred for Tony. 

“So why’d you take my kid?”

“First of all, she isn’t your kid. I’m more of a father to her than you have ever been,” this comment made Tony’s whole body tense with anger, but the man continued before Tony could interrupt. “And I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Stark. I was obviously hoping she could destroy you, that you would have had to watch while the one thing you think you love took the life right out of you. But you just proved to me that she wasn’t strong enough to do that. So change of plans.” 

Almost as if the scene was all planned out, y/n appeared on a high platform on the other side of the room just as the man finished his sentence, her body barely illuminated by the light of a single bulb. Peter’s heart stopped as she neared the edge, but Tony’s was racing almost as fast as his mind. Both of them knew they had to get to her, but they had no idea how, with the man standing right there. 

“You should have let her kill you, Tony. This was always plan B, but I was starting to enjoy her company.”

 “Y/n, stop walking,” Tony called to her. He had no idea what else he could do. Logically, he knew that she couldn’t hear him and that this call to her was useless, but he had do something. 

“This is all you,” the man said with a wicked smile. A second later, y/n was stepping over the edge of the platform. Tony watched helplessly as his daughter fell. His suit was useless, and there was nothing he could have done to get to her in time. In that split second he decided that the man was right, he should have let her kill him, because at least she would have made it out of this situation alive. 

Peter, on the other hand, had already worked out a plan in his head. He knew that his timing had to be just right, and the risk posed in it, but he knew what he had to do. The second she was over the edge, he shot his webs towards her, flying through the air quicker than he thought he ever had. He reached her just as her body was about to reach the ground. As soon as he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her, one going to cradle her head and the other around her waist. He held on tightly as they hit the ground with full force and she let out a loud yelp, her body making a loud snapping sound as they rolled to a stop. It took him a second to be able to let go of her. All he could think of was Schrodinger’s cat. In that moment, she was both dead and alive, and he wouldn’t know which one was real until he pulled away. But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t accept that there was a chance that he hadn’t gotten to her in time. The yelp and the snap her body had made played over and over again in his mind, but he knew he needed to pull away and see if she was ok. 

He took his arm from around her waist and moved it to prop himself up, looking down at her. Her eyes were still dark, but nowhere near as black as they were when he had last seen them. A few tears fell from her eyes, and he watched her chest as it rose and fell shallowly. Relief flooded over him as he realized she was breathing, but the appearance of her abdomen wasn’t natural, and the relief suddenly went away. Something had happened to one of her ribs, and he feared that it was going to kill her. 

“Y/n?” he spoke just above a whisper, hoping to calm her breathing as he tried to come up with a plan on getting her out of there alive. 

“P-pete, I ne-need you to…” she tried to speak, but the pain from the break was making it difficult. She instead took his hand and tried to bring it to her bone, but he pulled away. 

“Y/n, I think it’s broken. Just give me a minute, I’ll figure out a way to get you out of here.”

There were tears in his eyes and his voice was ruining his plan to hide his desperation and fear from her. Although she was the one lying on the floor in pain, she wanted to comfort him. 

“Trust me,” she whispered. The pain was evident on her face, but he could also see how serious she was. So he let her guide his hand, placing it directly over where it was broken. She asked him to push down, just enough to set the rib back into its place. 

“Are you crazy?”

“Pl-please Peter.”

So he did. He pushed just enough to push the bone back so it looked normal, and she tired to hold back a scream. She then pushed his hand off of her and held her hand over where his had just rested. He looked at her in hopes of an explanation, but before she could take another breath,  she suddenly flinched at an attack that wasn’t there. Her body shot up and she started to run back to where Tony and the man had been. Peter could barely process what was happening, but a moment later he was chasing after her, calling her name. He could have shot a web to catch her, but he was afraid he was going to hurt her more. 

He finally caught up to her, and grabbed her wrist, expecting her to pull away or fight back, but she didn’t. She just turned to him with tears in her eyes. She was panting, each breath hurt more, but she couldn’t stop. She had to get to them. 

“Peter, he’s hurting him. Please, I need to help.”

He looked her over, and her chest seemed to be fine. His confusion to her speedy recovery threw him off just long enough for her to pull away and keep running. 

When they reached the spot where Tony and the man had been standing, they were met with the sight of Tony on top of the other guy, hitting him relentlessly. Blood was dripping down his face, his eyes were closed, and Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he were dead at this point. With every hit, he could see y/n flinch, as if they were hurting her as well. Her eyes grew darker each time. 

“Mr. Stark, stop,” he yelled at him, but his attention wasn’t caught. 

Peter didn’t understand what was going on with y/n, but he knew it wasn’t good and it was somehow being caused by this scene. Peter was about to rush over to stop Tony, but the man underneath him suddenly lunged up at him, tackling him to the ground and wrapping his hands around his throat. The teenagers watched in terror as Tony tried to pry the hands from his body so he could breathe. He managed to bring his legs up and buck the man off of him, sending him flying backwards. They both rose to their feet, but neither of them made a move. They just stood and looked at each other, silently daring the other to lunge. 

The man made the first move, launching himself at Tony, but he managed to grab the man’s shoulders instead, throwing him against a machine behind him. He had only meant to have him hit the machine, but the slicing noise mixed with y/n’s scream as she hit the ground told Tony that he had done more than just that. 

He turned around to see that the man had been impaled on a large rod protruding from his abdomen, but it had snapped off from the machine and fell to the ground along with his body. Tony grimaced at the sight and averted his eyes, choosing instead to look over at his daughter.  

She had dropped down to the ground the second the man hit the rod, hyperventilating. Something in her body felt like it had snapped like a rubber band, sending a burning pain throughout her. Peter rushed to her side as soon as he saw her fall. He tore his mask from his face before her hand came up to grip his arm. His voice sounded miles away as he called her name. Her mind felt weird. 

It felt… free. 

Her breathing never slowed as she looked up to stare into Peter’s brown eyes. He was asking her if she was ok, but her mind was racing too quickly to be able to give him an answer. 

He watched her with concern as he continued to say her name, hoping she would give him some sign of being able to hear him. He watched as her eyes began to fade to their natural color. They were now brighter than he had ever seen them. 

“Peter?” she croaked, scanning his face. 

“Yeah, I’m right here. Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

She just shook her head before she launched herself towards him, wrapping her arms around him in the tightest hug she could manage. She began to bawl into his neck as he held her. Peter turned to look to Tony, who was standing a few feet away. He slowly made his way over to them and fell to his knees beside them.

His first instinct was to take her in his arms, but part of him felt undeserving. He was the reason she had been here, the reason she was put through this, the reason she had almost died. But before anymore self doubt could come into his mind, y/n turned in Peter’s arms. “Where’s Tony?” she asked in a sudden panic. 

“Right here, kiddo,” he whispered behind her. She shot around and put her arms around him. He sat in shock for a moment, but returned the hug, holding her liked she could be taken from him at any moment. 

“I’m so sorry, dad,” she whispered to him. His grip only tightened. He had only heard her call him that once before, and it was while she was under the influence of that man. Hearing her say it in this situation made a tear fall from his eye. 

“Why would you be sorry?”

“I almost killed you, I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me,” he lifted her head to look directly into his eyes, “I’m fine. And that wasn’t your fault. So don’t you dare blame yourself for anything that happened tonight. That was all him. I don’t want to hear you apologize for anything he made you do ever again.”

She nodded at him before she rested her back onto the cool metal of the chest plate on his suit. He held her as her breathing calmed down, and he glanced over to her hand that was outstretched to hold Peter’s. He made a mental note that he was going to have to have a serious talk with Peter later concerning his daughter. 

“Let’s get you home,” Tony said, helping y/n to her feet once she had stopped crying. 

“C-can I just have a minute?”

They both looked at her suspiciously, but Tony nodded and led Peter away. 

“So about you two holding hands back there, you aren’t slick Parker, we’re gonna need to talk,” she heard as they walked away. She let out a little giggle, hoping Tony would go easy on Peter. 

She walked over to the body of the man across from her and kneeled down next to him. 

She wanted to hate him. She wanted to look at his body and feel nothing. If she had to feel something, she wanted it to be relief that he was dead or disgust that he even existed. But she couldn’t help the intense sorrow that washed over her entire body. It got worse the closer she got to him, almost like the control he had over her, but this feeling wasn’t artificially caused by him. She had no idea why she was feeling this way, but deep down, she knew that it was because this man had been in her life for longer than she could consciously remember. She had an attachment to him whether she liked it or not. 

Tears streamed down her face as she said a silent goodbye to him. She took his hand in hers and hoped that his soul found peace, whatever that meant. 

After a few minutes, Peter came back to her. “I”m afraid Mr. Stark is going to kill me if you leave me alone with him any longer. You ready to go?” He spoke gently when he saw her demeanor, slowly approaching her. “Are you ok?”

She shook her head, but she didn’t look up at him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, sitting down next to her. 

“I don’t know why, I just… I know I should hate him. I hate what he did to me, but, I don’t know, he was just part of me. And I just lost that part.”

Peter reached out and took the hand that was currently gripping the dead man in his own. “You are still you. You’re more you than you were when he was part of you.”

She squeezed his hand back and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat there for a few minutes in silence before Peter remembered Tony was waiting for them. 

“Are you ready to go?”

“No, it just doesn’t feel right leaving him here like this. I don’t think anyone will know he’s here. I don’t want to leave him.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, trying to shush her as she began to cry again. 

“I’ll talk to Mr. Stark. We won’t just leave him. But we have to get you home.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

She let him help her up, saying one last mental goodbye to the man. 

As they were walking out of the warehouse, she stopped Peter and nervously turned him towards her. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Uhm, nothing, just… Well I wanted to do this before we got out there.”

She quickly grabbed his face and brought her lips to his. She of course had been present for the kiss they had shared at Maya’s house, but it was different. His words rang through her head, and she knew he was right. She was more of herself now because no one else could control her. And it was entirely her decision to kiss him this time. To crash her lips into his as she ran her fingers through his hair. This was all her, and she let her whole body melt into him. She paid attention to every single sensation she felt. When their lips parted, her arms remained wrapped around him. He held her close for a minute. Despite never wanting to let her go, he knew that Tony was waiting on the other side of the door in front of them, and that they shouldn’t keep him waiting.

A/N: so this is the last chapter, BUT DON’T WORRY, THERE IS GOING TO BE AN EPILOGUE. I wouldn’t have left it like that. But if you are on the taglist for this series (or not), let me know if you would like to be tagged in any of my upcoming series for Tom, Peter, or Harrison!!!

Tag List: @its-evenstranger @54fangirl @fosteringmermaids @yourwonderbelle @baconlover001 @artsycth @b-b-big-bill @adventurousbooknerd @chloe-geoghegan1 @ixchel-9275 @trindangles @bookgirlunicorn @helloilovethemcu @shallowshawn @nunuthecool @myfictionalhusbands @chonisberonica @broadwaytrash101 @smilexcaptainx @cornbreadblues @marvellheros @5sos-wdw @we-are-band-sexuals @spiderlingsweb @fuckingpasssword @crumpets-are-better-with-jam @bilesxbilinskixlahey @morethanmare @thatcrazybookwormgeek @emeraldrhee-grimes

[fantasy-fuck-writing]

super hot elf/minotaur rp i just did~ very useful for getting off to!

Alice was one of the prettiest Elven girls in the kingdom and everyone knew it. She had pale skin and long blonde hair and always dressed promiscuously to tease. It was nights like these she loved going out to the local tavern and bar to look for some action. She hadn't seen any in about a week, and the last elven man she'd fucked had been amateur at best. So as she sauntered into the shop and took a seat at the bar, she scoured the room for someone more worth her time. Dozens of patrons of all species were already ogling her, and she flirted with a few as she turned to order her drink.

Sitting, hunched over the bar was a large Minotaur with a large metal pauldron and a leather war skirt with metal studs. He hunched over a mug of foaming ale that poured over the sides of the mug. His large frame being quite the sight and enveloping three spots at the bar. He chewed on a piece of dried, cured meat. He glanced at the elven girl, the large bulge in his skirt forming and growing larger.

Alice flirted with who and whatever looked her way, but she ultimately just teased and turned them all away. She didn't let anyone touch. She was looking for something much more exciting tonight. And as she picked up her wine glass she found it. Seated a few spots away from her was a large, handsome, and muscular Minotaur. Alice had never been with one before, but she'd love to make this one her first. She got a bit wet just at the sight of him. As she made eye contact she smiled and turned toward him, spreading her legs a little bit and putting her hand over her skirt between her legs. "Hey, handsome. You lookin' for some fun~?"

He grinned and grunted softly as his nostrils flared. “Watch what you’re asking for.” He chuckled and took a swig from his mug before reaching down and gripping his massive length. The Minotaur leaned closer to her. “I’ve broken girls bigger than you before...”

Alice smirked. She already liked this one's challenging confidence. "Oh? Think I can't take you, big boy? Well why don't we just get this settled right off the bat?" Alice licked her lips as she watched him grip his length. She got up from her stool and waited expectantly. "So where's a good spot to get some action around here?"

He growled softly some as smirked, standing and tugging the girl to his hip. He stepped out, his hooves stomping through the bar to the outside. He gripped her ass and strode to an alleyway, pushing the girl into it and peeling off the skirt he wore, revealing the beastly, equine cock, studded with piercings.

Alice walked with him through the bar, noting the other patrons cursing at how lucky the Minotaur was to be the one going with her. She followed him into a dark alley as he stripped off his skirt. Alice took in the sight of his massive cock with lustful eyes. "Now that's a cock," she said approvingly. "I can't wait." She spread her legs, leaving the skirt on so he could tear through it. She was in the mood for something rough. Alice began rubbing her pussy a bit to get herself wet and ready, revealing her sex from beneath her skirt. "Let's get right to it, then."

He grunted. “Shut up.” He gripped her wrists and pinned them over her head. His hand could almost wrap completely around her waist. He pushed her against the wall and rammed his horns into it to. He struggled to insert the flared tip of his massive cock. It was already dripping with precum. His balls were immense and already churning with thick hot seed.

Alice moaned in bliss as she was roughly pinned against the wall, so hard  the wall cracked a bit. He lifted her off her feet a bit so she was dangling between his horns. She looked hungrily down at his massive member as he shoved the tip up her skirt, forcing her legs apart. "Ahhh.... mmmm~" She opened her mouth wide as she felt the hot hard cock pushing at her folds. When he finally inserted it into her, it spread her wide. She could feel it pulsing inside of her, churning with eager seed before he even began moving. Her pussy gripped him hard and squeezed.

He chuckled and slowly pushed his massive bull dick into her little frame. He could see the outline of the flared tipped and the balls throbbed with an immense amount of cum. The bull drooled over her chest and his fat length slowly pushed deeper and deeper inside her tiny cunt, the veins pulsing violently and coating her insides with precum.

Alice squirmed as he slowly impaled her, her full weight now sitting on his dick as he pushed her harder against the wall. His cock throbbed inside her, making her pussy ache with need for him to move. She felt him push in inch by inch, saw the bulge in her stomach as he went in deeper. She threw her head back and moaned loudly, so people inside the bar could hear and know she was getting fucked. "Oh! F-Fuck! So big-!" He slid in further, until he was buried up to his balls in her. Alice panted hard and drooled, feeling his hot breath on her chest and his hot precum leaking down her thighs. Her pussy pounded hard around his length, already begging to be raped.

He grit his teeth and turned her on her stomach, pushing her head against the mud of the alley wall. He grunted and turned her head. A small crowd of people had come and were now watching her frail form violated by the massive beast cock, the huge dick making her stomach bulge with every violent pound deep inside her stretched and violated womb. Her feet could hardly keep her footing as he slammed his full heavy weight into the little elven girl.

Alice felt herself being turned around so he could  take her from behind. She squinted and kept looking down at her stomach, at the bulge that began thrusting, long and hard and full thrusts, cum and juices leaking from her within seconds. The crowd gathering started taking pictures and fapping to the show, and a couple joined in fucking each other against the wall too. Alice screamed out loud for their enjoyment. "Oh gods! Fuck me! Fuck me like there's no tomorrow! Fill my tight little pussy with that thick dick!" The Minotaur thrusted hard and mercilessly, ramming her good and hard against the wall. Alice moaned, her voice stammering now as she was jerked back and forth with the fucking motions. "O-Oh y-ye-yeah! H-Harderrrr!" Her pussy walls were filled with wet electricity as he fucked her deep, the head of his cock pounding her g-spot over and over. It was hot and tight inside her, feeling like her whole body was getting fucked into his cock.

He hooked his two fingers into her mouth and forced them down her throat. They were sweaty and thick. His massive dick pounded away violently into her little body making her body jerk and splatter in the mud, ruining her dress. He tore open the front and groped her tits as he pounded into her violently, stretching and ruining her womb. “I don’t like it when my toys talk. You can scream and moan, little elf whore.”

Alice got turned on the more she was humiliated, especially in front of a crowd. She felt her breasts being torn free and groped, gagging on his thick fingers as he continued mating with her.  Loud, lewd sounds of their wet bodies slapping together echoed through the alley. Alice moaned and whined as she was continuously fucked without mercy. She could feel the cock inside her beginning to swell now, thickening as the cum began to prepare its release. Alice clamped her legs shut as tightly as she could, moaning louder as she felt herself nearing her climax. Her pussy was slammed over and over, and it began pulsing hard with heat and pleasure. He stuffed into her, dragged out, then slammed back in again, forcing in an inch deeper with every thrust. Alice's body was on fire now, each animalistic thrust bringing her closer and closer to the breaking point.

He roared out as his thick cock flexed and the flared tipped swelled, shutting her womb off as cum poured into her violently, torrents of thick hot cum pumped rope after rope as his hips bucked, stirring the thick, hot seed inside her womb. His body flexed and he rammed his fingers and fucked her throat with the massive fingers. He rubbed her clit hard, forcing her into over stimulation as cum flooded her womb and was kept in it with the massive flared bull dick.

Alice screamed when he finally cummed inside her, spraying every inch of her insides with long streams of thick, blazing bull cum. Her body spasmed and throbbed in bliss as he brought her over, his hard cock throbbing just enough to make her pussy explode. She creamed - harder than ever before - each pulse filling her whole body more and more as he plugged her up. She choked on his fingers as he filled her to the brim, ecstasy coursing through her as he bred her long and hard. His cock throbbed and pumped more into her, forcing her to a second orgasm right away. The onlookers were amazed by the sight of Alice impaled on the jackhammer of a cock, being filled up until the cream and cum overflowed and puddled at the ground.

He grunted as the cum dropped from her cunt in thick ropes into the mud. His hooves dug into the mud as he continued to plow forward slowly, stretching her and making the cum pump out across his large balls. He panted and groaned as the cum poured out of her cunt. He grit his teeth and huffed, making his nostrils flare. “Damn whore~!” He groaned out loudly.

Alice moaned as her pussy was ravaged more. She felt the hot juices come pouring out of her as the last little pulses of her pleasure faded. Weak and fuck-happy, she slipped off his cock and slumped into the puddle below.

He panted and milked the last drops of cum from his fat dick, dripping it across her body. He chuckled stepped over her. “You can find me in the fighting pits. I love a good fucking after my matches.” He grinned and looked back at her winking, walking off into the old city.

[izaswritings]

Title: it’s just a mild inconvenience

Synopsis: Pro Tip— When you die saving the life of your worst enemy, make absolutely sure there’s no chance of survival. Otherwise, things get awkward. Like really, really awkward.

Personally, Varian would take the death and dying. At least then he doesn’t have to deal with all this “caring” nonsense.

Notes: It's..... been....... awhile.......... but I'm back!! Hopefully you all haven't forgotten this fic just yet, ahaha. I still have plenty of ideas left for this universe, and I hope you like where I'm taking it!!

Many thanks to the amazing @jessucakes for creating this awesome au! 💖

Warnings for: cursing/swearing (Varian continues to be a foul-mouthed brat, more news at 11), references to past character death (including references to past impalement), somewhat graphic description of wounds/scarring, and brief mention to a panic attack. As always, if there's anything you think I missed, just let me know and I’ll add it on here!

-

AO3 Link is here!

Chapter One is here!

Chapter Two is here!

-

chapter 3: the great ruddiger rescue mission

-

“Oh, no,” Varian says, for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. “Oh, no. Ohhhh no. No, no, no— damn it! Damn!”

He’s pacing in circles around the small length of the abandoned cabin, fingers curled in his hair and yanking at the strands. His feet are starting wear grooves in the floor.

“Oh, damn. Damn! Shit! I’m an idiot!”

He’s bare-footed and cold and still a little hungry, and that one bit of stale jerky has left a frankly horrid aftertaste in his mouth. He’s craving hot chocolate so badly his throat aches, and those stupid bandages have started to chafe at his arms, and everything’s just absolutely awful, but most importantly—

“Ruddiger! Ruddiger!! I forgot Ruddiger!”

Varian is having a crisis.

“How could I forget Ruddiger?” he asks himself, pivoting hard on his heel moments before he face-plants into the wall. “How could I forget Ruddiger? Shit! Shit! It’s been hours! What the hell am I doing! Oh, my god. What do I do?”

Another pivot.

“I mean, I was pretty drugged,” Varian considers. “Am. Am still drugged. Because I died. Died. I mean—that could mess anyone up. I think I have some liberties here. Right? Right.”

Pivot again. His legs are cramping, a buzz of pins and needles running up and down his numb feet. Ow. Just what Varian needs, thank you ever so much, stupid human flesh vessel. 

“Oh, my god, I forgot Ruddiger. He’s— the Princess. He’s probably with the Princess. Of course he’s with Rapunzel, why the hell not, stupid princess with her stupid hair and stupid tears and stupid animal-stealing attitude—”

He tries to pivot again, but his heel slips in the dust and instead of another dramatic turn, he just kicks his bare toes into the wall full-force. Varian bites back a yell and reels away from the wall, hopping up and down and holding his injured foot in the air. Unfortunately, though Varian is skilled in a great many things, balance is not one of them. He overbalances almost immediately and collapses back on the decaying hardwood with a high-pitched shriek of mingled pain and rage.

He hits the ground hard enough to wind himself, and scrawls boneless against the floorboards, fighting for breath. His foot aches. His legs ache. His heart aches.

He misses Ruddiger.

Varian covers his face and tries to breathe. “Damn it,” he whispers, into his palms. “Damn, damn, damn—”

He stops talking once his voice starts to crack, and stays shivering on the floor until the tears have finally left him.

Breathing uneven and shaky, Varian scrubs the back of his hand across his face and takes a deep and steadying inhale through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He rolls up to his feet, supporting his trembling legs by leaning against the wall, then closes his eyes and sighs out through his teeth.

“Okay,” Varian says, softly, to himself. “Okay.” He lifts his head and opens his eyes; meets his own gaze in the bare and undecorated mirror hanging plain on the cabin wall. “What do I know? Ruddiger isn’t here. I… forgot him.” He has to force the words out, but he does, and grits his teeth to keep calm.

“I forgot him,” Varian repeats, forceful. “Not my fault, but—that’s where I’m at. Okay. So—so, I have to find him again. Where will he be? The castle, probably… with Rapunzel, definitely. She has a soft spot for animals, and she’s trying to act nice to me, so she definitely won’t leave him behind.” A sudden and horrible thought strikes him. “If. If Ruddiger was there. He’s got to be there. They had to have found him. If he’s not there—”

He cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “He’s there,” Varian affirms. Never mind that he can’t remember if he brought Ruddiger with him to that last disastrous fight—never mind that he can barely remember that day at all. Ruddiger had to have been somewhere. “He’s there. I just have to go back and find him. Easy as baking pie.” Though… Varian had never been all that good at pies. The last one he’d made—hmmm. “Easy as baking cookies.” There. Better.

Most important of all: “I can do this.”

His shoulders slump, relaxed and loose, and the tension around his eyes has eased a bit. The feverish flush is gone from his cheeks, the wet from his eyes— no one will ever be able to tell that he was just crying. Varian surveys his own face in the mirror and blows out a long breath, brushing his fringe from his face. He’s calm. He’s sure. He looks it, too. He looks…

His mood sours again, despite his best attempts to ignore it. Well. There’s no escaping it, is there? Varian looks dreadful. Dark circles under his eyes and grease in his hair and dirt smearing down his face from when he’d tumbled into that stream. The shirt he’s wearing, even the pants—they aren’t his, and they’re far too big, the shirt practically sliding off one shoulder, exposing a whole breadth of once-white bandaging, now yellowed with dirt and age. He looks like a plague patient. He looks like a ghost. He looks like he’s died and come back to life, which— Oh! Hey! He has!

The bandages are bothering him, though. They’re itchy, and he can’t get that weird doctor’s cryptic comments out of his head. It’s… weird. No matter how awful Varian looks, he very clearly isn’t actually injured. His chest doesn’t hurt at all, and despite all the running and falling that should have torn any stitches wide open, there isn’t even a hint of red on those wrappings. It’s as if they’re there for show.

What was it, exactly, that the weird doctor lady said? The rocks created some weird complications. It’s nothing bad, but the bandages were necessary. Which is all well and nicely cryptic, but not actually an answer. Hmm.

“What to do,” Varian mutters, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He steps up to the mirror and surveys his reflection with a dark look. It is, for some weird reason, hard to look himself in the eye. “Find out where I am. Find the castle. Get into the castle… find Ruddiger.” It’s a solid plan, and he smiles a little, very determinedly not thinking about how the hell he plans to break into the castle. He’s sure to come up with something. But first… “I should probably figure this out, huh?”

No answer. Varian sighs. He cannot wait to get Ruddiger back. He’d had no idea how much he relied on those little chirps for conversation until they weren’t there anymore. Now Varian’s only talking to himself, which is just… awkward.

He lifts a hand to his shoulder, brushing his fingers against the bandages. He’s… he’s stalling, isn’t he? He’s afraid to look, despite everything. But Varian refuses to keep walking around with those bandages on for much longer, damn it all. They’re useless and uncomfortable and attention-grabbing, and every time he sees them he’s reminded of what he did— no—and who he saved— why did I —and quite frankly, Varian is tired of distractions.

Also, itchy. They are so very, very itchy.

Thus decided, Varian clenches his jaw and tugs off the shirt, eyeing the layers of bandaging underneath. They’re… extensive. Almost overkill. The bandages wrap up his whole chest all the way to his neck and even down his arms, so heavy there’s not even the slightest gap. Though, if Varian arches his neck and tilts his head back, he thinks he can almost see—

His blood runs cold. Varian goes still, silent and staring. His breathing rasps loudly in his ears. On his neck—beneath the bandaging, too high to cover entirely— he can see—

No.

It looks like the loose curl of a fern leaf, except it’s pitted and deep and etched into his skin instead.

No, no, no—

His calm has vanished, his mind placing all those disjointed puzzle pieces together at last. In hindsight, the answer is obvious, but—but Varian hadn’t—he didn’t want—

I just wanted to forget about it.

But the world has already made it abundantly clear that it doesn’t give a damn about Varian wants.

Forget taking things slow. Varian’s lost calm and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. He rips off the bandaging with hurried movements, no longer trying to be careful about it. He tears the white cloth from his arms and away from his neck, and the moment it unravels fully he chokes.  

He is aware, distantly, of his breathing growing louder and more erratic, scraping in his throat.

You can’t do this to me, you can’t, you can’t—

But all the bandages are gone and Varian cannot deny it, either.

It’s a scar.

But no—no, maybe that’s an understatement. It’s not just a scar. It’s— it’s a mark. It’s like a brand. It’s a dark hollow of scar tissue in the center of his chest, trailing ends like veins, or the leaves of a fern, or—or a sun. The Corona sun, seared onto his chest and carving through his skin, trailing down his arms and up to his neck, violent and beautiful and cold, as if in saving him from death by the black rocks, the Sundrop power sought to mark him as theirs forever.

Ever since Varian has woken up, there has been a warmth. A pit of light nestled close to his heart. He’d thought it relief. He’d thought it happiness, maybe, that he’d survived. He’d thought— he’d thought.

Varian lifts his hand and presses it against that dark hollow, that impact-site, and feels that same warmth sing beneath his fingers.

He wants to cry, but some part of him knows this isn’t the worst of it, somehow. Not by a long shot. This hollow, this exit wound, where the rock had run him through—so what, then, of the point of impact, if this is what the Sundrop power has done to him here?

He turns around and looks at his back in the mirror, and the last of his breath shudders through his teeth. There is no sun, here. Nothing but scars, brutal and trailing, like a firework explosion at his back, where the rock had struck him through. It looks like a battle wound. It looks as gruesome as it felt; it looks like something no one could survive.

There’re echoes in his ears and dark spots in his vision, and Varian closes his eyes. He sits down slow and careful, curls up on the floor and hides his face in the crook of his arms. He rocks back and forth, wishing he’d never thought to look, trying to forget how it felt to die. 

-

In the end, Varian stays in the cabin only for the night.

When the dawn comes, Varian leaves the hut behind like the hounds of hell are at his heels. He throws back on the oversized shirt and even gives a paltry attempt at replacing the bandaging, but his hands shake too badly to tie the knots. He ends up throwing them down in a fit of disgust and grinding them into the dirt with his heel. Good fucking riddance.

As soon as light crests over the hills, and he can see more than five feet in front of him, Varian escapes into the woods. He practically skips as he flees, leaving the cabin and bandages behind him, the lone mirror shattered into tiny pieces on the floor.

It doesn’t take long to find a town; it takes even less to get directions back to the capital city. The trick is to ask children—eager to please and too forgetful to recognize Varian’s face or name from any wanted posters. Within three hours Varian knows three things: he’s about a five days’ journey from the capital city, he’s in the middle of goddamn nowhere and it’s a miracle he found people at all, and finally—he’s really, really hungry.

He steals an apple and spends another good five minutes talking himself out of feeling guilty, then determinedly marches his way back towards the castle. So, yeah. Easiest thing he’s done all week, honestly.

The problem, Varian knows, is not getting to the castle. That’s laughably easy. The problem is—well.

“Now, then,” Varian mutters, five days later and crankier than ever. He cradles his chin in his hands, eyeing those wide double doors with deep irritation. God, they’re so big. How pretentious can the royal family get? Do they need doors the size of giants? Is it necessary?

Answer: Absolutely not. Varian kind of wants to blow the place up on pure principle, but alas—he needs to get inside, not exact revenge. Not right now, anyway.

“Now,” Varian repeats again, and taps his fingers against his cheek. “If I were a wanted criminal who could be recognized on-sight and had to sneak into a highly fortified and well-guarded establishment without getting caught…” Which, yeah— “What would I do?”

He waits. No answer comes, and Varian sighs into the air and falls back to stare up at the sky. More seriously, he asks himself: “What should I do?”

Ruddiger in the castle, probably with the Princess, and Varian bereft of his usual tools and means of attack. The tunnels are probably well-monitored, after Varian’s little kidnapping stunt with the Queen; the front door is a no-go, no matter how funny it would be to just waltz in through the front gate. Which means…

Varian sits straight up and stares at the wide windows overlooking the gardens, over twenty feet high and gleaming in the light. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, damn it.”

He misses the days when explosions solved all his problems.

-

Okay, so, to be totally blunt: Varian and plans have never had a very substantial relationship. He has ideas, the ideas fail, he makes more ideas and ultimately finds out that yes, actually, water can catch on fire! Or at least, it will if Varian’s anywhere near it, science and logic be damned.

The point is, when Varian makes plans, things go horribly awry. Witness: his last plan got him killed, and left him with an annoying-ass scar that Varian is still trying not to think about. Which is why, when it comes to breaking into the castle… well.

Varian basically decides to wing it.

Sure, okay, it’s not the smartest idea—but again, the plan thing. If Varian is going to fail regardless, he might as well limit the explosions to a somewhat more manageable level. Ruddiger’s in there, after all, and… after all the goddamn trouble Varian went through to keep Rapunzel alive, killing her now would just be stupid.

(He ignores the quiet whisper lingering in the back of his mind. The softer voice that says, Never stopped you before, a little sad and a little bitter, almost regretful. Before—the before doesn’t matter, because there is no after. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s changed. Varian just hates useless actions, is all. Killing Rapunzel now, after saving her—that’s a useless action, so he won’t. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.)

The start of his “winging-it” plan is the simplest—and easiest—part of the whole affair. Varian waits until dusk, when the shadows are longer and the torches are more dull than illuminating, and slips into the bushes by the castle wall when the guards aren’t looking. From there it’s a waiting game—sitting still in the shrubbery, legs pressed up against his chin, trying not to sneeze as the sun sets. Maybe it’s the waiting, or maybe just the stress, but the sun sure does take its goddamn sweet time. 

Finally, finally, darkness falls over the kingdom. Varian creeps his way along the wall—still hiding in the bushes, in the hopes that if he’s spotted they’ll assume it’s an animal instead of a homicidal teenager—until his reaching hands catch in a small indent in the stone.

Varian grins.

Okay, so—step one success. He’s gotten to the breach, and even better, so far he hasn’t been spotted. Rapunzel has the tunnels under surveillance, the doors on lockdown—but she doesn’t yet know how much Varian’s scoped out the castle, nor does she have any idea how many of her hidden escape routes Varian’s figured out.

Thank-you very much, you restless stir-crazy princess.

Varian slips out from the bush, quietly preening. Take that, Rapunzel. He’s still got it, and he didn’t even have to use alchemy this time. So what if he accidentally took a hit for Rapunzel? It’s not like it means anything, and this just proves it. Redeemable? Varian? Hah! He’s getting into that castle, he’s taking Ruddiger back, and then he’s getting as far away from Corona as physically possible.

Just you watch, Princess. I’ll prove you wrong. And then, then, Rapunzel can finally stop this stupid insistence that they don’t need to fight. She’ll strike back, the cycle will restart, and things can just… finally go back to the way they were.

(Beneath his collar, his new scar burns.)

Varian crouches down and ducks into a roll, wriggling his way through the small breach of the wall. He emerges through the other side without fanfare, into another set of bushes, this time in the palace gardens. He’s in!

Varian snickers under his breath, terribly pleased with himself. He’s gotten really good at an evil laugh, but alas he’ll have to save it for the escape—but just this celebration is enough. He’s gotten in! Now he just has to find a window, and soon he’ll be scot-free. Varian’s pretty good at this “sneaky” thing.

He steps out from the bushes, ready for things to finally go his way… and crashes right into the legs of a patrolling guard.

The guard yelps. Varian screams. The guard looks down. Varian looks up.

“Oh, fuck me,” Varian says, with intense feeling, then rolls up onto his feet and books for the castle entrance.

“What? What? Wait—was that—hey! Hey, kid! Hey! Stop in the name of the law!”

“Hell no!” Varian shouts back, and rounds the corner so fast he almost trips over his own feet. Oh, damn. Damn, damn, damn. He needs—he needs—a window! He needs to find a window, where—?

There.

Varian rockets forward, nearly crashing face-first into the wall, scrambling at the ground even before his knees fully hit the dirt. His fingers close around a hefty rock and he lifts it up high, weighing it in his palm as angry voices rise up behind him.

No time to waste. Varian reels back and chucks the rock as hard as he can, covering his eyes as soon as the stone leaves his hand. He hears the glass shatter, and lurches forward, following the sound, picking up a branch by his heels to knock out more glass from the frame.

“See, right there! The kid! I swear—”

“Wait—”

“Is that—”

“Didn’t he die?”

Varian grits his teeth and slams his branch into the glass. The hole is big enough, now—too small for an adult to slip through without slicing their arms to ribbons, but then, Varian has always been small for his age. For once it’s actually working in his favor! Hey, small mercies.

He slips through the window, pulse jumping in his throat, adrenaline burning acidic in his veins. He barely even feels the pin-pricks of pain as his bare feet press against the broken glass. His mind is all alarm bells—he’s got to get moving, and he’s got to move now.

“Do you think—is he—a g-ghost?”

His scars burn with memory, and for a moment the world turns dark and hazy—smoke in the air and blood rising in his lungs, the echo of a voice in his ears—but Varian shakes the sound away. Damn it, damn this, damn them.

Go, go, go!

This is what Varian gets for being cocky. Ugh. Will he ever learn?

Varian starts to run, his feet burning with every step, already breathless. Secrecy is shot to all hell. He almost slams into maids, into cooks, into servants—most just yelp, but those who do see him go white in the face and drop whatever they’re holding, and their words make his heart clench.

“—Dead—”

“Woah, hey! Who—?”

“But the reports say—”

Varian skids on the bare tile and goes barreling in the other direction, breath wheezing. He almost runs over a young seamstress, who falls over in a heap of colorful fabric, and even races past the same cryptic doctor from the village (seriously, what?), who whirls when she sees him and shouts, “Oi, child—”

The rest of the message is lost. Varian is already gone.

This was such a bad idea, some small, terrified part of Varian is wailing. Such a bad idea. I’m an idiot. Oh, my god, I’m an idiot.

This is why Varian needs Ruddiger. Total proof. Now, if only he could findhim—

Varian has to calm down. No, he needs to calm down. He can still salvage this. So what if he’s been spotted? The guards haven’t caught him yet, everyone else thinks he’s some mass hallucination/ghost, and so far, so good: Varian hasn’t run into anyone who really knows him yet, so his cover’s still safe. He can do this. He can salvage this. He can— 

Varian rounds another hallway half-way through this thought, and his feet slip on the smooth stone. His eyes go wide. He slams into whichever poor fool is on the other side, just as surprised and off-guard as he is, and all three of them go tumbling down to the tile.

Ow!

His scars burn. His feet ache. And Varian looks up, one hand rubbing through his hair, and meets the stunned gazes of Corona’s King and Queen.

[kat-hawke]

Opportune Moments

The constant barrage of medical exams and evaluations began tiresome. Now more of an annoyance, repeating some tests, as if they were searching for a reason to keep her from fully returning to active duty. Growing restless in the waiting after the most recent set of tests, the Director waits until the sun touches the horizon before making her move. Tucking the large envelope into the inner coat pocket she takes to the lower levels of Boralus, finding the waterways easier to navigate than the cobblestone streets above, along with less foot traffic to impede her.

The boardwalk rounded a corner, the faint sounds of water lapping against timeworn posts competing with the sound of her boots agains the boards. A sudden halt brought on by a folded note, carefully placed on the planks in her direct path. Ambers scanned the immediate area, knowing it was intentional and know aware she was being watched. With lips pursed in a scowl, knees bent to lower her body, fingers quickly snatching the paper and folding it open.

‘Hope you’re enjoying Boralus. Plenty of places to push a girl into the water, after all. Talk soon?’

No signature, none was needed. “Sure, luv’. Soon.” The page was quickly folded over in her fingers before it was discarded into the water with a flick of the wrist. Continuing on her way, the pace starting out slow and cautious before picking up again. How she managed to get into the City was one question, why was another. The elf either here to settle up on the bounty the Director’s head carried, or an attempt to lure her into something else. More concerning was just how the assassin tracked her down, having never disclosed her identity in their brief meeting before the war.

I didn’t take long before the lithe figure slipped from the shadows behind the Director, watching her reaction from finding the letter with a sly smirk. Trailing behind at a respectable distance, aware that it wouldn’t take long for Kat to realize she wasn’t alone, Vynette called out, folding her arms across the chest.

"You could really teach a class on dropping off the radar, you know. I almost started to believe the rumors of your demise, Miss Hawke."

Freezing mid step, Kat cast her gaze back over the shoulder with a brow arched inquisitively. The voice was unfamiliar and to her surprise she found no Sin’dorei, but a blonde haired Quel’dorei. Equal parts skeptical and paranoid the conclusion that it was either an illusion or an associate of who she was expecting. Inquiring further before taking any action.

"Hard to teach a class on gettin' held prisoner at sea." The words fell cold, features displaying the full level at which she was unamused. "Do I know ya'?"

"I suppose I'm drier thank you remember. Oh, and my eyes are blue now, so I suppose I should forgive you for forgetting me. Though it was a good kiss," Vyn pointed out, tossing the flat stone she palmed across the surface of the water. "Now that I think about it, I think I technically have a contract to kill you. Damnedest thing though; there seems to be no trace of my employer, so I suppose you luck out there."

That was the confirmation needed, the Quel’dorei merely an illusion.

Without missing a beat the Director had blinked through the shadows and had the elven woman pinned to the wall along the other side of the boardwalk. A dagger drawn within a second from the shadows and the blade pressed firmly against the woman's throat. Kat's left eye glazed over in a void-purple hue, a clear indication that the unnatural speed of her reflexes had a magical aid. Her gaze narrowed harshly and her tone dropped low, nearly a primal growl. "Ya' have thirty seconds to explain yer business here before I open yer throat like a gutted fish. Whether or no' I believe ya' will be seen. I lost friends in both Teldrassil and Lordaeron, ya' monsters don' deserve any mercy after that."

Teeth bared in a grunt, yet Vynette managed to forced herself to remain composed, despite the steel pressed against her throat.

"Okay, okay. No foreplay, straight to business," She grumbled, Kat’s gaze narrowing and the blade twisting just enough to shave the top layer of skin. "Alright! You're not the only one who's suffered an upheaval lately. I'm still looking into the who and how, but I was framed for being an Alliance spy. Every source I have says I'm kill on sight."

Vyn considered trying to slip away from Kat or get herself out of her compromising position, but showing her competency seemed less important at the moment than proving she was not a threat or an enemy. "It's a dangerous world to be in the Horde's crosshairs right now without protection. I've never been a Horde loyalist. I'm a pragmatist. If I'm already accused of being an Alliance spy, it seems smarter to find a role as one. The only place more dangerous than being on one side is being between both."

Meeting the Director’s gaze, Vyn did not shy away from the deep void hue that stared back at her. She was an assassin; she knew the shadows well enough not to fear them. "In my research for the previously mentioned hit job, you seemed like the kind of woman who could value a useful resource. Also, sun and stars, you're strong."

"Get kicked to the curb fer no' bein' loyal, so try yer luck on the other side an' hope the same doesn' happen. No' loyal before, why would ya' be now?" Kat stepped further in, applying pressure against the woman pinned to the masonry. "Keep jumpin' the fence an' ya'll eventually get impaled upon it. Perhaps it's better fer ya' that ya' didn' fully pursue said contract, wouldn' have ended well."

"It was a suspicious contract anyway," Vyn dismissed, her breathing controlled to minimize any contact with Kat's blade. "I'm not loyal to factions, that's fair enough. I can be loyal to people."

That seemed to catch the Director’s attention, loyalty to people over a cause or faction.

Vyn's blue eyes dropped, meeting the planks below their feet. "I am my work. I had two lives and one of those is fucked now. All I am now is an asset looking for use. I don't question orders and I don't have qualms with what I'm told to do. You could kill me and the world has one less elf, and good for you. Your files suggest you're more practical than that. It's an offer worth at least considering, isn't it?"

The Director's gaze searched the blue hues of the illusioned woman, remaining narrowed in both suspicion and caution, refusing to move or let Vynette free. "Ya' claim to be loyal to people, yet where is the evidence of such?"

"My employers," Vyn replied immediately, shifting her gaze upward to lock with Kat’s. "I've never given them up. I've never turned on them. I've never compromised my ability to perform a job. I had people I worked with consistently. I'm never going to bite the hand that feeds me."

"And wot of them now?"

"One wants me dead. One I'm amicable with. I have no intentions of giving up either; that's part of my own contract I keep til I die." The assassin sighed, feel a rare and raw sense of loss.

A low hum rolled in the back of the Director's throat as she considered Vynette's words and proposition. "Consider them all dead, fer yer own sake." The words were spoken dry as the finger around the hilt of the dagger released, the weapon vanishing in a dark and thick cloud of shadows. Backing away, she freeing the woman from the vice like pin against the wall, arms crossing beneath her bust as weight was shifted to one leg. The left eye returned to it's amber tone but the death like glare remained. "I'll need a reason to trust ya', yer only gettin' one chance. Don' fuck it up." Turning as she spoke, the Kat carried on in her initial path.

Vyn let out a breath of relief, glad to have finished her conversation without a new battle wound. She raised a hand to the faint slice on her throat with a nod. "Don't intend to, ma'am." She assumed she'd get more details eventually; for now, she would not press the issue.

Amber hues glanced back over her shoulder. "Ya' were intended to follow..." Her tone indicating clear annoyance, though gait remained unchanged.

"Oh. Duh. Right." Vyn took hastened steps to fall back in line with Kat as she walked.

"Hopefully ya' read a target better than a situation." She mumbled. "Just so happens a have yer one chance now." A bare hand slipped down to retrieve the envelope from pocket within the coat, holding it up between two fingers at the woman. "Don' read it, don' open it."

Taking the offered item in one hand Vynette further inquired. "Not reading it, not opening it. What do you need me to do with it, ma'am?"

"Switch it out." She stated, bluntly. Stopping their path at the bottom of a flight of stairs, Kat nodded upward. "Second buildin' on the right. One yet switchin' with will be on the third floor, either on or in a desk of the main physicians office."

Ambers quickly returned, pinning the elf beneath her gaze. "Don' fuck it up."

Vyn glanced at the envelope, carefully storing it so it remained unbent. “On it, boss.”

Second building on the right, third floor, unless Vyn misheard due to the director’s accent. She would have to get used to that. After assessing the buildings, she slipped into the alleyway between the third and fourth buildings to the left. The area around her target building was too well lit and visible for her liking. The alleyway she chose was dark, dank, and the wall fixtures on the third building were better for climbing.

And climb she did, carefully moving from handhold to foothold until she made it to the shingled roof of the building, looking out at her target. She pulled up her hood and the mask she liked to wear beneath it, scanning the windows. One open window on the fourth floor. Not ideal, but it would do. Taking a steadying breath, Vyn got a running start on the roof, leaping and vanishing into a puff of smoke as she slipped into the shadows. Given her namesake, it only made sense she was familiar with the shadow magic of her craft.

With a quiet tumble, Vyn was in an abandoned office on the fourth floor. She moved to the door and pressed her ear to it. No sounds from the hallway and nothing causing the floorboards to shake. Silently, she opened the door and slipped into the hall, looking for a staircase.

Vyn left the stairwell and entered the third floor just in time to hear footsteps approaching. Jumping up, she braced herself against the walls of the narrow hallway to remain overhead, slipping into stealth, holding her breath as guards walked through the hall, under her, and into the stairwell. When she was certain the coast was clear, she fell silently to the floor and made a beeline for the room Kat directed her to find.

Sure enough, when she determined which room was the office of the main physician, there was an envelope sitting squarely on the desk in front of the chair. Nothing seemed to be a trap, but she still handled the envelope cautiously as she replaced it. With the swap complete and with the faint reverberations of footfalls returning to the floor, Vyn opened the window and slipped out. Hanging from the ledge, she closed the window, just as she found it, and fell to the ground below.

Vyn gave herself three minutes to ensure there was no alarm sounded or ruckus caused by her appearance, and once she was clear, she found Kat and handed her the physician’s envelope. She had no clue what was in the envelope, but that did not matter. “Done and done, ma’am.”

With a deep hum of moderate approval, the Director took the envelope from the woman, quickly stashing it away into the lining of her pocket after ensuring it had remained sealed.

"Well done. I'll be in touch. Don' go far." She spoke flat, with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Pivoting on one leg Kat took her leave towards to center of Boralus, her gait quick and with purpose.

[ @lovelydeadlysocialite ]

[mjwiththefangs]

Beautifully Deadly (NaLu) #3

Chapter 3

Vampire/Supernatural AU

Rating: M

Summary:  "Supposedly an entire kingdom disappeared when their queen went beyond the borders, remember?" When Natsu Dragneel leaves the kingdom to investigate mysterious disappearances, he finds a much bigger adventure than he was bargaining for, including a beautiful vampire hidden away in an ancient castle. She has little to say about her past, or why she's locked away. Who did this to her? What has she been feeding on? One thing Natsu knows for sure that she is dangerous... Could she have something to do with the disappearances? "I'm sorry, Natsu, but I'm just so thirsty."

Chapters: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6

Read it on: AO3 & FF.net

A/N: Hello again! As i am nearly finsihed editing chapter 4 and drafting up a LOT of notes, i’m finally getting round to updating Tumblr :) hopefully, all the chapters across all platforms are much easier to navigate now! As always, I hope you enjoy reading!

‘Leo. Your Regulus always did shine the brightest, it makes it easier to find you’

Her eyes scanned the darkened sky above, mapping out the stars, the faintest ghost of a smile on her face as she found the constellation she was looking for. She was stood in what she supposed had once been a rooftop garden, at the top of the tower, hands crossed delicately on the stone wall.

‘My most brave lion. Oh, Loke, you have no idea how much I miss you and the others so.’ The smile faded. A pained frown fell across her features. She missed them. Truly, she did. The Zodiac were her most loyal companions within the household. She wondered what became of her old household.

Lucy could feel herself spiralling into her own mind. What of her kingdom? Her father? How long had she been here? Like this? Would she ever see the sun again? It came as a shock to her that she could scarcely recall what it looked like.

She had spent so many of her days in the crumbling library, reading stories to remind herself what it had been like under the Sun, stretching out on the grass and catching the rays.

She read stories of brave knights, armour shining in the light. Of beasts and creatures, blessed by the Sun itself. She had read of how they were believed to embody the Sun's most raw elements, providing life, warmth and light, in many forms. That she found believable. She had seen living embodiments of the moon and stars, after all.

She had also witnessed Death.

She jolted away from the wall at that memory. That memory brought the other, unwanted, memories associated with it. She shook her head. Golden strands danced in the moonlight.

Lucy didn't want to remember. Not the man who took her life away. Who made her a monster. Who she ran from. He disgusted her.

She didn't want to remember. But the memories came anyway, reminding her of her escape, how she ended up here and who she met on the way.

She clutched at her head, screwing her eyes shut.

‘Mom..’ Whimpering, she sought solace instead in the memory of her mother. In happier times, she believed. Being told stories of the constellations, the spirits of the zodiac, the very same spirits who were loyal servants to her and her family. She missed feeling her magical link to them. The bond that allowed her to call them to her aid.

Magical energy.

She felt the bloodlust rising in her again, like bile up her throat. Her eyes darkened.

She hunched over, a hand now clawing at her throat, and sank to her knees. As she drew in a rasping breath, she felt sharp, elongating fangs scrape her lips.

She was thirsty.

Nearby, she could hear the same wolf howling as before.

.

Natsu clicked his tongue, encouraging Flame in a rhythmic trot. The stallion snorted. Natsu took it as a sign of the horse's unease.

‘Yeah, me too buddy.’ he murmured, giving Flame a reassuring pat. His ears flicked and he snorted again.

Natsu cast his eyes upwards. He'd long since lost track of how many hours he'd been riding. His father would surely be in a frenzy now. Erza would be commanding the royal guard in a search for him. Gray would be cursing himself for being unable to prevent his departure.

Natsu was glad of his and his steeds’ flames at that moment. They had successfully burned the trail.

Now he just had to find a lonely wolf.

It was then he heard the howl. It was primal and filled with grief. It sounded close.

Natsu turned Flame in the direction of the sound. He felt how tense the animal had become beneath him. Atlas Flame had always been a fierce stallion. Yet, a metal studded wolf as large as he was and strong to boot was something he shied away from.

Natsu just hoped that as a pair they could hold their ground. Speed was in their favour after all. Even if the rugged terrain was not.

.

Lucy stumbled down the staircase. Her heart hammered beneath her breast, blood roaring through her ears. She panted and gasped.

She hadn't suffered Bloodlust this strongly for a long time. She needed to feel magic in her veins again, she needed to feel alive again.

Lucy felt as though she were drowning. The only colour she could see was red. It burned the edges of her vision. She wondered briefly how horrific she must appear at this moment. Her eyes would be glowing red, the severity of her condition slitting her pupils, and dark sinister shadows spread out around her eyes. She panted and her tongue brushed past her fangs to wet her lips. She lost count how many times she'd accidentally bitten herself in the beginning.

Lucy was heading to the pantry. She knew she wouldn't find what she needed there. She was staggering through the kitchen, vaguely aware of shattered glass beneath her feet.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her head. She hissed at the sensation. Cold sweat ran down her neck. Her head throbbed. She tried to scream. Her throat was too parched to make a sound. She clawed long nails at her neck. She was suffocating. The pain surged in her head. Stronger. Her legs gave way. Her vision failed her. She collapsed to the ground among the glass.

.

Natsu clucked the reluctant stallion forward. They carefully navigated sharp rocks and uneven ground. Natsu didn't favour his odds. He could see tracks. He could also see glints among the rocks. There must be an iron vein nearby. Natsu had to be on the right track.

His nose told him so.

His sensitive ears detected a low growling nearby. Too late, he realised it came from behind him.

‘Shit!’

He whirled Flame on the spot. The horse rose onto hind legs, nostrils flaring and hooves flailing.

Before them loomed a gigantic black wolf. Studded piercings adorned his facial features, and were littered among his legs within his thick coat. His right foreleg was scarred, missing patches of hair.

But his eyes were certainly his most terrifying feature. They flashed an angry crimson.

‘Gajeel!’

The wolf ignored the cry of his name. He lunged forward.

The stallion rose again, ears pinned back. Ignited hooves struck out. Natsu threw himself forward in the saddle, hoping to keep his partner balanced.

Gajeel tumbled behind them, smouldering ash on his shoulder. He snapped his teeth, snarling. The wolf pounced once more. Atlas Flame bucked defiantly as sharp claws struck his rump. But the wolf's grip held fast. Hooves slid on the gravelly surface.

Natsu swore. He hadn't expected Gajeel to be so out of control. He hung low over Flames’ powerful neck. He gritted his teeth. He turned in the saddle, fire erupting from his fist.

Gajeel adjusted his jaw, trying to bite into the flesh. A shrill whinny rang through the air, and as Natsu turned, aiming his fist to swing at the wolf, Atlas Flame leapt upwards in a wild bronk and surged across the gravel, losing balance.

Both Natsu and Gajeel were thrown from the stallions’ back. Free of his burden, the agile creature staggered only for a moment and galloped away from them.

Natsu felt the wind knocked from his lungs. He groaned loudly. He felt like he'd had a mountain dropped on him. A ferocious snarl snapped him back to his senses. Huge paws descended on him, and he clumsily rolled to the side. He narrowly avoided being crushed.

He wasn't so lucky as he thought. He'd been too slow. He felt it then. The sharp claw that had impaled his side. He felt it. And it hurt.

Impulsive fury took over him. He inhaled rapidly as carnivorous teeth flew toward his face and he roared. A jet stream of fire burst forth, hurling the wolf from him with a yelp.

Gajeel growled low, disgruntled, recovering his footing. The wolf in him decided the meal was not worth being burned for. He shook the embers from his fur before turning and loping away.

Natsu panted. He slumped onto his back, a hand on his side. The claw had torn his flesh as he'd roared fire at the wolf.

‘Stupid metal head.’

Thanks to Gajeel, Natsu had now lost his steed. He grumbled unhappily.

‘Bolt-for-brains. Dumb dog.’ Natsu muttered insults until he felt he'd recovered his breath back. He pouted to himself. Now what?

He had found Gajeel, and that had not turned out in his favour. He needed to find somewhere to rest and re-evaluate his plans. He sat himself up, a hand on his side. The wound didn't feel quite so deep as he initially thought, but it was still going be a hindrance to him until it healed.

He absorbed his surroundings. He appeared to be perched on the side of a mountain, besides thick forested area. Nearby, he glanced over a stone-built structure. He was far from home, no doubt of that. Scanning his location, it took his eyes a moment to realise that the stone structure was part of what looked like an ancient castle. It was in mild disrepair, abandoned, he assumed. It wouldn't take too long for him to get to the entrance, even on foot. There surely had to be supplies remaining inside.

But first. He grimaced, raising his torn and bodied shirt. The wound was certainly an eyesore. He steeled himself, carefully igniting his hand. Then, counting quickly to 3, Natsu pressed the fire to his flesh. He'd always hated the smell. He hissed through his teeth in painful discomfort. He knew he'd made messy work of it, but at least his injury was cauterised. For now anyway.

With that taken care of, he began his hike to the ruined structure.

.

The first thing he was aware as he entered through the groaning wooden doorway was the smell. The coppery scent that hit him firmly in the nose. A frown pulled down on his features. He tugged his white scaled scarf over his nose. It had been gifted to him by his father many a year ago, and he’d not parted with it ever since. Right now, it proved to be very effective in reducing the assault on his nose.

His curious nature had the better of him. He still held his injured side, not caring for the stains on his shirt or the way the damp material clung and stained his palm.

He followed the scent through winding hallways and corridors until he found himself in what appeared to be an old kitchen, including a pantry cupboard to his near side. His eyes fell to the scene before him. Glass, shattered everywhere, and splatters of blood. What had happened? And in the middle of it all, he saw her.

At first, he thought her a corpse. A shiver ran down his spine. She was laid on her back, pale gold hair spread out around her like a halo. She had always had a smooth, pale complexion, but now she was as white as snow, with dark rings around her eyes. It was when he heard a pained whine escape her, he realised with a start that she was in fact alive.

‘Hey! Are you ok? What happened!’ He rushed to her, scarf flying from his neck, discarded.

He knelt beside her. He looped an arm around her shoulders, raising her. His hand reached to brush the hair from her face. He grimaced at the red smear he left behind on her cheek. She was as cold as ice.

‘Can you hear me?’

She began to stir in his hold. Relief flooded him, exhaling slowly.

Then her eyes snapped open. Her pupils burned crimson, slitted and stark against fathomless darkness. The image of them would be forever burned into Natsu's mind. A noise, halfway between a snarl and a hiss erupted from her mouth. Her sharp predatory teeth flashed in the pale light. She pounced, surging upwards. Even with draconic instincts, he was too slow to react. Fangs tore into the soft flesh of his throat, cutting into his arteries like knives.

Natsu gasped, emptying all air from his lungs. He felt paralysed, struck by lightning, his muscles frozen and rigid. His mind screamed. He heard a pleasant groan. The girl had a hand fisted in his hair, the other like a vice grip on his shoulder. Her mouth remained locked to his neck. She drank greedily and deeply from him. Natsu could feel his life force being drained away from him. He briefly thought her a starved and vicious animal. In panic, he desperately tried to channel his magic. A flame burst to life in his hand. But as she drank, his eyes widened in horror as the flame slowly shrank and at last died out. She hadn't even been aware, still lapping at his blood. His magical energy was being sapped away too. Natsu felt himself growing weaker. Her weight leaned heavily on him, and he crumpled over, falling onto his back, with her on top of him.

The thud as they hit ground jolted through the blonde girl. Her mouth released his neck with a wet popping noise. She blinked, her mind clearing away a heavy fog. The first thing that registered was that she felt warm. She rose upright slowly, unaware yet of the body she sat on.

Natsu barely noticed that she'd stopped drinking. His vision blurred at the edges. He tried to focus his attention on her. Now that the shock of being bitten faded, he found himself able to move again. He watched her carefully. It was like she was possessed a moment ago. What a weird vampire he'd discovered. He reached towards her, a hoarse sound escaping him.

She suddenly realised that she was, in fact, not alone. Her eyes locked with his. She screamed, scrabbling away from him. He visibly flinched at the noise.

‘Why are you here!’ she shrieked, pointing at him accusingly.

Natsu didn't answer her. His vision faded to black and his body went limp.

[thesleepiestspiny]

A Family Affair

After his transfiguration stabilized, Frostolas no longer stood ragged of breath and shivering from his own cold. He had dominion over a vast well of demonic energy, and had brought himself to a twisted facsimile of his prime.

 He towered over Aquaria now, thanks to a suit of armor that had manifested over himself. It was then that she remembered he was not originally a caster by trade.

He was a spellsword.

She jumped back as he swung the large claw of ice that emerged from his side, his fogged breath emanating from his masked visage. Delenus lept to try and put himself between her and him, but Frostolas summarily slapped him aside, a jagged icicle impaling him in his side; It barely missed his vitals, but he was out of commission for now.

She wanted to cry out his name and run to his side. But she knew there wasn't any time. Frostolas was already drawing the sword his new form had given him, so she readied her trident.

 "You remind me of him, you know." he spoke in an unnaturally deep voice as his permafrost-coated boots clacked against the iced-over stone. His sword - a two handed blade by design - seemed almost weightless in his hand as he swung at her. She blocked it, but was put off balance from the sheer unholy force behind his swing. He followed up with a hook from his opposite hand, sending her spiraling backwards. By the time she recovered, he was already swinging again. She caught his sword in a block of ice to stun him and stabbed at him, denting his armor as he craned his head to one side to avoid one of the prongs.

 "He was resourceful," Frostolas spoke again, grabbing her by the head and raising her up. "But he could never match my raw might."

He swung the blade at her, using the ice around it as a bludgeon, breaking it free and shattering the mouthplate of her helmet as she was once again sent reeling back.

"s-... shut UP." she sneered as she spat blood at him. Her own quick thinking froze the blood mid-air. She took solace in the fact that he actually winced as he put his hand up to block the razor-sharp splinters. She took this moment to rush him again, stabbing deep into his foot. He let out a guttural snarl as he dropped his sword and grabbed her again, forcing her to her knees. He raised his clawed hand up, forming a blade of ice in his hand,  intending to end the fight as quickly as he had started it.

"Now, go meet him, and tell him Soui shall remain ever-lasting."

He brought the jagged weapon down. Only to be met with a clatter as something dove in the way.

He. Knew that visor. That shield.

He swore that armor had been left on the mountaintop. Where he had left his brother's corpse.

"I finally found you, my brother." the figure spoke. In that exact voice.

Frostolas's cold demeanor gave way to inarticulate rage as he roared before being interrupted with the abrupt snap of his makeshift blade, and a solid blow to the face from the assailant's shield. While the titan was reeling from the blow, the new combatant helped Aquaria to her feet.

"D... father?" she croaked as she saw him in the worn, but recognizable armor he had first left the castle in a year ago, chiefly noticing a stab wound in his chest with dried blood caked in the wound. He hugged her tight, as if he was afraid to let go. She hugged him with a similar tightness as the fact that he was truly here began to sink in.

"I'm here, sweetie. Dad's here."

Azulos turned to face his brother, still in disbelief at who was standing before him. As he did so, Aquaria used a wave of her hand to break Delenus free of the icicle so he could get somewhere safe to recover. "Delenus, get patched up. This is a family matter."

"Ngh... y-you got it, queenie." He said, limping away, keeping his wound from bleeding out too badly with his own magic. "Take 'im down, your majesties."

"No. No. You. YOU..." Frostolas ranted to himself, picking up his blade. The louder he spoke, the more his jaw-like mask opened with his own mouth. He lunged at his brother, locking weapons with him. "You played dead all this time."

"What's your call, Aquaria?" The king said, glancing back to his daughter. She nodded. "I need a moment to catch my breath; keep him in your close quarters. I'll play a bit of havoc with him!"

Frostolas pulled his fist back to punch, but felt something weigh heavy against it as it and Aquaria's own outstretched hand gleamed. He settled for kicking Azulos backwards and staggering away, leveling his sword at them.

"My brother; always needs help to fight his battles."

Azulos merely bowed his head. "You truly have gotten worse."

At that, the demonologist sneered as he stepped forward to strike. However, his feet refused to move as Azulos closed the gap for him, stabbing at him with shield and spear in-hand. It draw blood across his cheek, but caused him to grip the spear and stab his brother in return. He leered triumphantly as he felt it pierce Azulos's stomach, right where he had previously. Aquaria nearly shrieked.

"Lost your wit in that ditch, did you? "

But his blood didn't run down the blade much at all. That's when he realized exactly what happened.

'He wasn't making me think he was dead. He was making me think he was alive’

Azulos's eyes glowed as he stared up at his brother, eye to eye despite the height difference.

"You've succumbed to wraithhood, haven't you, brother?"

Aquaria started to come to grips with what that meant. She... had met him again. Only to learn she would lose him all over again. "Dad..."

"When I was attacked that day. I swore to myself. I would NEVER rest. Until I knew my daughter was safe. Until I had my final words with you, Frostolas."

Azulos grabbed the blade with one hand and pulled it in close as he stabbed his spear into one of Frostolas's feet. He used what magic he could to hold Frostolas's claw still. The usurper practically roared as he tried to tear himself loose, but Azulos used his magic to ensure he was pinned as Aquaria rushed in. She lept off of Azulos's head (to his slight chagrin), and stabbed her traitorous uncle straight through the eye on his forehead with her weapon's rapier-tip, driving it straight into his skull. He remained silent as he gazed up at her. Then back down at him before the three of them collapsed, Aquaria barely remaining on her feet, and Azulos collapsing overtop his brother, who was unable to move.

"I swore. That I would never forgive you for hurting my family..."

His cold hands wrapped around Frostolas in the best embrace he could manage.

"...nor myself, for not being there for you when you needed me."

Frostolas's eyes widened.

"a...wh-...nrl"

Azulos removed his mask. He dared not let Aquaria see him like this, a frost-bitten mummy of his former self. But he needed to show Frostolas how he truly felt. And his eyes, still welled with tears, were all he had left to do so. "I cast you out for breaking the law... but not a day went by since then where i didn't doubt myself. Where i didn't wonder what it would've been like if i had let you stay. Or yet, when i thought back to our time fighting together, if i had just asked you how you were doing more. If I had just checked on you. I didn't know you-"

Frostolas's hand twitched as he placed it on Azulos's back. He had never expected nor knew he wanted to hear those words before. But it rekindled something in his heart that ached worse than even his own death throes. He mustered all the strength he could in his scrambled head to respond.

"nmh... ghhk-...you. were always. too hard on yourself..."

Azulos's senses were numbed. But he could still feel the final gasp of Frostlas's life leaving him. The permafrost coating his frost-bitten body melted away as the area's temperature rose. He placed his mask back on his face and moved to hold his daughter again, his voice growing choked.

"Im. So sorry for leaving you alone like that. Im sorry that have to leave still. but i will never abandon you. never ever. Not for the sake of the kingdom alone or even the world. But because I will make sure you are safe. I... know all too well how heavy the crown is. I regret that you must bear it now, of all times."

She cried softly into his shoulder as he patted his daughter's back. And yet, she did the same for him.

"... Thank you, father. I remember yours and mother's teachings, but... the friends and fellows i've met, and the heirlooms mother have left me, have helped me adjust. I... I think i'm ready for that burden now, more than ever."

He made a slight choking noise as he composed himself. "That's my girl."

Azulos walked back over to Frostolas's limp body, staring down at him.

"The one final thing I would ever ask of you, Aquaria... Is to bury my brother alongside me. For all the horrible things he had put us through... i would not deprive him of his own family blood any longer. I do not demand this as your father or decree it as king. But ask it of you, as one who serves the throne you now sit upon."

She... frowned a bit. It didn't sit too easily with her at first... But she knew all too well how badly her father's heart ached over his perceived faults despite his attempts to hide it, and had avenged his death and the suffering of her kingdom not two minutes ago. She didn't particularly see any more harm that could be done by digging a spare hole in the family graveyard for him , and knew it would at least grant her father some peace of mind to make his final passing easier. Frostolas would get a grave and a marker, she thought, but would get no proper funeral service. Her compassion did still have limits.

"...I shall make the arrangements once I have the time."

He curtsied as a show of gratitude. "Thank you, your majesty," he said, as he began to walk away. "I shall... be in my old room. I want to recollect before I make my final appointment. I can't keep your mother waiting forever."

She hugged him once more before he could make it to the steps.

"I'm glad you came home. Tell mom I said hi."

Azulos smiled as best he could beneath the mask and held his daughter one last time.

"That I will. I'm sure she'll be proud to hear how strong you've become. We'll be cheering for you."