#wailing in agony and trying to speak and failing and being hard to watch and poor Anya doing most of the work hell all of it until it becom

[dykedvonte]

(mouthwashing) curly being stuck in insulating foam has been on the brain lately, something like the role he took on as a captain trying to stabilize the relationships on the ship leading in some way to everything falling apart, the foam protecting the hull of the ship from being breached and total collapse, curly being ripped out of it causing his perspective to change. do you get me!!!

I think its so interesting that like it's so heavily implied and directly stated that Curly felt stuck and trapped in his current life. His prospects were good but he felt stagnant like the Captain of the ship is all he'll ever be.

The impact rock his perspective but getting pulled out of the foam really did it. Like I think what people miss is that the fire likely didn't take all his skin off, not even the impact. The foam likely did most of the real damage to him in taking off the already damaged skin and dismembering him.

You completely get it in that the foam is like him in a way. It helped in all the wrong ways, he survived, they survived but he's barely doing so. All the resources are blocked off sort of how he had to be the one to make the choices with the scanner. It helps by holding things together, but is what it's trying to hold together even worth it?

Do you think Curly regretted not asking himself that about his relationship with Jimmy?

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY 

      * Warnings: Angst, illness 

      * Summary: You must find your way off of the Green as the toxic effects of your environment finally take hold.

      * Word Count: ~1400 or so

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE*

PART SIX

     Time moved on the Green like a boulder rolling down a hill, careening quickly with a wicked force of gravity until it reached one of many plateaus or stop-gaps, and it then it. Crawled. 

    Your perception of time often depended on what was happening on any given day, and increasingly you grew weary and felt the drag of days like a weight of sand around your shoulders. You grew restless.

    Each day melted into another, hot and mundane. You began to yearn for your escape, to turn over the ramifications of having to stay over in your mind like a gruesome obsession. You tried to keep it down, swallow your despair. It wouldn’t help anything to complain, to wring your hands and wail over the unfairness of your circumstances. You were stranded here and that was that. You tried to keep your head down, eyes forward, and slog through each day as it stretched into a dull eternity. 

    Ezra was nothing if not perceptive. He would softly comment on the mournful gaze that would cross your face and cloud your eyes. How it was agony for him, how he would do anything to take this away. You did not want to burden him, you hated that he worried about you. You would flash him as winning a smile as you could muster, but it did not reach your eyes. Your only comfort was in his arms, in the way that he’d come to you in the tent and wordlessly wrap his arms around you. Hold you so close to him, as if he were trying to absorb you, to siphon off your sadness. Sometimes he held you because he was sad too. At night, you clung to one another as if afraid you’d drift away.

    It was during one particularly hot and oppressive morning that you awoke once again alone. It happened from time to time, more often now than in the past. Ezra would awaken before the dawn, suiting up and trekking out into the Green, looking for other life, any sign of anything that could help get you gone from here. He would invariably return and remove his helmet with a heavy sigh.

    “Next time, perhaps.”

    “We’re getting low on food, Ez.”

    “I know.”

    “We can’t eat aurelac, Ez.”

    “I know.”

    “We need to come up with a contingency plan for when it happens.”

    “We will do whatever we must.”

    Something you didn’t discuss as often was the dry, hacking coughs you were developing. Your air cycler was working less efficiently, a product of unavoidable overuse. The cyclers were meant to be finite, replaced every few months. You’d taken to cleaning the filters as well as you could, but you’d had to wear your helmets while you cleaned, and those filters were beginning to fail as well.

    So when you awoke on that particular morning you were coughing so forcefully you retched. You leaned over the side of the cot and spit. It was grey. You knew now you would die here, and it would be torturous and slow. The spores would build in the sacs of your lungs until you could do nothing more than gasp weakly for each gulp of air.

    When Ezra returned, he whipped off his helmet much more forcefully than usual. He rushed to you and fell to his knees. You knew immediately something was different- his eyes were wide and wild, his hands trembled on the thin, rumpled blankets.

    “I saw a streak. In the sky. A vessel burning up on entry. Someone landed just west of here...it happened right before my eyes. We may have a spectre of hope in this hell, Dove.”

    You stared at him, eyes wide and unbelieving.

    “You…..you’re sure??”

    “I swear to you, may Kevva strike me down where I kneel. It has to be a cruiser or drop-pod by the size of the flames.”

    You reached out to grab his hand, squeezing. His eyes searched your face.

    “I’ll get dressed.”

    This was a gift, and you viewed it as such. But you knew that you both needed to be so, so careful. You did not know who these interlopers were, you did not know their intentions or the condition of their craft. Landing could be rough in the heavily forested Green, if the vessel was a smaller one, as Ezra seemed to think, it may work to your advantage. You needed to be sure.

    You quickly suited up, helmet on, filter rattling weakly. You took what you could, but you did not plan to return. The aurelac you’d harvested over the course of months was packed away to bursting in your rucksacks, and there was room for little else. You’d each grabbed some water and a few nutri-bars. You paused to sweep one last look around the tent where you’d cried, where you’d held low conversation and read and fucked. Events of the past few hours had happened so fast that your head was spinning, strangely blank. You were leaving. You were going to a means of escape or to your death. You felt calm about either option in the stillness of the morning.

    You thanked the tent silently, and you hoped it burned.

        Ezra led the way, and you started your journey. He’d estimated that you should reach your target by early afternoon.

    Your filters were connected for the time being to maximize filtration. This did not stop your unease as you watched the condensation of your breath forming against the plexi of your viewing portal. Every few minutes either Ezra or yourself would cough. It was a dry, barking sound over the static of the comlink. For the most part you remained silent and tried to stick to hand signals when a change in terrain or pace needed to be relayed between you. You had to conserve oxygen, and speaking was an undue exertion unless strictly necessary.

    You’d come upon the burned clearing a bit before Ezra’s projection, judging by the position of the anchoring planet in the sky. The vessel was indeed a cruiser, which was fortuitous in that it moved quicker and offered more stability than a pod.

    You both crouched well away from the cruiser, out of sight. Ezra held his thrower at his side, you had his blaster at your waist. You waited.

    A particularly nasty coughing fit doubled you over at one point. You coughed so long and hard that your vision began to swim, black dots sparking over the horizon of your sight.

    Ezra held onto you ensuring you would not fall over into the moss under your feet. His arm circled your shoulders. When the fit had eventually and blessedly passed his hand was rubbing firm circles into your back. His helmet knocked against yours. When you raised your eyes to his,  fear and heartbreak were plain on his face. You understood that things had progressed to the point where he could no longer hide this from you. Your chest ached and burned.

    A commotion ahead in the clearing broke the spell of your mutual despair. You both froze before turning forward towards the craft.

    The hatch was opening, there was movement from within. Eventually a platform extended to the ground below, and two figures shambled forward with a third held between them.

    They appeared to be mercenaries, holding fast to a restrained prisoner. The prisoner kicked and pulled weakly between them- they had most likely been sedated. Not enough to feel numb to the agony of suffocation, but enough to be handled without too much trouble.

    You were looking at an execution crew.

    The mercs were grunting and growling back and forth in a language you did not recognize.            

    Ezra remained frozen beside you, eyes trained ahead razor-sharp. Predatory. 

    Your hand on your blaster, you cleared your head of thought as the first waves of adrenaline started pumping through you. Slowly, so slowly, Ezra reached for you. He clasped your hand. Squeezed three times. His eyes moved to catch yours. An imperceptible nod.

    You nodded back. 

    They had to die.

    After one more impossible beat of pregnant inaction you both stood and stepped forward.

[sheabuttahwrites]

[ I Know ]

. one : truth hurts...

abstract & introduction

**tw // Domestic Abuse

“You don't hear me talking to you?” he yelled menacingly, demanding an explanation.

My brain immediately scattered and I gasped for air as he shifted his hips, snatching himself out of me. “Baby... wh—what are you talking about?”

“Jade, you know what I'm talking about. You called me some other nigga’s name!”

I opened my mouth preparing to speak, yet, again, words were beyond me. Out of pure desperation, I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a terrible dream. But it wasn't. Sure enough, he was still right there in my face waiting for answers... that I did not have. I had called him Omari's name and I couldn't deny it.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't about to try. 

“Cam, I didn't. You're hearing things.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, he began to shake his head. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying.” 

He pushed himself up, hovering over me, and I watched his jaw tighten as he shut his eyes and took the deepest breath. He always did this whenever he was upset, but I don’t know why. It never actually helped calm him down. “What the fu—are you serious? I know what I heard. You think I’m stupid?” 

“No,” I promptly corrected, leaving no room for assumptions. “But I didn't say someone else’s name, Cam. Why would I do that?”

He completely ignored me and left the bed, starting toward his clothes piled down by the foot. “...Yo, get up. I got something for your ass.”

At the sound of those words, I froze, paralyzed with fear. I already knew what he had for me, and I did not want it. I closed my eyes once again and filled my lungs, trying to figure a way out of this mess. I had seconds to save myself. I was in need of a literal miracle, therefore I could only take it to God. I prayed so hard, but nothing useful came to me, causing reality to set in. I had one choice, tell the truth or continue with the lie. “Cam…”

“Lying and fucking cheating? You know I don't play that shit,” he ranted, failing to even notice that I had just called his name.

“I'm not cheating on you, I swear,” I tried my best to reassure him. “I would never lie to you, baby.”

He turned to me and his glare cut into me like knives. “Bitch, I said get up.”

Tears pooled in my eyes as I slowly sat up and placed my feet to the floor. There was no way I was gonna change his mind. I was kidding myself ever thinking that I could. 

He threw his t-shirt on and I reached down for my clothes as well, in hopes of curing at least a little bit of my vulnerability. “What you doing? I don't remember telling you to put shit back on.”

I swiftly opened my hand and let the shorts and cami fall back onto the carpet. “I'm sorry.”

“That means nothing,” he declared, walking over to me. All of those tears came crashing down; I was so scared. “You already know that shit don't faze me, Jay.”

“Cam, I love you! I'm not seeing anybody else! I don't even want anybody else! It's just you and me, baby. That's it,” I pled, but he ignored my defenses and raised his hand to me. Before I could even blink, it had landed on my tearstained face. I screamed as my neck violently twisted in the direction of his slap. 

“Keep fucking lying!”

His volume had increased to new heights, and so did mine. “I'm not!”

Once I'd come to my senses, it was too late. I stared up into his eyes, so regretful for raising my voice, and he was looking back at me like I had lost my damn mind. It wasn’t my intent to be shouting at him, making shit worse for myself, but it was truly the pain talking. My skin was on fire. Within seconds, the same hand he had just smacked me with flew up around my neck. I instantly took hold of his wrist with both hands, shocked out of my mind. He had never gone this far before. 

“Who the fuck you think you talking to? Huh?” He was standing right in my face. His tone was low, but still so intense. “Don’t you ever raise your voice at me. You hear me?” Terrified, I nodded to the best of my ability. “I can't fucking believe you! Everything I do for you, for us! I leave here for months at a time, working my ass off so your spoiled ass can have everything you want, and this is what I get in return?! You fucking around on me?” He looked so demented, watching me with narrowed eyes while I struggled to breathe and get him off of me. “You can't keep your fucking legs closed while I'm gone?” he questioned through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on my throat. My eyes doubled in size as tears continued to pour from them. I let him go and swatted at his hand crazily, my body begging for oxygen. I was beginning to panic. I never would've thought he’d have me in a situation afraid for my life. “What I tell you?! This shit is mine, you hear me? You are mine!”

“Cam... I can... can't bre...!” I honestly wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. I had only made a careless, stupid mistake and, damn, was I sorry. “Cam, please,” I mouthed to him. The edges of the room were starting to go dark.

“‘Please’ what? With your trifling ass!”

He slung my neck from his clutches and turned away in total disgust. I dropped to the floor, coughing and wheezing, trying to regulate my breathing. Foolishly thinking it was over, I put all of my attention on regaining some composure. I had to calm down. Losing the ability to breathe had always been a huge fear for me, and I didn't want to go into an anxiety attack. I had my hand on my chest, attempting to coax myself into taking deeper breaths, when I felt him grab the bun I had thrown to the top of my head.

“Get your hoe ass up!”

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, just above a whisper. I knew I was wasting my time, but I still had to try. Maybe he would realize what he was doing and feel something for me past the rage. And cut me some damn slack. I felt like I was about to pass out. 

But he refused to let up, yanking me by the hair. I shrieked in pain. “Shut your damn mouth! Don't let me have to tell you again.”

I went against his wishes and continued to try and plead with him. It was my only option. I couldn’t be quiet and I was always too fearful to fight back. I just wasn't ready for the type of trouble that hitting him would for sure bring. His temper had become outrageous and he was so much taller and stronger than me. And, anyway, I somehow managed to piss him off just fine without having to touch him first. I started to feel the burden of his strength as my body began to slide across the floor. I threw my hand up to my head, kicking and screaming, hoping my actions would convince him to release me. I quickly accepted that it wouldn’t be so simple, so I just toughed it out until I was in the doorway. As soon as I saw my chance, I reached out and grabbed onto it with both hands, holding on for dear life.

“Cameron, no! Please don't do this to me! I'm so sorry! Just let me up so we can talk, please,” I shouted in one breath.

“Shut the fuck up! And let the door go!”

Again, I didn't follow his orders; which caused me instant regret. He snatched my hair so hard that I knew some of it had been ripped from my scalp. “Aaaaah, Caaaaam,” I wailed, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to tug my locks away from him. “Stooooop!”

“Let it go,” he roared. Then he bent down and pried my fingers from the moulding. He lugged me out into the hallway and I started to reach for the walls, railing, tables, vases, anything I could attach myself to. But attempting to grip things with only one hand proved impossible. I was knocking shit over and it was falling everywhere, tears were flying from my eyes, the hurt in my voice was undeniable and he didn't give a single fuck. His only care was getting me to his desired destination.

I was somewhat relieved when I saw that he wasn't going for the stairs, but it was no time to celebrate. The carpet was burning the hell out of my hips. Time seemed to lag behind, as those were the longest seconds of my life, being violated by something that was usually so soft and gentle to me. Cam, on the other hand, I was used to. 

After what had felt like forever, he finally brought the torture to an end in the upstairs media room about thirty-five feet away from where we’d started. And, without a pause, he picked me up and tossed my naked body onto the couch. 

“Don't move.”

I was so winded and trembling horribly, but I decided to do as told and remained as still as possible. He started to walk up on me and I just closed my eyes, sure I wasn't doing well enough for him. Terrified of what might've been coming next, I pulled my knees up to my chest and put my face down.

“I'm not cheating on you, baby, I promise. I wouldn't do that to us.” I peeked up at him and hated how familiar this was. I couldn’t even lie to myself anymore and say I didn’t recognize the person standing before me, but he was still so different from the guy I had met and fallen for all those years ago. This version of him just didn't give a fuck. I could easily see that he had absolutely no remorse for what he was doing to me; or all he had done before today for that matter. But, embarrassingly enough, that didn't change the fact that some variation of him still had my heart. “You gotta believe me, Cam. I love you.”

Something I said must’ve been the last straw, because he balled his fist and punched me in the face. Hard! The force even knocked me over. I screamed out, grabbing a hold of my jaw. His blow had made my teeth puncture the inside of my mouth.

“Do you not understand ‘shut the fuck up’?! It means close your damn mouth,” he yelled, answering himself. “Stop fucking talking! Just shut the fuck up!”

There was no more fight left in me. I was in agony. The inside of my cheek stung and I could taste the blood as I checked for broken teeth, my neck was sore from battling against his hand, I could feel about three separate areas where I was sure I had no skin, my head hurt where my hair had been so forcefully pulled, my hands were beat up by the things that had denied my grasp, my anxiety was in overdrive, and one side of my face throbbed as it tried to recover from a slap and a punch. I was done trying to convince him of anything. He was free to think whatever he wanted. 

“And you tell that nigga I'm coming for his ass next, ‘cause I'ma find out who the fuck he is! I swear, you got me so fucked up right now,” he huffed, pacing the floor and massaging his temples. “I don't want your dirty ass in my bed either, so get comfortable. And don't move.” His voice was calm, but, the way he eyed me, I knew not to get up. “When I get back in here, you better be in this same spot. Think I'm fucking playing.”

After his threatening lecture, he turned away and started to leave the room.

“Cam,” I reluctantly called, in a whisper. Blood was filling my mouth and I needed to spit badly. I needed my clothes, too.

“You ain't had enough,” he asked, coming toward me at a pace that caused my already high level of distress to rise. I put my hands out, in hopes that he wouldn't start up again. I knew I wouldn't be able to take much more. 

“Yes, yes! I just want some clothes and I need to go spit,” I exclaimed in one hurried breath. Thank God, he stopped and kept his hands to himself. 

“I want you naked. And swallow that shit.”

I frowned at his response. “But I can't swallow all this,” I gently opposed, tilting my head back to try and prevent it from spilling out as I spoke. 

“Swallow it... or you'll be picking up your fucking teeth.”

Pure shock took over my expression. I couldn't fathom that this was actually happening to me. At his hand. The man I loved, who I thought loved me. I didn't even know what to do with myself anymore. I just felt drained. Dealing with him had become exhausting for me, in every sense of the word. And things weren't getting any better. Instead, he was getting worse. 

New tears formed in my eyes as I fought to rid my mouth of the most foul tasting shit I had ever experienced. They quickly ran down to my chin where they dripped steadily onto my lap. Once I had succeeded, I looked up at him, longing for something--anything--and his face gave me nothing. At that point, all hope was lost. I turned my back to him, curling up and comforting myself, because I knew his ass wouldn't. And he just walked away.

As if it wasn't me who had stood by his side, rooting for him, when his ass had nothing; me who overlooked all of the bullshit he dished almost daily; me who had been nothing but good to him, done nothing but loved and trusted him; me who had gotten the abortion because he said he wasn't ready to be a father; and me who cooked for him, cleaned for him, did any and everything for him. Taking better care of him than I was myself. With no ring on my finger. That shit hurt more than any blow to the body could ever. That was a fucking blow to my heart!

All I could do was lie there in the dark, giving in to the desolation, weeping silently and praying things would turn around the way I always did. I ended up crying myself to sleep.

[wordynerdygurl]

Echoes of You

Author’s Note:  This is from a request sent in to my 500 Followers Challenge.  I’ve included it below... I did have fun with it!  As always, please feel free to re-blog, share, and comment!  Also, I’m accepting tag list requests and story requests!  *The GIF is perfect and I want to thank the original creator/ poster!* Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Summary/ Request: “Loki is badly hurt on a mission and the reader has to make some sort of deal with a dark magical entity to save him. The price she has to pay is that everyone she knows is going to forget she ever existed. She takes the deal and tries to build a new life away from the avengers, however she and Loki keep running into each other and he's very drawn to her.  After a lot of pestering, she agrees to go on a date with him on the condition that he is going to leave her alone after that. Their date goes great and they're almost about to have sex, but she stops him because she thinks he would've never wanted her if he actually had his memories. Obviously he knows though, they both confess their feelings and it ends on passionate, rough smut. Hope that's not too much and you have fun with it :)” Warnings:  Battle scenes of the MCU variety, talk of blood/ death, angst and SMUT

"LOKI!"  

Time freezes in that screamed second.  

You feel yourself running, feet sliding in the gritty sand beneath your boots, desperate.  He is impossibly far away but you can make it.  You have to.

Skidding into the gravel on your knees, you shout his name as you watch him crumple.  He's gone pale, limp, boneless in your arms.  There's blood, lots of it, too much to stop on your own.  It flows freely, drenching you down to your skin, warm and sticky.  There’s no way to stem the flood.  

In your dreams you always catch him in time.  Keeping him off the cold ground, hugging his lean body to yours, ignoring the others as they fight around you.  His twinkling eyes flutter but they stay open, struggling to focus on you.  You watch his soft lips part, they form words, sounds that never reach you in the vacuum of your panic.  

"Hush… it's ok… I'm here.  I got you."  Gurgling platitudes gush from you but there's no way to know if he hears them. A smile, young and sweet spreads across his unbearably handsome face.  Using his last measure of strength, Loki strokes your cheek as you press your hot lips to his too cool skin.  

You wake up wailing, the pillow beneath you wet.  Honestly, it's never dry, not anymore.  Because every night you try to save Loki.  Every night he speaks soundlessly to you.  And every morning you wake up to reality.

Dawn's dark hides you and your pain.  You let the loss of Loki roll over you.  Pulling you under in a rip tide of shuddering sobs, drowning you with memories of what you had before and what you have now.  Swallowing that hard knot of agony, bitter and jagged, your crying steadied then dried out after a few minutes.

This new existence, this new life, was lonely.  Awake now, well before the sun, you pushed out of bed and geared up for a run without much enthusiasm.  When you couldn't ease your mind you took it out on your body.  

Stepping onto the dim sidewalk you stretched just a little.  You wanted to punish your subconscious, your wayward brain, not tear a hamstring.  Setting off with a sigh, your feet slapping the pavement in an even staccato, you tried to turn your mind off.  

On the quiet streets of your new city, one you were struggling to make feel like home, you wanted to outrun the past.  Eager to put distance between you and all that had come before, forcing your legs to go further, faster, you ran by yourself in the shadows.  There was no one to disturb you, not at this ungodly hour.  Not that anyone would.  You used to be a SHIELD agent, one who looked mad at the world, which you were.  So you ran on, giving no thought to direction or neighborhood, welcoming any and all risk if it meant peace of mind. 

Most days the sweat and strain were enough to calm your demons.  By running your body down, your mind would let go too.  Not today.  Today, your dream, like a well directed film, played on a loop in your head.  Each scene was vivid, real, raw.  And not true.

---

"You come here freely?"

Hitching your chin defiantly, "Yes."

The ethereal being before you seemed to float on a crimson cloud, too beautiful to be benevolent, the aura around her dusky skin crackling violet.  Part sorceress, part dark queen, she was your last hope.  A final step you might take to keep Loki alive.

Slinking snake like, she sidled to your side, "I know what brings you here, mortal.  I know what you want."

"Then you know I need help.  Your help."  You weren't begging.  At least not yet, anyway.  But the smell of desperation curled around you, black and rotten, regardless.

"You are not the one in need.  Odin's adopted boy… the prince.  He is dying.  Is it not so?"

Her voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  Strong, soft and sweet, the witch's words echoed in the close quarters of her stony temple.  Swirling around you in the rouge red ribbons of her eternal energy, she did not wait for your reply.  "What is it to you, child?  The death of a Jotun foundling can mean but little to a human.  And yet, you come to me willingly.  Why?"

Hot tears formed, threatening to splash, scalding your cheeks.  Your breath left your body as a gutted groan tore the words from your deepest soul, "I love him."

"Love.  Such a human emotion."  You felt her then, the physicality of her form, as she brushed an errant tear from your face.  The enchantress stilled, her beautiful dark skinned face emerging in front of you, scrutinizing your expression, reading your pain.

Questioning you quietly, "You say that you love the youngest of Odin's sons."

"I do."

"The magic you ask for, it carries a hefty price."

Hope at the thought of her assistance made you boisterous.   "Anything!  I will pay any price.  Twice over, if it keeps Loki alive."

Glowing plum colored, her gaze took you in, measuring you and your resolve.  "Your sacrifice will be great, make no mistake.  It will test the love you claim to feel for this demi-god."

What did you care of sacrifices if it kept Loki alive?  Was there a price too high for the life of your love?  Anger flashed through you, frustrated and flustered, "I heard you the first time.  Will you aid me or not?"

"So cross, so eager."  Silver laughter filled the cavernous space but was short lived.  "You do not know the full cost of your desires and yet... you are in a rush to see them come to fruition.  Child, I can do what you ask. I will do it, if you agree.  In return... no one will remember you.  Only this will purchase Loki's life."

"What?"

The Sorceress took your hand, testing its weight, turning your palm up.  "You heard me.  If this is truly what you want… to keep Loki alive, then your life… your history will be erased."

Gulping hard, understanding hitting you like a freight train, "My life for his?  Is that it?"

Violet eyes bore into yours, purple orbs that fill your vision, unblinking.  "No… you will not die, little mortal.  It is far worse than that.  You will live, but you will live in isolation.  You will be forgotten by Loki… by your family… by your friends.  You will meet them as strangers.  They will carry on without you."

"But Loki will live?"  He had to, you had come too far to fail your God now.

"Yes.  Will you be able to?"

"Me?  I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Will you be able to have a life without the man you say you love?"

Could you?  There had been no one like Loki in your life before.  Smart and strong, sarcastic and cutting, tender and kind.  Loki was all the things you needed in a partner and he made you better at the same time.  Taming you, just a little, being loved by Loki had softened some of your rough edges.  Would it be easy to know he was walking around, enjoying life, but not be a part of it?  No.  But how else could you honor the man who had given you so much?  

With a straining voice, "Loving him, having been loved by him, will have to be enough to satisfy my soul.  There is no other option for me."

Nodding solemnly, content at your knowledge of the bargain, the crimson conjurer drew a symbol on the pad of your hand.  Watching her with widening eyes, she pulled a gossamer green thread from the center of your palm.  A string of memories erasing you in order to allow Loki to survive.  

"It is longer than I would've thought, deeper too."  And you knew what she meant instinctively because your heart pinched as her hands gathered more and more of your time with Loki to her.  Dragging him out of your life with a sharp throb.  When it was over the witch had a skein of your history, emerald green and glossy, which she evaporated into a wisp of smoke.  

You had a small six pointed star shaped scar in the center of your hand.  It was your sole token of the life you and Loki had shared.  That and the memories that you alone carried.

"It is done."  There was finality in her words, a dismissive quality, and for the first time in her presence you were frightened.  Not of her, but of the new world you were facing.

Solemnly, you bowed your head, "Thank you." 

"We shall see, human.  We shall see."

---

By the time you return home, soaked with sweat, you're tired but feeling more like yourself.  It's a relief to feel the night's pain fade enough for you to shower and dress for work.  It's not a career.  But it is just enough to almost pay rent and buy food.

Working with people, although frustrating at times, really does keep the white light of your emptiness away.  Besides, the store offered a discount on clothes, which helped, and there was always something physical to be done.  Lifting boxes, moving racks, hauling trash.  Anything to keep you thoughtlessly busy.  Like you did everyday, you threw yourself into the job, mindlessly.  It was a life raft of sorts, a buoy keeping you afloat, a thing to cling to while trying not to let the weight of your past drag you down.

Listening to the consumer safe playlist, getting into a rhythm, you bobbed your head as your folded t-shirts.  Your co-workers hated restocking, rehanging, straightening the racks.  So, naturally that's what you were doing, lost in your own little world.

"I really don't see why we have to be here, brother."  Something about that voice made you pause.  Haughty and high handed, you could swear that it was…

"Jane has a birthday, brother.  I will not forget it."

"Then, for the love of Odin, bring her some lovely Asgardian silks.  Jewelry in gold or silver.  Or better yet, take her home, seduce her soundly.  Do anything but buy that hideous sweater."

"It's not hideous.  You know nothing of Midgardian fashion."

"Me?  I know nothing?  Dear brother, this suit is Armani.  That is designer.  That means something."

"It means you spent way too much coin, Loki."

Turning quickly you moved closer to the men, still listening, still in disbelief.  Peeking at the mismatched pair through a clothing rack, pushing two furry sweaters apart, your heart was racing.  Stunned, you recognized the strong back of the tall, broad blonde.  When he moved toward another display of shits your jaw fell open.  Loki was here!  Not five feet away!  

"Bah!  I don't see her size."  Thor sighed in frustration, the offending rack of clothes wobbling with the force of his displeasure.  

Loki, picking lint from his sleeve, "Find a clerk… ask for the awful thing in Jane's size so we can get out of this place."  Lifting his piercing blue eyes, he spied you, trying to slip away unnoticed, "You!  Hello?  Yes… can you help us?"

It takes you a second to register that Loki, your Loki, is addressing you.  Stiffly, you straighten up, your eyes rising to his inquisitive azure ones.  They snap with a vitality that was missing when you saw him last.

A cloud passes over his gaze.  Shadows of recognition, maybe?  Or is that just what you want to see?

"Um… sure.  What… uh, what do you need, sir?"  You sound like a robot.  Cringing at the put on voice you're using, awkward and uncomfortable, you smile at Thor.

Loki steps closer, brushing past his brother, not quite in your space but close enough for you to smell his skin.  A familiar combination of leather and vanilla, sugar and spice, reaches out to you.  Your breath hitches at the nearness of him.  Memories on the tip of your tongue.

He's holding a fuzzy sweater, one the color of spicy mustard, about to hand it to you when his head tilts.  "Do… do I know you?"

Heat climbs your face.  Yes.  Yes, Loki.  You know me.  You know me in a way no one else could ever know me.  You know the sound of my sobs and the sigh of my satisfaction.  Why I love the smell of the snow and hate lima beans.  You know me.

And I know you.  I know the strength of your character.   The depth of your love.  Which thoughts haunt you, songs your mother sang over your crib, poems written for no one else to read.  Oh yes, I know you.

But what you say is, "Me?  No… nope.  No.  We've… I mean, no.  You don't know me."  Kicking yourself mentally, the verbal diarrhea couldn't be stopped, and now Loki's surveying you even more closely.

"Are you certain?  It's just… I could swear that I know you."  For the first time since meeting Loki you hear uncertainty in his voice.  It's almost enough to weaken your resolve, tell him all of it, even if it's in the middle of The Loft.

"Have… have you been in the shop before?  I uh, I work a lot."  Looking anywhere but at the handsome man from your nightmares, you settle on the offending sweater, trying to seem like an eager employee not a stuttering mess.

"No."  His smile widened, the natural flirt in him coming out to play, "We have never set foot in this place."

Your thoughts jumbled.  Unprepared for facing Loki, unsure of how to handle seeing him again, you focused on the top Thor wanted to give Jane.  "Oh… well, maybe I just look like someone you used to know?  Um… what size did you say?"

Thor, watching the interaction between you and Loki, was just happy to get back into the conversation.  "Yes.  Size 2 please, my good woman."

Casting Loki a side eyed glance, chuckling at Thor, you made your way to the stockroom.  Stay calm, you willed yourself.  Keeping your back straight, your head level and your breathing even, you walked towards the back.  Your heart?  That jerk was pumping overtime. As soon as you are gone, Thor rounds on his younger brother, "She likes you, Loki!  And, she is rather cute."

Rolling his eyes with a groan, "Cute?  She is far more beautiful than that, brother."

Wagging his golden brows playfully, the God of Thunder teased, "You should take her on a date.  To dinner.  She might actually say yes!"

"It's creepy.  No woman wants to be courted while they're at work.  Although…"  Looking longingly at the “Employees Only” sign on the door you had disappeared into, Loki sighed.

"Yes, brother?"

"Although, she does remind me of someone."

"I have never seen her before.  And she is certainly Midgardian.  There's no other-worldly influence in her."  Thor was sliding through hangers, evaluating gift options for Jane, talking in what he thought was a whisper.

"Yes.  Yes… it's just so strange.  She is so familiar… too familiar."  Loki left his sentence hanging in the air.  You were striding his way, a soft, down turned expression on your face.  The urge to kiss the corners of your mouth overwhelmed him.

"Hi again."  Exhaling, you risked a full look at Loki.  He was scrutinizing you, closer than before, needing to solve the mystery of your connection.

"Hello."  

God, you missed his eyes.  The serious way they took in every detail.  How they lit up with Loki's laughing or glowed with mischief when he got up to no good.  

Swallowing dryly, you remembered his eyes darkening with passion.  Appraising you through dusky lashes, half closed in pleasure as you hugged his body snugly to your own.  His heavy heat inside of you, both finding release, breathing hard, holding onto each other while the world around you faded away.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"  

Loki, peering at you, smirked.  "I said, thank you for the hideous sweater.  My brother's fiancee will hate it but she will, inevitably, appreciate the oaf's effort."

Giggling, your body temperature rose a few degrees, unable to resist Loki.  It was so easy to be around him.  It always had been.

"My lady, thank you!  Brother, I am off to find the cashier.  I shall meet you outside…"  Thor nodded your way, encouraging Loki, failing at being discreet.  

Sharing a laugh with your former lover, Loki risked taking your hand.  You didn't shrug him off.  Instead, your breath caught, frozen in the familiar feeling of his fingers.

"Hmm… you say we are strangers but your body tells another story, little one.  Do you know who I am?"

You could answer that honestly.  Loki wasn't as popular as Thor or Captain America but his name was known publicly.  His reputation was a bit tarnished, surely, but that had always been part of your attraction to him.

Finding your voice, "Yea… I do."

"Uh huh.  Then you know I am not some mortal man, held to the rules and restrictions of this planet.  You understand that I am a God.  One who makes mischief."  Dropping his voice into that silky predatory tone had made your insides go liquid.  

He was too close now, his spearmint breath fanning your face, "Yes, I know where your… skills lie."

Watching your chest heave, your want apparent, Loki licked over his bottom lip, certain he could taste phantom strawberry bubblegum and grapefruit lip gloss.  An odd, yet enticing, combination.  One his mouth knew even if his memory couldn't recall why.

"Then you know I suss out falsehoods.  It's part of the deal, dove.  To lie you must spot lies.  And you…", pressed into a wall mirror, hidden by a rack of wool pea coats, "aren't being truthful."

What could you say to that?  “I… I am too.  Like I said, You don’t know me.” Leaning into you, not touching your begging skin, but still so near, “Little liar.  I think that there might be a way to solve our problem.  Over dinner, tonight.  My treat, assuming there’s a restaurant in this town that is not part of a chain.”

“A date?  With you?” A date was not a good idea.  Too much time to talk might lead to trouble.  Either you’d say too much or, and this was possibly worse, do too much with Loki.  Could you resist his charms?  You weren’t able to the first time around. Now, knowing just how much you missed him, how lonely your nights were without him, would you be able to stop things from going too far?  What if Loki learned the truth?  That you had sacrificed your past together so that he might have a future, would he still want you then?  Could he?

Loki, seeing all these thoughts pass over your face, “Yes.  With me.” “No.”  “No?” “Yes.” “So, yes then?” “No.  Yes to the no.” “I don’t think you know what you want little mortal.  Join me for dinner tonight and I won’t bother you ever again.” Always tricky, this could be another of Loki’s pranks, ready to backfire on you at the drop of a hat.  If he kept his word, walked away after your night out, then it would be worth it. You could do one evening and not lose your head or your heart. “You won’t bother me ever again?  You promise?” That sinister smile spread over Loki’s face, lifting his sharp cheekbones in triumph, “Oh, I promise.  One date.  Tonight.”

--- Years ago, when you and Loki enjoyed the first full flush of blossoming love, dating wasn’t always possible or convenient.  With missions to go on, HYDRA cells to investigate, and near constant alien invasions of one kind or another, dinners and movies weren’t a priority.  Staying alive was the rule of the day. In the moments when relaxation was possible, you and Loki found yourselves drawn to each other.  Bonding over take out containers and warm beers in the early morning hours, sleep elusive, sitting on the counter tops.  Sharing great music, digital from you, vinyl from Loki, led to dancing on the cool tile of the rooftop patio.  Cherished books, personal poetry and moving works of art passed between you at a rate that alarmed the rest of the team.  

You favorite times?  Watching films and must see TV from the comfort of Tony’s leather couches.  Snuggled under soft blankets, touching each other gently, testing and teasing.  Letting the connection you shared grow naturally was what made it so special. Tonight though, this was different.  Loki arrived at your door in full on romantic leading man mode.  His suit was jet with a shirt and tie to match, making him look long and lethal, but undeniably sexy.  There were flowers, an affectation that nonetheless made your heart swell.  Holding your door, pulling out your chair, effortlessly making all the right moves was just Loki’s style.  Why did it make your heart ache in equal measure? Because it was so different from your first time around.  The love that led you here, to a place where no one knew you, had been so organic.  Not forced or formulaic.

“I fear I’m boring you.”  Loki’s bright eyes glittered as he swirled his fork through the rich sauce skillfully. Dabbing your mouth, “No, not at all.  I just… I…”  You were lost in remembering.  Loki was telling a story that you had lived, but where you should have been was a hole.  A gap, created when you had made your deal with the purple eyed sorceress, brought reality crashing into the conversation.  It was a distracting detail.   “Lost in your thoughts.  You do that frequently, don’t you, dove.”  Dove.  Oh god, you hadn’t heard his endearments in ages.  It made your stomach tense from need.  Being Loki’s dove had meant something to you then.  It meant more now. “My past is never far.  It creeps up on me all the time.  But I’m sure you know nothing about that.”  Deliberately leading him to talk more about himself, you let the timbre of his voice take over, listening intently to the man who once was yours. The long night was over too soon.  You had been on eggshells, carefully choosing your words, the entire time.  As much as you wanted to keep him near, you knew that one night was already a calculated risk, and it couldn’t happen again.  If Loki kept his promise, tomorrow you would be back to your routine, the missing him would still be there but so would running and the store. “Uh… thank you for the lovely dinner.  I really enjoyed it.” “I believe you used to be a better liar.” Freezing, your key in the lock, you turned to face Loki.  “What was that?”  Panic rose in your throat tasting of bile and bucatini. Leaning his shoulder against your door frame, “You heard me perfectly well.  Like I said, you were better at this once.  At least, I think you were.”

“I don’t know what you think, but I’ve… we’ve…” “Never met?  Yes, that line is familiar.  But then again, so are you.” “Loki…”  Pleading with him to drop it, to let it go, would never work.  Besides, you hadn’t been able to.

And what would happen if you did come clean?  Would the spell be reversed?  You couldn’t risk that.  Not after all that you’d already gone through to keep Loki alive. At the sound of his name on your lips, Loki stepped into your personal space.  His long finger rested over your parted mouth, effectively silencing you, as he whispered in your ear,  “No more lies.  Not tonight.”  Reaching around you, Loki turned your key, opening the door to your place.   Clicking on your lamp, the circle of light small in the shadows of your apartment, you move towards the kitchen.  “I need a drink.  Do you want one?” Nodding, “I think I might need one.”  Barking out a hard laugh, you lifted two glasses down from the rarely opened cabinet.  Tossing in ice cubes, you quickly cover them with the amber liquid of bourbon, swirling the two ingredients together as you walk back to the man pacing in your living room. “Good stuff, right?”  Ruefully chuckling at the harsh burn of the booze, you looked at your date motioning for him to take a seat on your beat up sofa next to you.  Folding himself gracefully, Loki perched on the couch, his knee just barely grazing your own.  The contact was electric, shorting out your speech center for a second, and you moaned softly.  Moving your drink to the table, Loki’s digits circled your wrist, "Now tell me, why do I know these hands?  Soft but strong, with a scar across the middle knuckle…" 

 Turning your palm down, brushing over that exact imperfection, Loki searched your eyes for answers.  "Why am I drawn to you across space and time?  You are a ghost that haunts me.  The echo of a dream that is real and warm… and here."

"Loki…"  Chin quivering, "There are things you don't know.  Things about me… about us…"

Tilting his head, studying you, "Ah.  Us.  We, that is, you and I have history, do we not?  I… I know that is true.  Yet,"  Swallowing thickly, Loki struggled to control the swell of emotion bubbling through him, "Yet, I have no memory of you.  Tell me why that is."

A wild sob ripped through you making your shoulders heave.  "I don't think I can!"

Twining his arms around you, the smell of his skin surrounding you, comforting you, "Why is that?"

Eyes brimming with tears, you murmured, "Because… it might reverse everything.  I… I don't know what would happen if I told you the truth.  All of it."

"So, dark magic then.  Strong… but perhaps not strong enough.  Not nearly capable of keeping you and I apart."  Petting your knee, savoring the nearness of Loki, you parted your thighs in anticipation of his touch. Loki, unable to resist any longer, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.  One of his palms skated under the hem of your dress while his other hand cupped your cheek.  Tracing over your jawline with his thumb, Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting you in tiny sips. Pulling away from you, “We… We were lovers.”  His voice rose at the revelation no longer concealed by magic. “Yes, Loki.”  Swallowing hard, the raw truth finally said out loud. “But you, you erased yourself from my mind… My life.  Why did you do it?  Why would you take our… happiness from me?”  It was enough to break your heart all over again.  Loki’s voice, trembling, unsure, and clearly hurting.  

Whispering more for yourself than him, "I couldn’t let you go, Loki.  I… I can't, even now.  I watched you almost die.  I won't do it again!" “And this?  This is life?  Dove.  You know better than this.” “I saved your life!”  Needing to defend yourself, you nearly bellowed in frustration, struggling to make Loki understand. Standing suddenly, Loki turned from you, “What kind of life have I had without you?” “I don’t know the answer to that…”  Rising yourself, a hand to Loki’s chest, “But my life without you… you have no idea how hard it’s been.  I dream of you every night, Loki.  And in those dreams, I don’t rescue you.  You die in my arms.  Every night, Loki.  I saved you once with the help of dark magic.  But I’ve lost you every single day since.”

Crying in earnest now, you felt Loki wrap his iron arms around you, “Hush now.  Hush, darling.  Somehow, some way, I found you again.  I’m not letting you go.” Sagging into his warmth, letting Loki comfort you, felt like home.  Without realizing, you were swaying in each other's arms, dancing to the music in your souls.  You curled your arms around Loki's waist, his solid figure reassuring, hugging him closer.

Loki's hands drifted down, cupping your bottom, squeezing your curves firmly.  "I missed you, little minx."

Giggling at his pet name for you, one you never expected to hear again, you smiled up at your dark hued God.  Standing on your toes you touched your lips to Loki's.  Anticipating your move, Loki opened his mouth, capturing yours in a kiss.

Loki's grip, tugging you tightly to his firm form, became needy.  His mouth plundered yours, taking your breath, absorbing your moan.  A hand tangled in your hair, pulling your hungry lips from his own, giving Loki unchecked access to the column of your throat.

Closing your eyes, lost in intimate sensations that were both routine and refreshing, you lost yourself in Loki.  Stepping out of his grasp, you pulled the hem of your dress up, shrugging it over your head and tossing it to the floor.  "Loki, I love you.  I never stopped loving you."

Watching your nearly nude form, Loki shared his sweet, secret smile with you.  "I love you.  And even wizardry could prevent us from finding each other."

"Please, help me remember.  Let me forget."  He knew what you were asking.  Remember what you had shared, what you could have again.  Forget this time apart, this lapse in love.

"With pleasure, little dove."

---

Your bed, usually so lonely, was suddenly too small.  Loki's long body stretched across the mattress, reaching for you, impatient to relearn the things that made you melt.  And you?  You couldn't stop touching his satin skin.

First your fingers fluttered over his thighs, up his torso, over his chest.  But that wasn't enough to satisfy.  So you followed the same trail with your mouth.  Licking lovingly over Loki's abdominals, nipping at his tiny nipples, sucking against his Adam's Apple.

Straddling Loki, his hands on your hips drag you against his rigid rod.  Feeling his driving desire made your core quiver.  When he caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking forcefully, you howled like a wild woman.

"Oh, Loki!  Ah!"  Your hands tangled in his hair, encouraging the exquisite agony of his teeth biting into your tender bud.  

With a growl, Loki flipped you to your back, settling himself between your spread thighs.  Removing your panties with a swift tug, Loki spread your lower lips, licking into your luscious folds.  His tongue thrust into you, lapping at your liquid, drinking you down.

Convulsing when Loki's tactile tongue circled your clit, your core clenched in pleasure, your release is close.  When you announce that to the man pleasuring you, Loki nips at your inner thigh, kissing his way over your mound.  "Not yet.  I'm not through with you or your bountiful body."

As his lips closed over your own, Loki shifted your hips higher, your cleft cuddling his steel length.  Teasing your entrance with his wide tower, drawing a shivery moan from you, Loki slowly sunk into your yielding sheath.  Inch by inch, Loki claimed more of you as you impatiently waited to be filled by his hard heat.

Stretched by his searing shaft, Loki bent your knees, bringing them closer to your chest.  Rocking into you, his hips pressing your legs apart, Loki enjoyed the feeling of your velvet vice gripping his with each push.  He was slow, methodically moving inside of you, taking his time.  

Your body responded with slick skin, soft sighs, melting into a mewling mess.  "Faster Loki!  Please!"

"No.  I never want to forget you again."  Loki's words sparked your internal fire.  Plunging into your pulsing pocket, picking up speed, Loki pursued your pleasure.  

You couldn't keep your hands off of him.  His neck, his shoulders, his firm bottom, the cut of his hip.  Scratching your nails over his arms, along his back, across his chest, Loki grunted in delight.  

"Cum with me, little dove."  It wasn't a command or a request.  It was a plea.

"Always, Loki!"  Locking your arms behind his neck, Loki dug his fingers into the back of your thighs, your tongues tangling together.  Panting through your pleasure together, clinging to each other, determined to hang onto the only other person who mattered, you pressed your forehead to Loki's.

That night you slept curled around Loki, deeply and uninterrupted.  Tomorrow would bring a new dawn, a new day.  And everything before today would be an echo, losing distinction over time, replaced by the new life you would build together. ---

@procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @iamverity​ @jamielea81​ @archy3001​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @lots-of-loki​ @mizfit2​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @jessiejunebug​

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The Castle on the Hill Chapter 1: Hyde

Genre: Smut, Romance, Fluff, Thriller, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Superstition is as powerful as religion, especially to those living in the countryside. Nevertheless, the sole outsider in town fully joins in the belief of the Last Warden of the North and is insistent on protecting the only girl who accepts him yet refutes the local lore.

However, there is something in the castle on the hill.

And it hungers for something in the village below.

Someone.

You.

Author’s Note: Hello,

Indeed, I am still very much alive but have been extremely busy with university and my job. However, now that the holidays are coming up and I am on my Christmas break, I have a wee bit o’ time to write leisurely again.

I came up with this tale when I was in Cardiff in November, strolling around Bute Park and thinking of ‘Castle on the Hill’ by Ed Sheeran. And, let us be honest, I was thinking of Chan as well (though that should not come as a surprise at this point).

Regardless, hopefully you will enjoy this wee trilogy.

Forever yours,

The Red Raven

Hyde / The Marriage of Man and Beast / Jekyll

Masterlist

Religion is a form of superstition, but just as powerful as the latter for it has ruled mankind in equal amounts, co-existing yet often the cause for war as well. In contemporary times, however, the belief in all folkloric creatures seems to have faded into a case for a good laugh rather than truly believing death will come at hearing the wail of a banshee or swearing the ghost of the black nun continues to haunt the ruins of the friary at which entrance she is buried. Withal, the faith in a particular mythological being has been altered time and again thanks to pop culture but, perhaps fortunately so, the origins of the legend remain remembered vividly by the people who inhabit the area the tale stems from.

The golden sunlight outlines the ruins of the majestic castle that once graced the hill outside the park, mustard and amber leaves littering the pathways frequented by strollers while the weather still permits it. Soon, winter shall conquer autumn and the rains increase in frequency. Henceforth, the days running a small café in the middle of the park is enjoyed the most when all is grand, the world frozen in a perfect seasonal frame.

‘You’re either immensely stupid or incredibly brave to run this establishment, lass.’ A cup of steaming black coffee is served to the wise old man living around the corner of the recreational ground, the white brick worker’s house providing a view on the scenery that everyone seems to fear even in the twenty-first century. Always up for conversation, Paidraigh has helped a novice independent entrepreneur almost flawlessly continue the business formerly run by one of the local women who had to stop due to health issues. He might look like a grumpy soul despising the world, but the stout figure with wise wrinkles and bushy pale beard is actually one of the kindest people residing in the wee village. 

‘How do you mean that, sir?’

‘Have ye nay heard o’ the wolf inhabiting the castle?’

‘I have heard the whispers of strange sounds coming from the ruins at night, aye, but I am sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘The word’s it’s a wolf, the spirit of the fierce Last Warden of the North to whom the castle once belonged. It’s said that once he entered the battlefield, all that would be left o’ the enemies were bloody carcasses. As if eaten by, ye guessed it, a wolf.’ Kind stone irises gain a wary glint once they wander to the edge of the sandstone terrace, noticing the heavy boot fall of the town’s most recent inhabitant. ‘Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.’

‘Paddy, don’t be mean. Drink your coffee and leave the lad be, alright?’ A palm amiably pats a broad shoulder before tucking the serving plate under the armpit and heading back to the counter to take a new order.

And likely do more than that, knowing the newcomer.

‘Alright, fine. Just watch yersel’ around him. One wolf is more than enough for this village.’

‘Hiya, how are you?’ Before the habitual order can be placed with as few words as possible, attention is called to the deep scarlet scar running over the bridge of a big nose. ‘What did you do to get that?’

‘Bar fight.’ A soft smile is laboriously carved onto roseate lips, likely albeit clearly suppressing the memory of the scene causing the physical damage. Nevertheless, once gazes lock, the hatred is actively tried to be kept to a bare minimum and show a friendly side the reclusive does not always reveal to anyone. ‘An americano, please.’

Without speaking further, the beverage is prepared. However, as the coffee machine is buzzing while freshly grinding beans to create a perfectly brewed medium roast, the first-aid supplies stored in a cupboard beneath the counter are sought out and taken alongside the drink to the outside of the little booth. Of course, it could have been slid to the customer immediately through the window but it simply happened to unnecessarily be carried as well.

‘Here’s your americano.’ Sitting down on the empty stool across from the silent force looking on in surprise while maintaining a friendly though slightly tired tone, fingers search among the medical care items for the disinfectant and a cotton pad. The frustration wants to be kept to a minimum but it is hard to do so when this very same scene keeps repeating itself and fuels the bad image the villagers have of, in their eyes, a stranger.

Bruises and open wounds thanks to fights that were either started by one’s own volition or after provocation.

Cuts thanks to carving the wooden pillars dotting the grand park, curiously staying close to the little café and helping out at times by remaining on the grand lawn regardless of how many meters need to be bridged to get the new piece of art where it belongs.

‘I’m fine.’ The remark is clearly meant to dismiss the caregiving yet results in all but that since physical damage, no matter of what nature and source, do ignite a genuine worry for the local woodcarver.

Although the habitual resorting to sarcasm protects sincere emotions from showing. Nonetheless, it is helpful in chastising, never failing to eventually get Christopher to look like a guilty puppy while patching him up. ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You strained yer knuckles too much and now they’re bleeding again.’

‘It’s but a scratch.’

‘Is what the Black Knight said before he got annihilated by King Arthur. Give me your hand, you eejit.’

‘Y/N, it’s fine.’

‘No, it’s fecking not.’ A deep sigh lowers tense shoulders admitting that stubbornness will lead nowhere and thus take a soft-spoken yet still genuine approach. ‘I just want to help. Please, give me your hand.’

Howbeit reluctant, the damaged calloused palm nevertheless reaches out and comes to rest in a concerned lap as small digits wrap lightly around the wrist to keep it in place. ‘Thank you.’

The bystanders are ignored as the fresh ugly patches of broken skin are taken care of, taking great care to clean the wounds properly before bandaging them up. Withal, what cannot be ignored is the low threatening growl rolling from plush lips with every touch of disinfecting cotton. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that, grm, it really fucking hurts.’ Teeth grit, snarls and hisses alternating with the light dabs as irises shoot invisible daggers. The free hand which has yet to be treated moulds into a trembling fist trying to remain static despite the agony.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t get into fights in the first place. What even was it about?’ The damage has been cleaned enough to apply an ointment and bandage the harmed knuckles, gaining the same feral reaction as before.

Notwithstanding, the silence is filled by wordlessness and primal noises, igniting an irritation at the deduction the chastisement is ignored in stubbornness. However, the assumption is counteracted when a whisper provides a muttered surprising answer that fuels a novel sort of annoyance in the mocha locks sitting on the stool. ‘Someone insulted you.’

No, it is not irritation.

Rage.

Pure fury, barely contained.

‘Me? Why?’ Puzzled by the confusing display of hatred against an absent party, locks tilt in patient curiosity waiting for the story.

‘It wasn’t really an insult. Just men drunkenly talking about how they’d show up here to surprise you and you’d be the girlfriend of one of theirs and how lucky you’d be with one of them.’ The split bottom lip is caught between pearly teeth, nibbling while trying to regain a calmer composure even though it is hard when the second set of broken skin is about to be treated. ‘I couldn’t- couldn’t, fuck, that stings! I couldn’t stand the arrogant, hrm, tone and nonsense so I... I just lost it. Snapped.’

‘Christopher-’ The imminent correcting in spite of secretly being flattered by the reason that likely holds no meaning whatsoever since there is more of a patient-nurse relationship is cut short by a low snigger. ‘Hey, why are you smiling like that?’

‘I just like the way you say my name.’ Bright earthly irises set above a big nose marred by a scar likely inflicted by a knife blade are humoured, the sentiment filtering through in the gentle curve of plush lips. The playful aura makes the woodcarver appear quite boyish, a stark contrast with the pub brawler the village has cast out from the beginning.

‘Well, it’s yours, aye?’ Heated cheeks faking casualness return to the task of taking care of the other damaged hand, trying badly to ignore the sweet smile now vividly engraved into memory.

Keep it together. It means nothing. You’re more his nurse than anything else. You’re just friends, if there is any friendship at all. He simply trusts you.

‘Yeah, but-’

‘And I’m sure I don’t say it any differently than any other person.’

‘Still, I like- fuck!’ A giggle flows over into a curse when the bandage is tugged perhaps a bit too tightly to nevertheless teach the lesson of not getting into fights as often as one does. A pleased little grin cannot be suppressed, hiding the delight at the hopefully effective teaching method that will lessen the scene which is exhaustingly re-enacted over and over.

‘If you didn’t get into fights, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up and you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.’ A new cotton pad is soaked in disinfectant while throwing a cautious glance in Paddy’s direction, the old man’s lips tightly sealed as grey whiskers move ever so slightly in discomfort.

‘He doesn’t like me.’ A sombre self-aware tone sneaks into lowered defeated shoulders turned towards the old cod, gaze softening in powerlessness.

‘That’s not true.’ The seemingly misplaced remark pulls the young man’s attention, head slightly tilting to the side while irises remain strangely heart-wrenchingly grave.

If only they could know you the way I do.

‘Y/N,’ the powerful mere word is spoken as if surrender is not an option, that the truth of being disliked has to be admitted even though it does not want to be, ‘It’s obvious. Everyone’s afraid of me.’

‘The only thing they’re really scared of is the wolf up in the castle.’ Mocking local superstition, a sigh rolls from the lips setting to work on the carmine single cut running over the nose. There is no resistance this time, Christopher moving, in fact, to the edge of the stool for better access and to make cleaning the scar easier. ‘Guess I’ll hear the same uselessly worried whispers again from the customers tomorrow.’

A hand rests leisurely on the thigh for support, but is taken to come to rest on the brawler’s cheek and kept there, a content hum filling the air scented by coffee and cologne. Lashes flutter shut as mocha locks lean into the touch, almost as if falling asleep right here and now. It would be a lie to say the display does not spread an odd fuzzy warmth throughout, especially when memories of healing up close, observing wood being carved from a distance or problems with difficult people were solved in the same proximity as now resurface. 

Unfortunately, the delightful image is disrupted a second later for the jaw clenches as a low beastly rumble rises from a broad chest trying hard to remain casual as the disinfectant once again stings in the stupidly acquired cut. Irises light up in an amber flash, bearing a terrifying violent hatred that calms down immediately upon establishing a bit of distance that nullifies the intimacy. A confused heart does not know what to make of it, only that the rage that surfaced as rapidly as it disappeared never wants to be directed towards oneself. 

Still, a normal question is raised in an odd undefinable manner that rises from the fearsome wolfish attitude, voice sounding apologetical and clearly wanting to move past something as digits vaguely reach out but drop restlessly in ignorance of what to do. ‘Are you staying open much longer?’

The throat is cleared to regain composure, hardy succeeding yet enough to answer as if nothing happened. ‘Till six, as usual.’ The resumed dabbing briefly stops at the notice of an uneasy shift in weight, a panic without direct cause causing the action. ‘Why do you ask?’

Bandaged hands awkwardly occupy one another in futile twirling of cared-for fingers as the tongue staring at the sandstone is hesitant to voice what suddenly has become urgent. ‘Can you close earlier?’

‘I could but why would I?’ Feigning not having taken notice in the change of demeanour, the last straws are laid in nursing the bloody scar. The palm leaning on the knee of mocha locks, put there in an unconscious move after pulling up the unresisting chin for better access, does seem to calm the nerves somewhat as the regulation of breathing suggests.

When applying the ointment, it is entirely regular and a sigh is relieved with the company.

Only to speed up again when worriedly mentioning the legend that has the entire village spooked even in the twenty-first century. ‘The wolf.’

‘Christopher, don’t you get started as well. There’s no wolf in the castle, no spirit of the Last Warden of the North.’ Shuffling to the edge of the stool, something is attempted to be done about the split lip which has started bleeding again. ‘Your lip is bleeding. Sit still for a wee bit, will ye?’

Calloused fingers wrap firmly around the wrist reaching out after soaking a new dot of cotton in disinfectant, earthly irises ablaze with superstitious concern flowing over in pleading speech. ‘Please close the café before it gets dark.’

‘Look, it’s my business so I decide the opening hours.’ Budging results in nothing but a firmer, even painful grip. Withal, knowing the novel local woodcarver, panic does not set in as it would have had it been anyone else. Still, a meaningless glance sideways is picked up by Paddy as something which does hold significance, the stout old man already rising from his seat when a quick denying nod assures all is well. The command is tranquil yet effectively fierce. ‘Chris, let me go. You’re hurting me.’

As swift as lightning, digits unravel upon hearing the response and move away to create a distance filled by curious emotions that would hint at an intimacy going beyond what is truly present. ‘I’m sorry, he- we didn’t mean to... I- I mean, I didn’t mean to… to...’ A shivering sigh precedes a steadier repeated request, trying to move past the incident while remaining clearly doubtfully calculating of words and actions. ‘Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.’

We? He? Why are you talking like this?

‘I’ll be regardless because there’s no ghost or monster that will slink down the hill to devour me.’ The remark tries to be amusingly sarcastic but it has no effect on the outcast whose grave expression does not change, continuing to stare remorsefully at the red band around the wrists.

The shaking fingers holding soft cotton meant for healing.

Yet ends up hurting.

‘Even if you don’t believe my reason nor the villagers’, close early.’ Lashes are brave enough to look up, keep up the pleading despite being refused over and over.

Maybe I should... no, what am I getting at. It’s just a story, a myth.

‘Can we stop talking about this?’ A palm finds the courage to rise and endeavour to nurse the split lip anew. ‘Sit still and let me help you.’

But soon retracts in heart-pounding concern when unspoken consent flinches as bodies come a wee bit closer to make it easier. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. Ehm,’ mocha locks confusedly and haphazardly glance around the terrace, questioning eyes flitting over the customers as a quite adorable big nose sniffs the air before leaning in to take a whiff, ‘Are you wearing perfume?’

‘No, why?’ The head buzzes with what to think of the weird gesture and unanswered inquiries about how the sudden change of topic has come about alongside the earlier talk in the third person. Brows furrow in wonder of the easiest topic for contemplation since perfume is fairly ineffective if unnecessary for the scent of coffee replaces the function on a daily basis.

‘Oh. Well- You- Never mind.’ A shadow movement forward remains just that, a hallucination without certainty. What is real, however, is the rapidity to get up and turn halfway away yet having the politeness to end the conversation by an unsettling awkward look over the shoulder. ‘I should go finish that pillar.’

‘But... your coffee?’ Christoper is already gone before the sentence can be finished, a gobsmacked offended finger pointing to the cooled cup on the counter containing liquid cold. In an instant, likely due to the great offence taken at letting such a precious gift to mankind waste away, the confusion of the chaotic farewell turns into a barista’s rage directed towards the woodcarver who has fled the scene. ‘The bastard just left the coffee to cool? That barbarian!’

The key turns in the lock, definitely closing business for the day. The moonlight falls in through the autumn leaves, casting moving shadows enhancing the dark of the dusk which has overtaken the quiet town. In the slightly clouded sky, the moon shines bright and illuminates the ruined haunted castle on the hill.

Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.

‘I am completely fine. There’s nothing out here to get me. Also, who is ‘’we’’?’ Jeering strands shake in partial self-mockery at the brief spark of fear quickly running through veins at the recollection of the wish spoken in an oddly worried tone, foolishly spooked by mere folklore. ‘And here I thought you and I were the only sane people around, Chris. Guess it’s just me.’

After a final tug on the doorknob to ensure the place is neatly closed off until the dawn, sneakers start their wading path among the fallen mustard and ruby leaves that have been shaded a hue of onyx, tiger’s eye or plum in the twilight. The wind has calmed from its fierce mannerisms, now only softly blowing among the trees densely planted in the great park.

Carrying the sound of a low rumble as it smoothes over branches.

A snarl.

In the twilight silence another disconcerting noise resonates between carved pillars and trunks.

Padding.

A faint tinkling.

Of iron.

Shackles.

No, I must be hearing things. His and Paddy’s words are just getting to my head. There’s nothing. Nothing.

Withal, the bright amber lights are no will-o’-the-wisps and the appearing fur does not appear in the adorable shape of a squirrel. There is not the faintest trace of innocence to be found in the extraordinary meeting between a gigantic wolf cuffed by a firm iron collar around its neck, the broken chain clinking loudly as it drags over the ground and creates a hideous symphony in combination with the violent low growls of the beast.

‘That’s not possible. There’s no Warden, no wolf. This isn’t real.’ Even as the words are spoken in the futile hope of regaining a sense of logic, the conviction is hardly there. In fact, it is entirely absent. ‘This isn’t happening.’

Nevertheless, the snarled warning tone is too near, the impact too tangible in nerves standing on edge in alarm to dismiss the current situation as mental trickery. Especially because the silver light reflecting off of dagger-sharp canines comes too close for comfort, sending raggedly breathing feet fleeing to the wee café a few meters away while silently praying to reach it alive.

However, every rush forwards paradoxically yields nothing to a panicked mind who can feel warm predatory breath heat the back of the brown leather jacket and slowly rise to the back of the neck. Mortified tears start to brim in the corners of the eyes, damnably obscuring vision at a time when errors cannot be made for one, be it stumbling over a fallen branch or temporarily slowing down, will mean the end.

Christopher, Paddy, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Youse were right and I’m a feckin eejit. I’m sorry. Chris, I’m sorry.

Growling grows ever closer, whispering of there being no escape because paws shall at one point do more than brush against ankles.

Rampant fingers search the pockets of jeans, cursing while feeling around the fabric for the damned key to open the lock to the safe haven.

Sneakers halt in front of the inaccessible door, still searching.

The wolf has slowed down, no longer running yet not giving up the chase now that the helpless prey has been forced into a corner. Big paws as black as a starless sky in winter pad languidly, bright eyes the colour of the pumpkin spice latte that forms the seasonal special obviously finding joy in the hunting game.

In toying with a hopeless target.

One step forwards.

One step back.

To and fro.

I can’t turn my back on it. Still, I have to if I want to get into the damned café. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

The shivering spine is frozen in place thanks to paralysis due to pure horror, though digits carefully and hopefully unnoticeable continue rummaging through pockets as they keep a close watch on the impending beastly enemy.

Where the fu- By Jaysus, there it is!

Tense shoulders lower slightly in relief when the key is found on the bottom of the right pocket, the brief second of peace of mind carrying over in an unconscious sweetly delighted sigh.

Which evidently triggers the haste to attack because the sadistic game of threats is cut short as the wolf lunges forwards at the speed of lightning.

Fortunately, sharp-fanged jaws are evaded just in time when the key is rammed into the lock, opening the blasted barrier before slamming the door shut and sealing it off once again. All the while cursing Heaven and Hell together.

Hastily, steps lead around the tiny kitchen in search of anything to barricade the door with. An effort which proves fairly futile as basically all equipment is installed in such a manner it cannot be moved and all tables and chairs are kept outside since thieves do not tend to take furniture when on a heist around here.

Or such is the sentiment with which they are stored outside.

Why, of all the times, did I store them outside? Why couldn’t I at least put one table and chair inside? There has to be something around here, there’s got to be.

The fierce longing finds a wonderful answer in the old yet glistening iron chain lock that the former owner of the establishment used before getting proper locks installed and which has been stored away in the back of one of the counters. Sneaking glances to the amber-eyed predatory shadow roaming the terrace through the window of the main counter, horrified palms reach for the sole barrier between life and death.

Flinching back while hardly suppressing mortified screaming, allowing a meek gasp to escape, when the door leading to the hunting dark rattles as if a great weight has been thrown against it in an attempt to force it open. Blood rushing in the ears of accelerated breathing on the edge of breaking down backs away from the tightly sealed entrance, putting the key that was kept inside the lock into the pocket, shivering thanks to the ice veins have turned into.

Finding safety in the corner of the kitchen, wrapping arms around the knees that have fallen to the ground without muscles and pressing tears knowing this is the end of the line into stony grey denim.

Paddy... Christopher... Chris, I’m so sorry. I wish you were here. Fuck, I should’ve listened to ye instead of being such a gobshite.

The memorized phantom of lush lips take a shivering figure soon to meet death into sturdy woodcarving arms dusted over with soft thin black hair, head resting against the secure chest that has been healed from sickly bruises, bleeding bullet wounds, fresh deep dagger scars or a combination of all. Because, despite the chastisements each time the curious artists shows up at the café in a worsened condition, there remains the recalled moments of mocha locks helping in dealing with difficult customers and men trying their futile luck by going too far. Christopher had been there at an oddly fascinated barista’s side, leaving as little distance between bodies as possible while snarling in warning of touching the boundaries of patience so desperate men would see their chances ruined and people complaining about the pettiest things would know the customer is not always king.

Day in, day out. From the moment the café opens until it closes, staying close by while creating the gorgeously engraved pillars dotting the landscape.

Sometimes even walking homewards together, wordlessly refusing to part ways before having made sure the sole girl in town not distrustful towards an “outsider” has arrived safely and only then cracking on to the personal roof. When not doing so, it is towards working places set in nature, enjoying the hush of the morning as the sun rises in the golden sky.

Hands used to meaninglessly brush against each other.

At some point, it has become a habit to hold his pinky from the moment of being picked up without an explicit arrangement until the destination is reached.

In blissful small talk or a comfortable silence.

I wish you were here. See you one last time.

But death is lonesome in the growling silence of the lush park.

[lover-of-skellies]

A Way Out

((An OC insert where my girl Adrienne loses everyone she's ever cared for and has to face off with Chara. She would've lost too, if it wasn't for the guardian of negativity himself, deciding to intervene and save her ass. She's healed up and taken back to the castle, and when she wakes up, he has what seems like the best offer she's ever been given. Does she shake his hand and accept the offer, or does she refuse and die?))

***CONTAINS FIGHTING, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, KNIVES, CHARA, AND TEMPORARY EYE LOSS***

Adrienne had felt her heart sink at the unfortunate discovery she'd made; the dust scattered over the snow, pieces of armor, and an all too familiar tattered red scarf. Tears pricked at her eyes and a lump formed in her throat as she reached out, her shaky hands delicately plucking the scarf from the snow. She gently brushed the snow and loose dust off of it, then wrapped the item around her slender neck in the same fashion she'd always seen Papyrus wearing it, briefly glancing down at the ground. At the sight of tracks clearly left by sneakers, her eyes widened, tears now freely rolling down her face.

She knew exactly whose sneakers left the trail, and her heart sank even further. Not wanting to waste another moment, she began to race toward judgement hall; from having visited a few times before, it was fairly easy to find. As she reached the hall, she sucked in a deep breath, placing a hand on the large wooden door and pushing it open.

And she immediately wished she hadn't. 

Aside from leftover bone attacks made by Sans and the fallen human's blood, she let out a choked sob; at the far end of the hall, there was an unmistakable pile of dust, and what was clearly her best friend's favorite jacket. Grey eyes widening again, she ran to where the jacket laid, falling to her knees and gently running her fingertips over the fur lined hood. Her heart broke as the realization finally sunk in; she'd lost two of the only people she had ever truly cared for.

It began with Queen Toriel, and was followed later by King Asgore, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, Grillby, and even Flowey. Not even the innocent monster children had been spared, and the fallen human had left everything in ruin. Not a single monster remained.

Scooping up the jacket and hugging it close to her chest, she let out a loud, broken sob, her voice echoing fainting in the vastness of the corridor. Wailing in agony as she mourned her lost friends, she failed to notice the figure approaching behind her.

Hearing the absolutely deep sigh, she found herself scooting away from its source, clinging to Sans' jacket as if it were a lifeline. The figure peered at her through glowing crimson eyes that were partially shrouded by a brown fringe. Once a normal child, it's lips were now curled upward into an amused grin, "And then there was one. Hold still, girlie, and I'll make this quick." 

This wasn't a child anymore... whatever it was, it was the physical embodiment of evil itself.

Adrienne loosened her grip on the jacket, her body trembling as she slowly slid the item on and zipped it up, careful not to snag Papyrus' scarf. Rearranging her look of complete brokenness into a weak attempt at defiance, she growled softly, teeth bared, "You.... What have you done?" 

Casually shrugging and holding up a knife, the figure smiled again, tilting its head, "I killed them, you dummy. With all the blood and dust, what else could I have done?" 

She could hardly believe how casual and relaxed this being was; they admitted to murdering everyone she'd ever loved, and they spoke of it as if it was nothing more than a mundane task. Her stomach churned, and she hissed, "You're the worst... How could you do something like this? What did they ever do to you?.... All... all my friends are gone now, because of you." 

Humming softly in confirmation, the figure only grinned proudly, completely devoid of remorse and regret, "I know. I did it because I wanted to... didn't think I really needed a reason." 

The teen rose to her feet, balling her hands into fists, "If you keep talking like that, I'm gonna kill you. Unless you have something constructive to say, shut the fuck up." Still totally at ease, the figure raised an eyebrow, "Wow, that wasn't very nice, y'know." It took a step closer to her, and in response, she took a step back, her attention focused entirely on the entity before her. Sighing, the figure made a face, seeming to be contemplating something before speaking, "Something constructive, let's see... well, our buddy Papyrus, for starters. You wouldn't believe how much of a fight he put up. If I was even a little bit careless, he would've had me. And then Sans... well. We know how Sans can be. He saw what was left of his baby brother, and he came at me with all he had. It didn't take long for him to run out of magic. If it helps you feel better though, he was thinking about you when he was turning to dust. He called out to Papyrus, and then he called out to you... you must be pretty special to him, huh?" 

Adrienne felt her bottom lip tremble as she stared at the figure, her disbelief fading and giving way to grief. She allowed herself another moment of silence, more tears rolling down her cheeks, before her left eye suddenly flared up, igniting with her magic as her look of sadness shifted into a scowl, her voice calm and unexpectedly even, "...You have until the count of three to get out of my sight. If I reach three, you're dead." 

The figure, visibly intrigued by her now glowing eye hummed, lips curling into a devious grin, "Well well, that's a pretty eye you've got there. When I kill you, maybe I'll take it for myself." Adrienne scoffed, choosing not to respond as she began her countdown.

"One."

The figure remained where they stood, still wearing the same stupid, smug, evil grin. Totally unphased by the situation. 

"Two."

As a multitude of bone attacks and icicles began to form, the figures grin started to falter and they unconsciously took a step back away from her, suddenly appearing much less confident than before, "Hey... What the hell is all this about?"

Their question went unanswered, and her eye began glowing much brighter, "Three." 

All of the attacks shot at the figure at once, several of them managing to impale their small, deceptively fragile form.

Adrienne flipped the hood of the jacket up over her face, her voice shaking as she approached the figure, stuffing her hands into her pockets, "I warned you, brat... don't you ever come back here again." Her moment of silence didn't last, interrupted by the faint sound of buzzing, resembling the whir of a machine somewhere. Summoning more bone shaped ice attacks, she slowly turned to look around, surveying her surroundings. 

What she wasn't prepared for though was the figure she'd just killed, standing several meters away and grinning at her, in perfectly good condition again. It must've seen the confusion and disbelief written on her face, laughing softly, "Resetting is such a wonderful little skill I have... sure, you can kill me if you want, but no matter how many times you cut me down, I'll always come back. That's something Sans had to learn the hard way too." She launched her ice attack, but this time, the figure dodged and darted at her with an unforeseeable amount of speed, her eyes widening in fear as she sidestepped the first attack, grabbing the figure by its wrist and trying to turn the blade against it instead of herself. Then to her horror, multiple other knives, all glowing a vibrant shade of red, began to materialize in the air around her. She tried to release her grip on the figures wrist, but to no avail. No matter what she did, she couldn't make her hand let go of the figure. 

As the blades all slowly turned to aim at her, the figure grinned, their facial features contorting into what she could only describe as a demonic expression. Her heart began to race, and the figure tilted its head, amused as the first knife came sailing downward and plunging into one of her arms, earning a shrill scream from her. The blade had pierced her arm, and she screamed again as it ripped through the opposite side of her arm as well, blood immediately beginning to seep out of the injury. A second knife flew at her as well, sheathing itself in her back, dangerously close to her spine. Another scream tore out of her again and she sobbed brokenly, in too much shock to move her body.

The figure grinned maliciously, moving closer and resting a hand on her face, gently shushing her. When she became louder instead, she felt a sharp pain in her left eye; the figure scowled at her, their thumb now almost fully lodged in her socket, "I asked you nicely to shut up. No one wants to hear your pathetic whining." Screaming again as they scraped a nail against the back of her socket, a familiar warm, red substance ran down her face, she felt her body twitch, all of her partially materialized ice attacks dropping to the floor.

The figure watched her quietly for a moment before almost purring, refusing to remove their thumb from her socket, "And here I thought you might actually be a challenge. Tch. Shame... I'm disappointed in you. I'm sure your beloved skeletons would be pretty let down too." Squeezing her good eye shut, she whimpered, her tears seeming to multiply as she weakly whispered, her voice trembling, "If you're gonna kill me, then do it already, damnit." 

A third knife came sailing down, sinking its blade into one of her thighs and earning another pained scream. The figure scoffed at her, raising an eyebrow, "Since when were you the one in control here?" 

Before she was able to form a reply, a black mass appeared, phasing out of the shadows and watching the two of them with a single cyan eye, clearly interested in what was happening. A tendril coated by what looked to be tar shot out from the mass, wrapping tightly around the figures neck and roughly yanking them backward, causing Adrienne to collapse on the ground, yelping in pain and pressing a hand over her empty socket. Hearing the sounds of another battle, she turned her attention away from the figure and the odd black mass, looking toward the pile of dust that used to be her best friend.

She blinked, silently weeping as his form appeared. Though ghostly in appearance, he offered her a warm, sharp-toothed grin, his single gold tooth glinting under the light of the hall. Letting out a soft sigh, the apparition offered her a hand, his gruff voice low, "C'mon kiddo... Let's get your ass back to bed. It's late, y'know."

Her voice shook, only coming out as a whisper as she raised a hand and reached out to the apparition of Sans, "I know, Sans... 'm sorry I left..." As her vision became blurry, the apparition solidified, but she could've sworn she watched it turn black.

Feeling each of the knives be removed from her body, she could only whimper, too weak to fight as the black mass moved closer, the warmth of healing magic surrounding her wounds and sealing them up. Her eye had even been restored, much to her pleasant surprise. She was lifted up by an inky tendril, drifting in and out of consciousness as she was carried out of the hall.

Beginning to awaken later on, she slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes, squinting as she took in her surroundings; she was in a luxurious black and deep purple bed with satin and silk covers, and there was so little lighting that it was nearly impossible to see. Goosebumps prickled at her skin and her heart stopped as she looked down at herself, seeing that her scarf and jacket had vanished. Eyes wide as she began to panic, she pulled the covers back and slid out of bed, taking a single step and yelping as the muscles in her legs convulsed, giving out beneath her. Before she had a chance to hit the thinly carpeted floor, some unknown object looped around her waist, easily catching her.

Though she was relieved, she was also unnerved; who could've caught her? The room was so dark, so how could this mystery person have been able to see where she was?

A deep chuckle could be heard from in front of her and a chill ran down her spine. As a single cyan eye opened and cast it's eerie glow down on her, she froze, immediately remembering the battle in judgement hall. At a loss for words, she could only stare, watching as the goop covered skeleton cocked his head to the side, "If you wanted these so badly, you could've just asked, little one." A tendril snaked out from behind him, her jacket and scarf held loosely in its grasp. Despite the feeling of another tendril still around her waist, she acted on impulse, reaching out to the items of clothing, desperation crossing her expression. The black mass simply tsked and moved her closer to himself with the first tendril, lifting her again so they could be eye level with each other, "Ah ah, not yet. I'll return them to you, but you have to answer some questions first. Do you think you could do that?" Adrienne swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded slowly. Pleased with her compliance, he hummed, "Good... That'll only make things easier. You're in no shape to fight anytime soon, and I really wouldn't want to have to hurt you." Her eyes widened and her pulse quickened, earning another chuckle from him, "You're adorable this way... maybe I'll keep you around. Who knows. Either way, do you have a name?" 

The teen nodded again, her voice barely audible, "...Adrienne. My name is Adrienne." "'Dark one', huh?... That's interesting. Now tell me, what were you doing when I found you in that hall?" Memories flickered in her mind and she cleared her throat, hesitating a brief moment, "I was trying to avenge my friends. That human... the one I was fighting. They killed everyone, everyone I had ever cared for. I was alone and upset, and I wanted to make the fallen human pay." The mass made a soft sound of understanding, listening intently before posing another question, "The people you lost... what were they to you? Just friends and acquaintances? No mate, by any chance?" Cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink, she shook her head, "No, I didn't have a mate... they were all my friends, and some of them were even like family to me, though. They cared for me when no one else would."

Tugging her closer to himself, he lowered his voice slightly, "I see. If you could get them back, how much would you be willing to sacrifice?" The teen furrowed her brow, "I'd give anything. If it meant I could get them back and that I wouldn't lose any of them again, I'd even give up parts of myself." A clearly interested, satisfied purr rumbled in his chest as he pressed further, "Would you be willing to sacrifice your humanity?... All your morals and concerns, all your logic and your fear? Your soul, perhaps?" Frown deepening, she nodded slowly, her voice a whisper, "Yes. If I could have back the monsters I love, then I'd give all of it away. I'm nothing without them." 

The black mass grinned widely, offering her a bony hand, "My name is Nightmare, and I can make that happen. All you have to do is shake my hand, Adrienne." She stared at his hand for a moment, clearly hesitant to do as he'd asked. Grin faltering, he sighed, "I can feel how sad and lonely you are without them, and I know you're scared. In order to get them back though, you must trust me. As of right now, I mean you no harm. I'm your ally here, and I protect my own. You'll be safe, and you'll be with me, along with others that can understand the pain you're feeling. You won't be alone anymore." Hope blossomed in her chest and she looked back at him, meeting his gaze, "If I agree, you promise you'll get back my friends?" The goop covered skeleton hummed in confirmation, "Of course, little one. It's a promise." Sucking in a deep breath, she reached out and shook his hand.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled her closer, delicately pushing her hair back out of her face to examine her eye, "I'm so glad you agreed... You won't regret this, Adrienne. I'll need to change the mark on your eye though. It'll be my mark instead of the old one, and even though it'll be different, your magic will remain totally unaffected." She hummed softly in understanding, trying her best to hold still as he continued observing her eye. Then to her surprise, his pointer finger and thumb shifted, holding her eye wide open as a third tendril appeared, drifting closer to her face. Feeling her anxiety spike, Nightmare smiled slightly, "Don't move, alright? It may sting and cause your eye to water up, but that's normal and the stinging will eventually go away." 

She took a deep breath, doing her best to relax again as she listened quietly, hearing Nightmare begin to chant something unintelligible under his breath. As the tendril moved closer, the very tip of the appendage pressed into her eye just over her iris and pupil, and she hissed, balling her hands into fists. The appendage receded, vanishing behind Nightmare's back, and that's when the stinging began. At first it was tolerable, but as it grew more intense, her eye watered up and she squirmed, whining softly in discomfort. She raised a hand to rub her eye, but a dark, skeletal hand firmly grabbed her wrist, stopping her, "Not a good idea, little one. If you do that, you may just go blind." She whined again and he chuckled, placing his free hand on her head, "It'll be over soon... until then, I think some more rest would benefit you." A wave of sleepiness washed over Adrienne and her body went limp, her eyes slowly drifting shut. Once he was sure that she was fully asleep, Nightmare delicately placed her back down on her bed, laying the scarf and jacket beside her.

Leaning over her, he carefully opened her left eye again, his grin becoming darker and much more malicious as he took note of her eye's condition; the white of her eye was now black, her iris had vanished, and all that remained of her pupil was a small, white crescent moon shape. 

It'd be interesting when she woke up again, and he almost couldn't wait to see what would happen.

As she began to stir a while later, she took notice of the scarf and jacket beside her, slowly sitting up in bed and slipping them on. She tried her hardest to remember the events that took place in judgement hall, but all she could think of was finding the ashes of the skeletons brothers scattered everywhere. She remembered fighting, blood, and getting her eye gouged out, and she remembered the apparition of Sans.

Her lips curled into a wide, manic smile, and despite the tears running down her face, she began to laugh. 

She laughed and laughed, until her sides ached and her face was stained red from tears, and as she got out of bed, her heart leapt in her chest as the sight of the apparition of Sans passed by her open doorway. Eagerly bounding after him, she called out his name, eyes wide and full of excitement and curiosity. Reaching the end of the corridor and seeing that he was nowhere in sight, she made a face, pausing to glance at herself in a mirror.

Seeing her eye, she burst into another fit of laughter, and her entire world went black.

[monstaxardeur]

Warnings: Mature, Angst, Death

Kihyun stirred in his sleep and he instinctively tried to look for you next to him under the covers, when he found the bed empty he panicked a bit and looked around only to realize it'd been raining. The patter of rain was really loud and there were gentle sounds of thunder far off, he stepped out into the lounge to find you by the small balcony window, your hands outstretched and you were partially soaked. But he really couldn't forget that smile on your face, you smiled and he didn't think anything could bring him as much joy as it did seeing you like that. You had that childlike gleam and the soft laughter when the rain tickled you picking up speed and you reached for the window to close it but left one side open. You turned around to see him awake and smiled shyly as he felt a smirk tug at his lips at your reaction, it was cute to him. He grabbed a towel to dry you up and you found it odd how your communication with him was mostly actions and reading each other instead of talking, you two barely talked. What would a hunter and a corrupted vampire being have to talk about anyway, both of you were scared of confused emotions surfacing to the tongue, what if you drifted apart? But you wished to make small talk today, you seemed to muster courage but fail each time, he noticed at the second and third attempt as he dabbed the soft fabric over your face. He concentrated on how you fidgeted with your shirt's hem and opened your mouth faintly to speak again but before you could he silenced you with a tender kiss. He had a lot to say but felt it was better if he just showed it like he always had. He was nervous about your reaction but was fairly surprised and relieved seeing how easily you gave in, how weakly you caved to his mere touch of love, you shared his sentiments.

You were lead back to the bedroom and he was so gentle yet at the same time extremely passionate, you felt the intensity the need for him to ravage you but he held back letting you catch your breathe, knowing very well your impulses could lose control. He was walking a dangerous path but seeing your reaction assured him you had control right now. His strong arms gripped you firmly as he had you pinned to the bed, bodies attached so sinfully close and he hated to give space but the clothes were getting in his way and he was hasty with the way he got rid of his shirt. Once he tossed the shirt away he noticed you unbutton yourself for him too and he helped peeling it off kissing all those unmarked places that were so supple and virgin to him. You whimpered and he grew weak, for someone who barely spoke gosh you really made him weak and he tried nipping at that weak spot and you let out a satisfied whimper wrapping your arms and legs around him. The friction of his hard on against your core was driving you crazy and you traced his toned form and tugged at his slacks before your hands slipped under briefly, your neediness showed and he stopped you knowing how crazy it would drive him and he really didn't want to go rough on you. "That's a dangerous move love." he whispered above your lips and your face turned crimson from embarrassment and he grinned, smirking into your neck as he lead kisses down and forced open your legs apart. That dainty little panty of yours stood no chance and tore easily when he used a little force to pull it down. It didn't matter really you were too busy muffling your moans as his digits worked your folds, he saw you cover your face as if embarrassed at yourself and he removed your hands away letting you see him, he desperately needed that connection and his fingers traced over your bruised lips and he saw you sigh in need of him as your hands clawed his chest a little. He freed himself from the constraints of his slacks before aligning himself to you, he grunted feeling how tight you were and opened your legs a little more pulling you closer by the edge of the bed where he had you. He pressed his thumb across the length if your sensitive nub and watched you arch your back, he knew he had you where he needed you. "Please I need you." You spoke in soft whimpers and he finally started moving in seeing even if he was gentle he had gotten you impatient and he kept up his pace as he held you in his arms, fingers weaving in your damp hair and kisses all wet and bruising. You were a soft moaning mess and he propped himself up with his arms on your sides and watched how he worked you, moving deeper and faster getting erratic, his brows knitted and he watched you whine in your moans, you were close and your nails dug deep red marks on his taut arms before you almost let out a muffled scream reaching yor climax. He chased his high and you watched him while you heaved and pulled him close for softer kisses, your actions may have been the final blow and he came deep inside you and stayed in you for a while. Your soft kisses compared to his were turning him putty in your arms, he realized you had that touch that dangerous touch that broke him for he was just man who'd fallen in love. He gently lifted you to sit up and may have taken his sweet time making out with you until you two eventually scooted under the covers and dozed.

It had been a peaceful slumber tangled in the sheets with your new found lover except you weren't normal. You felt that wicked urge creep up inside you, it made your tongue feel dry at first and you flailed your arms for help but then your inner demon literally wanted to lunge at whoever was next to you for the blood source and you went pale realizing what was happening. Instead of flailing now you were pushing Kihyun away and you wriggled out of bed grabbing your discarded clothes and trying to find a place to close yourself up. Strong pair of arms got you back to your senses and he saw those blood shot eyes and your skin losing color. "No..no stay away from me, please…I can't control myself." You whimpered as tears rolled down your face. "Look at me, it's okay, you're okay. Just take a deep breathe and focus on me." You listened to him and he made you sit by the bedside getting those iv's and medicines and those blood dosages and slowly as the tubes fed you blood you calmed down. You were still crying and Kihyun sat close by, he touched foreheads with you and held your hands. You were wearing his shirt and he was just in his boxers, hes thumb pads rubbed circles on your knuckles to calm you when you finally spoke, "I'm so sorry.…I was just so scared...I didn't want to hurt you. I am terrified of losing you.."  your words trailed. 

'terrified of losing you..' the words echoed in your head.

A few tears had stained the pages and the ink bled through. You put the little notebook away, the notebook with many lose papers buried in it. You dragged the shall around you to keep you warm and dwelled on that memory before breaking out of the trance. 

How long had it been since he'd been gone? You lost track of time. It was suppose to be a usual hunting trip and he'd sometimes be a little late but this time.…he hadn't returned. You were worried and thought of going after him but realized you were locked in...but of course he had to lock you in, you were a monster right? Initially you felt betrayed and hurt but then as more time passed, you started to ask yourself 'is he even alive?' You were grieving quietly, you couldn't think he would just abandon you like that. All these memories reminded you that you two really were in love even if it was all nameless but now it pained you to think something worse might have happened. During all of this emotional trauma you were also slowly running low on rations, you were out of everything...even the blood doses. You spiraled down back to the horrid condition he had found you in. This time your will was diminished.

It had gotten cold for you, extremely cold, the black veined marks tattooed your skin in different patches and grew slowly and painfully. You put away the letters and love notes you wrote to him and dragged yourself back to bed. You wore his clothes and slipped under the quilts. You had accepted your inevitable fate...

~

Kihyun had a fractured rib and severe cuts and bruises that took a while to heal, he was kept sedated and rested at his teammates place. None of them knew he had left someone behind so they didn't know why he was so jittery and panicked when he came to. They didn't let him leave seeing his condition but he sneaked past them not caring if he worsened his battle wounds. He drove back home, an hours worth of drive. He felt like his soul would literally escape him the more he came closer to his apartment. He barged in and felt the ominous chilly air, something bad had happened he could feel it. He trode carefully towards your room and he felt his heart choke, you were there on the bed in a death like slumber. He cupped your face trying to find signs if life, of warmth. He was crying profusely when he noticed you stir faintly and he brought your hands to his lips kissing them softly and tried to hold in his sobs. "It's me, I'm here love, it's going to be okay." He spoke merely above a whisper, you seemed to have trouble breathing and he realized you were on your last breathes, somehow you held on this long just for him. You didn't speak nor did you open your eyes but he could see you were in agony even if it didn't show in your face. Kihyun gently stroked your cheeks realizing he had to let you out of this misery, "It's okay you can let go now, I'm here.." He spoke to you in between hiccups accepting painfully the outcome and he finally you let go. Your body went limp and cold and Kihyun broke down, he wailed crying after you. You were gone and he blamed himself.

In your letters to him, you told him to forgive himself and to move on, not even once did you ask him to remember you instead you requested he forgets your paths had crossed so he could move on but his love for you had been so rare and true that he kept your photo in his wallet making everyone think he had a girl back home, no one knew you were a dead lover he never ever got over.

[hollandroos]

Get up | Tom Holland

My writing ♡ 

Summary: Toms entire life is skating, it’s all he knows. So what happens when he manages to get injured during training for one of the biggest events in his career and you’re there to see the entire thing?

Words: 1983

Warnings: Injury, a broken ankle. I may not be correct with all of my information – this was just a small wee concept I bought up to my group chat and with help from @neptuneparker and @hey-its-grey, we got this.

Moodboard by @neptuneparker

For fifteen years Tom had been skating.

There was nothing he knew better then the smell of freshly shaved ice beneath his skates and bitter, cold fingertips after a good session. He had come to welcome the feeling, that as well as icy blue lips. There was no sound the brunette had memorised as well as he had the Zamboni – the roar of the machine coming to life was like music to his ears.

When he was ten he took his first step on the ice, wearing the smallest pair of skates he’d ever stuff his poor feet into and a thick pair of woollen gloves over two hands as well as a bomber jacket. When he turned fifteen he got a job at the rink, serving food to the customers for free sessions. He would hand out the buttery popcorn and cups of soda for six hours a day for a portion of money slapped into his palm and a weekend lesson.

He’d hardly stepped off since.

And on the ice was where he’d met you.

He had watched on in adoration from his spot at the cafeteria, eyes wide and filled with adoration as you performed all types of tricks without fail – well, every now and then you’d slip and land on your butt but he didn't laugh like the rest of the girls in your squad. Tom was one to take notes and learn from others mistakes.

He introduced himself the following year and you clicked. You walked to training together until Toms career got more serious. Even then, you walked with him to training. You rode with him to competitions. You hyped him up when he put his name down for the trials of what would be the biggest event of his career.

You stole each other's clothes when you felt like it and slept in each other's beds.

You became platonic soulmates. Inseparable. Two peas in a pod. 

Tom skates freely, the blades on the bottom of his skates hissing as they meet the ice. Every now and then he does a jump, becoming airborne for a second before he hits the rink again with a heavy thud and every time he’s successful, hitting the ground without so much as a single mistake he smiles.

His heart is beating in his ears, adrenaline thick and coursing through his veins and Tom is reminded once more of just why he spends his days skating. It was worth the ugly blue and purple bruises that sometimes painted his feet and the blisters that’d cause him to (rarely) hiss in pain as he peeled his skates off.

That was only on the bad days – or the days where he had to break in a new pair of skates.

“Tom! Watch the footing on that one,” His trainer calls, correcting his form. The man was scary with often pursed lips and a hard stare but Tom knows he means well and beneath layers of bitterness and the occasional jealoisy, he had a heart of gold.

Tom immediately straightens up, silently promising to do better next time.

He hardly notices that he’s tired. So goddamn tired. Maybe he’d slept three hours last night, possibly four. And maybe he'd been on the ice since six am. The bags beneath his eyes are hardly noticeable beyond the genuine, beaming grin that crosses his features every time he meets your eyes. Getting Tom off the ice would be like telling a puppy it’s time to leave the dog park.

Heartbreaking.

You’ve just changed out of your own training gear and you’re now dressed comfortably in a pair of sweats and a hoodie. It was Tom's training hoodie – he knew simply because his last name was printed across the back in bright, capital letters. The action makes him shake his head, a light laugh escaping his lips because he swears he may have a pair of your socks tucked away in his bag.

You always had claimed to be his number one supporter. Never missing an event and showing up to most of his trainings.

Maybe Tom hadn’t had anything to drink in a couple of hours and his stomach was crying out for food. But Tom was home on the ice. He was comfortable twirling and jumping, stretching his arms as wide as he could or high over his head. He enjoys the pull of his muscles as he extends his legs and the feeling of gliding across the ice.

He’s flying, soaring through the air. Tom is flying like a bird, arms extended and legs straight. He feels the cool air running through locks of tousled hair, teasing dry lips.

Until he’s not.

He hits the ice, his head smacking against the frozen ground with such a force he swears for a single second that he’d knocked a couple of teeth out. Maybe seriously damaged his jaw or his head. Maybe that wouldn’t have been too bad because he’d be able to continue skating – pushing his way through recovery so he could compete.

It only takes Tom around three seconds for him to realise that the searing pain has travelled to his ankle. And my god – it’s so bad. It’s unbearable. It’s bone-chilling and excruciating. It’s like someone had cut off his ankle and stitched it back on without anaesthetic. The skater had felt pain before but nothing like this.

Tom hears distant screams and somewhere, somehow he hears his name being called. It takes him another three seconds for him to realise that some of the screams are his own but it's hard to tell over the ringing in his two ears.

It takes bystanders a second to realise what had happened before you’re rushing onto the ice, muttering something about an ambulance to the lady next to you when Tom doesn’t push himself up like he usually does. Instead, he continues to wail, cries of pain slipping past cherry red lips.

“Tom– Tom, hey.” You speak, rushing to his side. The brunette remains still, arching his back in pure agony. You nearly slip over the ice yourself before you fall to his side, sitting up on your knees. “It’s okay, you just fell.” You tell him, picking up a sense that this was more than just a little slip.

Skaters fall over frequently. Beginners and experts – they fall on their butts, sides, fronts. It was all normal. But Tom always got up, forcing himself up with two stiff arms and achy legs. So why wasn’t he getting up?

The skates feel like they’re suffocating his feet, stuck in that enclosed space just squeezing until he begins to lose feeling but Tom knows as well as everyone else that they’re no tighter then normal. But he can’t help but want them off. And now.

“It hurts.” He mutters, gritting his teeth. Without thinking about it you take the boys hand and he squeezes intensely. You don’t even wince as he pinches your hand, trying to release some of the searing pain. His whines get worse when his trainer begins to slide his skate off, tugging gently to get the thing to budge.

You make the mistake of looking down.

You hold back the urge to throw up upon seeing his left ankle twisted in a way it shouldn’t be and seeing the horror written all over your face, Tom tries to sit up on his elbows, attempting to get a look at his ankle that was still aching. The action sends shock waves like no other up his leg.

“Don’t look,” You tell him, gently easing the boy back down onto the ice. Pure pain paints his features. “It’ll be okay, just… don’t look. Look at me instead.”

Tom wants to cry – scratch that, he was crying. Warm, salty tears run down his cheeks and make contact with the ice. Surely his trainer wouldn’t be too happy about that but the man couldn’t care less as he watches a couple rush across with a blanket. You practically throw the thing over him, tucking it under his sides.

Moving him would be a challenge. Every movement seemed to put him in more pain.

It’s then that Tom realises he’s shaking wildly, hands trembling and lip wobbling.

“I can’t deal with an injury right now, I have trials and I have to make the team.”

“You don’t have to make the team. There’s always next year and the year after that and besides, you’ll get a hundred more opportunities like this one.” You watch his face morph into disappointment, a fresh set of tears flooding his eyes and let out a sorrowful sigh. “Let’s not skip ahead yet, we need to get you to a doctor.”

He’d need at least a couple months to heal but you give him a little hope, even if you feel none yourself.

Glancing down at your feet, Tom chuckles to himself with the odd tear still staining his faded pink cheeks. 

“No shoes on the ice, remember? Haven’t you learnt anything?”

You want to laugh at your best friends teasing too but you’re riddled with fear. How would he cope - how would he forgive himself for injuring himself like this only weeks before the biggest event of his lifetime?

“I’m not going to worry about taking my shoes off when my best friend nearly knocked ‘imself out.” You reply, bitting back your fears.

Tom was the kind of person to blame himself for every mistake he’d ever made out there, it was hard enough with the pressure to be the best, but here he was, almost helpless, just like the little boy you met on his first day of skating lessons when he first fell over and you helped him get back up. There’s an ache in your chest that refuses to cease.

“Why do you look so sad? I’m the one who’s just fallen on his ass.” Tom tries to bite back his pain by teasing you. But every statement feels more forced then the last.

“Just worried that you’ll need time off and you know how much I hate coming to training by myself.” You playfully groan, whipping the dull smile off of your features when Tom winces as his trainer moves his leg. It’s only a small noise of pain but you screw your face up, completely at a lost for words.

Tom looks over, tilting his head to the side. His eyes are rimmed red, lips swollen and wet with sticky tears.

“Tell me doc, how bad is it?”

You look at his ankle, face falling at the swelling that definitely wasn’t there the first time you glanced over. His trainer gives you a sorrowful look, carefully shaking his head. The comp would definitely be a no go.

“You’ll skate again, but maybe not for a little bit.”

Toms' heart falls in his chest, plummeting into the pits with a thud. He skates. That’s it.

Going months without skating for Tom was like… it was like going months without a phone or your favourite sweets. It gave him that adrenaline rush that could be compared to spending a good night with friends or seeing your favourite film in the theatres for the first time.

He adored every day that he got to race back and forth on the rink and Tom was already counting down the minutes until he could get back to it… to feel the cold air rising up from beneath his ankles instead of beneath his pounding head.

“I skate nearly every day, for me two weeks is a ‘little bit’.”

“I know.” You say, rubbing patterns on the back of his hand. Toms' cheeks had long turned a shade of pink. Like peaches. “But for a little bit you get to relax and when you come back, the ice will be waiting for you.”

Tell me what you thought!

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[wallgirl]

Miraculous Ladybug - Tragic Zombie AU

 *Oneshot. Content warning for blood, gore, and death.*

"I don't remember signing up for this," he'd quipped half-heartedly to her. His shoulders had been slumped in exhaustion, unidentifiable gunk and gore on his boots. She'd given a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle in response, and his dusty lips warmed to a smile. But he'd maintained his deathgrip on his staff, forever vigilant of the shadows and the terror that might be lurking in them.

It was one of her more painful memories, and yet it was exactly how she wanted to keep him in her mind's eye. Resilient, strong, and witty to the end.

Now more than ever, she wished she could go back to that moment. Back to that place of momentary quiet and peace, the streetlight overhead holding them close in its halo. Two friends and partners sharing a brief respite in a horrific crusade.

But no matter how many tears flowed from her eyes, or how many nights she whispered a desperate plea to the stars, Chat wouldn't be coming back.

Not the Chat she knew.

"I'm not going without you," she'd whispered hoarsely. But her own words were failing her. They both knew there was no undoing this.

His brilliant green eyes held her gaze, and he began to smile again. "It's okay, m'lady. You have a world to save."

"I'm going to come back for you," a voice promised. Her head was thick and buzzing. Was that her voice wavering?

Then he leaned closer and rested his nose against hers. "It's okay, Ladybug. It really is," he whispered.

How could he face this so calmly? How could he leave her with a smile that brilliant, even as the sheen of sweat from the agony he was enduring broke out across his skin?

Blood contained to ooze from the many bites penetrating his calf. The sound of wailing and screaming continued to echo from the metal passageway behind them. Within seconds, the door would be breached - and they would be overwhelmed.

"No more arguing," he said softly, cupping her face with her hand. "Go."

"Chat-" "Just close your eyes," he whispered. His eyes were glazing over, his lips growing stiff. "I'm... I"m still there with you."

She kissed his hand, squeezed it tight

and sprinted away.

I'm still there with you.

Now she was stuck by herself, trying to help suppress the hordes of undead alongside the military and police, even as Paris was sectioned off by the government and declared a No Man's Land. On occasion, she would enlist another Miraculous holder to help her, but this was something she treated as a last resort. She wanted no one else to suffer the numbness she saw reflected back in the mirror.

Everything had changed, everything. Whole districts of Paris were war zones or barricaded off completely, where only those seeking death ventured. Everyone knew someone who had died or been turned. At first, Marinette kept track of the faces that disappeared from school. She couldn't bring herself to continue once the number passed ten.

Ms. Bustier's class was largely untouched compared to the rest, due to Marinette's vigilant watch. Sabrina and Max had been rescued after being bitten, and both were locked up in some secretive hospital ward as quarantine. No one knew if they would live or die. The understanding was that the government was working on a cure, and getting closer each week - but no one knew if it would arrive in time to save their classmates.

So no one talked about it.

And no one, not even Ms. Bustier, talked about the recent absence of Adrien Agreste.

The second day he didn't show up, Marinette's stomach had begun to turn. She had been forced to leave Chat behind just Friday, and now...

"Has anyone been in touch with Adrien recently?" Ms. Bustier had pried the class. All eyes turned to Nino.

Nino's expression was uncharacteristically stony. "I texted him yesterday. I haven't heard back from him yet."

Yet.

That 'yet' had caught in Marinette's throat.

Adrien? He

Chat and now

Adrien, please don't

"Alya?" Ms. Bustier had said softly. "Will you help Marinette to the bathroom?"

Was that ripping noise coming from her? Was that why everyone was staring at her in concern?

"Come on, girl." Alya was there suddenly, supporting her weight and helping her to her feet.

Marinette didn't remember much of the rest of that afternoon.

They didn't speak of Adrien again.

---

               As desperation sank in deeper, Marinette clung to any news she could find about the cure. Every day, she printed out any new bit of information she could find and pasted it on her wall. As the weeks went by, the wall by her bed became a collage of black and white text.

               "Marinette," Tikki said softly during one of her frenzies.

                "Don't you see, Tikki?" Marinette snapped. "The cure's coming soon." Her hand began to shake as she cut out another article. "Adrien and Chat will be fine. They'll..."

                 The sobs broke free unexpectedly, and the scissors fell limply from her hand. Tikki said nothing, but pulled them away and snuggled up against Marinette's shoulder.

               In this way, the weeks went by in lurches and whispers, until one cold night.

---

               "Rena Rouge, how's your progress?"

               "Route completed, Ladybug. No zombies, not even any movement here. I'm ready to head in for the night."

               "Thank you, Rena. I'll meet up with you in ten."

               "See you then."

               Ladybug closed her yoyo. The streets were getting steadily quieter as the military and police got better at rounding up and eliminating the zombies. Before, they'd numbered nearly a hundred thousand - now, the president had announced that some previously infected sections of Paris had been declared zombie-free, and were ready to begin the process of decontamination and clean-up.

               She gave her yoyo a deft flick and swung out over the street, zipping past blackened windows and broken streetlights. Abandoned cars, some with their doors still open and windows rolled down, littered the pavement below. One still seemed to contain formerly living occupants - she took a paint pellet from a pouch around her waist and tossed it onto the vehicle. Marking remains for recovery was becoming just as important as elimination of the undead, especially now that there was a chance that the bodies would escape consumption by zombies.

               She was about to continue her journey when she noticed the car's driver door open slowly. She immediately swung to a higher vantage point on the nearest roof and crouched down to watch.

               Slowly, slowly, the door swung open, pushed by a dark, slender leg. Ladybug's eyes narrowed. The sluggish, ambling movement was characteristic of a zombie.

               She dropped back down to the street and readied her yoyo. Zombie dispatch was the absolute worst part of her new routine, but it was necessary. At this point, most zombies were decomposed past curing, and posed too much of a hazard to be contained. Elimination was a cruel necessity, but she made it her duty to make it swift and painless.

               The rest of the zombie emerged, staggering, from the car, its mouth covered in gore. Dim green eyes flickered back and forth, unfocused, underneath a blood-stained mess of blond hair. A bodysuit that was at one point black, but was now shaded dark red and grey with blood and rubble, clad the figure from head to foot. And held loosely in one twitching hand was -

               Chat's baton.

               "Where did you get that?" Ladybug snapped immediately, lowering into an offensive stance. "Why-"

               The zombie slowly limped into the light of a nearby streetlight, and Ladybug's yoyo fell to the ground.

               "Chat?" She breathed.

               There was no recognition in his face as he made a clumsy beeline for her. Ladybug retrieved her yoyo and sent it straight for him, binding him tight. Her steps slow and cautious, Ladybug approached him, hardly daring to believe her eyes.

               His gaze didn't follow her or even focus on her at all as she slowly circled him, just staring vaguely ahead at some unseen point.

               She returned to face in front of him, still maintaining a safe distance. "Chat... I thought..." She swallowed hard, fighting to control her battling emotions. I thought they had consumed you.

               His lips parted, and for a brief moment her heart rose at the hope that he might speak to her. But only a ragged breath emerged, and he tilted his head away from her.

               Reassured by his passive behavior, she raised a tentative hand towards his shoulder. "I thought-"

               He immediately lunged for her, and reflexively she pulled tight on the yoyo, the string cutting into him and stopping him in his tracks. Now their faces were only a foot apart, and Ladybug could fully see the emptiness in his eyes. He barred his teeth and snapped at her, hands clawing at his sides. There was no semblance of humanity left in his face, the skin drooping around a cut on his left cheekbone. Ladybug swallowed hard and tried in vain to ignore the hot stinging sensation in her eyes.

               He was in bad shape, even for a zombie. His body was marred by even more bites than before, and they were beginning to ooze a strange dull green. There was little color left to his skin, and a milky film enveloped his eyes.

               She gulped down the lump in her throat and felt determination rise inside her. "I won't leave you, kitty," she promised.

               She leaped a reasonable distance away and unwound her yoyo from him, swinging it around in circles as she prepared to launch it again. He rushed for her once more, and with a careful aim she threw the yoyo. It made contact with his temple, and he crumpled to the ground.

               For a few tense moments, Ladybug waited to see if he would move again. Once she was satisfied that he was out, she binded him once more with her yoyo and heaved him up in her arms. He was so thin now, and smelled of death. "Don't worry, kitty," she murmured as she shifted him up over her shoulder. "Master Fu might have an answer."

               She retrieved the baton and holding onto Chat tight, set across the city rooftops towards Fu's house.

---

               "Ladybug," Fu answered the door in surprise. "I did not expect such a late visit from such an esteemed guest."

               "I'm so sorry, Master Fu," Ladybug whispered in a hurry, "but I need your help."

               Fu opened the door wider, and stepped back immediately in shock. "Is that-?"

               "Chat Noir, Master," Ladybug pleaded, carrying him into the room. "Please, save him!"

               Fu took several seconds to process the situation before him before shaking his head solemnly. "Ladybug... There is nothing we can do," he said softly, head bowed. "No Miraculous can heal what has been done."

               "No!" Ladybug wailed. "Master Fu, please! He gave his life for mine! He's still here! He can still get better..." Her voice broke, and the tears began to run down her face. She slowly fell to her knees and laid Chat down.

               “Ladybug,” Fu said quietly, kneeling next to her and resting a hand on her shoulder. “It is not your fault.”

               “It should have been me,” she choked out. “He took the blow for me. And now, there’s no way to save him?”

               “You were partners,” Fu continued. “Chat Noir knew one of you had to go on, and he made the choice that he felt was right. He wanted you to live on, Ladybug.”

               She wiped the tears away with a shaking hand, staring down at Chat’s worn and bloodied face. Their last conversation came rushing back to her. His insistence, as usual, that she go on, even at the cost of his own wellbeing. A humorless smile came to her lips. So like Chat, even to the end.

               I’m still there with you.

               Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to give up yet. “What about the cure they’re working on? They say it might work on full-fledged zombies…”

               Master Fu shook his head sadly. “Chat Noir is too far gone, Ladybug. Most zombies in his state would have fallen long ago. The cure will only work on those whose bodies can still function on their own.”

               Ladybug’s eyes darted between Chat and Fu in confusion. “But… Chat is still…”

               “It is his Miraculous keeping him together now. The Miraculous is increasing his durability and allowing him to continue on. But without it…”

               Ladybug closed her eyes and turned away. “I understand.”

               Silence settled in around them, the only interruption coming in the form of Chat’s ragged, unsteady breaths.

               Finally, Ladybug turned back to him. With a smile that contained no joy, she carefully smoothed Chat’s bangs back. Fu turned his gaze to the ground.

               “So I guess this is it, huh, kitty?” She fought to keep her hand steady. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting out there. What you must’ve gone through…”

               With her other hand, she wiped away some of the grime on his face. “But you did what you set out to do. I’m safe. Paris is on the mend. We did it, kitty, just you and me.” Her lower lip wobbled.

               His eyelashes fluttered briefly. Was he dreaming? Could he dream? Was there, perhaps, some part of his mind that remained cognitive, even now?

               Was he thinking of her?

               She allowed herself no more time to ponder, knowing it would only make what she had to do worse. Steadying herself, she stood and turned to Fu. “I… don’t want to do it here. It wouldn’t be right to do it in your home, after all.”

               Master Fu got to his feet as well. “I will come with you, Ladybug.”

               “No, really, it’s all right, Master Fu. I… I should be the one to, as his partner.”

               “I understand how you feel. But… situations like this are unique.” There was hesitancy in his voice that she didn’t understand.

               “His Miraculous will have to be removed,” he said slowly. Finally, things made sense to Ladybug.

               “But… Knowing his identity can’t hurt me now, can it?” She asked. “Now that…”

               Fu was silent for a long moment.

               “Please, Master, he’s my partner. He’s my friend,” she begged.

               Fu closed his eyes, as if in deep concentration, before finally answering. “Alright. But let me support you, as both Master and Guardian of the Miraculous.” His gaze said what his words didn’t. I will be there if you fall.

               Ladybug swallowed and clenched her hands. “Thank you, Master.” She picked Chat back up in her arms, tenderly, for the last time.

               “Wayzz,” Fu commanded. Wayzz appeared from where he had been respectfully waiting behind an armchair. “Master?”

               “Transform me.”

               “But, Master…”

               “This is a special circumstance, Wayzz. I do this not to fight, but to see off a friend.”

               Wayzz bowed his head. “I understand.”

               And with Fu transformed, they left.

               It took a few minutes for Ladybug to choose a place. They had travelled to one of the quarantined districts, and the silence threatened to overwhelm her with its weight. Chat was still unconscious in her arms, but it was impossible to say how much longer he’d be out. She swallowed hard. Please, if this is a nightmare, wake me up, she pleaded. There was no reply.

               Finally, she stopped before a building with a high rooftop. She turned to Fu. “Here. Will you… wait down here?”

               Fu stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “Do not be overwhelmed, Ladybug. It is the only way.”

               She couldn’t bring herself to smile, settling for a hoarse whisper instead. “I know. Thank you, Master.”

               Without further ado, she swung up to the rooftop.

               The numbness that had been threatening to overtake her the entire time now crashed around her. She felt completely disconnected, as if she was seeing the world through a tunnel. There were her arms, holding Chat… Chat, or what was left of him. A husk.

               The night breeze was cold, and she shifted her arms to hold him more securely against her, shielding him. What’s the point? A vicious little voice jeered at her. In a moment, you’re going to –

               That’s enough, she told it. I do this to keep him from suffering. If I don’t do it, someone else will. It’s better for it to be me. He…

               He loved me.

               That thought broke her completely. “Chat,” she sobbed against his mused hair. “I’m so sorry, Chat. I failed you. You loved me, and you trusted me completely, and I just…”

               She laid him down carefully on the cold rooftop, her tears turning the dust on his suit to mud where they fell. “But you can rest now. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been out there, looking for you. But I’m here now, and I…”

               I love you.

               His eyes slowly opened, faded green meeting watery blue. And for a moment, just a moment, she knew he was seeing her. Then they closed once more.

               It’s okay, my lady.

               I’m still there with you, no matter what.

               She steeled herself and straightened up. “This isn’t the end, kitty,” she promised, her voice thick with pain. “I’ll see you again soon.” She reached for the ring on his hand.

“No matter who you are, no matter how far apart we are,” she whispered. “I love you.”

               She slid the ring off.

[kenzieam]

Surrender to the Call - Chapter Six (Bucky X Levi)

Rating: M (language, violence, mentions of torture and abuse, eventual smut, angst)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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OMG. I haven’t updated this story since May! Shame on me. :(  CATCH UP HERE!

Well, anyway, I’m taking another stab at it, so I hope this chapter is worth your wait and, as always, thank you for reading!

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TRIGGER WARNINGS - ATTEMPTED SELF-HARM/SUICIDE- READ WITH CAUTION

For the second time, Levi cried herself into an exhausted sleep and, once she’d slumped unconscious against him, Bucky rose and carried her to the bed, laying her gently down and covering her with the blanket.  

The surrealness of what had just happened made his head spin. Levi had meant to kill herself; the gun had been loaded. How much longer would she have sat there before pulling the trigger? How close had Bucky come to losing her forever? Seated on the edge of the bed Bucky bent forwards, burying his face in his hands and fought a rising tide of panic.  

He couldn’t do this. 

He couldn’t live like this, with the knowledge that a moment’s distraction; a few minutes absence, could give Levi another opportunity to take her life. And more, what right did he have to try to stop her? What deep-seated selfishness was that? To demand another to exist in abject misery just to make life less empty and sorrowful for yourself?

His heart ached with an entirely new pain; one he’d battled months ago, when Levi had still been missing. Back then he’d told Steve that he preferred she die rather than live in such agony; but now, with her back and secure in his arms, his old resolve failed.

Goddammit, he needed Levi more than he needed air.  

He was a selfish bastard. He-

Levi stirred, a broken whimper escaping her lips. She was still asleep but, even now, needed him close. Her distress increased, her whimpers becoming more broken and Bucky gave in, lifting the blankets and curling against her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, tangling his legs with hers and burying his face in her neck.  

His body calmed her almost instantly, and he murmured soothing noises in her ear, reassurances that he would never leave her, that they would work through this and, by the time Levi relaxed again, the tears clouding Bucky’s eyes had stopped as well.

*****************************************************************************

A strangled scream tore Bucky from sleep and he jerked awake with a hoarse gasp, his heart racing.

“N-no!”  

Bucky turned, blinking in the darkness. Somehow, he and Levi had rolled apart, a large swath of mattress between them. Levi lay with her back to him, curled in the fetal position, twitching and jerking.  

“No, don’t.... please!” Her voice rose, breaking.  

Bucky cursed low under his breath and scrambled to her, pulling Levi against his chest. “Levi, baby-”  

Levi screeched like a caged animal, bucking against him and her elbow hit him painfully in the ribs. He grunted but didn’t let go; the bruises she’d inflict in the next few minutes would fade by tomorrow; they always did.  

“I’m sorry!” Levi wailed, but Bucky knew the apology wasn’t for him; it was for the specters in her nightmares, the ghosts that haunted and stalked her dreams, the souls she’d taken as HYDRA’s pawn. If they were anything like the ghosts of Bucky’s nightmares, then they were relentless; stalking shadows; unswerving and unavoidable, suffocating as they closed in on you, demanding blood in garbled, grave-hoarsened rasps.

“Levi, it’s me.” Bucky whispered, fighting his rising panic. Since being brought out of cryofreeze, Levi suffered from nightmares and terrors occasionally broken up by fits of exhausted sleep. Rather than the occasional bad dream, she now experienced only the occasional rest.  

Most times; Bucky was enough to pull her out of her terrors. Sometimes just his voice was enough, and he’d lay beside her and talk, stroke her sweaty hair back from her forehead as he murmured soothingly. Other times, he needed to hold her, wrap himself around her and almost shout her out of her dreams. He’d call her name with increasing urgency, heart rate rising with growing fear until he seemed to break through her terror, until she could hear him, feel him around her. She’d tremble for hours after, clinging to Bucky like a life raft in the middle of the ocean and he’d croon to her, murmur and hum her favorite songs until, absolutely wasted, beyond exhausted, she would sleep.  

But she’d terrified Bucky, twice now. Even his most desperate pleas had failed to rouse Levi, and she’d twisted helplessly, keening in anguished panic, completely beyond even Bucky’s reach. Both times Bucky’d had to call the T’Challa’s physician, both times the only way to bring Levi out of her prison was to sedate her, drag her down almost to a coma to free her mind from the claws of the memories that threatened to take her.  

Both times, Bucky had sat with Levi’s unconscious body, holding her hand and wondering if Levi would be able to find her way out of her hell. He’d stalked in behind her as far as he could, but there were places even he could not follow; places carved out during her four years conscious under cryofreeze, shadows formed that would never completely be extinguished, born from HYDRA’s rape of Levi’s whole being.  

Bucky prayed desperately that this wasn’t one of those times, that Levi would hear him, feel him holding her and that it would be enough. Her screams were heart-rending; the pain in them so much deeper than mere physical discomfort, this was soul-deep agony and anguish was a sharp knife in Bucky’s heart because he couldn’t save her from this, he could only be there to hold the shattered pieces. "Levi! Baby, wake up!”  

Levi jolted in his arms, like she’d been electrocuted and Bucky could feel her heart almost exploding in her chest, beating a frantic, manic tattoo that a normal, unenhanced organ would be unable to achieve. Sweat dampened her skin and she shuddered, a full-body tremble without end. Her screams choked off, replaced by a distraught gasping.

“Levi, can you hear me?” Bucky whispered tentatively. There had been times when he’d managed to pull her from the nightmare, only for Levi to fall instantly asleep again or, frighteningly, be simply too stunned to reply.  

“Bucky-” her voice broke and Bucky tightened his arms around her, rested his cheek to hers and began to croon; a slow song drawn out into a lullaby.  

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The sun was hot on Bucky’s shoulders but he reveled in it. After years of Siberian cold, the sun was always welcome. Levi’s shoulders were already growing pink as she hiked ahead of him, a thin trail of sweat beginning to show down her spine, darkening her red tank-top to oxblood. Her hips swayed in denim cut-offs and Bucky’s body tightened with unanswered need. He could not, would not try to force her affections, force her into anything she wasn’t completely ready for, but goddammit, it was growing hard, no pun intended.  

The last weeks had been a mingling of hope and shattering defeat.  

At times, Levi seemed almost successful at making progress, at taking a few steps forward and overcoming her crushing guilt; then something would slip, some dark thought would consume her and she’d tumble right back down her abyss of anguish.  

There were days when she was able to articulate her grief, tell Bucky about the crippling pain and sorrow, how the knowledge that she’d murdered hundreds clawed at her very soul, and other days were she could not bring herself to speak at all, or to eat, or do anything but sit in a dark corner of her palace rooms with a thousand yard stare, not hearing Bucky as he sat near her, trying to draw her back out.

Bucky shuddered remembering the scene that had slapped him in the face almost a week ago. He’d brought a tray of food back to the room to find Levi nowhere in sight, the bathroom door closed. He'd given her a minute of privacy, but when Levi hadn’t appeared, he’d approached the door, knocked tentatively.  

“Levi?”

There was no answer, then, a stifled sob.

“Levi?!” He tried the knob, locked. Gritting his teeth, panic beginning to curl ice-cold fingers around his heart, he slammed his synthetic shoulder into the door, splintering it open with a bang.  

Levi was seated on the lowered toilet seat; she didn’t even seem to notice Bucky’s dramatic entrance.

“Levi!” The sharp tang of blood was unmistakable now and Bucky lunged at Levi, grabbed her shoulders as he babbled in startled panic, heart pounding in his chest. He’d hidden his gun, all the knives-

Levi had a pair of metal scissors, spread open and, as Bucky watched in stunned horror, dragged the edge along the inside of her bare thigh. Blood welled and trickled down her pale skin and, when the cut’s length matched the several already there, she lifted the blade and began a new line, pressing harder. Her face showed no emotion, but tears streamed down her cheeks.  

“Jesus, baby!” Bucky roared, equal parts horrified and angry. He snatched the scissors from her hands and threw them across the room, dimly registering the shattering of a picture. Falling to his knees in front of her he grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

“Why? Baby, why?” HIs anger was suddenly overshadowed by panic and, letting go of her shoulders he pried her thighs wider, ran shaking fingers down her skin, trying to see the extent of damage through his own terrified tears. Both creamy thighs, thighs Bucky had spent countless hours between, kissing and worshiping, caressing with reverent fingers, thighs that had cushioned and embraced him as he drove inside her, were abused, marred by vertical wounds; none bled to extremes, but all were deep enough to weep crimson and patter slow drops on the floor. Looking up he saw Levi staring at him, through him, her gaze blank but far from vacant. She knew what she was doing, what she’d already done. She’d not moved since Bucky tore the scissors away, her hands still clasped together in front of her.

Bucky gave into his horrified sorrow and dropped his head as tears ripped through him. He pressed kisses to her thighs, kisses not of worship and adoration, of never-ending love but of desperation; frenetic investigation of the marred and torn flesh, uncaring of the blood and mess, frantic only to touch her, to soothe the pain.  

“Baby... baby. Oh god, why?” He babbled between kisses, between sobs. Lifting his head, he let go of her legs and cupped her face, needing her to really look at him. “Levi, please?!”

Levi blinked; eyes slow to meet his. Awareness was rapidly overtaken by pain, and shame.  

“I-” she whispered, voice breaking. “I just wanted to-” Tears were diluting the blood Bucky’s hands had smeared across her cheeks. “I just w-wanted to feel something else-” she sagged in Bucky’s grip, in defeat. “I’m tired of the pain-”

The wounds had faded, healed rapidly and you would not be able to see anything marring Levi’s skin now, save for faint pinkish lines, but the image of her dragging the scissors across her tender flesh, of the blood welling, of the blankness in her eyes still haunted Bucky constantly.  

They walked now, for hours at a time. Few words were exchanged and Bucky was reduced most times to simply following Levi as she hiked aimlessly; but then she’d find a place that appealed to her: a shady spot under an enormous, ancient tree; a nest of boulders near a watering hole, and Levi would stop for a while and sit. Sometimes she’d talk, others times not. But she would always take the hand Bucky offered her when he sat beside her.  

Bucky tentatively viewed these long hikes as progress. Levi’s explorations in the first weeks had been anemic, never venturing far, but since Bucky had found her cutting herself in the bathroom, something seemed to have broken free in her, an almost frenetic impulse to move. Her pale skin was beginning to tan, her shorn hair starting to wink copper in the sun and she seemed almost interested in her surroundings again.  

Levi stopped on a shelf of boulders and sat cross-legged. They’d visited this waterhole before, but had sat on the other side. A dying tree shaded them here and an assortment of animals mingled near the edge of the water, glancing up at the new visitors with faint alarm, relaxing again when they both simply sat. Bucky settled beside Levi, stretching his legs out in front of him. He’d stumbled a half-mile back or so, abrading his shin and winced when the skin pulled around the forming scab. Although she’d not rebuffed him yet, he still extended his hand to her with some hesitation, exhaling when she took it without comment. Today Levi laced her fingers with his and rested them in her lap, using her other hand to trace their connected fingers lightly.  

“Thank you.” She murmured, almost inaudible.

Not expecting her to speak, Bucky startled slightly. “What?”

Levi turned her head to gaze timidly at him but she looked away in embarrassment when his eyes met hers. “I said... thank you. I’m a goddamn mess but you’re still here... so, thank you.”

Bucky squeezed her hand. “Anything for you.”

“I don’t deserve-���

“Stop it.” Bucky clamped down on his frustration. This was not her fault. “It’s not your fault. You were made into a weapon. It was beyond wrong and fucked-up but you are not to blame.”

“All those people-”

“Are just as much victims as you are. Would you have done any of that if you were in your right mind? If you hadn’t been tortured and brain-washed?” He waited until Levi reluctantly shook her head. “No. HYDRA did this and if you give into this guilt and shame, if you let this rule you, then they win. I would do anything for you, baby. Anything but let you go. You’re not a monster and you’re not a killer. This wasn’t you, don’t let it define you.” Bucky broke off, holding his breath.

Levi exhaled, staring straight ahead. After a long minute, she sighed. “It’s hard.”

“You’re strong.” Bucky countered.

“And you won’t leave me?” There was a heart-breaking apprehension in her voice, a plea.

“Never.”  

Levi turned her head again and while there were tears trailing hot down her cheeks, Bucky saw a new resolve burning in her amethyst eyes too. 

[jollyviscreal666]

The Chef

I had refrained from entering the formulas to the CIA operatives and sending them out. I knew that there would be no suitable outcomes prior to a transaction such as this. Sure they could threaten me, charge me with international fraud and national product alteration. They could do so many more things more powerful, but they won’t. Not when I have the recipes. They are currently hidden, and only I know their whereabouts. It makes them so frustrated, but they have to play my game if they ever want my formulas and recipes. They will play. I know they will. There is no other way. I made sure of it.

Let’s take a gander at some of my backstory. I am Keith Benson, and I am a chef. I have more than just talent when it comes to cooking. I AM cooking talent, if you will. Most prefer to just simply say ‘best cook in the world’. I hate to boast, but there are no faults in that fact. Plain and simple.

When I prepare a meal, the sweltering sound of the pan leaves customers’ mouths watering in agonizing anticipation. They are salves to the presence of my cooking, and that’s only the sound. Imagine what goes through their heads when the aroma of my preparations enters their nostrils. The essence of ecstasy is immensely immersive when it comes to my preparations, and that’s only the preparation. Stage 1 if you will. Stage 2 is when the plate is placed in front of the guests or patrons. It’s that good. Everyone said so. I’ve never met anyone who said different.

One can only imagine what goes through the mind of the individuals who now are only moments away from satisfying the agony. It’s almost as if a layer of ecstasy has been ceased as it had existed. I’m only speaking from experience based on the input of former patrons and costumers. Stage 3 is the best by far. The accounts vary by person. There is nothing more I love than pleasing those who wish to have their stomach filled. The customers are the bread and butter. That is why I do everything to utilize my talents fully. There’s no feeling in the world better than watching someone fall in love with your very own dish.

I became very famous. Everyone wanted a bite. They’d pay hundreds for a full dish. No joke. I felt like my life was just a huge glop of ecstasy. Nothing ever slowed down. My rates were always high and I was very admired in the community. Everywhere I went, people followed. I became sort of a celebrity. I’ve been cooking ever since I was 8 years old. I realized about 2 years later that it was what I wanted to do in life. From then on, nothing but recipe after recipe, combinations after combinations, collaboration against collaboration.

When I was 13, I made my first cake from scratch. Surprisingly in an unlikely manner, my family fell in love with it. They commented on how accurate I was with the texture and flavor inputs of the cake when I set it all up. How could I forget that? It’s one of my greatest memories. I entered contests throughout junior high, and I won ¾. People were impressed.

I decided to buckle down and pursue my passion. I used the same idea, but based it on other foods. Most were successful at first. People thought I was talented at first, but they didn’t see me do equations and measurements accordingly with my baking and cooking tools. From there I met a famous chef who shared his secrets with me. This was after I graduated from college. He was French. At that point, I’d had baked, broiled, and fried over 1 million food meals. From there, I used my natural talent, and created my own recipes to food using what I’ve learned from master chefs, TO become THE master chef. Implying I’ve also had my own tricks as well.

Life was as I perceived it would be prior to my success. Unfortunately, that didn’t last very long. Everything took a turn when suddenly I realized I’ve been cooking up and baking the same ingredient combinations for the past 10 years. I’ve tried everything. I perfected everything. Regarding meat, the most famously known, essential food condiment, I’ve tried literally everything. Everything from hippo meat to indigenous African beetle meat. Hey, being the world’s master chef has its quantities. Even dog and cat meat.

That’s when the thought crossed my mind. I’ve never tried human meat. I’ve actually never tried human meat. It can’t be that bad. You can’t judge until you try it. For some unknown reason, I was particularly excited about the idea. Maybe it’s because I was somewhat depressed and I needed something new to fill my desires. Having nowhere to try it, nor no one to participate, I cut off my own finger. It was my first finger next to my thumb on my left hand. It hurt like hell but it was well worth it.

It was incredibly delicious for some reason, and all I did was fry it and broil it. The flesh was easy to peel off and the meat itself was freshly done. I consumed it and made the decision to adjoin the meat alongside my other famous recipe inventions. It increased the flavor of many of my swilling recipes. I added what I knew would make the best difference. I knew that human parts are actually good candidates for texture accumulation alongside flavor enhancers. I knew I could always take it a step ahead and the essence of the human larder could be used to enhance everything edible. Including the essence of my welfare prior to my soul in the universe.

I was once again filled with happiness and hope, believing I’ve found what I was missing in my life. Excitedly, I called two of the most prolific critiques in the food industry. They too showed moods of enthusiasm. Perhaps they longed for another one of my dishes. Well I had something for them, alright. I must refrain from telling you how I’d prepared these amazing meals. They’re watching me closely. All I can say is, I was in the mood to make quite an impression and I didn’t have a whole lot of time to do it. I cut my whole left hand off. I wasn’t prepared for the pain, almost impossible to block out no matter how many times I implied to myself that it was for a good cause. I had six hours to prepare the meal.

The procedure made me pass out twice, but I held my ground. I drilled a hole in the wall and inserted two inputs that connected to large looped bolts where I tied the thick Indian ropes. I connected them to other smaller bolts after inserting the smaller bolts into the large sturdy ropes. I tied the thinner smaller but more powerful ropes around my ankles, very tightly. I knew I was going to have to use a heated saw to cut it off, but I thought I could easily handle it after what I was about to do.

I drilled four more smaller holes to put a metal restraint with metal straps to hold down my arm. I had nothing to use but a premium butcher knife to cut my hand off. I put a spoon in my mouth to bite down when the pain started. 8 efficiently executed slashes in, the tip of the spoon was separated from the rest of the body. It hurt that bad. I looked for something else to bite down on immediately. I almost used my other arm. The head of the spoon was swallowed. I took no notice in it whatsoever. I still don’t know how I managed, but I just fainted a couple of seconds after my struggle.

The amount of blood spilled on the floor was apparently incredible, looking back on it. I woke up in a haze. Nearly a minute later, my pain receptors turned on again. I wailed in agony. I wanted to quit. I stood there for an hour hesitant to what my final decision would be. What I really wanted was to pass out again. So I luckily found another spare butcher knife (not as big as the one I was using) and used the handle to bite down on.

I resumed my task. I just focused on slicing through as hard and efficiently as possible. I tried so hard. I tried so hard to avoid coming to a stop. I had sweat covering me. I almost got in 5 slices. Almost. I passed out at the end of the fourth. This time for 4 hours instead of 2.

Realizing I only had about 30 minutes, I decided to quit. I needed to get to the hospital. I felt incredibly weak, as if something had drained all my body’s life support. I had overestimated myself. I dialed 911 and called for an ambulance. I told them my arm had gotten stuck in the mechanical absorbing meat grinding flattener. I quickly decided to put my nearly detached hand in the receiving area of the machine. 8 more slices would’ve done it. I had to drill holes and do the powerful rope attaching deal, but it worked out. I thought I’d lost so much blood there was none left. I was wrong. I believe the machine even took some of my skin above where I’d jammed the blade, about 4 inches.

I was taken to the hospital. I hid my hand in the freezer room. I was given a mechanical robotic prosthetic hand thanks to my income. I prepared the meal using the meat flattener/grinder. Then I used my special combinations which made the meat so much better. I named the dish “La Vaggia Della eta” because of its Italian style. I served it with my famous buttered fettuccine. Of course they fell in love and mentioned that I’d never failed to amaze them. They said it was the best meal they’ve ever tasted, no less by my hands!

I added my other famous meat recipes, but the most important ingredient to my success was the human meat. It gave it that special texture-like taste that you’d always swear you taste in a variation of a product, but to a much bigger scale!

I took to hiring hitmen on the deep web to kill random individuals I became acquainted with, and bring them to me. I prepared the meals monthly, then weekly, and finally, daily. I experimented with every organ, every tissue layer of the human anatomy. People were impressed that I could whip up such successful meals after so many years of the same stuff. And the best part was, it was good!! I went from millionaire to billionaire.

I even established my own corporation. I was head of it, of course. We sold nearly 8.9 billion products. Critics claimed that the products should be given the same respect and treatment as coca-cola itself. It was that good. I had 8 years of success and joy. Then came the final chapter of my life.

The elite health inspectors and chefs couldn’t help but to go digging. They loved my new dishes and products, but they needed to know how the hell I’d made it so good to get where I was now. Everything that good has to be discovered . I just wish they’d found out later. They hired a couple of scientists supposedly who worked for the FDA. It took them 4 months to find out what my special ingredient was. They were too busy eating my dishes on break rather than focusing full time on their study. They eventually found traces of skin cells and human gene extract in my products.

I can only imagine what went through their heads. I’m not as crazy as you think. When you think about it, the idea of delicacies is to indulge oneself by survival standards in the most comfortable way possible. If you need something in a dire situation (in my case sentimentally personal) then you have every right to try to hone it.

Before they officially took me to prison, I told them that my recipes could not be used without the human meat. They demanded the locations to avoid them getting into the wrong hands. I denied them the locations. I’d truthfully swallowed the bottle containing the recipes.

They also needed the recipes to put on record to sentence and condemn me. They needed evidence according to law. So I forced them to play my sick game. I had bottles with substitute recipes. I made the floor slippery with large amounts of canola oil. After spotting it, in frantic haste they ran to claim it. It was taped to the meat flattener/grinder. Of course the one in front slipped and his hand got caught in it. It began to suck him in. While being inserted into the machine, he managed to rip the taped recipe from the machine. The other FBI officer took it. He didn’t even bother to look at his partner as he became hamburger meat and flattened.

They threatened to torture me once more agents arrived. I was forced to tell them that I’d swallowed the actual recipes. They gave me the death penalty. Death by lethal injection. What a surprise. 2 months before my supposed death date, I requested one final meal. Myself. The authorities, not caring one way or the other, decided to grant my request, thanks to those who supported me 9-25 years ago. I’m scheduled for lethal injection in 2 days. Better get to work. Haven’t eaten in weeks. Have a good life. And as always, bon apetit.

~~

Police notes: Clearly mentally insane, the subject’s last request was granted. Surprisingly, agents Ross and Foster stuck around to see him bleed out. According to them, they were surprised as to how long he’d lasted prior to his self mutilation. According to them, a small incision was made to reach his internal organs without bleeding out completely. The managed to amputate and consume his limbs in a matter of days. The most surprising, yet most disturbing of all was the absence of his eyes along with the smile on his corpse.

–

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch32 (V x Reader)

June 15th 02:01pm

V

V takes as much of his own weight as he can bear, shame mixing with grim acceptance as more and more flecks of his flesh float away. His heart is already breaking. He can envision it easily, cracks mirroring his skin marring the muscle tissue within his chest as he forces himself to feel the pain. It isn’t easy – every molecule of his body that vanishes feels like a splinter being pulled. A sharp sting followed by calm relief, as if his own body were an interloper and the only path to peace was for him to vanish entirely.

 It wouldn’t be peaceful back in Vergil, you know that.

As much as he wants to agree with Griffon, a small voice inside him insists that he will only be at rest if he merges. That to endure like this would be sheer agony, for not just him but for everyone who cares about him too. He remembers what it felt like to see you in pain; he would be inflicting that feeling upon you with his every waking breath if he remains.

 You are such an idiot, sometimes…

Griffon sends him a slough of images, visions of joy and happiness yet to be shared with his… family.

 What a strange thought.

 Family.

For over a decade, Vergil had borne the weight of his isolation solemnly, the thought of ever letting someone close enough to matter unthinkable. He clawed his way to strength, imagining himself to be the last living descendant of Sparda. A heavy legacy, but one he would not fail to uphold. Strength, honor, power… The accrual of such things was all he cared about.

Not once in his wanderings had he imagined himself ever having a family again. Offspring, perhaps. To continue the line, not for his own enjoyment. But friendship? Love?

Inconceivable.

 Yet here I am, being held up by my son and the woman I love, their friendship the only reason I can still hope to reach Urizen.

He shakes his head in wonder, darkly amused that he has found such bonds only to die.

 I wasted so much time. Such a fool, I was. How many years could I have spent in the company of friends if I’d abandoned my obsession?

 Better late than never. And I swear, the next time you think you’re gonna die I’m gonna scream.

 But I am dying…

 Don’t say I didn’t warn ya…

V stumbles as a high-pitched wail saturates his mind, Griffon’s insistent howling echoing within the walls of his mind. There’s no escaping the keening, though his hands still instinctively move to cover his ears as his face scrunches in irritation. You and Nero stare at him worriedly, his body held upright between the supportive arms of his family as Shadow joins in, her growling rumbles joining with Griffon’s screeching. The cacophony becomes too much to bear when Nightmare’s continuous noises of colliding rocks crashes along with the frantic screaming of his other two friends and he desperately sends his thoughts to them all.

 I submit, I submit! I’m not dying!

With a grudging and suspicious energy emanating from them, his mind falls silent at last. A high-pitched ringing follows their silence, his hearing struggling to recover as you and Nero mouth something at him urgently.

Even though he can’t hear a word you’re saying, the concern in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know, his damaged heart warming at your care. It’s alarming to say the least when he speaks in response and can’t even hear his own voice. He cringes apologetically as both you and Nero flinch at the volume, his reassurance that he’s alright apparently far too loud for comfort.

 Damn, that worked even better than I expected!

 That was entirely unnecessary.

 We disagree. No more thinking about dying, or else! Got it, Shakespeare?

V sends them all a mental grimace and his acquiescence, never wanting to hear that mixture of unpleasantness ever again. The ringing in his head gradually starts to fade and he begins to regain his hearing, much to his relief. You sound far away, but at last he can put words to the motion of your lips now.

“V, what the hell? That was right in my ear!” you complain, still cringing. Nero clearly shares the sentiment, his head cocked as far away as possible from V’s mouth. He drops his voice to a whisper, carefully watching your face to make sure he’s not hurting you.

“Apologies… I couldn’t hear anything for a moment,” he murmurs cautiously. His efforts are rewarded as you smile gratefully before confusion sets into your expression.

“Why couldn’t you hear?” you ask, mystified.

“Griffon… punished me for a thought he didn’t approve of by screaming in my mind. Shadow and Nightmare joined in as well,” he replies softly, looking at the ground in shame as he easily predicts your next question.

“What thought did Griffon disapprove of?”

He glances apologetically at you as he mumbles his response.

“That I am dying…”

As expected, you don’t react well, rolling your eyes and sighing in annoyance. You glare daggers at him, voice dripping with your frustration.

“Damnit, V! Why do you have to make it so effing hard to save you?” you cry exasperatedly. Nero coughs, stifling a laugh as best he can at your censored yet scolding tone. Your eyes snap to the young warrior, easily hearing his amusement.

“Something funny, Nero?” you ask, daring him to say the wrong thing. He glances at V, a shared moment of brotherhood as your anger spews at them both.

“Sorry, Y/N. You just sounded so much like Kyrie when I load the dishwasher wrong. Or leave the laundry in the washer too long. Or… well, you get the idea,” Nero replies sheepishly, his free hand rising to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly. V can’t help but smirk at the idea of such a domesticated lifestyle for the brazen warrior, his energy seeming completely opposed to home life.

Naturally, he tries to picture himself in the same circumstances. What would it be like to have more sets of clothing, enough to wear and to wash? What would your shared home look like? Even though you had never discussed it, he can’t fully imagine a home life in which you don’t live with him. Would you be a messy roommate?

 It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I could manage some basic cleaning.

He’s completely unaware of the soft smile on his lips, the faraway look in his emerald eyes as he pictures a bright kitchen, a large window to let the sun shine through. It’s easy to picture you cooking; he’s seen you prepare meals several times now. He knows the twist of your lips as you cook, humming slightly as you stir whatever dish you’ve decided to try. He’s not picky, his tastes not refined enough to know what he likes and doesn’t like.

He can see the glow of happiness surrounding you in his vision, the kitchen bright and alive with small pots of herbs and flowers. He’d like to try gardening, the ability to coax life along and watch it bloom sounds lovely. Would you want pets? A dog? Shadow might have some complaints, but if it made you happy…

 What about children?

It would be only natural for his small family to grow in the same way others’ have for countless generations, yet the idea makes him uneasy. Fatherhood… His eyes peek at Nero as his thoughts turn to his past failures, his inability to fulfill his duties due to his own stupidity. The vague divide that separates him from Vergil is still hazy on that much, on Nero and his mother. What if he failed again? His throat tightens uncomfortably, eyes stinging as he blinks the unshed tears away.

 I will not fail again.

Your agitated voice startles him from his reverie, though he carefully sends the image to Griffon for later use, already knowing how much it means to him.

“That’s very sweet, but so not the point,” you inform Nero before returning your ire to V. “Look, I can only do so much to help you. You need to help yourself, too.”

He shifts uncomfortably under your stern glare, your admonishment striking true. He holds your gaze as he replies solemnly. “The truth is… I wanted to be protected and loved. But I was alone. My only choice was to survive.”

He shakes his head ruefully, obsidian hair waving in front of his eyes as he smirks at you from behind the dark curtain. “I sometimes forget that I’m no longer alone,” he concludes softly.

You sigh and shake your head, anger seeping away as your shoulders shake slightly with the onset of your tears. You wipe them away furiously, grimacing.

“Damnit, I’m so tired of crying! Ugh, let’s get moving and finish this bullshit!” you exclaim exhaustedly, motioning with your free hand and stepping forward again. V and Nero fall into step beside you in silence, both thoughtful as they approach the end of this journey.

________________

Only a few short minutes pass before you start to hear the echo of voices nearby, and your trio increases the pace as soon as you all realize who is speaking.

“Hey, is that the damn fruit you’ve been jabberin’ about? Doesn’t look so special to me,” Dante’s confident voice calls out nearby. It sounds like it’s coming from ahead, maybe a little from below. You quickly step closer and closer to the source of the voice, hearing Dante getting louder as you approach.

“Yep, this is where it all started. That day mother saved me and... left you behind. The thing you don't know is, she tried to save you, too. She kept searching and searching... Until it killed her.” Dante explains.

A dark voice echoes through the narrow passage, its cadence villainous to the point of near absurdity.

 Urizen.

“I have no recollection of this tale, or this place. It's all an illusion, created by this extraordinary fruit. It's power, you see, is all I ever wanted,” it states calmly. Your trio is trotting now, desperate to reach the site of the climactic battle before it’s too late. Pure, unbridled terror courses through you, realizing the moment of truth is at hand.

 It’s too soon! We need more time!

Your eyes drift to V’s arm, wrapped over your shoulders for support. His skin is so cracked it reminds you of a lizard molting, flakes drifting away with every step he takes. He pants heavily, clearly struggling to keep up. The grimace twisting his features is horrifying; V no longer has the strength to hide how much pain he’s in, his focus entirely resting on reaching Urizen before Dante deals the death blow.

Nero catches your worried gaze over V’s lowered head, nodding forward with a raised eyebrow.

 Yeah, I got this.

“Nero, go! We’ll catch up,” you exclaim hurriedly. He shoots you a grateful smile and sprints forward, leaving you to take V’s weight alone. He gasps in pain at the shift, eyes clenching tight for a moment before his grim resolve returns.

“I will have everything!” you hear Urizen’s voice declare, thick with darkness and foreboding. You share a glance with V as you mentally stumble to the same conclusion.

 The fruit is ready.

 We’re out of time.

You hear the echo of an explosion, then Nero’s exuberant laughter.

“Not today, jackass!” the young warrior cries from somewhere below you.  Ahead, you can see an otherworldly glow emanating from around the corner. You grit your teeth and trudge forward, almost dragging V’s flagging feet forward.

“Heh, I did say I’d carry you to Urizen if I had too…” you grunt at him, remembering the moment you discovered he’s ticklish. He smirks in return, a single chuckle escaping his twisted lips.

“You ready to do this, Vergil? It all ends here!” Dante shouts, Nero’s whoop of agreement following quickly. Your heart clenches painfully tight as you hear the sounds of battle, metal hitting metal and raucous cries from the two white haired Sparda men. You round the corner at last and find a glowing hole, the same dim light you had noticed before revealing its source. A glance down the hole confirms your suspicions, spotting Nero reloading his pistol below.

You can’t seem to catch your breath as you carefully help V to the brink, your mind racing with a powerful mix of terror, hope, sorrow and apprehension.

Terror, knowing that the demon king is just below your feet, his powerful attacks making the ground tremble beneath your feet.

Hope, that you and everyone you’ve come to care so much about make it through this in one piece.

Sorrow, that you have run out of time to prepare. Will it be enough?

Apprehension, that V could still be absorbed into Vergil once more.

 What if I’ve been wrong this whole time? What if it all falls apart?

 What if I lose him?

You bite your lip anxiously, meeting his emerald gaze with tears threatening to spill yet again. His frail, cracked arms wrap around you in a tight embrace, possibly the last one you’ll ever share with your beloved poet. You choke back a sob and lean into him, memorizing his scent, his warmth as best you can.

“Are you ready?” he inquires, voice achingly strained. You take a stuttering breath, grit your teeth and focus your mind on what comes next. You strengthen your resolve, determined to do everything within your admittedly limited power to keep V alive.

“I have to be. It’s time,” you reply. He flicks his wrist and Griffon’s markings on his arm lighten, the bird taking form from the shadowy shards nearby. Without a word, he flaps forward and takes V’s outstretched arm, bringing you both down into the chaotic arena below with a meek grunt. Even he’s feeling the effects of V’s rapidly worsening health.

The poor avian demon does his best, but you and V still end up crashing the last few feet as he vanishes suddenly. You land feet first, the impact quickly toppling both you and V over. He lands with a wheeze on top of you, his slight weight barely enough to expel the breath from your lungs.

Only once he rolls off of you and you stand do you absorb the insanity in all directions, gaze sweeping across the landscape quickly.

At first glance, you seem to be on a dirt road in a grassy field, healthy and normal trees dotting the hillside nearby. Clouds decorate the baby blue sky above, a startling backdrop for the importance of the next few minutes. A wrought iron fence meets an expanse of stacked stone in front of an idyllic grey house, cracked masonry contrasting sharply against a red roof. A swing hangs from a tree in the front yard, rope still as if the world is paused. Holding its breath. A small bay on the other side of the house has a small wooden boat parked against a rock, the pier in the distance seemingly forgotten.

 Beautiful… what is this place?

Before you have a chance to voice your thoughts, a metallic ringing noise draws your attention back to the heated fight in the center of the area. A gasp of fear escapes you as you behold Urizen for the first time, his monstrous form so much worse than you’d imagined with its orange eyes and cruel spikes, long tendrils extending from his spine. The ground surrounding his massive feet is stained red, the scorched earth matching the roof of the house.

Dante and Nero stand nearby, both with their absolutely enormous swords drawn and already stained with ichor. As your stunned eyes watch, Dante disappears, reappearing in the blink of an eye a few feet closer to his foe in midair. He lunges forward, his blade slicing at Urizen’s wrist savagely. Nero streaks forward as well, his own blade sinking into the blueish-grey flesh of the demon’s calf.

Urizen kicks at the young warrior fiercely, sending his body flying across the stage. A loud snap echoes as he hits the ground, but he sits up instantly, cradling his broken wrist but still able to fight. A blue glow swings your eyes back to Dante as he darts away from the chuckling demon’s attack, the blue circles on the ground where he’d just been standing erupting forcefully.

“We should do our best to remain hidden,” V advises suddenly. You nod, Urizen’s strength obviously too much for your meager skills to face. You follow the poet to hide behind a small wooden shed, carefully peeking out from your shelter periodically to watch the conflict.

 This is so far beyond what I could’ve imagined… What the HELL am I doing here?

You peek around the corner. Urizen’s clawed fingers are extended in a gesture reminiscent of an invitation to dance, several ethereal swords materializing around him and streaking forward at Dante.

You duck back again, heart palpitating wildly against your ribs as you force yourself to take a deep breath to ease your panic. V sits silently beside you, audible gasps the only evidence his shaking, flaking form is still alive.

A loud yell; you take another peek. A fireball with a diameter the size of your arms from fingertip to fingertip is heading straight for Nero. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood as he rolls away just before it hits him with a defiant laugh, his carefree attitude making you worry like a mother hen.

 Back to hiding, then.

V unsteadily takes your hand in his, fingers threading through yours like two puzzle pieces meeting. You pull his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles softly while trying to ignore the numerous lines across his skin and smiling at him as reassuringly as you can manage.

 He needs me more than Dante and Nero right now.

You stifle your paralyzing fear, shoving it into a box and throwing it in the darkest corner of your mind as you wrap the poet in your arms. You hold him close, whispering your love and support for him amongst the loud crashes and booms that echo from the bloody battle. You stroke his hair soothingly; it’s the only portion of him that doesn’t feel dry and ravaged to your touch, and you take comfort in it almost as much as he does.

The fighting continues in the background for what feels like both far too long and far too short, the moment you’ve been dreading finally arriving as a tremendous crash rattles your bones with Urizen’s fall. You pull back and meet V’s petrified emerald eyes, forcing your voice to be steady and calm as you speak.

“Don’t forget to think of the things that make you strong. I love you, and I swear I will never abandon you,” you remind him with a teary smile. You lean forward to press your lips to his, pouring every last iota of adoration and protectiveness into the kiss in a final effort to remind him what’s worth living for.

“Guys! You can come out now!” Nero calls out. You pull away with a sigh, standing and reaching down to help V rise. Your steps are the heaviest they’ve ever been as you emerge from your hiding spot, Nero’s cocky form standing with Dante’s a few dozen feet from where the demon king lies, his blood soaking the dirt beneath him.

“So that’s really the other half of my father,” Nero comments disgustedly as you and V approach slowly. Urizen’s gurgling breath struggles through his bloody lips before you and you shudder in revulsion.

“I'm afraid so,” Dante responds sympathetically.  

V steps forward slowly, almost all his weight on his reliable cane as he approaches his other half. You instantly dash over to him, worried that if he gets too close he’ll merge. He glances at you but doesn’t back away when you tug at his hand, determined to speak to his demonic counterpart.

“In the last thrones of defeat, I see,” V observes with clear amusement.

“You...” Urizen answers back, but he can’t even finish the thought as his blood stains the ground crimson. Dante adjusts his sword and steps forward with a resigned grin.

“V, get back! Things are about to get really messy,” he instructs the obsidian haired man with a sigh.

“No! Please... Let me. It needs to be me. Please,” you beg the man. He pauses, but seeing as his enemy is already too weak to even speak coherently, he shrugs and steps back.

“Suit yourself,” he replies. You smile gratefully at him before turning to face V.

“It’s time. Tell Griffon to send you everything, and don’t come any closer. I love you, I’ll be right back,” you remind him once again, squeezing his trembling fingers and wrestling the tears from your eyes as you look into his for what could be the last time. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously, nodding. You step backward, holding his hand as long as you can before you’re forced to drop it.

Your senses go into overdrive as you turn to face Urizen, time dilating to a near standstill as you approach his defeated form. You can feel the rough texture of a dirt clod crack under your next step. Goosebumps rise on your arms at the stillness of the air, not a single other person moving. You can smell the tang of Urizen’s blood, coppery and somehow tainted in your nostrils. The gurgling final gasps of the demon king echo in your ears in a sick pattern that matches the sound of your own exhalations. You watch the horrific eyes on his torso blink as you reach him at last.

You are so very tempted to spit on his face, say a clever insult or find some way to rub his face in his defeat, but any reaction of Urizen’s could endanger V. Could make him pull at the poet’s energy at the most critical moment and bring about his death. So, you remain silent, face held carefully blank as you climb onto his huge chest. Your foot slips in the blood for an instant, but you manage to catch yourself by grabbing one of the bony horns coming from his shoulder. Your thoughts race at dizzying speed as you unsheathe your sword.

 You are poison.

 It’s my job to cure the world of you. I took an oath.

 Yet without you, V would not exist.

 So, thank you, Vergil.

 Thank you for setting him free, for giving me the gift of his existence. Thank you for being so foolish as to cast him aside. Thank you for Nero, too. He’s the brother I never knew I needed. Thank you for bringing us all together, even though the cost is too damn high. Thank you for helping me see how much was missing from my life, and for giving me the means to fill the void.

 Now die.

You take a deep breath, glancing at V once more to see his eyes locked on you, features twisted in an expression of how fearful he is. You smile at him, lining up your sword with the largest eye on Urizen’s chest. You mouth those three little words to V before closing your eyes, begging any deity who can hear you to make this work as you place all your weight on the blade, pushing it straight into the demon’s heart.

________________

V

You step away with a pained look in your eyes and he stifles the urge to take your place and end this himself with every last scrap of his considerable will power. He watches you step closer and closer to his other half with dread, too focused on you to remember to do as you’d told him.

Luckily for everyone, Griffon is paying better attention.

 Hey genius, remember what you need to do!

His faithful friend sends him an image, a familiar dream where his grey stubble tickles you as he kisses your wrinkled cheek, his liver-spotted hands holding yours tightly. Yet even with that, he struggles to focus, the duty he took on himself upon his creation weighing heavily on his mind.

 Help me, my friends!

A torrent of images floods his minds eye, most from Griffon but a few hazy snapshots from Shadow and Nightmare too. He closes his eyes to focus all the more on them.

The glint in your eyes as you looked at his face for the first time.

The press of your body on his in the back of Nico’s van, shoved against him by her insane driving.

The thoughtful gleam in your beautiful eyes as you talked to him about poetry, the first person to do so.

The first time you touched him of your own accord, laying your hand on his shoulder after his warning.

You, leaning on his shoulder eating trail mix.

Your warm arms engulfing him when your clever sheath was proven to be a success.

Your hand stroking his hair.

Kissing your wrist.

 Please… I need more!

The images come faster, a rapid spiral of memory spinning through his consciousness even as he feels more tiny flecks of his body vanish, a mirror to Urizen’s decaying breath.

The touch of your hand on his feet, forcing him to summon Griffon and get over the last ten feet of that wretched cliff.

The blood and dirt covering you in the library; evidence of what you’d done to save his life.

The pretty blush on your cheeks as you offered to wash his clothes.

The low moan when he washed your hair.

Your victorious smile when you started the motorcycle.

V opens his eyes for a split second, checking your progress. You’re almost at Urizen now, your hair swinging with each slow step you take away from him. His chest feels tight, stomach heaving oddly and skin prickling in anxiety.

 Keep going!

Tasting your fingertips mixed with pasta sauce.

The way your steps faltered as he teased you on your way to the shower.

The way you’d laid out clothes and turned the blankets for him.

Your lips, the first time he’d tasted heaven.

Your soft skin under his fingertips as he first learned how to please you.

How you tasted.

The sounds you made.

 Don’t stop there!

The way you’d looked up at him with your lips around him.

Waking up beside you.

Riding up to Nico and Nero still pressed against you intimately.

Nero’s brotherly warning.

Your tender care after his hip injury.

Your voice reading him his favorite poem.

Your foot traversing his thighs as he admitted he was yours.

Your voice saying you were his in return.

V opens his eyes again, seeing you climbing up onto Urizen’s chest carefully. You almost slip back down, the viscous blood giving you trouble. V’s world lurches uncomfortably as he is struck with vertigo. He can’t breathe, can’t focus as sheer panic envelops him.

 HURRY, IT’S NOW OR NEVER!

The bliss of being inside you.

The moment he knew he loved you.

Saying it out loud.

You saying it back.

The sadness in your eyes when he told you his fate.

Your refusal to accept it.

Your stubborn search for a way out, and your theory he prays will work at this very moment.

Playing truth or dare, you helping him bond with Nero and Nico.

Nero and Nico agreeing to help him after hearing the truth.

Nero, calling him your boyfriend.

You, calling him your partner.

He opens his eyes once more to see you raise your sword high and plunge it down into Urizen’s chest with a roar of defiance. V falls to his knees as he feels the cold steel in his own heart, the link between him and Urizen letting him feel as his other half dies.

He can feel Urizen fading, feel his life force ebbing away. He can feel his own soul reaching out to meld with Urizen’s once more, feel the union approaching. It whispers to him, urging him to let go and stop fighting, how easy it would be to surrender. Abdicate all the responsibility he’s taken onto himself, let the chips fall where they may. Rest, at long last. Let his aching body go, release the crumbling flesh that has been both a taste of freedom and an inescapable prison.

A final set of memories flashes through his mind, Griffon’s desperate last hope mixing with his own.

You calling him grade-A beef.

Joining his body with yours atop that brown vehicle.

You, pulling him to safety while Griffon was absent.

Nero, setting him, you and Dante straight after a battle.

You, punching Dante for his flirtations.

Reconciling with Dante.

Finding out that Nero is his son.

How you’d treated his wounds while he battled for his three friends.

You quoting William Blake to him, the perfect response to his idiocy.

The gently urging voice suddenly sounds far less appealing, his resistance returning in a flash of fire in his belly.

  NO!  

  MY SOUL IS MINE! YOU CANNOT HAVE IT! I AM NOT VERGIL! I…! AM…! V!!!  

[myaekingheart]

55. Dorimuchimu

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

I've said it once, I've said it twice, I've said it a thousand fucking times That I'm OK, that I'm fine, that it's all just in my mind But this has got the best of me, and I can't seem to sleep It's not 'cause you're not with me, it's 'cause you never leave -It Never Ends, Bring Me The Horizon

               Four days had passed before Rei had the courage to face Naru again. She awoke far too early with a fire in her belly, an anxiety, that she needed to quench. Without a second of hesitation, she slipped on her shoes and raced toward the cemetery.

               It was ANBU custom that a shinobi destroy their body before death so as to prevent the enemy from getting ahold of valuable information. After all, you can glean just as much from a dead body as you can a living one. Therefore, Naru was never even buried but rather memorialized in some sort of bogus mock grave. Quite frankly, it made Rei sick but she presumed she would rather have a fake grave than nothing at all. It took her some time to actually find it but when she did, she immediately realized how terrible of a decision she had made.

               Despite there not even being a body, she felt as if she had to tread carefully so as to not stand directly over where Naru’s corpse would’ve been. She swore she had heard something somewhere about that being bad, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was bad luck. Whatever. It wasn’t important. She knelt down before the gravestone, her fingers tracing over her etched name, and then slapped her hand hard in hopes of waking up from this terrible nightmare. It was too surreal, none of this could possibly be happening. Maybe if she just squeezed her eyes shut tight enough and said a bunch of words backwards, she would reverse time and Naru would come bounding up behind her with that new hairstyle she was contemplating. They would stop for food and laugh and gossip and everything would be as it was once more. But that was stupid. No amount of wishing was ever going to change things back. Death was finite, irrevocable. There was nothing she could do.

               She couldn’t tell whether it had been hours or mere minutes when a voice suddenly spoke to her from behind. “Fancy seeing you here, Carrots” it called, and Rei recognized it immediately. She turned slowly, catching Sekkachi staring down at her. Backlit by a blinding sun, she looked almost demonic.

               “Can I not pay my respects?” Rei said sourly as she turned back around. She caught Sekkachi approach in her periphery and set a small bouquet of flowers down before the grave. They knelt there in silence for a long while, an uneasiness hanging in the air. Without Naru to bind them, Rei and Sekkachi felt out of place and awkward. “It still doesn’t feel real” Rei murmured, breaking the silence. “None of this feels real.”

               “Yeah, well, get used to it” Sekkachi spat. Despite the hostility of her words, there was a fragile undercurrent to her tone. Defeatist, cynical, heartbroken.

               Rei shook her head, an airy laugh breaking past her lips. “To think, we were the strongest kunoichi team of our generation…”

               “The Dream Girls” Sekkachi replied, slightly bitter.

               “Dorimuchimu” Rei said. That word held so much weight to it, so much meaning both positive and negative. She wondered how Chikara-sensei felt about all of this. Losing one of your students, even if they had long ago graduated from your tutelage, no doubt stung. If they could only go back to those old days when they were young and naïve, so full of life and high spirits. The weight of other’s harsh criticism didn’t feel quite so heavy. They were destined to fail, and yet exceeded every expectation.

               An all-girls team can’t possibly get any work done, they would say. They’re so weak. That’s too much estrogen for one team. It was a wonder none of them ever quit, but they all had their reasons to pursue a career like this. And they had Chikara: a powerhouse of a woman, tall and thick and tan. She accepted them as if they were her own children. Whatever their faults in the personal sphere didn’t matter. The only thing that was important now was teamwork, and damn were they a perfect combination. The very things that people argued would destine them for failure only contributed to their success. Tiny Rei was the sly spy, chatty Naru the intelligent deceiver, and aggressive Sekkachi the brute force. Soon their names were known across the five great nations: Chikara’s Dream Girls. Short-lived ecstasy.

               “Feels so anticlimactic” Rei murmured, reminiscing about it all. “Falling apart like this.”

               “No” Sekkachi countered, “No, we fell apart way before any of this.” As much as she respected the good things, Sekkachi was not blind to the reality of their formation. They were little girls with power, but also imperfections. That was the trouble with growing up—it also entailed growing apart and growing against. The very things that strengthened them as comrades only weakened them as friends. They were destined to fail from the very start.

               It was true that their progress, as well, was a point of contention. Where Rei and Naru excelled into the ANBU, Sekkachi was never given the privilege. Lord Third only ever promoted her as far as “specialized jonin,” which for all intents and purposes didn’t mean shit. Just a coat of gold paint on a cheap plastic knock off as if to make it feel shiny and worthwhile. In the end, it didn’t mean anything.

               Rei shook her head. “Don’t say that” she whispered. “Something like that would make Naru mad.”

               “Well, Naru isn’t here anymore, Rei!” Sekkachi suddenly exploded, leaping to her feet. “It’s not like she can hear us!” Taken aback, Rei turned to her slowly, her heart pounding. Sekkachi’s face was growing redder by the second. She was teetering on the verge of madness after having held herself back for far too long.

               “Sekkachi, please….” Rei whispered, slowly standing herself. She really didn’t want to do this. Not right now. “This isn’t the right place to argue—”

               “As if it’s your place to say!” Sekkachi shouted. “If it wasn’t for you, Naru would still be here!”

               Her words were like a kunai to the chest. Rei staggered backwards, suddenly breathless. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Her entire body went numb. After a few moments of gasping and glitchy recalculating, she finally choked out, “I-I didn’t mean to…”

               Sekkachi balled up her fist and for a moment Rei was certain she was going to strike her. However, a softness slowly filled her eyes and she began to lower her hand. “That doesn’t mean anything” Sekkachi growled. Her voice quaked, and for the first time in a long time she was holding back tears. “You don’t get a free pass by saying sorry. I want you to live with the guilt of what you’ve done every single day for the rest of your miserable life.”

               Now Rei was fighting back tears. She clenched her fists at her sides so hard, her nails dug deep into her palms. A lump rose in her throat and the earth began to swing back and forth beneath her feet. “I know…I know…I wish it had been me instead. It should’ve been me…oh god, it should’ve been me…”

               “Your tears aren’t going to help you win my sympathy, Rei” Sekkachi snapped. “I refuse to sit by and watch you get everything you ever wanted while having stolen this from me.” She gestured to Naru’s grave, and a sickening fear began to well up inside of Rei.

               “W-what do you mean…?” the redhead asked, though she was terrified of the answer. She wasn’t stupid. She could make the inferences. All the pieces of this tragic puzzle began coming together in her head and it only added to the crushing weight.

               Sekkachi sniffled and tried to act tough, unaffected, but was failing. “I had plans, you know” she said. “I had things I wanted, too. A happy life. Good future. Loving relationship. But the one person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I was too much of a fucking coward to confess to. And now…now it’s too fucking late!”—here, she kicked the small bouquet of flowers she had placed by Naru’s grave. “She’s gone and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it!”

               The sky was spinning. This was so much worse than she expected. Rei gasped for breath, trying to make sense of everything. Her entire world felt like one bizarre dream where nothing made sense and everything was fake. “Y-you mean…the bookshop…and—”

               “Yes, you fucking idiot!” Sekkachi screamed. “It was Naru! It was all for fucking Naru! And now she’s motherfucking gone, and I’ll never be able to tell her how much my stupid ass fucking loved her, and there’s nothing I can do about it!” At this point, there was no holding back now. The dam had broken and tears were spilling down Sekkachi’s face. It was the most raw and gruesome display of emotion Rei had ever seen her express in public, if not in the entire course of their friendship. She gripped her stomach, tugging at the chub on her sides, and shrieked in agony. “This is all your fucking fault!”

               “I’m sorry! I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry…” Rei wailed, falling to her knees. She curled up on the ground, pressing a hand to Naru’s gravestone in hopes that perhaps wherever her spirit was, it would flutter down to bring them peace or reassurance or some other poetic bullshit she knew wasn’t actually attainable.

               Sekkachi knelt down and grabbed Rei by her shirt collar, a tearful anger overflowing from inside of her. Through clenched teeth, she growled, “Sorry isn’t going to bring her back to me.” Then she tossed Rei back into the ground and walked off feeling dirty and disgusting and depressed.

               Rei gripped the grass as she watched her leave, feeling the natural little bugs of the terrain crawl through her tangled hair and across her fingers. Something inside of her was dying, rancid and raw, threatening to overtake her entire body. Her forearms itched for something sharp, some way to drain herself of this darkness, but she was too worn down to move. She would just have to suffer through the hunger. She turned to the sky and stared directly at the sun until black spots clouded her vision, then pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and whispered, “It never ends…it never ends…”

[lilcutieana]

Summer Love 2 (Kim Taehyung)

One || Two || Three ( FINALE)  

Pairing: Mermaid! Taehyung x Reader

Words: 5.3K

Warning: Slight angst

Genre: Mermaid AU

Synapse: Taehyung is now a human who used to be a mermaid not long before. From food, lifestyle, clothing to flora and fauna; everything is new and fascinating to him. But adjusting to human life isn’t.              

     ~Masterlist ~ One || Two || Three ( FINALE) || One shot Masterlist

                           ═══════ ⋆★⋆ ════════

It was almost sunset again. With summer close to its end; the breeze was colder than before, a good excuse to hide blushing cheeks and blaming the weather for it. Even the sand wasn’t as hot, neither was the ocean as warm as dark clouds gathered around the cove, breeze picking up and swaying the coconut trees around. The leaves bent at an odd angle to the right, painted in shades of vermilion and pink.

Taehyung watched fascinated how the plants that grew above water looked so different, and far less vibrant than the ones swaying in the water currents a hundred feet below. Not that he went back to the ocean again ever since he sprouted a pair of feet.

Somehow, the ocean scared him. It felt like he was being rejected by his very home. He had no qualms about bathing in freshwater, or drinking it either. In fact, he seemed to be always thirsty, ravenously so. Even his skin tended to become dry and flaky if not hydrated often enough.

So busy he was, watching around himself, capturing the vibrant shades of sunset that never ceased to amaze him as it cast everything in the same shade as the sky, that he lost his balance with his head gazing up at the clouds and fell headfirst onto the sand with his two mismatched feet.

"Taehyung!" A shrill scream of his name and a pair of feet came bounding over the white sand. Turning over, he flopped down and looked up at the sky, the clouds forming various shapes-- some familiar, some not, soon replaced by a worried face he had been now seeing for about one moon cycle.

A month.

It had been exactly a month, as she had claimed last night, feasting on roasted clam shells sprinkled with salt and lime sitting in front of the little bonfire they'd built on the cove. He was terrified of the fire. The way it engulfed everything and it was beautiful too, quite horrifically so.

It was warm. A warmth he needed and craved after being out of the ocean after for so long and a lustful need to drink the very same water he'd only breathed for all his life and gorge himself back inside it as his skin felt alien to even himself. Dry, hairy and itchy instead of the soft, smooth and slimy skin he had before, covered in scales at his lower half and gills to his throat.

It was all puzzling to him. How everything he knew and was used to, had now been suddenly taken away from him. But he felt it in his heart, he just knew it-- if he ever wanted to find the fate of his parents', know what transpired that day -- he'd have to understand himself first.

"Wow, that's some Rudolf's nose you're sporting," Y/N snorted, her eyes reflecting the oranges and pinks of the sunset, her russet brown hair now glowing much like the clouds above. She looked so unreal, in the faint glow, that it took more than a couple moments to gather his thoughts.

"Who's Rudolph?" He asked sitting up, rubbing away the sting on his nose and forgetting all about his scraped knees. He'd deal with them later, he had been falling on his feet a lot. Feet he didn't have a month prior. Walking was a task, and so was sitting, or standing even. It was always awkward while deciding which appendage went where. Which foot to rest his weight on, and which to keep active.

"It’s a reindeer. He had a red nose." She smiled, recalling the carol she had recited quite often every Christmas. It was her favorite until things went downhill. Something she didn’t want to be reminded of, ever again.

"A reindeer?" He asked, his head tilted in child-like curiosity, lips being worried underneath sharp teeth. Despite turning human, he still retained some of his marine features. And then his beautiful turquoise eyes lit up as if he had solved a rubrics cube.

"Santa's reindeer! I heard about those tales." Nodding to himself, he bit lip harder, trying to stop his smile from growing any further and failing to do so when his eyes met mine, a light shade of pink flushed the apples of his cheek and his ears an adorable pink.

Realizing the compromising position she was in, Y/N jumped back, straightening her white top and averting her eyes to his blistered feet. He had been walking everywhere without any slippers, something about losing his balance more if he wore extra things on his feet. He preferred going natural, bare feet, still trying his best to get used to having human legs.

It took him about a week to even stand on his own feet without support. The first day they woke up together, the first sunrise, wasn’t all that amazing finding that he was human again.

As the Sun reached higher into the sky, he felt his skin get drier and the itch unbearable. Scratching his dull pale skin that once shimmered under the light, he breathed heavily, gulping, eyes wide and jaw slack. He felt... Different. Unnatural. His throat raw and parched, even his teeth felt weird as he ran his heavy and dry tongue across his mouth. Not as sharp as before but sharp still. 

"Tae, look at me." Cupping his cheeks, she made him face her. His unfocused eyes stared back blankly. "What's wrong?" 

"Water". Even speaking one word hurt his throat and he bent down as violent coughs shook his body. He wondered if his human had cursed him to eternal suffering if this was his demise. If this was his parents' demise. 

But soon the thought was forgotten as soft hands soothed his back, rubbing it to take away the sting of his raw throat, and now, newly formed lungs. Or maybe they were always there, waiting to be used. He did breathe out of water before. 

The itching and tingling were back again, with more vengeance this time. Clawing at his back, he breathed a sigh of relief as the itch was momentarily relieved only to yelp as he drew blood and it smelled the same, yet was thicker, darker and warmer when he brought his fingers in front of his eyes. 

Sniffing at the blood, he confirmed not much had changed, except he was drying inside out. Scared, and desperate he looked at his human seated right beside him as she shared an equally horrified and guilty look in her eyes and then she scrambled forwards. 

"There's no water. Let me help you into the sea." Tugging onto his slippery hands, she helped him onto his feet and as his body tilted forward, she held onto his abs trying her best to support his weight instead of gawking at his naked half.  

Breathing heavily, he stood by the edge of the boat, looking down at the ocean below that made the boat sway and his eyes widened. Stepping back with a jerk, he bumped into her and together they fell down onto the deck with a groan. He felt his blood run cold and his skin breaks out a sweat. Weird. Humans....were weird. 

Bringing his hands right in the front of his eyes and shielding them from the harsh Sun; he sobbed, his shoulders shaking along with his chest. 

"It doesn't want me back... It’s scary. I don't have what it takes to survive in there anymore." 

"How else?" Looking around, she tried finding something. Something... To hold water. She soon spotted a bucket and ran towards it, almost falling on her way over. "I knew I'd kept it somewhere after cleaning all day." 

Picking it up, she sprinted to the edge of the boat and bent as far as she could with the bucket in hand. Filling it up halfway with water, she walked the rest of the way back to him. "Here, try drinking."

When he didn't raise his head, like she had expected him to; she heaved a sigh and poured a little water over his flaking red skin. Hoping against all odds, it soothed his skin. He belonged to the ocean, surely that was the kind of water he needed. 

A scream of agony shook her to the core. He looked up at her in betrayal and pain, his eyes watering, her figure looked like a fogged up shadow, yet, he glared at her as if she had done the worst crime humanely possible. 

His eyes then lost its turquoise sheen and turned black his back straightening and he opened his mouth once again, much wider this time and wailed. His voice was shrill, hopeless and painful. It made her ears hurt, to the point she was absolutely certain they would bleed. But it was her heart that hurt more. She had truly gone and taken away everything from the lad. If only she didn't ask him to stay.

“Are you really sure?” She asked him after a moment. A moment too long where he had relived the reason he was absolutely sure he didn’t ever want anything to do with the ocean.

Regarding him, she noticed how his back stiffened and straightened at her question. It wasn’t much, really, but she knew how terrifying the ocean must be to him now that he didn’t have his fins, tail or gills.

And what he did have, didn’t cooperate with him most of the time. She had front row tickets to him learning to walk and talk like a human.

Would he truly ever be able to live like one? She doubted the notion. He could only pretend to blend in with a species he wasn’t a part of. But he could never truly be happy.

“I’m sure. I want to be with you, not alone, in the vast expanse.” He said with such conviction, you’d think he was only declaring his love for a certain flavor of ice cream and not his life’s one of the biggest decisions. Actually, technically, even choosing ice cream flavors is hard. You can never pick favorites with just one flavor. There’s just way too many good ones to try.

She sighed, her hands fisted by her side, hidden away from his line of sight, “Taehyung.” She breathed out, “As sweet as the thought is, just try, I’ll save you if anything goes wrong.”

“But why?” He whispered, tired of the same conversation, “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Of all things he would retort with, she hadn’t expected him to ask her that. Over the month they had known each other, it wasn’t just his clumsy self she saw. She saw him grow from a person who hated humans to someone who sympathized with them. Though, he still was very much annoyed.

She had a certain fondness for him too. He was like a child, full of wonder and enthusiasm. But she never thought he was insecure. Sure, he lived alone most of his life, had his parents taken away from him without a confirmation of what exactly happened to them. She wouldn’t be surprised if it left behind a scar that would never heal.

But he had to face the ocean once again. It was his home, his life. She couldn’t bear to take it away from him. Even if she liked his company, even if she loved when he smiled, his presence made her life a million times better.

But she had to make sure, just this once, if he was completely done with the ocean, or if it was just him being scared. Where did this stem from? Of course, it wasn’t just her being paranoid.

He was a professional when it came to white lies. Anything he didn’t like, he would say mermen are allergic to it, or that it would be poisonous. He even went as far as claiming a certain height would kill him as he belonged deep into the ocean.

But, he still loved grilled cheese despite claiming it was poison; climbed to the peak of the hills near the ocean, despite claiming it would kill him; and, yes, the classic, he ate all the greens despite saying he was allergic to them. Truly, he was a child who came up with ridiculous notions just to avoid trying new things.

Yet… she had a doubt. What if, it wasn’t the same this time? She still had to try. At least, walking on seawater if nothing more. She couldn’t just give up halfway.

“Because I see your pain”, she expressed, coming closer to him on her knees and held onto his trembling hands, “every day, you’re hiding those tears away from me.”

Tracing his palm, she flipped it to the other side and brought it closer to her mouth, kissing his wrist. “I see your faded scars, I see how much you hate failing, I see it all.”

“Please.” She whispered. Hoping against all odds he wouldn’t be stubborn anymore. She would be by his side, through it all.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, feeling her lips on his skin, reveling in it and then snatched his hand away as soon as he felt a stirring, somewhere, that wasn’t his heart.

Of all things human he had got used to, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to adjust to having genitals that worked completely differently.

Mermen, well, they just had to spray their semen on the eggs, and their appendages never really worked any differently at odd times of the day. The human body truly was a piece of work. Without him even allowing it to, it was aroused and sought a mate. Not just that, sometimes, he really had to wonder-- what did he see? What did he touch? What’s going on down there?

It was endless guessing and apparently, it was rude to be hard. The many times he had to hide, he had lost count of that already.

Crossing his legs, he shied away from her touch, earning an odd look from her. Biting his lips, he contemplated, it wasn’t that he was scared of the ocean, he was terrified. The first day she had poured salt water on him, it stung like hell and he felt his clawed marks fade away instantly. There was something about the water and himself, something magical, he couldn’t quite understand and he was scared he’d fade away like his scar if he jumped into the water.

What if he turned to foam like he was meant to? As the only living child of his parents, he couldn’t afford to die so easily. His parents’ only wish was for him to live healthy and happy. And if that was beside a human, pretending to be a human, he didn’t see any fault with it. He was happy.

Sure, he missed his parents, he missed swimming in the depths of the ocean, but he had his curiosity about humans sated, he had found someone he could trust, he had found himself a home. With her, by her side. It was okay if he couldn’t go for a swim, as long as he stayed with her. The freshwater pools would do, just like this morning when he went swimming in one.

“Fine”, he stretched his arms above his head; twisting the kinks on his neck, once to the left, then to the right; and smiled satisfied as it cracked loudly. “Let’s go for a swim at four in the morning. Before the fishermen come to crowd the ocean”

Jumping up in glee, she tackled him in a hug. Squeezing his lithe body to herself, she breathed in his soft scent of the ocean. Closing her eyes, she listened to his heartbeat, trying her best to match her breathing to its rhythm as the last rays of the Sun, bathed them in a faint lavender glow.

“If I die, it’s on you,” Taehyung whispered, holding onto her frail body tighter against his own. If he could, he’d fuse their bodies together. He enjoyed her warmth, her cheerfulness, her optimism and most of all—her soul. He just wanted to be close to her at all times. Human or not, she was just perfect, in every which way to him.

Stiffening, she bit her lips, contemplating her next words. He could have been joking, of course, he could, but the tone of his voice didn’t have the usual brusqueness to it. It was rather soft, like silk, and she wasn’t sure if it was his nervousness or true feelings.

If only she could read minds! What she wouldn’t give to have that power right about now. But such whimsical wishes were dangerous. No. She’s happy just as she is, she should really stop making wishes out of the blue.

One such wish lead to Taehyung lose his own identity. And it was nothing but her own fault. Her own greed. Her own loneliness.

“Sure. Just help me plan how to hide your body first” She whispered and looked up from his chest to meet his unamused eyes. Her eyes were twinkling like the first few stars in the sky. Bright and beautiful. Caressing her cheek, he felt it again.

The stirring in his heart. He wanted her, he needed her. But he couldn’t quite describe this need he had to hold her in his arms. The need to make her his own. While he knew his kind never held such profound feelings for the other. They chose their mates for breeding sure, they even chose mates to spend their lives with, but nothing was permanent.

Yet, when it came to her…

He wanted so much more than to share idle talk about everyday things. So much more than to sleep next to her. So much more…. Then just to hold her in his arms. She was just where he wanted her, it wasn’t enough, and he wanted more. So much more.

She waited for him to either get her joke or be offended, but instead, she was met with deafening silence. If it weren’t for the seagulls or the ocean roaring behind him, she’d have gone mad being scrutinized under his watchful gaze. He was still as if he were made of stone, yet his body was warm, his skin soft and his breath on her forehead warm, inviting.

His lips looked so pink and soft, she licked her own, her breath picking up when his gaze dropped to her own lips, gaze darkening and jaw ticking. He was controlling himself, she could tell from the bruising grip he held her in. But for what?

“Taehyung?” She whispered, hoping to sound confident, and felt betrayed by her own vocal chords when her voice broke halfway, making her sound far more high pitched than she’d intended and a beautiful full blown smile bloomed in his lips.

Even though the spell was broken, they were both relieved it didn’t escalate, yet frustrating for the very same reason. They’d not only become close and fond of each other but were now skirting the dangerous waters of lust and want for the forbidden.

“Let’s just get some food, Y/N”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• 

“Ready?” Her voice asked behind me, and I wish I could assure her. It wasn’t that I didn’t lie, I just didn’t want to now, not when my life really was at risk, not when I wasn’t sure of the unknown.

“I’m so not ready right now”, I said, my voice quivering and was shocked to hear the tinkling sound of her laughter that sounded like the wind chimes in every quaint little bistro we visited along the shore.

I couldn’t even blame her, I sounded ridiculous even to myself. I had nobody but myself to blame when it came to getting myself into sticky situations.

“It’s okay, Taehyung.” She rested a hand on my shoulder, her hand too cold to the touch, but I bared with it. She only wanted to comfort me. “I figured you’d never be ready for it”

Looking down at the water, I gulped once again. It had been about a hot minute since we stood here hidden away from civilization on her boat in a little cove among the huge volcanic rocks. The sky was at its darkest, not even a single star could be seen, and so was the ocean.

I knew from experience, no monsters lurked there. I could probably swim the expanse of it blindfolded —it was really, really close to the colorful coral reefs where I spent my childhood in.

It was then I realized where my fear stemmed from. I wasn’t scared of the ocean, or of dying either. I was scared of not even leaving behind a mark that showed I was here, I was alive. Something that proved my existence. I was scared of never having accomplished a story to tell of my own. I hadn’t achieved absolutely anything. Heck, I didn’t even know what happened to my parents fifteen odd years back.

But, right now, by her side, I decided I didn’t need it. Not at the cost of my misery, and certainly not at the cost of my unhappiness. I don’t think that’s what my parents would have wanted for me. To live like a human on land, trying to find them and disregard me completely. I was a fool to think that was what I was meant to do.

“Y/N…” I turned to her, taking her hand in mine. “If I don’t do the dolphin jump within minutes of drowning, know that I’ve turned to sea foam. That’s our fate.”

Gulping, she looked down at our joined hands. Slowly tracing the raised veins on my hands. As I felt her hands tremble inside my own, Hands of mine, that weren't quite the same as before. I pulled her close by her soft, supple hands and held onto her.

If I died, I hoped she found someone who’d be worthy of her love, care and attention. If not, I’d make sure she’s mine. I loved her.

There.

I admit it. I loved her. I loved the person she was. Selfless, patient and amusing. She was just everything I’d ever needed in a mate. I didn’t care anymore, whatever species I’d be, I’d spend my life loving her, protecting her and doing whatever it takes to make her happy, by my side.

But I wouldn’t tell her that just yet. I need to be sure what I am and know how to be with her. I need to find myself first before I can love her. Be someone she can lean on.

“You’ll be back, Taehyung.” She sniffed on my chest, holding me tighter by the waist. “I just know it.”

Letting go of her, I faced dark water once again. Taking a deep breath, I clenched my fists and wiggled my toes, so far, every part of my body was still working just fine. Without looking behind me, I closed my eyes and jumped. The couple of moments when I was suspended in air, I felt like I was flying. The wind was still, and it felt like I sliced through it straight into the water below.

Hitting the surface hurt, it wasn't soft, and I knew that. I was familiar with that. And yet, I underestimated the feeling of splashing on water. It was surprisingly not cold at all, it wasn't warm either. It was just the right temperature and I loved it.

It was as if I was in a desert and had suddenly found an oasis. The thirst I had experienced for over a month had finally been quenched. My parched throat felt moist once again, I could breathe easier and closing my eyes, I let the feeling wash over me.

I was home.

Wiping my eyes, I smiled up at her and saw her shoulders slump in relief as she peered out of the edge of her boat. Soon a beautiful smile bloomed on her pretty lips, and she waved at me to come back. Nodding, I tried bringing my feet up to float properly and swim back to her. Like I did countless times in the swimming pools. But, I couldn't. They felt heavy, numb even.

Diving underwater, I tried seeing what was wrong and immediately regretted it. My skin felt boiling hot-- like I was burning from the inside. The hot flashes made me squirm and flinch; and, as a human, I couldn’t even breathe underwater. Was this the end? Was I turning to foam?

I just couldn’t give up yet but I felt my body slowly give up. I lost the focus in my eyes, all I could see was blurred masses of black ink in murky brownish water. I felt myself sink deeper and deeper as a film covered my eyes, making me see things clearer, brighter even. Blinking them, I tried making sense of the new sensations I was feeling all over my body, all at once. Spreading my hands in front of me, I could see the gaps between my fingers being filled, making them webbed once again.

It was then I realized, I could feel my feet again, but it felt more familiar, heavier. And as I looked below, I saw my tail grow back again, the legs joining together and scales forming over them. It didn't hurt one bit, the excruciating pain of being overly heated from the inside was now almost gone. What remained was a dull thrum of tingling all over my skin which felt refreshing and new. I was back to being a merman again- gills on my neck, ribs; and fins along my forearms and tail.

Overjoyed, I swam around the many little fish, squealing and gliding alongside the turtles, trying out my newly formed tail and fins. Oh, how splendid it felt, to be alive once again.

Swimming at full speed, I went towards the surface where the faint light of the first rays of sunshine could be seen and then I leaped once my arm broke the surface, creating a beautiful arc over the boat where Y/N sat sobbing into her hands.

The water along my body and tail falling down in rivulets and showering her in fresh, clear ocean water. Smirking at her flabbergasted expression, I winked and dived to the other side of the boat.

With a resounding splash, I cut through the surface of the water once again, startling the butterfly and tang fish that were swimming about looking for morning catch. Laughing, I raised my head above water and ran my hand through the wet tresses, feeling my hair become more silky and smooth.

“Thank you!” I screamed, cupping my lips. I just couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face and watch her look at me with awed eyes, it just grew even bigger. Swimming towards her, I floated on next to her boat on my back, running my hand across my chest.

“You know, I never thought I’d say this, but you were right.” I agreed, biting my lips to keep my smile away, “Thank you, really, for persuading me to come back.”

“It’s nothing, Taehyung. I’m sure you’d have done the same for me.” She said, nodding as if making herself believe it too.

“Actually, you’re too stubborn.” I pointed at her. It was true, she never listens. Ever. Unless I prepared a whole speech with pros and cons. “ I’d have just thrown you into the ocean while you slept.”

“Hey!”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• 

That day, I chose to stay back in the ocean while she took the boat to the next town over for supplies. I missed her in the three days that I didn’t see her.

Her presence had been like a rock to me. Something to lean on, something that was there, but I didn’t really feel bothered by it. In the one month, that I’d spent with her, every moment was special and beautiful. Even sleeping next to her was a novelty for me.

I missed it all. The shared meals, where we cooked together and fed each other. The little human jokes I made, the mermaid innuendos she came up with. Every time she was distracted and looked the prettiest of all girls I’d ever come across. The times when she came fresh out of the shower, her skin dewy and soft, to the point I wanted nothing more than to kiss her skin and make it more flushed and beautiful. The moments when we got lost in each other’s eyes and I had to hold myself back from tackling her then and there. The moments where even the silence felt comforting, the moments where I wanted nothing more than to kiss her silly and watch her lose herself in me. But I held back.

I held back then because my fate wasn’t in my hands. Because back then, I wasn’t sure where I belonged—the land or the ocean. But, now I do. Now, I do know. I know my place is right beside her. In the ocean, or staying afloat on it, living on a boat. I’d do it all if that’s what it takes. I’d explore the world by her side, I’d always wanted to too. It was my dream too.

And for that, I had brought along the things I deemed necessary. Most of them were collected from the clutter humans left behind. But I found them interesting and important. Hopefully, Y/N wouldn’t make me throw them away. They held some precious memories of mine.

Some of them were gifts for her. Shiny chains, rings, hair accessories and other things—they meant nothing more than objects lost in the ocean to me. But, I knew, for her, they’d mean the world. They were antique and made of precious metals and stones that shone and shimmered like the night sky. I wanted to see her smile when I gave them to her. I wanted her to wear them for me.

I couldn’t buy her things, I didn’t even have an identity of my own. What I had, however, was knowledge of the ocean no human could ever possess and treasures hidden miles below the surface that no human could reach.

Oh, I figured how to transform too. I was a merman under the ocean. When completely submerged, my body transformed itself to mold to its surroundings and when on land, dried out completely, my humane organs became apparent and I adapted to the surroundings accordingly. It was weird the first few times as it was painful.

But the more I tried, I found my way about it. Or maybe, I just got used to feeling the pain and the heat. Whatever the case, I now knew how to survive in both land and water and somehow more than the fact that it elated me, I was terrified.

Humans were greedy by nature. They always wanted what they couldn’t have. I was scared. What if one day, I wasn’t as careful?

What if they found out about me? Would they cut me open and find out the secrets to my regenerating tissues? Or would they keep me alive as a display and watch me as I struggled inside a cage?

I wondered if this was why my parents never told me I was capable of living out of the water. I wonder if this was why they weren’t as scared when pulled out of the water. Maybe they were humans now. Maybe they were alive and well.

Or maybe in a lab somewhere, or maybe a part of the ocean. Lost to the waves.

As I sat here, waiting for her to come back, I only hoped I didn’t lead us to a fate there was no coming back from.

One || Two || Three ( FINALE)

[cutemoniic]

Freeing Experience (pt.2)

   You step outside, fresh grass under your feet, and you're carrying a body: the one of a girl, still lifeless, flowing light blonde hair covering the head thrown around your shoulders like a sack of disgraced potatoes: a small revenge for her graceful, innocent beauty that seared into your eyelids.

    You wouldn't be able to lie if you said that what Wrath found you didn't suit your tastes: an angelic beauty, opposed to the powerful monstrosity you wanted him to get you. But you forgot to specify, and assumed that all angels that could have been grabbed could have been just uncanny valleys of ugly, so you simply thank him, and go on your merry way a few days later, the body in your hands freezing after a close experience with ice to keep it intact. Away from the house, in a safe place. You want a fair fight, and you guess that this is the closest thing you will obtain for that. But you can't help the disappointed sigh escaping your lips, and the adrenaline tingling at your joints.

    You're ready. Maybe, you always have been, and simply stalled the inevitable. 

    When you reach your destination -- a large, large patch of burned down grass and dirt in the middle of nowhere -- you let the body drop without an hint of grace nor mercy. It splays on the ground with bright eyes wide open, soft lips slighty apart and in a strange angle, with open arms and curled legs that you fix with your feet and less than proper care.

   The rest of the process is simple. It's like decanting the content of a jar in another one, careful not to let it spill: so your fingers move accordingly, brushing at your lips -- and with the slightest of hesitations, you softly blow on them.

   She tastes like death, even in soul, but you're more interested in the slight tug at your essence. With a distant, ear-shattering scream, you sense the pit in your stomach growing into an hole when the sole force of your breath detaches the murk from your soul. It flies, the horrible aftertaste of it passing your mouth forcing you to dry heave and almost drop the disgusting glob of dark murk in the palm of your hand. It doesn't, fortunately, and you grab one of her shoulders to force the essence into her mouth.

   It hesitates, clearly uncompatible.

   It's just for a small moment. Then it moves down her throat.

   Minutes pass, as you pace and wait for the soul to latch properly to the dead body. It will work. 

    You knew that you were good with decant. You have the final proof when new eyelids bat, and when she lifts herself up on her elbows. A small, girlish groan with a detestable girly voice erupts from her mouth, pearly teeth showing in all their pure beauty, and a flash of black hate deletes everything else from your memory.

    Then, she finally starts screaming.

    You expected that. Her eyes, limpid, clear and innocent, fills with dark sludge to the brim -- it pours down her face in dirty, sticky tears as she whrithes on the ground in agony, the strain of the new body forced to adapt her too much to stand still and simply accept it. Her nails pop off due to the overflow, her nose and throat become clogged as well, and you'd be lying if you were to say, later, that you didn't enjoyed her noises of choking and gagging on her own product. Her every orifice is trying to reject the substance, but it keeps spreading over her... it engulfs her completely, in a matter of mere minutes. It consumes the wings, her torso, her legs and tunic, leaving steaming holes in the soft fabric.

    You stand there, hands folded over your stomach, and watch her slowly stop struggling -- simply trembling, for a long, long while. When she has regained enough energies to slowly roll on her back and on her elbow, she looks at you.

   ''Hello. I can finally look at your face,'' you calmly greet her, a smirk on your lips.

   ''What did you do,'' she rasps out, demanding an answer with a snark that doesn't suit your tastes. You raise your eyebrows and don't speak to her for a while, delighted to see her choke on black, murky words dripping down her chin.

   ''What did you do?'' She asks better this time, panic in her voice. ''This body is... y--you did... why?''

   ''Because you deserve to suffer,'' you reply, tone soft like a pillow. ''And I'm pretty pleased with your state right now.''

    There's something wrong approaching you in the back of your mind that you cannot quite pinpoint, until it hits: something has been opened, and you sway on your feet and rear back until you can rest your bare back against a tree. You squeeze your eyes shut, cold sweat beading at the edge of your hairline and down your neck.

    There was just pain and suffering. A contract being signed in a dirty pub. Darkness. Him. The struggle. Roars and blood being spilled. Bars. Bare knees and hands moving on the ground and the memory of no words being spoken, other than simple ones and a cheerful, innocent tone that got broken too soon. Too quickly. He looks at you in a way that makes you despise being alive. She roars inside of you and you choke on tears of murk. You break into a sprint and wreck your throat with sobs as malignant, cackling demons pursue you. He places a scalpel on a tray and the world goes black and red and white and then you die. And you die. And you die. Behind a tapestry everyone is suffering, so you decide to help them. Mismatched eyes watching from behind bars. Scraping your nails on hard rock to reach for some natural salt minerals. The smell of cooked meat filling the room. A lot of soft voices, thanking you for the meal and your bravery, lulling you to sleep in your bad days, fixing you on something soft as you come back from the death. The slow, laughabe pace of the guards as they try and fail to chase you. Wails from inside you. You die. And you die. And you die. The pavement is warm and you have gravel stuck in your back and legs. The form of your dagger is permanently stamped in your palm. The vague image of a warm living room, a TV show running in the background as terror overtakes you. I have to go back there, I don't want to -- an empty stomach growls and you only see black until it's filled. There's blood on your hands and a corpse in front of you and it tastes heavenly and you're so sorry but you were so hungry and they looked so tasty and you want more and the smell of food wrecks you still and your head is rolling on the pavement and he's looking at you in disgust disgust disgust and you have disappointed him again but you want to get out and you die and you die and you die and there's a soft haunting music in your mind that you cannot pinpoint and he picks the food from your sprawled body and tsks and tells you to do better next time  and then he cuts you down after you talk because he's your father right and he'll never hurt you but he does and you're bleeding and you run and drag yourself on the warm stones and there's the fire the fire the fire the FIRE THE FIRE ---

    You dry heave. Slowly come back to your senses and find yourself covered in sweat, and slumped against the hard tree, who has dug into your back like a particulary fierce lover. Your breath is skyrocketing into a panic attack, and you drag sticky hands down your face.

    Calm down. Calm down...

    And you do.

    The sensation, after you command your body to cease manifestations of deep distress, obeys you. The sweat is still present, but your panic is swallowed as a numbing sensation spreads across your chest.

    Which, you figure, it's better than still panicking. You're in awe at how... controlled you can feel, at how quickly you return to reality from the sea of memories swimming in your brain.

    Something sinks into the corner of your lips, and tears away. For a split moment, you think that it's part of a memory. Then you feel the murk sticking to your open wound and material and blood starting to gush out, a sickly face closing on you again, and you react with a set of reflexes that leaves you speechless.

   Your combact training, without you never remembering one, come in natural, fluent moves of your trained, fit body. The water-like dance you can pursue while holding your dagger leaves you mesmerized, puzzled at your new knowledge. And when in doubt, you enter His office unannounced.

 He doesn't need to lift his gaze from the paperwork he's buried nose deep in. He knows that it's you, and the fragrant sound of papers being shifted stops for a moment to allow you to speak.

 ''How... how do I know what to do while I fight? I never had this training before. What did you do to me...?''

 This question seems to puzzle him: crimson hues leave the trail of written thoughts for a moment, fix themselves on your small figure (and the shiver they give off is always the same, no matter how calm he is) and doesn't miss a beat to clarify the situation.

 ''What I implanted in your body was not simply your essence: along with it, I morphed you as a warrior. You lacked certaint knowledge, and I inserted what you didn't had into your core. You have experience because I deemed you fit to be one of my underlings.''

 You probably offered him a break from his work that he wanted to take (or so you hope), and you see him slowly lifting himself up from the marvellous, soft chair he was resting in -- and with slow, methodical steps, he strides in front of you.

 ''But the knowledge I inserted in you is minor, simply the basics of defending and ending a life, when needed. But the motions, the other techniques... I did not touched them. So they must reside in your new body.''

 A shiver ripples down your spine for a moment, his hand slipping out from the elaborate golden sleeve in an inviting motion.

 ''Give me your hand.''

 This is the most intimate you've ever been with him from what you remember. Shy and insecure, you extend your hand out -- and there's something that warns you about placing the bundle of nerves that your appendix became into his care. Because his presence strikes defined chords in you, and his hands are slender and gelid.

 The sensation proves right when he tries to wrap cold fingers around your wrist, and it's instinctive for you to abnormally tense up and react quicker than your mind intends to, sliding your warmth from his numbing coldness and jump behind a few steps, putting a safe distance between you two. Your breath is uneven, erratic, shock easily overcoming you. Your hand is itching to reach into your chest and pluck out a dagger, to bristle the skin with the smooth blade. Even your own creator's one.

 He, in a staggering contrast, does not bat a lash. Slowly, unphazedly so, he retracts his hand inside his sleeve again and crosses them behind his back.

 ''This is what I meant.''

 A pause.

 ''Your reflexes. Little of this belongs to you as an essence, but rather to the body you own. It's a simple concept that, I am sure, you'll have grasped after my explation.''

 The time that he decided to dedicate to you is over, you understand the verbal dismissal he meant and quickly scutter out of the room to find some peace of mind.

  You launch the dagger into her melting skin, and slash. And hack. And tear, the substance clinging to the blade. You scream when she slips away, and tears at the skin of your arm with her sharp, jade teeth.

  ''It's mine,'' she says, between chews. ''It's my body.''

  She swallows, calmly, and you feel the exposed gum and teeth grow sensible to the cold air and to your crescent panic.

 ''I'll just hhhhhh--ave to eat you, little child.''

 Calm down, you will to yourself again. And you do, a cold sensation of awareness spreading across your limbs.

  You don't really wanna be eaten. Not now that you're so close to success.

  She gets to your arm again, but the edge of your dagger is swiftly stuck between her teeth. You twist it and tear most of them out, panting and turning her with a knee to her stomach. Black murk is stuck everywhere, and it takes you a while to recognize that it's coming from you, rather than her.

  What's happening?, you ask, vomiting a mouthful of sludge on the ground. When she attacks again, you simply stick your dagger out --

  And when she dodges, drawling out a groaned growl, you twist your body and arm to split her apart with an even cut. The sludge parts and returns together, a deep, red gash underneath that is barely being covered.

  Blade meets bone in another assault. It screeches against it, and you release your hold on her gurgling body before grasping at it again, and facing her directly.

 ''Leave,'' you hiss, chest rumbling. ''Leave right now. Go away. Go to Heaven or to rot back into the ground, for all I care. Come near me again -- and I will dissolve you in acid. You fucking... fucking monster.''

  ''No,'' she rasps out. ''My body...''

   Anger rushes out of an unknown place inside your stomach. You coil like a springlock ready to burst, right in her face.

   ''IT'S MY BODY! YOU LOST IT!''

    She draws back, stunned. All she can manage to hiss its ''thievling,'' before she scutters away in the secure refuge of the woods, glowering ambers that are her eyes following you for a moment before they disappear into the leafage. You feel her presence disappear off your property.

   Something tells you that she will not attack you again.

   There's crimson blood on the ground, and you feel dizzy. You walk back to the house mostly unscathed, covering your mouth with your hand and scraping at the blood on your exposed teeth. Despite the panicky situation, you feel calm and collected -- if not a bit surprised at how quick the whole ordeal was. Your teeth feel numb, too. 

   But there’s this new sensation... calmness, an endless one. You don’t rush home, instead sporting a relaxed pace despite the minor injuries and the whole situation that just happened. 

   This one is gonna be a bitch to heal, you're sure...

   But, at least, you’re in control now.

[iknowff]

. one : truth hurts...

“You don't hear me talking to you?” he yelled, demanding an explanation.

My brain immediately scattered and I gasped for air as he shifted his hips, snatching himself out of me. “Baby... wh—what are you talking about?”

“Jade, you know what I'm talking about. You called me some other nigga’s name!”

I opened my mouth preparing to speak, yet, again, words were beyond me. Out of pure desperation, I closed my eyes, hoping that it was all just a terrible dream. But it wasn't. Sure enough, he was still right there in my face waiting for answers... that I did not have. I had called him Omari's name and I couldn't deny it.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't about to try. 

“Cam, I didn't. You're hearing things.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, he began to shake his head. “Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying.” 

He pushed himself up, hovering over me, and I watched his jaw tighten as he shut his eyes and took the deepest breath. He always did this whenever he was upset, but I don’t know why. It never actually helped calm him down. “What the fu—are you serious? I know what I heard. You think I’m stupid?” 

“No,” I promptly corrected, leaving no room for assumptions. “But I didn't say someone else’s name, Cam. Why would I do that?”

He completely ignored me and left the bed, starting toward his clothes piled down by the foot. “...Yo, get up. I got something for your ass.”

At the sound of those words, I froze, paralyzed with fear. I already knew what he had for me, and I did not want it. I closed my eyes and filled my lungs, trying to figure a way out of this mess. I had seconds to save myself. I was in need of a literal miracle, therefore I could only take it to God. I prayed so hard, but nothing useful came to me, causing reality to set in. I had one choice, tell the truth or continue with the lie. “Cam…”

“Lying and fucking cheating? You know I don't play that shit,” he ranted, failing to even notice that I had just called his name.

“I'm not cheating on you, I swear,” I tried my best to reassure him. “I would never lie to you, baby.”

He turned to me and his glare cut into me like knives. “Bitch, I said get up.”

Tears pooled in my eyes as I slowly sat up and placed my feet to the floor. There was no way I was gonna change his mind. I was kidding myself ever thinking that I could. 

He threw his t-shirt on and I reached down for my clothes as well, in hopes of curing at least a little bit of my vulnerability. “What you doing? I don't remember telling you to put shit back on.”

I swiftly opened my hand and let the shorts and cami fall back onto the carpet. “I'm sorry.”

“That means nothing,” he declared, walking over to me. All of those tears came crashing down; I was so scared. “You already know that shit don't faze me, Jay.”

“Cam, I love you! I'm not seeing anybody else! I don't even want anybody else! It's just you and me, baby. That's it,” I pled, but he ignored my defenses and raised his hand to me. Before I could even blink, it had landed on my tearstained face. I screamed as my neck violently twisted in the direction of his slap. 

“Keep fucking lying!”

His volume had increased to new heights, and so did mine. “I'm not!”

Once I'd come to my senses, it was too late. I stared up into his eyes, so regretful for raising my voice, and he was looking back at me like I had lost my damn mind. It wasn’t my intent to be shouting at him, making shit worse for myself, but it was truly the pain talking. My skin was on fire. Within seconds, the same hand he had just smacked me with flew up around my neck. I instantly took hold of his wrist with both hands, shocked out of my mind. He had never gone this far before. 

“Who the fuck you think you talking to? Huh?” He was standing right in my face. His tone was low, but still so intense. “Don’t you ever raise your voice at me. You hear me?” Terrified, I nodded to the best of my ability. “I can't fucking believe you! Everything I do for you, for us! I leave here for months at a time, working my ass off so your spoiled ass can have everything you want, and this is what I get in return?! You fucking around on me?” He looked so demented, watching me with narrowed eyes while I struggled to breathe and get him off of me. “You can't keep your fucking legs closed while I'm gone?” he questioned through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on my throat. My eyes doubled in size as tears continued to pour from them. I let him go and swatted at his hand crazily, my body begging for oxygen. I was beginning to panic. I never would've thought he’d have me in a situation afraid for my life. “What I tell you?! This shit is mine, you hear me? You are mine!”

“Cam... I can... can't bre...!” I honestly wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. I had only made a careless, stupid mistake and, damn, was I sorry. “Cam, please,” I mouthed to him. The edges of the room were starting to go dark.

“‘Please’ what? With your trifling ass!”

He slung my neck from his clutches and turned away in total disgust. I dropped to the floor, coughing and wheezing, trying to regulate my breathing. Foolishly thinking it was over, I put all of my attention on regaining some composure. I had to calm down. Losing the ability to breathe had always been a huge fear for me, and I didn't want to go into an anxiety attack. I had my hand on my chest, attempting to coax myself into taking deeper breaths, when I felt him grab the messy ponytail I had thrown to the top of my head.

“Get your hoe ass up!”

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, just above a whisper. I knew I was wasting my time, but I still had to try. Maybe he would realize what he was doing and feel something for me past the rage. And cut me some damn slack. I felt like I was about to pass out. 

But he refused to let up, yanking me by the hair. I shrieked in pain. “Shut your damn mouth! Don't let me have to tell you again.”

I went against his wishes and continued to try and plead with him. It was my only option. I couldn’t be quiet and I was always too fearful to fight back. I just wasn't ready for the type of trouble that hitting him would for sure bring. His temper had become outrageous and he was so much stronger than me. And, anyway, I somehow managed to piss him off just fine without having to touch him first. I started to feel the burden of his strength as my body began to slide across the floor. I threw my hand up to my head, kicking and screaming, hoping my actions would convince him to release me. I quickly accepted that it wouldn’t be so simple, so I just toughed it out until I was in the doorway. As soon as I saw my chance, I reached out and grabbed onto it with both hands, holding on for dear life.

“Cameron, no! Please don't do this to me! I'm so sorry! Just let me up so we can talk, please,” I shouted in one breath.

“Shut the fuck up! And let the door go!”

Again, I didn't follow his orders; which caused me instant regret. He snatched my hair so hard, that I knew some of it had been ripped from my scalp. “Aaaaah, Caaaaam,” I wailed, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to tug my locks away from him. “Stooooop!”

“Let it go,” he roared. Then he bent down and pried my fingers from the moulding. He lugged me out into the hallway and I started to reach for the walls, railing, tables, vases, anything I could attach myself to. But attempting to grip things with only one hand proved impossible. I was knocking shit over and it was falling everywhere, tears were flying from my eyes, the hurt in my voice was undeniable and he didn't give a single fuck. His only care was getting me to his desired destination.

I was somewhat relieved when I saw that he wasn't going for the stairs, but it was no time to celebrate. The carpet was burning the hell out of my hips. Time seemed to lag behind, as those were the longest seconds of my life, being violated by something that was usually so soft and gentle to me. Cam, on the other hand, I was used to. 

After what had felt like forever, he finally brought the torture to an end in the upstairs media room about thirty-five feet away from where we’d started. And, without a pause, he picked me up and tossed my naked body onto the couch. 

“Don't move.”

I was so winded and trembling horribly, but I decided to do as told and remained as still as possible. He started to walk up on me and I just closed my eyes, sure I wasn't doing well enough for him. Terrified of what might've been coming next, I pulled my knees up to my chest and put my face down.

“I'm not cheating on you, baby, I promise. I wouldn't do that to us.” I peeked up at him and hated how familiar this was. I couldn’t even lie to myself anymore and say I didn’t recognize the person standing before me, but he was still so different from the guy I had met and fallen for all those years ago. This version of him just didn't give a fuck. I could easily see that he had absolutely no remorse for what he was doing to me; or all he had done before today for that matter. But, embarrassingly enough, that didn't change the fact that some variation of him still had my heart. “You gotta believe me, Cam. I love you.”

Something I said must’ve been the last straw, because he balled his fist and punched me in the face. Hard! The force even knocked me over. I screamed out, grabbing a hold of my jaw. His blow had made my teeth puncture the inside of my mouth.

“Do you not understand ‘shut the fuck up’?! It means close your damn mouth,” he yelled, answering himself. “Stop fucking talking! Just shut the fuck up!”

There was no more fight left in me. I was in agony. The inside of my cheek stung and I could taste the blood as I checked for broken teeth, my neck was sore from battling against his hand, I could feel about three separate areas where I was sure I had no skin, my head hurt where my hair had been so forcefully pulled, my hands were beat up by the things that had denied my grasp, my anxiety was in overdrive, and one side of my face throbbed as it tried to recover from a slap and a punch. I was done trying to convince him of anything. He was free to think whatever he wanted. 

“And you tell that nigga I'm coming for his ass next, ‘cause I'ma find out who the fuck he is! I swear, you got me so fucked up right now,” he huffed, pacing the floor and massaging his temples. “I don't want your dirty ass in my bed either, so get comfortable. And don't move.” His voice was calm, but, the way he eyed me, I knew not to get up. “When I get back in here, you better be in this same spot. Think I'm fucking playing.”

After his threatening lecture, he turned away and started to leave the room.

“Cam,” I reluctantly called, in a whisper. Blood was filling my mouth and I needed to spit badly. I needed my clothes, too.

“You ain't had enough,” he asked, coming toward me at a pace that caused my already high level of distress to rise. I put my hands out, in hopes that he wouldn't start up again. I knew I wouldn't be able to take much more. 

“Yes, yes! I just want some clothes and I need to go spit,” I exclaimed in one hurried breath. Thank God, he stopped and kept his hands to himself. 

“I want you naked. And swallow that shit.”

I frowned at his response. “But I can't swallow all this,” I gently opposed, tilting my head back to try and prevent it from spilling out as I spoke. 

“Swallow it... or you'll be picking up your fucking teeth.”

Pure shock took over my expression. I couldn't fathom that this was actually happening to me. At his hand. The man I loved, who I thought loved me. I didn't even know what to do with myself anymore. I just felt drained. Dealing with him had become exhausting for me, in every sense of the word. And things weren't getting any better. Instead, he was getting worse. 

New tears formed in my eyes as I fought to rid my mouth of the most foul tasting shit I had ever experienced. They quickly ran down to my chin where they dripped steadily onto my lap. Once I had succeeded, I looked up at him, longing for something--anything--and his face gave me nothing. At that point, all hope was lost. I turned my back to him, curling up and comforting myself, because I knew his ass wouldn't. And he just walked away.

As if it wasn't me who had stood by his side, rooting for him, when his ass had nothing; me who overlooked all of the bullshit he dished almost daily; me who had been nothing but good to him, done nothing but loved and trusted him; me who had gotten the abortion because he said he wasn't ready to be a father; and me who cooked for him, cleaned for him, did any and everything for him. Taking better care of him than I was myself. With no ring on my finger. That shit hurt more than any blow to the body could ever. That was a fucking blow to my heart!

All I could do was lie there in the dark, giving in to the desolation, weeping silently and praying things would turn around the way I always did. I ended up crying myself to sleep.