#Carnage: Black White and Blood 1

[iggy5055]

Yandere Whitebeard Pirates X Reader Part 1

Summary: after (Y/N)'s older brother is murdered in cold blood she traverses the cold mountains of her island in an attempt to escape, only to be saved by some unsuspecting heros.

Warnings: gun shot, death, pain, trauma, lying, frost bite, start of emotional manipulation

A shocking outcome on the poll but here you finally go and thank you for all your love and support and your amazing patients ❤️

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The cold bit into my skin as I do my best to remain awake. Despite being raised in such cold climates I found myself being caught unawares and unprepared. Trudging through the cold windy mountains with nothing on my feet. I couldn't feel my toes anymore, my feet starting to turn a nasty blue and black color.

My hair no longer blew in the wind, frozen to my skull along with my tears. I shiver violently as my body tries to warm me up.

Even from the mountain side I could see my village, in flames. With my vision blurry it almost looked like the sun was rising, but I knew I wasn't that lucky.

I try and make it to the other side of my island, hoping that I could find a way off it and away from all the carnage. It was definitely a rude awakening when I was suddenly shaken awake by my older brother, yanking me out of bed and trudging through the snow towards the mountains. With no explanation as to why, but once I was outside, seeing the fresh warm blood melting and staining what was once pristine white snow with cannonballs and bullets flying in any which way I understood why we didn't have time to put on our shoes.

Houses were burning to the ground as families screamed inside trying to find a way out. And for those who had made it out trying to stop the bleeding of loved ones.

Even only being outside for a few moments I could already feel myself shivering in my light sleeping clothes. My brother holding me tightly by my hand as he drags me around as fast as he can. Weaving thought small alleyways and streets trying to avoid whoever was attacking. It had been made clear to me it was pirates, despite living in the new world we didn't fall under any Emperors protection, and we fairly ever saw marines aside from the occasional ship doing to re-supply. If they ended up here they are almost always off course. we were very close to the calm belt and pretty close to the red line, hence we are pretty out of the way.

Being a small winter island in an out of the way corner of the world came with many benefits. We almost never saw pirates, our island wasn't anywhere on the way to the final island so there wasn't a point to coming here, and with the lack of pirates meant a blatant lack of Marines, we were never in danger so it was never needed. At least never needed until now.

Panting heavily from running around our small little village I could hear loud laughing, Suddenly my brother stopped just as we were about to leave an ally causing me to run into his back.

I gasped quietly as I stood behind him. I couldn't clearly make out what I was seeing, but from the sound of pained screams and cruel laughing I figured I didn't really want to know.

I hid my face in my brother's back avoiding whatever he was staring at. I could feel him start to shiver as he slowly crouched down, leading me down with him, but I knew he wasn't shivering from the cold, he was shivering from pure unbridled fear.

"(Y/N), we need to be quiet and we need to be fast. We have to sneak by them and get to the mountains, once we get past them we will be able to find a boat on the other side and run. Do you understand me?"

I quietly nodded into his back, wanting to avoid making any sound.

Slowly while still being crouched down we moved out of the dark alley. Despite the carnage now being clearly in my line of sight, I stare at the wall of the building we were crouching beside. The last thing I wanted to see was the deaths of my friends. The thought brought tears to my eyes.

"We're almost there, just a little more."

I try to quiet my sniffles, even if it is dark. The fires that have been spreading start to illuminate the village as if it were the sun, and the soft crunch of the snow under my feet that seemed louder than ever when we are trying to sneak around and be unnoticed.

"HEY!!!!!"

My brother whipped his head around looking behind up then down at me with panic all over his face and fear in his eyes.

"RUN!!"

We bolt off into the tree that surrounds the mountains, I turn back to look at who was chasing us and for a split second it looked like a girl with long half up hair in some kind of robe, pointing a gun at us.

Just as I turn back around and run with my brother I hear the shot of her pistol.

"ARGGGGGGGGH"

My brother screams as the bullet narrowly misses me and hits his left shoulder blade. He released my hand from his crushing grip as he collapsed on the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain.

I'm about to get down beside him and help before he yanks me in front of him.

"RUN (Y/N), DON'T LOOK BACK JUST RUN!!!!"

Tears pour down my cheeks as I feel my brother's warm blood stain the snow and touch my bare feet, warming them but sending a chill up my spine.

"no, I d-don't want to l-leave you."

My voice was choked with sobs, as I looked past him and saw the shooter calling over more of her crew.

"You need to go. Find the boat on the other side of the and run, don't stop till you find help."

"I can't"

I can't help the hiccups that come out as I beg for him to get up and come with me, to hold on and to run with me.

My heart was beating a mile a minute. I swear it was about to explode.

"Please (Y/N), I can't watch you die, run. Live for me, find peace for me."

His voice crashed as he banged me to run. I could slowly see that light fading from his eyes. The blood poured out of his shoulder like a waterfall, clearly it hit an artery. I sobbed loudly as I clung to him begging him not to leave me and to get up.

"HE'S DOWN, GRAB HER!!!"

I look up to see several of the pirates making their way over to me and my brother, the woman no longer pointing her guns but still holding them. Now she was accompanied by three clearly tall and muscular men, all coming out of the town and making their way over to us.

I looked down at my brother again, seeing his pale skin and his dark lifeless eyes grow cold as ice. I gently kissed his forehead with shaky lips before getting up and running as fast as I could, regardless of my gut reaching sobs and hiccups.

I could hear them chasing after me, yelling and telling me to stop. Once I was in the tree line I started to zig zag through the trees, trying to be as quiet as possible while also avoiding being shot. Once I was a ways up the ridge I looked back to see the flames of my home grow exponentially.

I no longer heard the yells of the pirates chasing me but I didn't want to risk it so I continued up the mountain, cold rocks and ice cutting into my souls. I was clearly making bloody footprints making it easy to follow but if I'm lucky I'll make it to the boats quickly, leaving no more trails to follow.

I continue hiking up the mountain shivering like a scared lamb, all alone with my consciousness beginning to fade. Black spots started to appear in my vision, fading and reappearing. Between my fading vision and the darkness of the woods at the dead of night I could feel myself fading bit by bit.

It couldn't have been more than a minute till I collapsed into the cold snow.

"N-no, I-I can't d-di-e h-here~"

My voice faded into a whisper as I black out unable to move any further. But before I had completely passed out I saw a great brilliant light of blue and gold. Maybe this was the end of me, I could feel my last tear fall, sad I couldn't fulfill my promise to my brother, I guess now I could apologize in person.

—————————————

Consciousness came to me slowly, my body felt numb, like pins and needles had appeared all over my body, my extremities especially. I tried to move, lifting my hand only for it to feel like they were trapped under boulders. I tried to open my eyes, only to shut them just as quickly from the brightness of the room I was in.

I groaned in pain, even just trying to move a little bit hurt. Warm tears moved down my cheeks. Small sobs escaped my horse throat. I felt something small hop up on my bed, I felt what seemed like a small paws brush on my thighs over and over. A quiet whine came from what I now assumed was a small dog.

On one hand I was glad I wasn't dead, but on the other hand I didn't know it was possible to be in this much pain. Through my small sobs I didn't hear the creak of a door opening or the gentle footsteps coming closer to the bed.

It wasn't until I heard the dog on my lap bark and growl a little at the new stranger I even noticed someone was in the room.

"Quit it Stefan."

It wasn't until I felt the bed dip from the man sitting down beside me that I tried to open my eyes to see who was there but it was all still too bright. Soft hiccups left my lips now as I cried and tried to speak to this stranger.

"Shhhh, pretty girl. it's ok."

The man above me gently cooed as he gently ran his fingers through my hair, giving my scalp a light massage. I tried to do what he suggested and took a deep breath, holding it for a second and letting it out again.

"There we go, atta girl~."

After a few more deep breaths I tried to open my eyes again, I did it slowly and kept my eyes squinted, I could make out tan skin and an orange, what I assumed to be a hat, on the man's head.

"Ohh, it's too bright isn't it, here, gimme a sec."

The weight was lifted off the bed and the dog gave another little bark at the man. I heard the sound of shades being drawn and the light shining through my eyelids diminishes.

The man walks over and sits beside me again. I felt his unusually warm hand being pressed to my cheek.

"Lets try opening those lovely eyes again, huh?"

I slowly started to open my eyes again, after a second of adjustment and waiting for my tears to slow I looked up to see a handsome man with a big grin looking down at me. Now that I could see him properly I saw his incredibly toned skin, skin that just so happened to not have a shirt on it. He had a dark red beaded necklace around his neck and an orange hat on top of soft black locks. Looking over to the paws on my legs I saw a little white dog with a crescent moon mustache.

Looking back over to the handsome young man I tried to ask him where I was and what had happened. The last thing I remember was seeing a bright light before passing out in the snow. But when I tried to speak all that came out was sad little whimpers that hurt.

More hot tears fell from my eyes at the pain, I tried to lift my hand up to my throat but it also wouldn't move.

"Ohhh, Shhhhhh sweet girl, it's ok, it's ok. Just breathe, I'm going to go get someone who can help you ok?

I nodded as much as I could as my head fell back onto the pillow as I closed my eyes again, trying to manage with the pain as much as I could. I could hear his footsteps walk out and the quiet latching of the door being shut again as I tried to comprehend what was happening and how I got here in the first place.

As the sobs left my body I faintly heard the dog the man before called Stefan whine a little as he crawled over to my face, licking away my tears for me.

After a few minutes I opened my eyes again when I heard footsteps outside my room before the door began to creak open. The shirtless man came back but this time he wasn't alone. Another man with blonde hair and an open button up shirt and a blue tattoo on his chest, a tattoo that I recognized. When the other man closed the door I saw the large purple tattoo on his back, the mark of Whitebeard. I was with pirates.

I began to thrash around as much as I could, which really wasn't much but it was enough to have Stefan jump off of the bed. My breathing was uneven as I started to hyperventilate as I tried to get up to run away. All I was really able to do was to push the blanket off of me a little before the blonde instructed the other man, who he called Ace to hold me down.

Ace ran over to me moving in behind me so I was leaning against his back as his two strong hands held onto my wrists. Having him move me into a sitting position was less than comfortable but it wasn't as bad as when I finally saw why I was in so much pain.

My fingers, toes and parts of my legs and arms were black and purple, a clear sign of serious frostbite. No wonder I was in so much pain. but what was I expecting? Passing out on a snowy mountain in your PJ's was bound to do some serious damage. Tears continued to fall as I 'thrashed' to get out of his grip.

I knew there was no point, my merger strength was nothing compared to a seasoned pirate, but there was no way I wouldn't try.

"Marco, do something!"

I saw 'Marco' walk over to me with a syringe filled with some kind of liquid, making me try and thrash around even more. As he got closer Ace pinned down one of my arms to the bed. I began shaking my head back and forth, begging them to stop.

"N-no please n-o."

I could nearly get the words out as I begged them not to do anything.

"Shhhhh, Baby Bird. You're ok. we aren't going to hurt you."

I couldn't help my body trembling as he motioned for Ace to hand him my arm.

"Deep breath Firefly, just take some deep breaths with me."

I could feel Ace's chest rise and fall as he took some deep breaths, encouraging me to do the same.

At first I refused, keeping my eyes trained on Marco and the syringe in his hand, waiting for him to stick me with it, wondering what it would do.

But after a minute or two of him staring calmly into my eyes, massaging my wrist with his hand I could help but calm down as Ace helped me breathe.

"There we go, Little Bird~. This is just gonna help you sleep a little so we can fix you up a little more."

Ace began to gently rock me back and forth in his arms as Marco managed my wrist, slowly bringing the syringe closer and closer.

Ace nudged my cheek with his, pushing my head to look away.

"It's ok Firefly, it's just gonna help you nap a little, you'll be up before supper.

—————————————

Waking up a second time was a lot less painful than before, if not a little more panicked, I was able to sit up by myself and when I looked down to see my hands. They were wrapped in bandages that went up most of my arms, the same bandages going up my legs. 

"Good to see ya finally up. Figured the dose Marco gave you wouldn't last too long, you musta just been really tired."

I gasp as I look to my right, seeing a tall man with brown hair, a goatee and wearing chef's clothes.

"The names Thatch, I'm Whitebeard's fourth division commander, I also just so happen to be the cook here on the Moby Dick."

My mouth hung open as I tried to figure something out to say, I couldn't help my trembling as another member of the Whitebeard Pirates sat in front of me. Talking to me as if we were friends. 

I looked down at my hands again, not knowing what to say to him. All I could do was fiddle with the bandages only for a warm hand to engulf both of mine, making me look back at Thatch.

"Better not, Marco would have my head if I let you take off your bandages. He did his best to heal you but couldn't heal all of it, your frostbite was super extensive. He applied some kind of cream all over the parts he couldn't fix right away before he applied the bandages."

I slowly nodded at him, trying to subtly pull my hands away from him. His one hand completely eclipses both of mine but he wouldn't let me go, just giving me a little smirk when I looked back up at him. 

"Come on Buttercup, we better get some food into ya, you can't heal with an empty belly."

Once he mentioned food I realized how hungry I actually was, not just hungry but really thirsty too. I nodded a little, keeping my head down as I tried to swing my legs over the edge of the bed to stand up only for Thatch to let go of my hands wrap his arm around my shoulders and one under my knees. 

I flinched a little as he hosted me into his arms, my back was fine but my legs throbbed with pain. 

He cringed a little at the sound I made when he picked me up.

"Sorry blButtercup, I know it hurts but trust me, having you walk right now would be a hundred times worse."

I begrudgingly nodded my head. As much as I didn't like being carried around if just being picked up hurt, I didn't want to know how much it would hurt to actually walk around. 

Thatch smiled down at me and started to walk to the door, the second he opened it after adjusting me a little I heard barking.

I looked down to see the little dog Stefan jumping up at me, his front paws resting on Thatches legs.

I could feel the rumble of Thatches chest as he laughed at the little dog's antics.

"We had to keep him out of your room because he kept trying to take your bandages off, he really doesn't like them for some reason. But he's been guarding your room ever since we kicked him out."

Thatch walked down the long corridor and up a large flight of stairs. Stefan follows close behind. As he walked up onto the main deck I squinted my eyes. Wherever we were was hot, even as the sun was setting it was still so warm, a sharp contrast from my home island. 

You could see nothing but sea from all angles, no land for miles most likely. The sun looked beautiful, reflecting the sun and the beautiful colors of the sky.

"Hey Firefly! You're awake!"

Ace jumped off the railing of the ship and ran over to us. I flinched back as he came closer and reached his hand out to touch me.

His face flashed with concern, looking over to Thatch.

"What did you expect, Fire Fist."

He rolled his eyes but before he could say anything someone cut him off.

"She's hurt, in a new place and surrounded by new people, slow it down Ace."

Thatch turned slightly and I was just able to see over his shoulder, Marco was walking over to us. 

Ace nodded sheepishly. Marco walked in front of me, hunching over a little so that we were face to face, not giving me a whole lot of breathing room considering his last statement. 

"How are you feeling, Baby Bird? Woozy, dizzy, nauseous?"

I tried to turn my face away, almost nuzzling into Thatches chest but Marco cupped my cheek with his hand, gently forcing me to look at him. He lifted his other hand to my cheek, slowly turning my head side to side ever so slightly. His eyes examined every inch of my face.

He raised his eyebrow a little, waiting for me to respond to his question. Thatch gave me a little nudge, silently encouraging me to answer him.

"I.... I feel f-fine."

My voice was barely above a whisper. Marco tilted his head at me, clearly waiting for me to say more. After a few more seconds of silence Thatch decided to speak up. 

"Come on Marco, like you said, she's scared. I bet she'll feel more talkative once she gets some food in her system."

He signed but nodded, backing up a little, releasing my cheeks from his palms after giving them a stroke with his thumbs.

Thatch smiled down at me as I curled into myself as much as I could while being left and without hurting myself too much. It was uncomfortable being so close to so many dangerous and world renowned pirates. 

Thatch flipped around, pushing a swinging down open with his back and walked down a small flight of stars and into a mess hall, but not before shooing Stefan away, saying no dogs were allowed. 

Looking around I could see the mess hall being completely empty. it made sense, with it being practically dark now everyone would have had dinner by now. 

I figured He would set me down on one of the many benches lining the long tables, but instead he flips around to open another set of doors and lead into a large, pristine kitchen. He gently sets me down on the counter top. 

I shivered at the cold counter touched my bare things that weren't covered in bandages. Ace and Marco stepped into the kitchen not too long after us. Ace noticing the goosebumps that had spread all over my skin almost instantly.

"Well that just won't do."

He hopped up onto the counter with me and grabbed my waist, hoisting me to sit on his lap. I yelped loudly, making Thatch look over his shoulder from his cooking only to smirk and look back once he knew I was 'safe'. At least in his terms anyway. On my terms on the other hand, this felt less than safe. 

I adjusted myself in his lap a little but with his strong arms wrapped tightly around my stomach there wasn't much I could do. He rested his chin on my shoulder lightly. 

He felt warm, almost too warm, as if he had a fever. his body heat began to smother away the cold from the room. After a minute small flames appeared all over his arms. I screamed a bit, causing Marco who was leaning against the counter, staring at a clipboard and Thatch was still making me dinner to look over at us. 

As I panic, screaming for him to let me go and try to get out of Ace's arms before I get burned I could hear Thatch laugh a little at my trying to get away. I didn't seem to understand what was so funny. One of his cremates had just erupted into flames with me held in a vice grip and he was laughing. If I wasn't so scared right now and badly injured I would try to smack him, pirate or not.

Marco was much more sympathetic to my fear. He stepped in front of me, holding my hands that had been trying to shove Ace's arms away from me, bringing my knuckles to his lips despite my harsh yanking. 

"Shhhhh, baby bird. You're ok. Calm down."

"L-Let me g-go!!!!"

Ace leaned his head up, pressing his lips into my ear and whispering softly. 

"It's ok Firefly, just calm down for a second. Focus on Marcos hands, on my voice."

After another second of panic I calmed down a little, thought it was less of me calming down and more of me losing what little stamina I still had.

Marco and Ace kept talking to me softly, coaxing me into relaxing as much as they could. 

"See Firefly? It's not burning you. We would never let that happen."

I whimpered softly as they both held me close, keeping me from thrashing around. But at this point I don't think I could even if I wanted to. After a few minutes of Marco coxing me to take some deep breaths, Ace spoke up again.

"Do you know what a Devil Fruit is Firefly?"

I nod stiffly. 

Thatch came to stand beside us. A plate of warm food in his hands. I stared at it longingly until Marco gripped my chin making me look at him again as Ace continued.

"Tell me what you know?"

After a few more deep breaths it was able to squeak out a reply. 

"They are magical fruits that give whoever eats them powers, but they can't swim anymore."

I could feel Ace nodding as Marco gave me a smile. 

"Anything else?"

I shake my head. While I knew what devil fruits where I was never interested enough to actually learn anything in detail. 

"Well Baby Bird, there are a lot of different kinds of Devil Fruits. Some give you powers, some let you turn into animals and some like Ace can control elements, even becoming them if he wanted too.

I look back down at Ace's arms, the little flames still there. 

"I can control the heat of my flames, Firefly. I could use them to burn my enemies, or warm up those I care about."

Ace lifted one of his hands and covered it completely in fire. Marco took one of my hands he was holding and placed it over Aces. I panicked for a second before I realized that the flame wasn't burning me. Just warming up my hand.

"See Buttercup, we wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

Thatch nudged Marco out of the way, causing him to let go of my hands, replacing them with a warm bowl of soup. 

"Now eat up, you can ask all the questions you want once you are done."

—————————————

Once I had finished eating, Thatch had taken the bowl and washed it, Marco taking his previous spot in front of me. I looked up at him. Not knowing what to do next.

He looks down at my arms and legs, before looking back into my eyes. 

"Before anything else I should check on your wounds and change your bandages. It's only been a few hours But I'd rather be safe than sorry."

I nodded at him, keeping my eyes down. As sweet as they all had been to me they were all more than a little intimidating. 

Marco huffed a soft sigh as he picked me up and started walking out of the kitchen much to Ace's displeasure. 

The second I was out of his arms the room seemed even colder than it was before,making the goosebumps coming back with a vengeance. Once Marco noticed he leaned down and whispered into my ear.

"We'll also find you some better clothes."

As warm as it was earlier the night came with an uncomfortable chill in the air especially out at sea. I nodded silently and nuzzled into him a little. As scared as I was, being surrounded by unknowns hasn't really hurt me yet and I didn't really have any option anyway.

Walking down a bunch of winding corridors we eventually end up in what I assumed was a med bay. It was really big all things considered. Not something I thought would have been on a ship but considering how big the ship was and how many crew members were aboard it made sense. 

Marco set my on a cot closest to what I assumed was his desk. Behind it being several cobnuts that lined the entire wall. Some of the doors had Locks on them, others didn't. He walked over to one of the cabinet doors and opened it pulling out a small canister of something and some more bandages. 

He came over and knelt in front of me, taking one of my calves into his hand, looking up at me for permission. After all that had happened he didn't seem like the person to ask permission but I felt a little better knowing he wanted to make sure I was ok with his going any farther.

I nodded after a second. He smiled up at me before looking back to my leg focusing not eh task in front of him.

He slowly started to unwind the bandages, letting me see the damage again. In all fairness it looked much better than before but it still looked pretty nasty. 

He examined my calf for a second before his hands erupted in blur and gold flames making me scream for the umpteenth time today.

Marco looked at me sympathetically. 

"Its ok Baby Bird, I have a devil fruit too. It lets me heal any injury on myself, it lets me heal others but it doesn't work as well."

His voice was low and calm as he explained his abilities to me. 

"It was you."

He looked up at me, humming wondering what I was talking about.

Tears fell down my cheeks. Immediately Marco stood up, taking my cheeks in his hands. 

"What's wrong Baby Bird, What hurts?"

I shook my head as much as his hands would let me.

"One the mountain, before I passed out and when you put me to sleep."

I looked into his eyes, 

"I saw the same flames."

He smiled at me and pressed his forehead to mine.

"Yes Baby Bird, I was the one who found you."

A sob escaped my throat as I tried to compose myself, I needed answers.

"W-what happened?"

He sighs again. 

"You're Island had been attacked by Pirates, we had happened to be nearby when we saw flames in the distance. Once we got there it had been too late, the town was in flames with hundreds dead. We were fighting the pirates and looking for survives when I saw a trace of blood leading to the mountains, that's where I had found you collapsed in the snow"

I couldn't help the choked sob that came from me before I was finally able to say anything.

"Survivors?"

Marco gave me a solemn look, before shaking his head.

I couldn't stop my tears once he confirmed everyone else was dead.

"A-are you-u su-sure?"

I could barely get the words out through my sobs.

"I'm so sorry Baby Bird."

I collapsed into his arms, feeling him hold me tightly as I sobbed into his chest. Nearly unable to breath through my grief. 

"Don't worry Baby, we aren't going to let anything happen to you."

But little did I know about the horrifying smirk on his face. Or his plans for my future. 

#yandere #one piece #yandere x reader #yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard pirates x reader #yandere Whitebeard Pirates x reader

[cybsoo2]

a bleeding bruise (pt.2)

╰┈➤ synopsis — The aftermath of the 'accident' stirs up suffering in all of you. How will you handle the pain? How do these three survive with the shame? And what will be the outcome of your relationship?

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!vminkook x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 3.2k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, injury, past abuse, vomiting, they're such little liars, needles, angst

ੈ♡₊˚｡ back to ⇢ pt.1

The rush to the hospital is a blur of blood. Stained hands, soaked in sin, carry you out to the car. Clarlet carnage covers everything it touches; their skin, the midnight air, it even seeps into the seats. 

Jimin and Jungkook are frantic to force themselves into the backseat. They sit side by side with you laying limply over their laps. Your head is held in Jimin’s hands. He cradles you with care and caresses your soft skin. You’re turnt to face the front of the car in case you spit up any more scarlet. The cold air creeps into your lungs. It’s a comforting contrast compared to the fiery heat that incinerates your insides. 

Taehyung speeds down the streets, missing multiple turnoffs in his mindless panic. Every bump he hits along the road results in cruel curses and scolding from the boys in the backseat.

The night sky looks like an inked artwork. Blue stars bleeding out into the black; their loss of light mirroring your own. It rushes by in a restless haze. Blots of blood stain your vision. The starry sky keeps you company as you sink further into a fatal sleep. 

The first time you wake, you’re blinded by everything at once. The white-hot overhead lights burn your retinas. Their image lingering even as you screw your eyes shut. You blink back the burn and let your eyes scan over the unfamiliar room. White walls stare straight through you. An alcoholic taste burns at the back of your throat. A sterile smell makes you sick. All these unknown sensations swarm you at once. 

The heart monitor picks up the pace, sending sirens off in the two men’s minds. Jimin tightens his grip on the hand he was already holding. He squeezes three times and watches while you panic, feeling frozen from your unexpected awakening. Your eyes roll rampant in their sockets; overwhelmed with information and foreign feelings. Taehyung takes over, forcing your attention on him instead. He pushed back the sweaty strands of hair that stick to your forehead. Then he grabs your jaw in a gentle grasp, whispering words to calm the chaos.

“Shhh, sweetheart, go back to sleep.” He cradles your cheek in his hand, creating a makeshift pillow for you to lean into. “The doctor said you shouldn’t be awake so soon. Go back to sleep, we’ll still be right by your side when you wake up.”

Jimin pulls up the blankets to sit at your shoulders. He lays on the edge of the blue bed; head having sunken into the side of your pillow. His hair is sprawled out everywhere, tickling your neck when he attempts to crawl closer. He puts his hand over your face, slowly passing over you to shut your eyes.

You’re dragged back off to dreamland by their sweet songs. They sing lovesick lullabies that send you off to sleep in seconds. The last thing you spot is Jungkook walking into the room. His face is sunken with a certain type of sadness. A doctor lingers out in the hall, clipboard and consoling frown falling off his face. 

The second time you wake is much more tranquil than the first. This time, the lights are dimmed to drench the room in darkness. The steady beat of your heart monitor gives you something to focus on. The air lingers with the lasting scent of Taehyung’s cologne. You lift your head up from the pillow, trying to pull yourself up to look around. Two sets of hands push you back down.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t rush. You’ll end up straining yourself.” Jungkook stares at you while he speaks. A pitiful smile pulls at his lips. Trying to act as if the isolating room isn’t alive with pain and panic. “How you feeling?”

“Are you hurting at all? Do you need a doctor? Never mind, I’ll get one anyways.” Jimin’s words are tangled with terror. He tries not to show it on his face, but his words are weak and erratic. Before he can get up to go grab a doctor, you tighten your hold on his hand, keeping him sat in his seat.

“No, I’m okay. Just a bit sore.” The words claw themselves up your throat in a croaking tone. You swallow against the dryness and wince with discomfort. 

With the help of Jungkook, you sit up to take in more of your surroundings. All three of them sit in front of you. Jimin sitting at your side, Jungkook standing with your hands still interlocked, and Taehyung laying down at the foot of the bed. All of them watch with worry, waiting for what you’ll say next.

“What happened?” It’s a simple start, and you can already assume the answer, but the suffocating silence pushes you to speak.

Taehyung tries to speak his thoughts, but he ends up sputtering like a fish out of water. Jimin takes a look at Tae and tries not to tear up. Sick memories massacre his mind. His nose twitches as stray tears swim in his eyes. He attempts to hide his emotion, turning away from your questioning eyes.

Jungkook jumps in when it’s obvious the silence has been strung out for too long. “You just got out of surgery and the doctors said it was internal bleeding.” He skirts around the obvious accident that caused it. “They also said you’ll be in here for a couple days at the least. Just so they can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t tear open your stitches.”  His line of vision lingers on your stomach. 

You follow his lead and look down. Although, you can’t see the damage stuffed under your scratchy hospital gown, you can still feel the strike of pain. White bandages that wrap around you like rope and silver stitches pulling at your sickly skin. Thoughts of the damage hiding in the dark bring a grimace onto your face. Your injuries are all stashed away on the inside. Your only though is that you feel worse than you look.

“Was it that bad?” You turn your eyes up to stare at Jungkook.

He hesitates for a solid second. Your words have whispers of a deeper, more dreadful meaning. His head twists your words into a torturous truth. Because you aren’t really asking about the accident. You may have asked him ‘Was it that bad?’, but all he can hear is ‘Are you that bad?’ He hurt you so horribly that it almost invoked the dawn of death. This torturous truth is too much for him to handle, too much for any of them, including you… so he lies.

“It’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take care of you, like we always do.” Jungkook speaks his sweet lies with a sorrowful smile. Everyone else mimics the same miserable grin. You listen to his white lies, but this time you’ll try to trust them. 

You eat a somber dinner of things that are barely solid. A simple soup, soggy bun, and jello that’s supposed to serve as a delicious dessert. You poke at it with your fork, watching as the red blob bounces around. Taehyung nudges your shoulder, silently telling you to stop. You can feel his watchful stare straight through your skull, actually, you can feel all their eyes at once. Their anxious eyes only settle when you start picking away at your plate. The food tastes like poison as it passes through your throat. Your appetite has slipped away from you ever since the surgery. But, with the boys acting all antsy and irritated at everything that hurts your health, you force down the food in order to ease their anxiety. 

Each man nurses their own coffee in their hands. Taehyung watches the hot liquid swirl around in his cup. He’s reckless with the way he handles it, anxiety jumping at the slightest sound and spilling the drink down his hands. Red and angry marks wrap around his arms. Blisters burned deep into his skin; yet he doesn’t seem to acknowledge the pain. He keeps his attention towards you. Trying to be subtle, stealing glances at you every so often. Watching for any discomfort, making sure you eat at least half your food, and studying the bittersweet sadness staining your face. 

Jimin downs his 4th drink before you’ve finished your food. You make a mixture of your meal, poking and prodding at it. Sometimes Jimin has to hold himself back from force feeding you. Stress stretches him apart, tearing at his mind, his lungs, and his heart. He hates seeing you so pale and so sad. So he helps out with hidden motives. He takes bits and pieces off your plate, eating small bites before holding the rest up to your mouth. He doesn’t let you shrug off his advances, so you end up eating more than you’d like.

Jungkook stirs up his coffee into something sweet. 6 packets of sugar and sweetener sink into the bitter blackness. He adds cream to his concoction and stirs until the sour taste dies down. 

You stop eating when everything is half of what it once was. Not too sure how much more your stomach can handle. You push away your plate, trying to pass it over to Taehyung to get rid of. 

“Just take one more bite.” He tries to encourage you, pushing the plate back into your arms. He takes a scoop of the jello with your spoon, the easiest to eat, and holds it in front of your mouth. 

“I don’t think I can.” You look down at the plate, feeling intimidated by such a simple task.

“Just one more.” Taehyung stares straight into your eyes. His insistent nature has become normal for you. Normal enough to know that he won’t take ‘No’ for an answer.

You let out a soft sigh and take the spoon in your mouth. It's a difficult task to force the food down your throat. The texture and taste turns your stomach. As soon as you swallow it down, you know you never should have. Regret almost comes rushing out as you struggle to stand and run to the bathroom. The boys fall behind, faces clouded in confusion. 

Your knees hit the floor with a heavy fall. Fragile form collapsing under the weight of your weakness. You hug the toilet seat tight to your body and hang your head over the inside. Within seconds every you ate is spilling out of you. The sight of scarlet jello mimics blood from the present past. 

A crash is heard out in the other room. Taehyung comes in, colliding with the door and dropping down to his knees. He acts out of adrenaline, gathering your hair in one hand and resting the other on your back. He rubs soothing circles into your skin, whispering words of encouragement.

“It’s alright. Just let it out.” He locks eyes with Jimin as he enters the room. He sits down at your side, pressing a peck against your temple. He hushes your cries and keeps trying to tame the trembles that rack your body. 

Jungkook gets a glimpse at the sorry sight and is immediately scrambling out of the room and screaming for a nurse. Head spinning with imprinted images of your red and raw lips. A bloody tint that throws his mind back to before.

Even after you’re sure you’ve thrown it all up, you gag on the metallic taste that lingers in your mouth. A rotten taste that tangles with your raspy cry and tints your teeth. 

There are tears streaming down your face. Throwing up everything you just ate has left you feeling empty and aching. Jimin and Taehyung still stroke soothing motions down your back. Jimin pries your hand away from where it grabs the porcelain bowl in a death grip. He intertwines his hand with yours and lets you squeeze it wherever another sense of nausea rolls around. 

Two nurses come running into the room. Unfamiliar faces set the two boys on edge. Jimin clutches your hand closer to his heart. Taehyung shifts his body in front of you, trying to keep you out of sight.  Jungkook is the one to push them both out of the way so they can help you, but he never strays far, always hovering with a possessive stance and protective eyes. 

The two nurses appear anxious in the presence of such intimidating stares. They’re hands sweat and shake as they offer up more painkillers and check to see if your stitches have torn. And when the nurses have nothing more to help you with, they’re fast to flee the room.

You’re settled in bed once again. You find yourself falling asleep as an IV drip digs deep into your arm and the painkillers put a heavy haze in your head. 

Jimin squeezes in at the side of your bed, Taehyung crawls in close, and Jungkook holds your hand. They cradle you close. You’re smothered to sleep by careless kisses and whispered wishes. You’re sent off to slumber chasing a delicate dream of a different life. 

The rest of your stay at the hospital looks relatively the same. You’re smothered with affection in the form of sweet sorrys. The three men do everything they can to make up for the incident, everything but actually acknowledge it. No one speaks a word of that night. Nothing goes past a simple sorry when alluding to it. Instead, they’re eager to show their remorse through action and affection.

Jimin hasn’t left your side since the surgery. He lays beside you in the bed, having squeezed in during the dark silence of your dreams. You wake every morning only to end up caged in his iron grip. 

Sometimes he sits in the steel chair at your side. Cast aside whenever Taehyung or Jungkook has decided he’s pestered you enough. He never backs down without an argument. But one look at your exhausted expression and his angry words begin to die down. He taps the metallic chair in time with the clock. The tuneful ticking and copious amounts of coffee are how he distracts himself from drifting off into a dream. In all honesty, he’s been scared to sink back to sleep. The last time he found himself falling asleep, he woke to you bleeding out on the bathroom tile. 

Taehyung takes most authority when it comes to distracting you from your discomfort. He turns your attention to the shows playing upon the TV. He gives you his portions of pudding at meal time. And drowns out any signs of discomfort with his tender touch. 

Jungkook is the only one who acts the most distant. A simple side effect of taking on the brute end of your beating. His shame feels like the same shackles used to hold you down. A cold chaos harrows at his heart. He feels the bitter burden of his wrongdoings with every breath he breathes. He turns over his thoughts in the silence, and sorts through his sinful emotions while you sleep. He refrains from talking too much. Only chiming in on conversations when it includes your health or happiness. 

He listens to the doctors lecture him on how to take care of you, sinking further into his shell with every sentence because he’s only done the opposite thus far. He watches while the nurses talk him through how to re-wrap your bandages when needed. He struggles to keep his hands to himself. Biting back his tongue whenever they touch your blooming bruises and you flinch. The nurses nurturing hands roam your body with innocent intentions. Applying balm to your bruises and wrapping you up in white. But when your eyes twinkle with tears unshed, the three men shout and shut them out of the room without any rebuttal. 

They take matters into their own hands, knowing their tender touches are still too tense. You shed some tears and take your lips between your teeth, trying to hide the pain that’s more prominent than before. 

They take matters into their own hands, knowing they’re worse for you than anyone else. But they’re blinded by love and can’t let their butterfly fly away. 

The day you’re told you’ll finally be discharged is one you’ve all been looking forward to. They carry you out to the car once again, this time with much less gore and guilt. The scenery blurs by from where you watch out the window. The spring season seems to melt together with the high speeds Jungkook is driving. 

They’ve all been acting more restless and rash as the days go on. Impatient and eager to keep you hidden in their home. Protected from prying eyes and devils in disguise. Naive to the fact that they themselves are the real mask-wearing monsters. 

The rest of the drive drones on. Each building that passes more boring than the last. Instead, you fix your focus on the three men that surround you. Taehyung wouldn’t take no for an answer when he insisted you sit on his lap. So now you rest against his chest with his arms wrapped around your waist. His fingers skim across your stomach, soothing away the sickness that still remains. He does anything to avoid the white wraps that stick to your stitches. A pang of pain hits him in the heart every time he’s reminded of that night time nightmare. He walks his fingers across your waist, trying to kill time and relax his restless nature. Sometimes his hands stray away from your stomach and shove Jimin instead. 

In his sleeping state atop your legs, he tries to catch up on the sleep he’s missed before you get back home. Too hysterical in the hospital and too obsessed over your well-being, he developed a sort of insomnia. However, this tiny sliver of sleep he finally gets is full of disturbances. As his dreams drift into a tortured terrain, his body begins to tremble in terror. Shifting in his sleep and almost smacking his arm into your stomach if Taehyung wasn’t there to pull him away. 

During the rest of your drive, each man continues to fight their angry and anxious feelings. When you arrive at your house, nothing much has changed. They cling onto you like a second skin and still struggle with their self-loathing. 

Yet their sorry words and tear-stained eyes will never be enough. Not when they know you both are bound to destroy each other. Not when this cycle of crimson chaos will continue till the end. 

Even when they love you the most, stricken with guilt and grief, willing to do anything you ask, their lovesick obsession only serves to make matters worse. They hold you too tight, kiss you too rough. Their love is slowly sending you to an early grave. Yet you chose to be ignorant to their insanity. Developing tunnel vision to their love and ignoring all else.  And when you slip up again, when they snap again - you’ll pretend it never happened. Harbouring hope in a broken heart. Trying to be someone you aren’t in order to survive. Their love is like poison and their hate is like hell. Staying alive with three lovesick psychos, all you can rely on is hope.

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

#bts #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts x you #bts fanfic #yandere bts #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung imagines #taehyung fanfic #yandere taehyung #taehyung #taehyung angst #jimin x reader #jimin imagine #jimin imagines #jimin fanfic #yandere jimin #jimin #jimin angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #yandere jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #poly bts #vminkook x reader

[icanhearcolors]

Close Encounter pt. 2

I couldn't help myself :p

Again if ya see any spelling or grammar errors lemme know

pt 1 | pt 3

Word Count: 4k

You’re falling.

Chunks of giant tentacles from a living mind-flayer ship fall with you as you watch one of the dragons that rent the nautiloid apart soar victoriously away from the carnage it created. The air stinks of burning flesh, and there’s a stabbing pain behind your eye caused by a living being squirming around in your skull. All things considered, you’re not panicking as much as you thought you would be. You reach for the weave, but you used all the spells that you possibly could fighting the intellect devourers, imps and whatever else was on that retched ship. Falling from such a height will be unavoidably fatal, and somehow you’ve accepted that. Now you have nothing but a few more seconds left to live and your thoughts. You wonder for a moment if anyone will miss you. Could that be why you were chosen by the mind flayers? You have a job you are proud of, but no family, and if you’re being honest very few friends. Your disappearance will probably be attributed to whoever you last crossed in the courts in your role as magistrate. It will be news for a bit, but nothing shocking for the lower city of Baldur’s Gate. 

The ground is rushing up faster now. A flash of white sand and blue water. A beach. You hate the beach. How ironic that you’ll die there. You close your eyes for one final time and brace yourself as best you can for what death by meteor impersonation will feel like-

except…

It doesn’t happen.

You open your eyes.

You are suspended upside down, face a couple inches from the ground that would have killed you. You stare at a seashell for a moment in numb shock, before every emotion you’ve ever felt bombards you. Terror, rage, elation, relief, exhaustion, grief, they wage a war in your head until you are completely overwhelmed, and everything goes black.

—-

For the second time in a day you awake in an unfamiliar place, only this time it’s on fire.

Your eyes snap open, seeing nothing at first except for the beautifully blue sky above you. It’s almost peaceful, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that something is wrong. Then it hits you.

Why is it so quiet? 

You hear nothing. There is no wind rushing, birds cawing, waves crashing, you hear nothing but your own blood rushing in your ears. You sit up, your muscles aching, and immediately grimace in pain as something inside your skull moves. Your ears begin ringing with a high pitched screech that pressing your palms into your ears does nothing to stop- and then nothing. 

As quickly as it came it fades again, and when you remove your hands from your ears- sound comes flooding back, along with the rest of your senses. Your skin is rubbed raw from the sand, you taste smoke and blood in your mouth, and you fight the urge to vomit when you smell the rotting carcass that is the nautiloid. Intellect devourers scuttle across the fleshy ground with wet slaps in one direction, the ocean is all that waits for you in the other. You reach for the weave and find that you were at least asleep long enough to recover your spells. You stand carefully on shaky legs, stumbling to avoid glowing red jagged metal wreckage and pools of black congealed blood. Bodies of the less fortunate passengers litter the sand. You turn their pockets and grab a weapon or two as you pass by. They won’t mind. You waste no time, marching toward the burning chunk of the nautiloid that seems to be the only way forward. Three intellect devourers block your way, but they’re hurt, and seeing the beaten path on the other side of them gives you enough reckless inspiration to take them on. Crouching behind a rock, you summon the weave and give it form with a simple incantation.

“Ignis!”

The first devourer drops dead immediately. You stare incredulously at the hand that guided the flame as if it could explain to you where all that firepower was when you needed it on the ship. The other two devourers sprint toward you on broken twisted legs, and you firebolt them too. They both get a hit in on you before they die, shredding your skin with their claws, but it’s nothing a healing potion or two won’t mostly fix. You uncork a small red bottle and down its contents, watching in wonder as in this small contained way, time moves backwards. The blood pooling at your feet and staining your clothes is pulled back into your body, and your wounds seal closed almost instantaneously. The shredded fabric of your clothes is the only indication that you were ever hurt at all. Staring down at the creepy burning brain creatures, you begin to wonder if this is your life now. Your previous reluctant companion Lae’zel told you on the ship that the tadpole you now unwillingly carry will turn you into a mind flayer within a matter of days, so you do not allow yourself more than a moment of reflection before you step over the bodies and begin walking the path behind them. A path means people walk this ground often, and if you follow it far enough, surely you’ll find some sort of civilization. 

You don’t make it far before you hear shouting.

You take off running on instinct. There’s an actual living person somewhere up ahead of you, potentially another survivor, and by the sounds of it they need help.

You turn a corner and skid to a stop in the sand, panting, staring at the back of an oddly familiar looking stranger. He turns to you, and your heart stops in your chest as you recognize the vampire you met in a tavern some odd years ago. He looks different in the sunlight, even paler, his red eyes brighter, anyone would be able to see vampire written all over him if it weren’t for the fact that he was standing before you in broad daylight. Were you wrong about him being a vampire? You can’t imagine how else he’d have red eyes and fangs but there has never been a vampire that could walk unharmed in the sun. He doesn’t even blink at your approach. Expression urgent, he ushers you over to the group of bushes he’s standing in front of, and you take a few steps forward in mute astonishment.

“Hurry! I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it can’t you? Like you did the others?” 

He must have seen you fight off the devourers at the beach. You take a second to recall his name. Astarion. He doesn’t seem to recognize you at all. You can’t find any of the shock and recognition you’re feeling in his eyes. You can’t read his expression at all actually. 

You begin to nod as you process his words. The devourer is a problem you can solve, the vampire-but-maybe-not-a-vampire is a mystery you don’t think you’re capable of handling just yet.

You tell him to step back and observe the rustling in the bushes, preparing to firebolt the illithid creature to the hells where it belongs. You take a step forward, and out of the rustling bush explodes a boar, not a brain. 

You huff a quick relieved laugh and turn to face Astarion when you feel two things in quick succession, the cold sharp edge of a dagger against your throat, and a hand sliding up the back of your head, gripping your hair in a fist and yanking you to the ground.

“I thought I told you to run the next time you saw one of my kind, not save them from a mind flayer’s dog” Astarion admonishes, using his grip on your hair to force your head back even further. It seems he does remember you after all.

The air is knocked out of your lungs, so casting a spell isn’t an option. You do the only thing you can think to do. You reach up to grab his wrist and fight to push the dagger away from your throat. Even using both arms, you aren’t strong enough.

“Shhhhh shh shh, not a sound. I’ve been on the receiving end of the daylight spell too often to trust you spell casters. You’ll hold your tongue if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

You keep both hands around his wrist, hoping if he does try to kill you, you’ll be strong enough to maybe disarm him at least. You say nothing.

His answering smile scares you more than the knife at your throat.

“There’s a good girl. It seems you can follow instructions after all. There’s hope for you yet. Now, I saw you on the ship didn’t I? Nod.” 

You try your best to nod considering the circumstances.

“I want to know how you survived the crash. If you say anything that sounds like it even might be the start of a spell it’ll be the last thing you ever say. Speak.”

“I-I don’t know. I was falling, and then I wasn’t. Next thing I knew I was waking up on the beach. How did you survive?”

“I’m not easy to kill,” his words are both an answer and a warning.

“Now you’re going to explain to me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.” 

Your mouth drops open in shocked indignation.

“What I did to you?! We were both abducted! Have you lost your mind?”

Faintly you hear a high pitched ringing in your ears but you ignore it. You probably have hearing damage from the ship explosion.

“Don’t lie to me! The first person I refuse my master in over a century finds her way to me again just seven years later on a mind flayer ship of all things and you want me to believe it’s a funny coincidence?”

“Oh well yeah when you put it that way my kidnapping you and the other fifty people on the ship with my mind flayer best friends makes so much sense!” You practically shout.

Astarion presses the dagger a little further into your skin, just short of drawing blood, and you wince.

“Ohhhh you little-” Whatever he was about to say is cut off by both his cry of pain and yours as the ringing in your ears drowns out all other sound. Something twitches in your head and for a few moments you are looking through eyes that aren’t your own, prowling the dark streets of Baldur’s gate. You feel nothing but a soul deep hunger, starvation feels more accurate a term. 

In a flash the memory changes, and you’re in a cellar of some kind. The first thing you notice is that the floor under your bare feet feels wet. The second thing you notice is the immobilizing pain radiating from your shoulders to your lower back. Your arms are shackled to the ceiling. You are standing in a puddle of your own blood.

“Please” You groan in a voice that isn’t yours.

“Petras says you let a mortal escape.”

You don’t have a response to that. Unbearable pain lances through your side. You jerk, and a skeletal hand grabs your shoulder. 

“Hold still boy. I’m trying to avoid the scars.”

Your soul is slammed suddenly back into your own body, vision Astarion’s scream blending with your own as you wrench yourself away from the hands holding you. Amidst your panicked scrambling the dagger cuts a searing line where your neck meets your shoulder. It would have sliced your throat if Astarion hadn’t pulled it away in time. You pull your cloak over the injury and lean against a nearby tree, sliding down the rough bark until you’re sitting with your knees pulled to your chest. Your back throbs with echoes of the pain you experienced in Astarion’s memory. He looks just as shaken as you do, though perhaps less terrified.

“What… was that?” You hiss through your teeth.

Astarion rolls to his feet and sheaths his dagger, apparently deciding you’re not as much of a threat as he thought you were.

“What did you see?” He asks warily, noting your less than jubilant reaction.

“You-” You hesitate, not wanting to trigger a potentially dangerous response by reminding him of a traumatic experience.

“Ohhh I’ve never seen you tongue tied before. Was it scandalous?” He asks teasingly in a low voice, as if someone on the empty path next to the burning ship wreck would be listening in to this ridiculous conversation. It irks you enough that you snap the real answer at him.

“You were being tortured.”

Astarion looks at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to continue.

“And?”

“What do you mean and?”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“It doesn’t?!”

His laugh is dark and devoid of any real humor.

“Not in the slightest.”

An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you recall Astarion’s rambling from the night you met. He said a man named Petras would tell someone if Astarion didn’t return with you, and implied he’d suffer for it.

“Someone was speaking. They said you ‘let the mortal go.’”  

“Ah. That was your doing.”

Shock and confusion flood your system for a moment before they’re drowned out by a much stronger emotion.

Anger.

“Oh I would love to hear how you think I am to blame for whatever the HELLS I just witnessed.”

Astarion crosses his arms and levels you with a withering glare

“What you just witnessed was my punishment for not bringing you back to Cazador.”

The name is familiar to you. You remember Astarion saying it that night, and you vaguely recall that he’s someone important to Baldur’s Gate.

“Cazador Szarr? The creepy noble who lives in the giant gothic castle in the lower city? He wants me dead?”

Astarion sighs.

“Not you specifically, no. Unfortunately for us Baldurians he’s rather indiscriminate with his murder.”

You shake your head, more confused than you were when you woke up in a mind flayer pod.

“You lost me.”

“He’s a vampire lord.”

Your jaw drops as you realize what exactly he’s saying.

“YOU WERE GOING TO FEED ME TO A VAMPIRE LORD?” You shout.

His eyes widen at your sudden outburst and he raises his hands, speaking slowly as if he were trying to placate a rabid animal.

“Okay so you’re angry. Perhaps understandably, but I didn’t have a choice. Do you know anything about vampires?”

“They drink blood, avoid the sun, live in covens, sleep in coffins?” You offer.

Astarion nods,

“All true, but more goes on in those covens than you know. Turning into a true vampire corrupts you completely. Most people think the biggest threat to them is a cleric with a stake. That's not true. The biggest threat to a vampire is another vampire. When a vampire drinks the blood of a mortal they turn that mortal into their vampiric spawn. We have the red eyes, the fangs, the bloodlust, the enhanced senses, but that’s it. We would have to drink the blood of our maker to become a true vampire, but what maker would allow such a thing given the choice between having a slave or a potential threat? Cazador turned me when he found me dying in an alley in the lower city. He gave me a list of rules,” Astarion begins speaking in a nasal, probably quite offensive caricature of who you assume to be Cazador.

“‘First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine.’"

“What are non-thinking creatures?”

“Animals mostly. Usually he had us drink the blood of dead putrid rats his servants would find around the castle.”

You shiver as a wave of nausea hits you at the mental image. He continues,

“What I’m trying to say is when I found you in that tavern my entire reason for existing was to lure pretty things back to my master. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did have a choice though,” You remind him. “You let me go.”

“I may have rebelled a little, but I couldn’t disobey the order I was given. I found another victim, and they suffered the same fate you would have. I paid in blood for sparing you.” He says bitterly. 

“What do you want me to do? Apologize for the fact that you didn’t want to kill me?” You ask exasperatedly.

Astarion tilts his head inquisitively, considering your words.

“Yes, actually.”

“How is that my fault?”

“It’s your fault because you, the only good person in the entirety of the under city, ended up in my usual tavern. A tavern I never could return to by the way- lest you be there. Usually I can’t stand good people but you just had to be a magistrate for the same judges that led me to drink on more than one occasion when I was mortal and when I kissed you I-” He pauses mid-rant when he sees your owlish expression. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks, his tone skeptical, as if he believes you're plotting something.

He's right in a way, you're considering your options. You’re unsure what to do with this stranger. He’s dangerous for certain. You’re not entirely sure what the outcome would be if you tried to take him on, especially now that you’re running low on spells and health potions. Even if you managed to limp out of that fight alive, the next devourer or goblin to happen upon you would easily kill you. 

The thought suddenly occurs to you that maybe you two could travel together. You obviously don’t trust each other, but a dangerous ally seems like the best type to have these days, and you share a common enemy.

In the silence that follows his rambling, a question you’ve been dying to ask slips out. 

“Wait, can you walk in the sun because you’re only a spawn?”

Astarion places a hand over his chest in feigned offense.

“Only a spawn? That hurts my feelings.”

You return his snarkiness by pretending to be deeply confused.

“Wait…you have those?” 

“Not often, no.” He sighs. He reaches out past the shade of the tree he’s standing under and allows the sun to warm the palm of his hand. “But that, I feel. It kind of tickles,” He smiles with real astonished happiness. You never thought you took the sunlight for granted before but you’re reminded in this moment that you had more to lose than you thought. 

“Spawn burn to ash in the sun just the same as vampires, I haven’t seen daylight in centuries.”

“So what’s changed?”

“Probably the same thing that allowed you to see my memories and I yours. The thing we had rather rudely forced into our skulls.”

You nod, and tell him about your githyanki ally who warned you what the tadpoles would do to you both if you didn’t find help soon.

“So it’ll turn me into a monster. You’d think by now that fate would be tired of playing that joke on me.” 

It’s that sentence that cements your decision to take him with you. You did not meet in the best of circumstances, and yet you feel a very unsettling but genuine connection to this vampire. For better or for worse, he’s all you have right now.

“Astarion?”

His head snaps up, pulled from his thoughts. 

“Yes?”

“I’m going to find a healer that can remove this worm from my head. I might take a few of the other survivors with me if I can find any. You should come.”

Astarion looks you up and down, considering his options.

“I was ready to go this alone, but you seem to be a useful person to know. I’ve tried and failed to kill you twice and truth be told I’m quite good at killing people.”

As weird of a response it is to the horrific thing he just said, you feel hope for the first time in a very long time. With Astarion by your side you won’t have to navigate the wilds alone. 

“Don’t make me beg.” You joke, a small smile forming as you realize he’s going to agree.

“Don’t tempt me.” He holds out his hand palm up.

“I’m not getting that apology am I?” He asks.

Wondering where this is going, you reach for his hand.

“Not any time in this millenia.”

“Unlike you I can wait until the next one.”

He grips your hand in his and pulls you to your feet.

“Assuming I don't kill you first.”

“Ha! I like you.”

“Did you figure that out the first or the second time you tried to kill me?”

“Definitely the second. The first time is always so dramatic and emotional, the second go around is where the real fun begins.”

“You’re not talking about attempted murder anymore are you?”

“What else would I be talking about?” He winks.

“Fuck you Astarion”

“Ask me nicely and I might consider it.”

Such forwardness shocks you despite how much of a flirt you already knew he was. You stutter for a moment, unable to come up with a response, and decide to half heartedly swat at his shoulder instead. He catches your wrist before you land the blow, and when your eyes meet his he’s grinning in a way that flashes those fangs of his. “You’re a violent little thing aren’t you? I think I will travel with you. I could use the protection.” 

You know he's being sarcastic, but your response is real.

“You watch my back, and I’ll watch yours.”

Astarion's amused expression sobers.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he agrees plainly, without a trace of sarcasm. You almost raise your hand to his forehead to check his temperature when you realize that joke wouldn’t work on a vampire. With your life no longer in danger, the adrenaline high from the last couple minutes fades rapidly, and you begin to feel the extent of your injuries. You reach up with your free hand and rub the back of your head, wincing at the sting from where Astarion yanked you by your hair. Understanding dawns on his expression and he has the decency to at least look apologetic.

“You know, under the right circumstances I’m usually much better at that sort of thing.” 

Aaaaand he’s back. You open your mouth to respond when he stills suddenly, inhaling deeply through his nose. His eyes snap to your shoulder,

“Why are you bleeding?”

You remember the cut from the dagger and try to take a clumsy step back, but it isn’t quite the retreat you hoped it would be. Your back hits the tree you were sitting against. His grip on your wrist tightens, and he takes a step forward as you take one back, eating up the already dismal distance between you two in one stride.

“Someone held a dagger to my throat,” you attempt to deflect some of the tension.

Astarion’s pupils dilate, his movements are predatory, and you fear you’re about to be the prey he breaks his maker’s first rule with.

“Who?” His voice is low and melodic, almost hypnotizing. “I’ll kill them.”

You laugh nervously,

“Apparently he’s hard to kill.”

His answering smile is sharp as his dagger.

You begin to seriously question your choice in allies. This is the third time you’ve feared for your life because of this man, and you doubt it’ll be the last.

He drops your wrist and steps back, swallowing thickly. He tosses you a corked red bottle, a healing potion.

“I won’t bite, not unless you ask me to of course.” 

He begins striding up the path, correctly assuming you’ll follow.

“But drink that before you drive me absolutely insane.”

You down the contents of the tiny bottle and toss it into the sea, speeding to catch up with your new friend, the sun walking vampire. 

Life couldn’t possibly get any crazier.

Right?

----------------------------------------------------

hiiiiii! I'm not sure how tagging works but I'm gonna try to tag the people that showed interest in me writing a sequel because that's so cool and I love you guys

@aoirohi

@tamwritesstuff

@smaranshakthi

@perseny

@stronglycoffeescented-blog

@hadesbabygurl

#astarion x reader #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #reader insert

[gglitch1dd]

Blood and Fire

Context: Kirishima and Bakugou embody fire, flames and destruction. Their path of carnage and love for their beautiful culture is evident. Yet, who could have thought a human could be soulmates to people like them.

Something I posted on AO3 to retry my Fantasy AU. Either way, when I posted this I had 999 followers, and this is me shamelessly asking for more cause I need just 1 of you little guys to post pt 2 of Arranged.

Kiribaku x femReader! Fantasy and Soulmate AUs.

Warning: Yandere themes!, BLOOD (Like a lot of it), Mentions/Refernece to dead bodies, Gore-ish, Sacrificial ideology, tribalistic themes. No cannibalism but there is basically blood drinking. No NSFW in this part but things get real touchy and investigative with Bakugou and Kiri later. Kiribaku spicy. Language. Planned arranged marriage for reader.

Words: 6,5k

The town of Torok had fallen. It was so quick one couldn’t even begin to fathom where it all went wrong. Dragons cried in the sky with such load roars of life, it haunted those who spoke just hours before to their children of their extinction. Fires littered across the dark town central as people scream and ran for help. There was no aid, and any glimmer of hope was quickly snuffed out by the strong barbarians that would bring down their axes and swords like lightning. Buildings fell from the rough force of the giant beasts of scales and fire in their souls.

But at the village gates, where it was predominantly silent other than the echoed screams of the fallen innocent, was one of the barbarians. Their leader. His hair was that of a sand and eyes as piercing as the fires that the dragons exhaled. A red cape sat on his shoulders, the white fur of a direwolf brushing his neck as he worked.  Blood dripped down his jaw as his hands furiously went to work on leaving an impression on the gates. The bodies of innocents lay strewn on the ground for him to use and consume how he saw fit.

He walked over to one of the corpses, a man maybe just out of adolescent, a few years younger than him. He felt nothing looking down at the corpse, if he did feel something it was the thought and the drive of what he had planned for the night. He crouched down next to the body going on his knees. He dipped his hand into the warm open cavern that was the corpse’ chest. His hands moving in between organs and vascular tissue, as he looked for something specific. Then he felt it, smooth yet almost triangular shaped.

A wicked smile pulled to his face as he wretched the organ out of the body. The liver. He looked at it with such fascination, as if it would start moving in his very hand. He stood up with it still in his hands, looking down at it. The body part seemed so small compared to his hands, with dark black nails as sharp as his dragon comrads. Yet now his hands were drenched in so much blood that even the rains couldn’t wash them clean.

He walked back to the tall wooden gates. His dark nails squished the organ in his hands, blood spurting out of every pore and dribbling down his forearms and he went back to his task. Using the thick life substance, he drew back on the double doors, hoping his message would come across more than strongly.

Everyone knew of him, they told stories to their children to always say their prayers that he would never visit their villages or towns. Everywhere the blond walked was destruction and wreckage, pathed way but his battalion of barbarians and dragons. All his life people had only regarded him as a man who brought nothing but wrong with him, so that’s what he embraced. He embraced the heat, of the flames that came with his reign.

The blond took a step back with to look at his work, his eyes broadening. He threw the organ to the side, discarding it as it had no use to him now. A small chuckle bubbled in his chest, then it grew until he was laughing broadly. A huge grin on his bloodstained face at his masterpiece.

Suddenly two big arms snaked around his small waist. A body broad and big, made of hot muscle and scales behind him. A rumble came from the beast behind him as lips moved to his neck. The blond’s neck was littered in bite marks and scars, a sense of pride to him. He relaxed against the redheaded scaled deity behind him with a satisfied smile on his face. He didn’t have to look back to know who it was. He knew automatically. The being, larger than any man could dream and more powerful than ten men put together, had his eyes flicker up to the gates.

A rumble of a chuckle came from his chest. “You…” His voice deep and commanding in attention yet filled with amusement and admiration towards the blond leader. “Are absolutely devious, my love.” He complemented placing more kisses to the blond’s neck.

The blond laughed bringing one hand to his lover’s neck. “I know.” He let out certain. “I wish I could see Deku’s damn face when he sees this.” He voiced out. His red crimson eyes rolled back at the feeling of sharp teeth against the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. He sighed back, at the beast’s mercy in every way.

The beast chuckled at the blond’s relaxed form. “Another time.” He mumbled against warm skin. The beast turned him around in his arms to face him. Red met red. The redheaded beast, with his thick locks of red hair and just as haunting eyes, looked down at the blond with a smirk. He admired the perfections that made up his lover. His thin waist, broad chest with fat pecs, eyes drawn on him like art and skin littered with some battle and love scars. His large hands, rough yet ever so loving tightened on the blond’s waist, pulling him forward. Bare chest against bare chest. Blood, sweat and remnants of tribal paint mixing together between the two. He bent down and kissed the blond in earnest, groaning at the taste of his lover and sacrificial blood on his lips. The blond chuckled at the beast of a man in front of him.

The soulmate marks on their inner forearms glowed slightly at the affection between each other. The mark was made of three parts. Three words in draconic that looked more like a mix of claw marks than anything. Fire and Blood. The link between the two words didn’t glow. A missing third piece to their bond still without them.

The redhead moved back. “Oh, how I do love it when you are like this.” He growled out, his lips stained with blood from the blond.

The blond tugged harshly on the beast’s red hair pulling him closer towards him. His eyes sparking in a challenge. “Then what are you waiting for?” He asked in a whisper, lips brushing against the beasts in want but restraint.

The redhead scoffed. Temptation laced heavy in the air. The smell of blood and lust clouding the beast’s senses. “Later,” He promised with a soft kiss to the blond’s nose. “When I can properly fuck you into the coming dawn. Right now…” He turned his head to where he had come from. “The troops have taken everything. We should return before he arrives.” Huge red wings, powerful and expansive like the rest of him spread from his back. They spanned behind him haunting.

“That was the plan.” The blond nodded. He moved from out of the redhead’s arms and started walking in the direction the redhead was looking. “Have you found her?” He asked more seriously.

“No.” The beast let out, walking between the trees, next to the blond. “But I know where our missing third is.”

That was the information they were looking for. The blond glanced at him to the right, the redhead becoming harder and harder to see in the darkness and in the sprawling of trees. The blond set into a run. “Where?” He asked, his hair pushing back as the wind blew in his face.

A huge growl irrupted from beside him, as smoke filled the air and a rumble was from the earth. Moving closer to his left, the blond reached out a hand and jumped. Just as he reached peak height, his hand grabbed onto a sharp horn of a large dragon. His own height minuscular than that of the black and red scaled dragon. The beast took off up into the air, the blond, holding on from one horn. With all his strength he pulled himself up to sit on the dragon’s head, hand holding each of its largest horns as they moved into the air. The dragon, biggest of all that were in the burnt town, roared in the air. Other powerful fire spitting beasts took off from the ground following the giant dark beast with the blond rider.

“The next town over.”

The blond laughed with a smile. “Perfect.”

You stood in front of your mirror in your white night gown. You pat down the cotton fabric as you stared at yourself in the mirror. This was the last night you had unmarried. The last night which you could have spent finding your soulmate if it wasn’t for your parents monitoring your every move. The dazzling white in the corner of the room, once again, caught your eyes.

The white lacy wedding dress on your cushioned chair. The moonlight shone down on it as if it was just as breath-taking as the moon itself. Not to be confused, the dress was pretty, yet you couldn’t find it in your heart to appreciate it truly for what it meant. A wedding. A bride.

You released a sigh as you turned away from your mirror. You could see pretty easily in the darkness of your room. The soft pat of your feet sounded through your room as you headed to your windowsill. The sky held a few clouds in it. Spread out and like a piece of art. You tried to clear your head of all thoughts as you enjoyed the sky. Then you noticed smoke in the air. Your eyebrows furrowed. There was a lot more of the dark black smoke than would be usual from the town. It filled the air like a beacon of destruction. You moved closer to the cold window, your fingers pressing against the glass. In the direction of the town, you saw light coming from beyond the trees. Your eyes widened as you realized the only source of such bright light in the darkness.

Fire.

You scrambled away from the window and went to your bedroom door. “Mother!” You called out into the hallway. The hallway lanterns still alight showing that people were still awake. You moved fast down the upstairs hallway towards the stairs. “Father, there’s a fire in town! We have to-” You stopped talking as you noticed the commotion at the bottom of the stairs. Talking to your parents were two men. One had dark jet-black hair and onyx eyes. He held a eased smile on his face but your parents looked anything but happy. He seemed engrossed in conversation with them while his comrade stood against the wall. You paused.

The other was a blond whose eyes instantly went up to you at the top of the stairs. His hair was ash blond, light as if it was made from the same colour that adorned the sandy beaches of the island of Yuuie. His eyes, a deep red but not that of crimson but of the richest wines, so intense and strange, held you with such an intensity you forgot how to breathe. He was large. His chest exposed and he adorned a blood red cape on his shoulders, white direwolf fur sitting on his neck. His arms were folded over his large, exposed chest, his body displaying battle scars like no other and yet… with all his large yet burly self, he looked graceful. Holding elements to him not typically masculine and an illusiveness you could only describe as soul sucking.

Without a word he kicked off the wall and moved towards you in long strides. You were frozen in place, not entirely sure what was going on. Suddenly you were looking up at the blond man in front of you, his eyes still on you as if you were the only thing in the room. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your forearm up for him to see. He was rough but he didn’t hurt you exactly. His hands large but comfortingly warm as the held your arm. His eyebrows softened from their furrowed state as he saw the soul mark on your wrist. It glowed in place making your eyes widen in surprise. “It’s you.” He let out in a deep voice that had you looking up at him surprised he could speak. You noticed his own forearm, but before you could take a good look at it, you were off the ground.

You let out a short scream as you were thrown over his shoulder, him gripping your thighs together securely. That’s when you suddenly developed a voice.

“Hey! Let me down!” You shouted as you hit his back.

He didn’t seem fazed by your efforts of trying to get him to put you down. “Shh.” He hushed you as he pet over you upper thigh making your face fall and erupt in heat. “Stop fussing.” He told you.  He went down the stairs. “It’s her.” He announced to the other one, not paying your parent any form of his attention.

His comrade turned to your parents with a bright straight toothed smile. “You have no need to worry Mr and Mrs L/N. All will be taken care of.” He took out a huge sack of gold coins and handed it over to your father. “In our culture, it is often the masculine partner that hands compensation to the family for raising such a wonderful soulmate for them.” Handing over the sack of gold he bowed his head. “More will be sent over to your residence soon. Till then, enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Wait! But… my family!” You shout as the blond took you out the door, you couldn’t get a good look at your parents as you were already out the door and into the cool fresh air. That’s when you finally realised, something was very wrong. Why were they just taking you? Why did they pay your parents? Why did they do nothing? You started to fight harder to get out of the blond’s strong hold. “Let go of me, you brute! Unhand me!” You shouted at him in anger. As a quick resort, you bit down on the back of his other arm.

That took him by surprise as he drops you to your feet. You stumble and land on your butt on the gravel path. You looked up at the blond expecting anger but you didn’t receive it. He looked down at his arm in fascination at the bite mark you left on him. Your bite was not hard enough to break the skin and your teeth were clearly not as sharp as his but the mark was left there. His first ever mark from you. On his arm for all to see.  He looked back at you, his lips pulling up into a grin. “Marking me already?” He asked amused. He chuckled. “Good,” He leaned down. “I want you to.” He whispered. You looked up at him as if he was crazy.

His comrade laughed as he walked to stand next to the blond, his hands joined behind his head. “Feisty, she seems.” He commented. “That’s good for the tribes.”

The blond hummed in agreement. “Very. But not right now.” He offered an empty hand to the other male. The dark-haired man handed him a cloth and a bottle with a cork in it. Removing the cork with his teeth, the blond poured some of the contents onto the cloth. That’s when you realized that they were most probably going to use that on you. You started to scramble up and run. Not wanting to look back, you pushed off the ground trying to make to the fence. If you could make it over the fence into the pastures, you would just need to run to the forest.

Yet the moment the fence was in reach, the blond brute had you back in his hands. He pulled you back forcing you back into his arms. Without wasting a moment, he placed the cloth to your nose and mouth. You wiggled violently in the grasp of his thick muscled arm as you tried to escape. You let out sounds of defiance, trying not to breathe in whatever was on the cloth.

“Calm. Don’t fight it.” He urged you. He was not bothered by you trying to escape, he was powerful enough to catch you regardless. Your lungs were burning, and your body was losing energy fast. You had just been running so holding your breath for a long time wasn’t probably. Your body forced you to breathe, gasping for air. “Good girl. Just breathe.” The smell was weird. Odd to you. But you couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Your vision became spotty as your body started to numb and lose its energy. Your eyes fluttered shut as you fell into blissful unconsciousness.

You felt your body slowly regain feeling as you sat up in your bed. Your head was pounding, making you clutch the side of your head in an attempt to try and ease the headache. Your vision cleared up as you looked around at your surroundings and you realized something. You weren’t in your bed. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You were in what looked like a cave, by the looks of it. A well cut out cave.

You sat in a sort of crevasse in the cave that was cut out into the floor and near wall. It was filled with soft furs, blankets, and pillows. You were pretty comfortable come to think of it, where you sat was adorned in soft items. You would be looking more around the cave if you didn’t notice golden eyes looking at you from outside the sort of nook you found yourself in.

It was a woman. She had beautiful skin rich in melanin that was adorned with pink scales and equally pink fluffy hair. She watched you in interest finding you the one that was watch worthy. You froze in place having never seen a being like her. White horns sat on either side of her head as she tilted her head as she looked at you. Then she seemed to exit out of her hypnotized state. “Evening, your highness.” She bowed her head to you, her forehead on the ground. She was already on her knees before you.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Me?” You asked. As far as you could tell, you were the only one with her in the cave and so she could only be talking to you, but just encase you were missing something, you asked her.

She nodded her head from her position before you. “Is there anything you wish for?” She asked you.

You hesitated. You took this time to look around. The cave was big with an arrangement of riches and heirlooms. It was warm in the cave, not too much that you felt stuffy but enough that you wouldn’t catch a cold.

You looked back to the pink haired woman with her odd clothing. She didn’t dress like the other women in town. With long clothing with a multitude of layers to cover up their bodies. She essentially wore a two piece, a tight cloth around her chest and breasts and a short length skirt of inner wool and leather. The rest of her was bare to the air.

“Uh…” You started. “Where am I?” You ask.

“Mountain on Island!” She answered enthusiastically. She gave you a big and broad smile of sharp white teeth. You weren’t entirely sure what she meant by ‘mountain’, considering that there were probably hundreds of mountains on the huge island of Yuuie. You opened your mouth to ask her to elaborate when she perked up as if remembering something. “Stay.” She stood up. “I’ll go get them.”

Not giving you any more of an answer she ran off down a sort of hallway that led to another part in the underground setting you seemed to be in. You were really confused. Where were you? Why were you here? Why was there a strange, nearly naked, woman with ink scales on her arms and why was she calling you with a regal title. It didn’t make any sense to you.

Although you didn’t move from your spot in the mass of soft items. If you didn’t move no one would get angry and it was better you stayed on your abductors good graces till you had the chance to run. Then you remembered your family. You were so confused. What happened? What was agreed upon? Did they sell you? Why didn’t they fight for you? The thought made your head hurt.

Before you could wonder more, you heard footsteps heading towards where you were. Moving into your line of sight was one of the men you saw from yesterday. His beauty and presences still haunting. His red eyes of red wine latched onto you as if assessing you, but there was a smile on his face. His bare hands rested on his hips as he looked to you. His big presence was almost suffocating.

Walking behind the blond was what you assumed was a man, but unlike any you had ever seen. He had red eyes too but they seemed to burn and hold blood with them. He was giant and covered in dark tinted red scales. Two big, pointed horns sat on his head accompanied with long red hair. He too was shirtless, letting his broad chest for you to view. Both these men were no doubt gorgeous in every sense.

You moved backwards in caution and fear, moving some of the pillows and furs of the nest. You didn’t know who they were and that scared you. Something deep inside you told you to have no fear, to be calm, but the only logical reaction you could get out of yourself was to move away from them. The blond grinned. “You’re finally awake.” He stated, his voice almost a bit relieved. He opened his mouth to say more but then a hand went to his shoulder. Tanned, big and held small scales over the top. He nodded his head, almost like allowing the redhead to say whatever he wanted to say, next.

But, the redhead didn’t say anything. His eyes, were eyes that held so much intensity and beauty to them, looked at you for a moment. He bent down before you, and crawled into the nest slowly. That’s when alarm bells started ringing. You pressed your back against the wall of the cave. Your heart started beating out your chest and you tried not to fall into a panic attack. The blond wanted to tell you to calm down, but he knew not to disturb his other partner during this brief process. He had to go through it too, so it only made sense.

The tanned man moved forward towards you, in a similar sense to the woman with pink hair. He sniffed you as though trying to find an origin of a smell. His large hands pulled you off the wall and down onto the furs below you. You tensed not knowing if this would lead to something you refused to think about. He kept on sniffing you though, all over your body. It kind of reminded you of what a dog would do, if it was red and had scales. Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, the beast of a man sat on his haunches, releasing you.

He smiled down at you. “Well, hello missing soulmate.” He greeted you, his eyes turning soft and kind and for a brief moment you forgot that this strange man had been on top of you, sniffing you like an animal.

The blond relaxed. The dragon approved of you. It was unlikely for soulmates not to approve of each other but when dragons mate they often needed to be aligned not only physically but emotionally and mentally too. It was a tricky process but at least one that they had started already successfully. The blond moved to sit next the redhead, essentially blocking your only way out, though be it not menacingly.

At his words your eyes immediately went down to your forearm. There you saw your odd soulmate mark and it was glowing, tingling just a bit. You looked forward to the two men in front of you and your eyes widened. They had the same mark. Identical in its black permanent ink in every curve. Theirs was finally glowing in full. Soulmates that had found each other, reunited.

Your breathing calmed down as you looked between the two of them. They were your soulmates. They were real and in front of you. They watched you with soft eyes, as though you were the most precious thing in the world. The blond wrapped his arms around one of the redhead’s arms. He leaned his head against his shoulder and looked up at the other male quietly asking “She’s perfect, is she not?” His voice, not holding the usual gruff exterior he would have shown to others.

The redhead nodded his head. “Very much so.” His deep voice rumbled out. He nodded his head, his warm red eyes looked you over, more than pleased with what was in front of him. “She will make a fine chieftess of our people and mother to young.”

That caught your attention. “Hold on.” You moved back to where you felt safest, against the wall putting distance between the three of you. You were still in your nightgown, so you quickly covered your legs and wrapped your arms around them, staying away from the two men opposite you. “What Chieftess? What mother? I’m not a mother.” You pointed to yourself. The blond mumbled something making the redhead snort out a laugh. You glared at him. “Who even are you? For soulmates, we haven’t even introduced ourselves!” You pointed out.

The redhead released a chuckle. He bowed his head and placed a hand to his chest. “Forgive us, mate. We forgot you are not used to our customs yet.” You felt heat creep up your face at what he had called you. For some odd reason, it sounded so right to you. So heavy with meaning yet said to you so effortlessly. “My name is Eijiro Kirishima.” He introduced himself. “I am chief of the dragonkin here on Dragon Island.”

You perked up. You were on dragon Island, off the main island of Yuuie. All previous thoughts of possibly escaping and making it back home went to the fire pits as you realized how far you were from home. Home. Where could you even call home now? Since they were your soulmates wouldn’t that make them, your home? Then you also digested the fact that he was a dragon. That made much more sense to you from the scales on his body, his large size and the horns on his head with golden rings. You thought they were extinct, distant tales of them wreaking havoc on Western Shores came to mind but most of those were dismissed, seen as just barbarians or bandits.

The blond raised a hand and placed it on his large chest. “I am Katsuki Bakugou, Chief of the Barbarians on Dragon Island.” He told you.

You knew that name. Katsuki Bakugou. It was whispered as villains of a bad story. The barbarian chief that brought fire and blood in his wake. It was said that if you ever ran into him, you would need to drop to your knees for mercy for his battalion of warriors. Though they choose to never provide it. Yet the man in front of you seemed nothing like those tales.

You looked between the two of them shocked as you let out a shaky breath. Maybe you were still dreaming?

Kirishima looked to you inquisitively. He could tell this would be a lot for you to take in, but there was still so much more beside this you were yet to be told about. You didn’t grow up in their similar cultures that worked hand in hand together.

Bakugou lifted an eyebrow amused at your reaction. “And you are, setsuzoku?” He asked.

‘Setsuzoku?’

“I’m Y/N.” You stated simply. You didn’t plan on saying anything more, but their red eyes held expectation as if wanting to know everything about you. Your eyes flickered between the two of them.  “Uh… My family… we raise cattle.” You let out a bit of a comical laugh. You realized just how much out of the ordinary that was to them, a literal dragon and a barbarian chief. Then there was you, the cattle farmer. It sounded like the beginning of an odd joke. “I… I raised cattle too…” You let out embarrassed but the two of them didn’t laugh. Bakugou sat blinking as if waiting for you to retell your whole life story. Kirishima had his hands on his knees as he held a soft smile on his face, all his attention on you and what you had to say. They looked at you deeply interested in what you would tell them about your life. “I uh… or I did until yesterday but I was going to get married to Neito so I would have been a banker’s wife in-”

A huge growl cut you off as you spoke. Your eyes widened as you noticed how the mood changed drastically. Kirishima’s once kind eyes turned hostile as his sharp row of teeth made an appearance. Did you say something wrong? Did you somehow offend them? Bakugou frowned too, not happy about what you had said. “You were going to be married?” He asked for the both of them. You nodded your head hesitantly. His scowl deepened. His nails dug into Kirishima’s arm but not with much effect. “Did you… love this… Neito?” He asked.

You shook your head adamantly. “No, it was arranged.” You told them. Kirishima seemed to stop growling as he heard that. Bakugou knew that it was just possessiveness. The dragon was probably coming up with ways of having to compete with this other for you. They had just got you and the thought of losing you already or not holding your heart, enraged him. Bakugou relaxed at your clarification. “My parents thought that since I hadn’t met my soulmate, it was best they married me off while they still could.” You revealed.

“When…” Kirishima asked, his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. He could never understand how some humans could force people to be together when it was not meant to be. When the universe stated otherwise. “When would you be wed?” He asked you.

You hesitated. He was probably going to growl at this one. “Tomorrow.” You let out in a small voice.

Bakugou let go of Kirishima’s arm and folded his arms over his chest. “Well thank the Starry Flame we got there in time.” He said more to himself than anyone else. He turned his attention back to you. “It doesn’t matter though; cause now you are here.” He seemed to ease up. “Where you are meant to be.”

“Kat.” Kirishima voiced out. “I must see to dinner. You help her get ready. She should meet the tribe.” He stated. Before Bakugou could say another word, Kirishima had a hand to the side of his face. He pulled the blond in for a passionate kiss. Your eyebrows raised in shock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Together they seemed so powerful yet so alluring. An unwanted heaviness to your abdomen as you tried to wrench your eyes away from them. Kirishima moved back first, seemingly leaving the blond struck for a moment. He turned to you. You felt heat creep up your face as you finally looked down, though this time in shame. He released a chuckle at your actions. His hand moved to your chin. His skin warm like no other you ever felt, warming you like a furnace. He tilted your head back up, and then smiled. He leaned forward. “See you soon.” He let go of you and moved to get out of the nest.

Bakugou watched the redhead for a moment before turning back to you. Your eyes also on Kirishima. Bakugou grinned. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” he asked you, motioning his head back to Kirishima who left. Your gaze moved back to the blond who looked smug but at the same time sort of in awe. Passion in his eyes. “A creature unlike no other.” He tried again. You hummed in agreement. “The dragons have ruled over this island since the dawn of time. Us barbarians just live to serve and worship them. It was them that spat the first flames onto this earth and them that could breathe the fires that could end it all.”

You wondered how he could speak like that. With eyes almost glinting in adoration and a voice so calm, as if it was the most amazing possibility. “Aren’t you afraid?” You asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Of them?” He asked. You nodded your head. He thought for a moment than scoffed. He dropped his head down as he looked down at his lap. “I grew up a warrior, taught that the only thing I should fear was angering our god, the Starry Flame. When I first met the Chieftain family and found out that I was their son’s soulmate,” Bakugou closed his eyes and placed his hand on his chest over his heart. “I was nothing but honoured.” He opened his eyes once more and you saw he was deathly serious. Scarily so. “I sit with them, dine with them, hunt with them, celebrate with them,” He shrugged. “even mate with one of them.” Your cheeks warmed at his crude language. “I don’t fear them. I worship them. I protect them. I lead them along his side.” He moved closer to you, looking down at you with fascination.

Bakugou sat in front of you, his knees spread accommodating your body between them. He gently placed his hands over yours that had fallen to your sides. He gave you a small smirk of a smile. His palms were surprisingly softer than you thought for a warrior and warm. Very warm. His thumbs lightly messaged your palms briefly before lifting your hands up. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. It was like you were entranced with his being. With what he was going to do. You were hanging off his every word. He moved your hands to rest on his small waist. Absolutely envious and yet you couldn’t help but find him attractive because of it.

“In my culture we are taught that they are superior. The dragons are of a higher being in every sense. As a barbarian and given the honour of being a soulmate to one, my body is at his disposal…” Your hands tightened slightly against his warm skin. His smile pulled into a grin at your action, liking your possessiveness and instincts to touch him. He moved your hands up his body, your hands feeling the smooth warm muscle underneath. “My heart, being and soul is the same. Everything I am is for him, for the both of you.” He placed each hand on either pec on his chest. Your face flushed at how round his chest was. Soft with fat yet firm with muscle. “I give my everything to my soulmates and to my tribes.”

You opened your mouth to ask him a question when you noticed his chest start to glow. Your eyes widened in amazement as orange and yellow light shown from underneath his skin. Like a fire raging within him. His skin over his chest seemed to increase in heat and that’s when you knew just how different the barbarian race was to humans. A fire blazed in his heart and shown through his eyes. You looked up at him in awe as he looked down at you amused. His chest stopped glowing and he tilted his head.

He closed his eyes briefly. “I know it is hard for you to understand the level of devotion and surrender our cultures have, that I have, but I know soon you will. Soon your body, mind and soul will be intertwined,” His fingers laced with yours. “with ours and you will understand just how right and pleasurable it is to surrender and live like us… with us.” He promised you, certain of the outcome to all of this. “Now come.” He dropped one of your hands as he turned to leave the nest, dragging you in tow. “There is much to be done and for you to know.”

-Glitch1d

Like this? Check out <My KiriBaku Masterlist)>

Also, Want to see updates immediatly when they come out, I update first on AO3. So here's the link to <Blood and Fire> on AO3.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #eijiro x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha #eijiro kirishima #bakugou katuski x reader #barbarian bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #barbarian king bakugou katsuki #barbarian king bakugou katsuki x reader #barbarian bakugo x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x kirishima x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #dragon kirishima eijiro #dragon kirishima x reader #dragon kirishima #poly kiribaku #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku x y/n #mha fantasy au #kirishima x bakugou x reader

[teecupangel]

So i got a AC x Venom/Marvel crossover idea that ive been toying around with recently that i wanted to share:

So the reason that Symbiotes dont work so well with bonding is mostly the whole "We need to eat brains to live" thing clashes with most superhero morals, but Assassin's kill all the time so that could be a match made in heaven?

So, we could do this 2 ways: 1) is that desmond gets a symbiote when he and Lucy break out of Abstergo. Desmond stepped in some weird white and red goo, but with Lucy running ahead he couldnt really spare a thought to it. So, when he gets shoved in the trunk he gets to bond with the symbiote. Its a misfit just like him, completely alone in a world where you cant tell anyone who you truly are for fear of being discovered/abandoned/abused. So why not be misfits together? Desmond gets major flak for being such a chocolate addict, but hes losing hus mind over here so he gets his chocolate. He doesnt tell anyone about his friend until the templars show up and he and symbiote goes on an all you can eat buffe to everyones horror.

Or 2) where Desmond's body is recovered by Abstergo and during a containment breach a symbiote gets to his body and revives it(Isu bullshit FTW!) and goes on a rampage before dissapearing. Until Erudito gets a call on the emergency line from someone claiming to be Desmond.

Thoughts & Notes:

I imagine the symbiote to kinda look like Carnage & Anti-Venom, mainly being white with red details: his fingers are blood red that fade into black the closer to the hand you get until the black bleeds to the white in the middle of the fore-arms(the legs are the same). Instead of the spider symbol on the chest and back, he has the AC logo.

In option 1, idk what name would fit the symbiote, but in nr.2 id defo say they would name themselves Revenge for what Abstergo did to them.

Desmond would at first have issues eating people, but the symbiote does need it to live and if they stick to Templars and bad guys hes happy, so eh. Just make it a quick and clean kill, its the assassin way.

Idk how the others would really react really, but Bill would defintly go "This we can use, you are the perfect Assassin now", much to Desmonds frustration. Does Bill even see him as his son anymore?

Im all out of ideas now, what do you think? ^^

The origin of the Symbiote can be:

If we’re sticking to keep this as a Marvel/Venom/Spider-Man crossover, the Symbiote keeps its Marvel origin

If we’re keeping this contained into AC world, we can morph the Symbiote into a failed Isu experiment. In this route, the Symbiote could have been a failed plan to create an armor that can withstand the Solar Flare. It gained sentient due to some sort of Solar Flare-induced mechanical failure in its containment or lab and it spent centuries being alone until Abstergo got it.

Regardless of which route we choose, the idea would be: In Abstergo’s hands, it was studied and experimented on without realizing it was sentient which meant Abstergo was hurting it without realizing it.

This way the symbiote would have a reason to hate Abstergo and the Templar Order.

Or, you know, he could just like Desmond and be like “I like you so I’ll eat them.” kind of deal.

Another way that can be a combination of Way 1 & 2, Desmond got the symbiote when he returned to Rome to rescue Bill.

During the chase and ‘fight’ scene between Desmond and Cross, Cross could have accidentally shot the symbiote’s container and Desmond stepped on it in his mad dash to take down Cross as soon as possible.

The symbiote only started talking to him once he’s back in the Grand Temple and he believes it’s a more severe version of the Bleeding Effect first.

Actually…

Regardless of which Way we go for, Desmond wouldn’t immediately believe that he has a symbiote. He would cling to Lucy’s words that he’s hallucinating thanks to the Bleeding Effect and he would think the symbiote is more or less his mind trying to keep him sane by creating a weird sorta-not-sorta-shapeless being that seemed to be a mirror image of himself: completely alone in a world where he cannot tell anyone who he truly was for fear of being discovered, abandoned and/or abused.

The first time the symbiote would make itself known to everyone would be either from a battle with Abstergo (for Way 1 &2) or to actually protect Desmond from the device’s recoil because, while it cannot take the full brunt of the Solar Flare, the device’s recoil? Yeah, could totally do that.

Other Unorganized Notes:

I’m kinda imagining the Assassin insignia to start out more like ink blots with small veins stretched outward and the more Desmond and the symbiote ‘connect’, the more the Assassin insignia becomes clearer until the ink blots disappear but it’s an Assassin insignia that has small vein-shaped lines stretching outward.

I kinda like the idea that the symbiote’s name would be connected to either having an Assassin as its host or eagles in general. On the top of my head: Revenge (like you explained), Soar (which gives us a chance to make a lame joke of someone mishearing it as “Sore”), Flight, Leap, Hidden… or, you know, we can go for “Assassin” because no one can think of a better name or even “Bleed” because sometimes the symbiote suit looks like it’s bleeding and as a reference to the wrong idea they have that this might have been some kind of genetic mutation caused by the Bleeding Effect.

Shaun and Rebecca would freak out (Lucy too if we’re setting this in a timeline where the symbiote’s connection to Desmond made him stop before he stabbed Lucy) but they’d try to understand. Shaun would definitely be more on the side of poking it to see what it does because his self-preservation flipflop a lot while Rebecca is more worried about its effect on Desmond’s overall health in general.

Bill would definitely go “we can use this” the first time he heard of it then ask if Desmond’s alright later but, by then, the damage has been done. Even if Bill is genuine in his concern, Desmond don’t fucking care anymore.

The symbiote is the easiest way to stop Desmond’s Bleeding Episodes although it also likes to talk to his Bleeds. Altaïr finds it fascinating. Ezio is wary of it. Ratonhnhaké:ton just talks to it normally although there’s a hint of cautiousness in his tone.

It would be funny if the symbiote starts Bleeding Desmond’s ancestors once they reached a certain ‘connection level’ but instead of its personality being overwritten by the Bleed, it’s like the symbiote creates another ‘head’ to house the Bleed instead. This turns out to be the best way to keep Desmond from Bleeding but they can’t control who Bleeds, him or the symbiote… not yet anyway.

#it was meant to be symbiote focused #but i accidentally added the bleeding effect #sorry about that #shaun and rebecca are trying to be supportive #but they’re worried #super worried #so if you want desmond to go rogue #this is an easy setup to do it #just make desmond feel their worry and misunderstand it as distrust for him #not the symbiote #and not believing him #when he says he’s fine and this is a good thing #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #fic idea: assassin's creed #fic idea: venom

[doctorhouse5343]

Kiss Me (Until My Lips Fall Off) Chapter 1

"Sire, we have captured the foul bea-" Morpheus lifted his upper body off the bed that he was lying on in a elegant manner, the ruby encrusted jewels on his rosy nipples with delicate golden chains attached to them proudly on display for the captain of the royal guard standing before him "What is it that you have captured, Matthew?" The king asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat up "Speak up, you have my full attention" He added, his tone a warning in itself as his satyr lover gave the poor man a deadly glare that prompted him into getting on with it "My apologies, your majesty..I meant to say that we have successfully apprehended the creature that has been terrorizing the town folk".

That information made the raven haired ruler stare in bewilderment, skepticism in his tone as he asked "Where is the monster held up at the moment and what fate do you have planned for it?" Matthew puffed his chest in pride as he answered his majesty "He is currently kept in chains in the dungeons where he will remain until he will be executed at dawn, your highness" Morpheus pondered for a moment, getting off the lavish bed as he began to put on a sheer blue robe, brushing his long black hair back as he spoke "Take me to the dungeons, I want to see the cursed thing myself before his life ends". The guard tried to protest, to tell him to reconsider but the king's voice silenced him "You dare defy your king, Matthew? You seem to forget whom it is you have sworn allegiance..perhaps I shall let Hob refresh your memory" His voice a dark velvet as he gave the brown eyed satyr sitting by his side a warm look, his pale hand stroking his bearded cheek tenderly "One word, and your blood will be spilled by his magnificent horns". The guard shook his head, swallowing thickly at the threat "Of course sire, I shall not do so again. Right this way, your majesty" The ravenette smirked, running a hand through the thick hairs on his satyr's chest as he whispered in his ear "Fret not, lover of mine, for I shall return to our chambers at nightfall for another evening of unbridled passion" The king's words and touch brought out a whine out of the goat man as he watched his raven haired love  follow Matthew outside of the royal chambers.

The pair went down several flights of stairs to reach the dungeon, were supposedly the elusive beast that had been responsible for the deaths of several villagers in the last month was held captive. The creature seemed to be hunting them for their hearts, tearing it out with it's maw before leaving the rest to the vultures. There were a few who had sworn that they have seen a pair of blue glowing eyes staring out of the forest, others have claimed to have witnessed a large white wolf running by and despite the several attempts made to capture it, the large canine continued on with its onslaught, leaving carnage wherever it went..until now. The guard lead the king into the dungeon, marching towards the cell that contained the monster "Be careful, your majesty : he has tried multiple times to break free" Morpheus merely nodded as he heard the warning, stepping inside the cell before standing in front of something that left him bewildered. "Are you certain that this is the one responsible for the slaughter?" He asked, taking in the sight of the man whose arms were bound with chains : skin of a grayish black with a white, full-body tattoo of a skeleton (starting as a half-skull on his face), a tall frame that was lanky but decently muscled and long tangled white hair that partially hid eyes of a bright blue. When the ruler began to take a closer look at the chained creature, the royal guard began to fidget with his armor as he stared on nervously "It is him, Sire, we found him near a lake. He was devouring the heart of the stable boy who went missing a day ago". The werewolf  hadn't uttered a word during the exchange, instead he growled as his wild eyes were focused on the dark haired man that analyzed him from head to toe though the sound that had left his blood-stained lips died out when his chin was lifted by the raven haired lord's pale hand, the look in those beautiful eyes of his compelling him to obey.

The chained man remained silent as he felt the delicate but firm hand slowly trail down his neck to touch the worn out collar clasped around it, the medal on it bearing a name that he hadn't used in a while "Hobo Heart" The king read out loud, turning his attention to the prisoner "That is your name, correct?" When the white haired man nodded in reply, Morpheus turned his attention towards the frightened captain of the royal guard "Release him from these shackles, tell the servants to run him a warm bath and prepare him a set of clothes to wear" The guard was about to protest but stopped, he knew that it would be foolish to question the king once again so it was with a shaky voice that he asked "Is there anything else that you need be done, my king?" The king smiled, his thumb stroking the cold cheek of the confused beast chained in his presence "Send out measurements of this fiend's neck to the best jeweler of the kingdom, let him know that King Morpheus requires a collar encrusted with the finest of rubies, adorned with a medallion that is just as tasteful with the words 'Hobo Heart, Royal Pet Of King Morpheus' engraved in it". Matthew gasped in shock, had his king fallen to madness? But his majesty only smiled still as he looked at him "Afterall, a royal pet must be displayed as such for the entire kingdom to marvel at. Now go, take him alongside you and notify the others of my decision at once" A quick nod and soon, Hobo Heart was dragged off to be prepared for his new life as the pet of the dark king, who was quite happy to have been disturbed : he had gained a new toy to play with. When he was certain that his orders were carried out, he returned to his chambers to spend another amorous evening with his wild lover, not yet understanding how difficult his new pet would prove himself to be.

With a pleased sigh, Morpheus buried his face in the crook of his lover's neck, covering it with kisses as he relaxed in his embrace. He then rested his head on the satyr's well furred chest, eager to sleep by his side until he was interrupted by the sound of the doors of his chambers being opened frantically, as if the person was in a state of panic. With a scowl, the king raised his head with the intention to tell Matthew to leave at once but stopped himself : the one who stood before him was Jessamy, his favorite maid "Jessamy, what has happened?" He asked in a soft tone that he rarely used, the fear in the young woman's eyes worried him. The sweet maid took a few seconds to calm down, inhaling a deep breath before speaking "It's your pet, sire...He is attacking the guard Corinth, trying to gouge out his eyes" The information made the raven haired male sigh as he got up, straightening his robe as he looked at her, concerned still for her well-being "Has he hurt you in anyway?". The servant shook her head, fidgeting with her hands as she explained what had happened : the werewolf was behaving quite well during his bath but that quickly changed when one of the servants present tried to untangle his hair, resulting in him growling and trying to claw anyone that got too close.

The guards were summoned soon after as an attempt to calm the creature but even that didn't work so it was decided that the king must be alerted at once and since the maiden was more favored by his highness, the task went to her. She took a deep breath after briefing her king, before adding "Sir Matthew suspects that Hobo Heart might have been acting oddly because he wanted your presence, sire". Morpheus raised an eyebrow in amusement, the idea of his new pet craving his attention already was adorable though he was certain that the reason was more simple than that "Then let us go see what my beloved pet requires at the moment, Jessamy. I am certain that your presence along with mine will surely have a soothing effect on his agitated nerves" The king gave his sleeping lover a tender kiss before walking out of the chambers once more in the directions of the room were the bathtub was kept in, with his favorite maid at his side.

"Stop laughing and do something already, Mervyn!" The captain of the royal guard scowled at the older man as he tried to pull the blonde guard away from the feral beast, who did not relent his attacks : sinking his claws under Corinth's eyes, trying to drag them upwards to reach his target all the while growling in fury when he wasn't successful. "Enough, Hobo Heart! Let go of Corinth at once, this is not a request" The king's authoritative voice soon made the werewolf let go of his prey, letting out a small whine as he sat down in the tub full of water with a pitiful look on his face. All but Morpheus were shocked at how quickly the wild man obeyed the words given to him but what was more surprising was seeing their ruler walk towards the creature before kneeling next to him, speaking to him with tenderness "You lashed out, not because you were requesting my presence, but because you were in pain. The servant who tried to brush your hair pulled on a knot too hard, causing you to react poorly. Is that right, my pet?".

To the surprise of the guards and the royal staff, the werewolf spoke "Yes, it hurt when they tried to brush my hair. They went too hard" Hobo Heart's eyes were downcast, remorseful as his king lifted his chin gently "If Jessamy were to take care of your hair from now on, will you behave and treat her with the same respect that you give me?" The ravenette asked softly, brushing his thumb against the cold skin of his pet's cheek, smiling as he saw the snow white haired male nod. "Good. Matthew, take Corinth to the medic bay to treat his wounds. As for you all, besides Jessamy, leave. She and I will take it from here henceforth" All murmurs of protests died at the sight of their lord's eyes staring them down and it was only when it was the three of them left in the room that he allowed himself to relax, smiling as he removed his robes in front of an awed Hobo Heart. "Would it be alright with you, my darling pet, if I were to join you? I am afraid that my..activities have rendered me sore" He said with a smirk, stepping into the bathtub when his question was answered with a small nod, smiling as the blue eyes of the creature were focused on the jewelry adorning his nipples.

The rest of the evening went on without a fuss and just as Morpheus predicted, his maid soon became the werewolf's favorite person in the castle (besides him of course) : he stood still when she styled his long white hair in a elegant plait and dressed him in a silken lace dress that was red with billowy sleeves and had a plunging neckline that would compliment the gift he would receive soon. His eyes were then lined with red Kohl to make them stand out and ears were adorned with hanging clip-on earrings, studded with garnets and rubies : the king's royal pet was truly a marvel to look at, all that he needed was one final touch to let the whole kingdom know of that fact.

"Stand up, my pet" Hobo Heart's obedience made the king's face smile in pride as he opened an ornate box to reveal a dazzling collar encrusted with fine rubies with a heart shaped medallion bearing the words 'Hobo Heart, Royal Pet Of King Morpheus'. The werewolf's eyes were wide in shock, it was clearly handmade and must have cost a fortune, but when he tried to protest and say that his old worn out collar would suffice plenty, the ruler brushed his concerns aside "A king's werewolf deserves something that shows off it's position to the whole kingdom as a symbol of pride, for you my dear pet are more than worthy of that title" The king smiled as his new pet let him put the collar around his beautiful neck, stroking his cheek after he was done "Good boy, you have been good today, despite the attack you did to one of my guards" He murmured in the male's ear, chuckling at his expression as he attached a bedazzled leash to the loop of the collar "Come, my pet, to the dinning hall were you will have hearts and many more delicacies to feast on. You must be hungry after all of this, hmmm?" The eager nod that the white haired pet gave earned a smile from the ruler, who lead him out of the dressing room into the hallway by holding his leash, the pair unaware of the satyr watching from a distance with a scowl on his face. 

Hob stared a bit more before deciding to follow them to get to the bottom of this situation, eventually the three of them arrived at their destination. While Morpheus was seated and was enjoying fruits, his pet was knelt onto the ground at his side and feasting on a fresh heart. The sight made the satyr recoil in disgust but his attention shifted as he heard his lover call out to him "My darling Hob, oh I have missed you" The words were said with so much love and devotion that the goat man had forgotten his anger, going to his dark haired beauty to lavish him with kisses under the calm gaze of the werewolf. "My dear Hob, this is Hobo Heart, my new werewolf pet. He is also yours to play with, if you ever wished to" The satyr frowned a bit at his lover's words, he hardly could see himself enjoying the presence of a rival in his territory but out of love for his king he simply said "I might in the future but not right now, I'm a bit tired from our activities, you know?" Hob tried his best to be kind to the pet but his nerves couldn't handle the look of adoration that Hobo Heart gave Morpheus as he rested his cheek in the offered palm. The sight itself brought out an inhuman shriek out of the satyr's lips as he soon headbutted the werewolf, which soon lead to a fight that gave the king no other choice but to separate the pair. The two were glaring at eachother even as they were brought to their respective room, both vowing to destroy one another when the chance would strike.

#kiss me au #spooky throuple #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob x hobo heart #king!morpheus x satyr!hob x werewolf!hobo heart #satyr! hob #satyr hob gadling #werewolf!hobo heart #werewolf hobo heart #cw male lactation #cw lactation #cw hybrids #hobo heart #cw breastfeeding

[cybercitycomix]

Top New Marvel Comic Releases for the Week of March 13th, 2024.

Alien Black White Blood #2,

Amazing Spider-Man #45,

Black Widow & Hawkeye #1,

Carnage #5,

Fall of the House of X #3,

Ghost Rider Final Vengeance #1,

MSH Secret Wars #3,

Spider-Gwen Smash #4,

Symbiote Spider-Man 2099 #1 +

Ultimate Black Panther #2.

#comics #comic books #batman #marvel comics #xmen #spiderman #ghostrider #spidergwen #carnage

[xirayn]

Spider-man AU

1 | 2

The little spider-kid is staring up at him with the eyes of his black and red suit wide. Steve thinks he might be starstruck. Probably, considering this guy seems to be stealing his whole brand.

"You're-"

The eyes of Steve's own red mask roll. "Yep."

"But you-"

"Nope."

It had been a whole thing. Factors bigger than the city had made Spider-Man, aka Steve Harrington, abandon his post for coming up on a year now. Apparently, in that time, someone else had stepped up. He was grateful. It made him feel less guilty about how long he had stayed away, but Eddie had needed the time to get Venom under control or domesticated or whatever they were now unless they wanted another Carnage situation.

"How does the quote go? The rumors of my death something, something, whatever. Mark Twain"

"The report of my death was an exaggeration."

"That's the one. Hey, you found the goober." With a flick of his wrist, Steve used his web to snag the flash drive out of the kid's hand. He'd been on his way to the lab to find it when he ran into his mini-me. "I'll take it from here, kid. Go hang your suit up and concentrate on your studies or find yourself a girl... Or boy, I'm not one to judge."

Steve stepped off the edge of the building, adjusting to the change in angle as if he had just turned a corner as he started to walk down the brick wall.

"H- hey!" Spider-kid scrambled after him, obviously not as experienced or confident as Steve was. "You can't just take that."

"Can and did." A little wiggle of the drive added to the taunt. Spider-kid tried to pull the same move Steve had only for Steve move his hand before the web was even close.

"Vecna has one of my friends."

The desperation in the kid's voice made Steve stop. Robin and Nancy had gotten all of the information about Henry Creel aka Vecna. At least, all the information they needed. Most of it was pretty standard: 'angry white man takes it out on humanity rather than get therapy'. Where Creel differed is he had psychic powers and had gotten his book on what Eddie and Dustin called the necronomicon. That would be more of a nuisance if not for the alien technology he had gotten his hands on that let him actually use it.

So Steve had to destroy the technology (hence the goober), save the blood sacrifices because of course the ritual or spell needed blood sacrifices, and defeat Vecna. Even with Venom, Scarlet Spider, and Black Cat helping him, that was going to be a lot.

"Ugh, fine! Always the babysitter." He starts to walk and notices Spider-kid is still clinging to the wall staring at him. "Come on. Let's go."

Spider-kid snaps put of his shock to stand and walk over the wall to Steve like he's walking on thin ice.

"Come on, kid. Try to keep up. Jeeze, I'm regretting this already."

Steve sent out a web and jumped.

#stranger things #st spiderman au #spider-man!steve #venom!eddie #scarlet spider!robin #black cat!nancy #steddie #spider-kid is probably Lucas but might be Will #i haven't decided yet #probably Lucas #asks open

[donnatroyprincessofthemyscira]

Marvel Comics New Releases for Wednesday, August 30, 2023

Avengers Omnibus Volume 3 HC (Alan Davis Book Market Cover)(New Printing), $100.00

Avengers Omnibus Volume 3 HC (John Buscema Direct Market Cover)(New Printing), $100.00

Avengers The Kang Dynasty TP, $39.99

Blade #1 (2nd Printing Cover A Elena Casagrande), $4.99

Blade #1 (2nd Printing Cover B David Marquez), AR

Blade #2 (Cover A Elena Casagrande), $3.99

Blade #2 (Cover B Bill Sienkiewicz), AR

Blade #2 (Cover C Mateus Manhanini), AR

Cult Of Carnage Misery #4 (Of 5)(Cover A Skan), $3.99

Danny Ketch Ghost Rider #4 (Of 5)(Cover A Ben Harvey), $3.99

Deadpool Badder Blood #3 (Of 5)(Cover A Rob Liefeld), $4.99

Deadpool Badder Blood #3 (Of 5)(Cover B Rob Liefeld), AR

Deadpool Badder Blood #3 (Of 5)(Cover C Rod Reis), AR

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover A Bjorn Barends), $4.99

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover B Gabriele Dell’Otto Connecting Virgin Variant), AR

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover C Gabriele Dell’Otto Connecting Variant), AR

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover D Mark Bagley), AR

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover E Philip Tan), AR

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover F Ryan Stegman Venom The Other Variant), AR

Death Of The Venomverse #3 (Of 5)(Cover G Rod Reis Design Variant), AR

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[lightangel20079]

My collection of excerpts #1

Paris stumbled through the door, tripping over boxes as he did his best to tune out Caitlyn and her furious tirade that seemed to follow him whenever he mustered up the guts to face the world beyond this secluded room. The door was locked, deafening her words that felt like a blow with every syllable.

Outside the building the city, with mountains that towered on the horizon, was pitch black, concealed in shadows, the stars and sliver of moon hidden by silver lined clouds. Rats scampered across the floor, squeaking as on the city limits coyotes yelped and howled.

Silence set in and Paris carefully traversed the floor, and then he paused, listening to the sound of labored, wheezy breathing. He lit a match, finding Rosa curled next to Ida on the bare cot in the corner. One arm was wrapped around the dog and her injured hand cradled to her chest, the bandage stained with deep red blood.

The match went out and he let it fall from his hand, hastily lighting another. She was shivering violently, the mattress and her hair soaked with sweat.

He sat down on the mattress, listening as Ida whined softly, staring at him with big eyes as Rosa’s ragged breathing continued. He shook her, feeling her tremble beneath her drenched shirt.

“Rosa.” He didn’t realize how terrified he was till he spoke and his voice started cracking. He shook her again, abet more desperately this time. She didn’t stir and Paris felt his blood run cold. He ran his hand across her face, brushing her wet hair from her forehead. She was burning up, clearly feverish and hot to the touch, though she shuddered till her teeth chattered before he pulled his hand away.

Ida whimpered, licking Rosa’s hand as she moved closer to the girl, looking up at Paris as if she thought him capable of pulling some hail mary. At the state she seemed in it would be unlikely she made it through the night.

Her breath slowed to the point where it was barely audible and Paris found himself pulling her hair aside from her shoulders, running his hand along her neck, trying to find the pulse point.

He found it and let his head drop, biting back tears, he hardly felt a pulse and the beats that did come were few and far between. Shaking with cold terror he pulled her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest as sobs racked his body. He couldn’t lose her, not her, she was everything he had out here, without her he was alone in the middle of Wyoming without a soul to turn to.

Ida moved closer, resting her head against Rosa’s knee, her brown eyes gleaming in the darkness as she stared, sensing the gravity of the situation. Paris could hardly hiccup out cries as he buried his face in Rosa’s hair. It was helpless, there was nothing he could possibly do to improve her chances. 

In the darkness of the early morning the only sounds were Paris’ soft cries and the chirps of rats that hid among the boxes, waiting to see what they could gain from the carnage.

She was barely breathing, every gasp for air coming out like a harsh wheeze of suffocation. Her fever was probably high enough to kill her before the lack of air in her lunges did.

Ida let out a mourningful howl and Paris raised his eyes, burned with tears, and watched the dog sit on the mattress and raise her head, her silver, black and white fur shining.

He buried his face again, sobbing as his hand rested on her neck, desperately hoping to feel a pulse that the cold fear in his heart told him he would never find.

#angst #heavy angst #whump #sickness

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 1: How to Make a Monster

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: Jonathan does what he can for Vanessa when personal tragedy strikes. 

Word Count: 3,268

Notes: Warnings for depictions of murder and blood.   

Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic    

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Chapter 5: A Little Push

The sky rumbled, and when she tilted her head up, she could see the flash of light illuminating the clouds as lighting sparked briefly to life. 

Hood pulled over her head to protect her hair from the rain, Vanessa mentally kicked herself for not packing an umbrella when she left her and Amy’s apartment, jogging down the dark streets, shoulders scrunched in as if that could help protect her from the intense downpour. Her boots hit unavoidable puddles, water splashing everywhere. Pulling her keys from her pocket, it took a few tries before she was able to fit them into the slot, hand shaking from the chill that had set into her bones.

Finally pushing her way into the apartment complex’s lobby, she sighed, slamming the door shut behind her, and pushing her soaked hood back. Still panting lightly from her jog, she decided to forgo the stairs and instead take the elevator. As the doors closed, she heard the clatter of someone running through the lobby from the stairwell, and was barely able to catch the sight of a figure sprinting towards the doors before they closed on her completely. Odd.

The elevator opened with a soft ding, and she began to wind her way through the hallways towards her and Amy’s apartment. Rounding the corner, she paused, frowning, at the familiar door at the end of the hall. It was the same familiar, bloody red, the paint at the corners of it just beginning to peel, revealing a coat of black underneath. 

What made her pause, though, was that it was slightly ajar.

Amy had said in her voicemail that she would leave boxes of Vanessa’s things just outside in the hallway. That she could take them and slide her key under the door.

Perhaps she had changed her mind, and decided to let Vanessa inside? Maybe she’d realized that trying to carry boxes of belongings in this weather was a stupid idea?

But there was no need to leave the door open. Vanessa still had her key. And even Amy knew better than to leave her fucking door wide open in Gotham.

Steps soft against the carpet as she approached, her hand slipped into her pocket, pulling out and flicking open her switchblade.

Fingers carefully pushing the door open, the hinges creaked, Vanessa’s muscles tensing as she prepared herself for an attack that didn’t come. Intensely aware of every creaking step against the floor, she ventured cautiously into the apartment.

The place was an absolute mess. Furniture overturned, objects strewn everywhere. A lamp was shattered on the floor, the glass crunching beneath her boots. Cushions from the couch had been torn open, white stuffing spilling out.

Heart thundering like a furious drum inside her chest, Vanessa turned in a small circle, surveying the mess around her.

“Amy!?” she shouted, hand clenching so tightly around her switchblade it made her knuckles ache. “Ames, are you here?” there came no answer. Creeping to the short hall leading to the bedrooms, her eyes caught on a large dent in the drywall, like something heavy had been slammed into it. Even more concerning than that, though, was the smear of scarlet blood staining the floor, as if something had been dragged into one of the bedrooms. “Amy?” following the crimson trail to the door of her sister’s room, Vanessa’s hands trembled as she pushed the door open with the toe of her boot.

The room was a scene of scarlet carnage. Blood splattered on the walls, gushing to soak into the carpet. The drawers in the dresser were hanging half open, clothes strewn out from where they had been tossed all over the place. The mattress of the bed was half off its frame, sheets torn from it and scattered across the floor.

But worst of all was Amy, laying on the floor on her side next to the mattress, blood pooling around her. Her arms were twisted awkwardly, clothes torn nearly to ribbons, long black bangs falling into her face.

Vanessa staggered, legs nearly slipping out from underneath her as she wobbled before racing to Amy’s side, crashing to her knees beside her. Folding her switchblade and shoving it back into her pocket, she turned Amy gingerly onto her back, and gagged at the sight of her stomach, ripped apart into a bloody, mangled mess.

Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, forcing herself to swallow the bile building in her throat, Vanessa brought shaking fingers to Amy’s pulse, gasping, choking at the silence that met her. At the cold skin beneath her touch. Ignoring the screaming, logical voice in her head telling her there was no point, she pressed her hands to Amy’s chest. Beginning to do compressions, she alternated between opening her sister’s mouth and forcing air into her lungs through heavy exhales and pressing so hard on her chest with her palms that she felt a rib crack.

There was no response to her efforts. Not even a twitch. Just silence and the occasional squelch of more blood pouring from the shredded abdomen. Vanessa could feel the beginnings of hiccupping sobs rattling her chest, giving up on her efforts at resuscitation to instead collapse atop Amy’s body, clutching tightly to her shoulder as she shook with her grief. Blood soaked into her clothes and hands. Falling, falling. Crashing to the floor beside the body while still clinging to her, face half coated from the bloody puddle she’d fallen into. Still her hands shook at the cold figure beside her, begging. Please, please…

The police came storming into the apartment an eternity later. She did not remember screaming, but apparently a neighbor had called the cops in response to her wailing. She barely even remembered them picking her up off the floor of that awful apartment, or the car ride to the police station. The entire time she spent answering their questions, her eyes remained hazy and unfocused, fingers picking at the dried blood that had gathered beneath her nails.

When they were done questioning her they left her sitting in an armchair in some sort of lounge. Someone had pressed a steaming cup of coffee into her hands, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes remained focused on an edge of the carpet that was fraying, not conscious enough to notice when the door opened and someone walked in. Not until they were kneeling down in front of her and taking her by the shoulders.

“Nes. Vanessa,” Jonathan said, carefully taking the cup of coffee from her and setting it down on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Jon?” she blinked, as if waking up from a dream, eyes squinting as she tried to process the sight of his ice blue eyes behind gleaming glasses. “What are you doing here?” her words were slightly slurred, a combination of shock and exhaustion making it difficult to form words. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“They called me to verify your alibi.”

Right. Yes. Her alibi. So that they could be confident that she wasn’t the one who killed her sister. Because according to the estimated time of death, Amy had been killed while Vanessa had been studying at Jonathan’s.

“Oh,” she began to pick at her fingernails again, so desperate to get the blood out from under them that she’d nearly torn the skin. Jonathan gently grasped at her hands, ceasing her movements. “I should have been home,” her voice trembled with tears. Jonathan shook his head. “I should’ve. If I had been I would've–I could’ve–” saved her. But she couldn’t get the words out, instead choking on dry tears. Her body had cried as much as was physically possible over the past few hours.

“No. No. It’s not your fault,” Jonathan soothed firmly, pulling her into a hug, rubbing her back. She continued to sniffle against his chest, eyes blinking blearily at a tiny crack in the wall. “They said that you can go home,” Jonathan said when her cries had finally ceased. Vanessa shook her head furiously.

“Can’t go back there,” she mumbled.

“That’s why you’re going to be staying with me.”

Leaning back, she looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “I can’t–”

“I know you don’t have anywhere else to go. It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Pulling back, he straightened, holding out a hand to help pull her to her feet. Clutching tightly to his hand, like it was her only lifeline, she followed him through the winding halls of the police station. They both had to sign out with the front desk and leave contact information should the police need to talk to them further, and then Jonathan was guiding her out into the parking lot. She had to jiggle the handle on the passenger side of his car before it opened. Jonathan gave her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. It’s a piece of shit.”

“It’s okay,” she huddled down in the seat, tugging the blanket that the police had let her keep tighter around her shoulders.

The drive back to his apartment passed by in silence, save for the little clicking of the turn signal every time he pressed it. He shepherded her swiftly from the car into his apartment.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, nodding understandably when she shook her head. “Well, uh…” he glanced around, suddenly seeming a bit clueless. “Bathroom is down the hall,” he waved his hand in the general direction. “If you wanted to take a shower or…something.”

The idea of getting all the dried blood off of her was tempting to say the least. “Okay.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay, um,” in any other circumstance, she would have found his sudden awkward stuttering to be cute. Following him to the bathroom, he flicked on the light. “I don’t…have anything fancy. Just soap, shampoo, conditioner…” 

“Considering that you actually have conditioner puts you ahead of a lot of guys actually,” she said, glancing around the bathroom. Jonathan’s cheeks turned pink.

“Just…help yourself to whatever.”

“Thanks.” 

He nodded glancing around the bathroom, practically ringing his hands together with nervousness, before shuffling awkwardly past her and out into the hall.

“I’ll just be in the living room, so…holler if you need anything.”  

Nodding, she gave him a tiny smile. “I will. Thank you.”

He nodded, and disappeared down the hall. Closing the door, she let her head fall forward to rest against the heavy wood, breathing deeply before letting her backpack drop to the floor and beginning to undress. The water was warm against her skin, helping to fight off the chill that the shock had left her with. Palms planted flat against the wall, she bowed forward, allowing the water to soak her hair and back. All the dried blood on her skin turned the water pink. She watched as it traveled down, circling around and around the drain, before disappearing into the darkness.

∗ ∗ ∗

He paced back and forth, obsessively tidying and straightening the books and papers sitting on the coffee table, before going into the bedroom to smooth out the comforter on his bed and smack the pillows until they looked plump enough. Took off his glasses and cleaned them.

He needed to calm the fuck down. It really wasn’t that big of a deal that she was staying with him. But he wanted her to feel comfortable. And safe. Especially after everything that had just happened.

Fuck. He wasn’t used to caring so much about another person. 

Seeing her like that; crying and scared and clinging to him, had rattled him to his bones, protectiveness engulfing him in waves. The realization that he would do anything for her sending his head spinning. 

Shaking his head, as if that would somehow cure him of this sudden case of affection, he padded into the hall to the linen closet, grabbing a clean set of folded sheets and heading to the living room, arranging them a bit awkwardly over the couch.

“Jonathan?” Vanessa’s voice called. His back went rigid and straight as his head snapped up, moving slowly back towards the hallway.

“Yeah?”

“I–um. I don’t have any clean clothes,” she said, voice sounding very defeated. He blinked. Ah. That made sense. The clothes she’d been wearing were stained with dried blood, and while the police had let her keep her measly little backpack, all of her other possessions in her and Amy’s apartment were currently part of an active crime scene. She wasn’t going to be allowed to take anything from there for a while.  

“I’ll see if I have anything you can borrow.”

“Okay, thank you! Do you have a hair dryer?”

“Bottom right drawer.”

“Oh, awesome!”

Heading back into his bedroom, he huffed out a relieved breath that she seemed to be sounding a bit more like her old self. Rummaging through his closet, he was able to find an old t-shirt that would probably be baggy on her but would have to do. Pants would be more difficult to find for her. She was significantly shorter than him, so pretty much anything he gave her would have to be rolled up. But her hips were wider than his, so he would have to find something with enough stretch in the waistband. He found a pair of sweatpants shoved in the back of the closet that had a drawstring so she could loosen or tighten them as much as she needed. Testing the stretch of the waistband, he felt his cheeks heat at the idea of Vanessa pulling them up over her legs and hips.

He really, really needed to stop thinking about Vanessa’s hips.

Folding the clothes carefully, he knocked his knuckles softly against the bathroom door.

“Nes? I’ve got some clean clothes for you. I can leave them just–”

The door opened before his finished his sentence, and his brain barely had time to process the warm steam hitting him in the face or the scent of soap, and then bare skin wrapped in nothing but one of his towels, freckles covering her shoulders, slightly damp hair tossed over one shoulder, exposed legs, oh, god–

She snatched the clothes from his arms quickly, holding them to her chest with one arm while the other held her towel in place so that it didn’t slip. And then she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, a quiet ‘thank you’ whispered against his skin before she was closing the door again.

Jonathan was fairly certain that his brain short-circuited, face turning redder than a tomato. For a moment he just stood there, gaping rather comically at the door before stumbling down the hall and back into the living room, plopping down heavily onto the couch, head spinning while his fingers brushed along his cheek where Vanessa had kissed him.

He had barely managed to pull himself together, dazedly changing into his pajamas and settling back into sitting awkwardly on the couch when she finally emerged from the bathroom, his clothes adorably large on her. Tucked under one arm, she held her dirtied, blood drenched shirt and pants.

“We have a laundry in the basement–”

“Nah. I wouldn’t bother. That blood’s already soaked in,” she tossed them into the big trash can he kept in the kitchen, before coming to sit beside him on the couch. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair in a few days–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. With her this close, he could smell his soap on her skin, brain again going fuzzy with the realization that with his clothes wrapped around her and his soap rubbed into her skin she smelled like him. “The bedroom’s right down the hall–”

“What? No, no, no. I’m not taking your bed–”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind the couch,” he gestured to the cushions they were currently sitting on.

“Which I should take because I’m smaller.”

“Guests don’t sleep on the couch,” he held up a finger. “Don’t try to argue. I promise you, you’re no match for my southern manners.”

Her lips pursed like she was considering it, but finally she huffed, the bags of exhaustion under her eyes winning out. “Fine.”

Guiding her down the hall and into the bedroom, he flicked on a light, glancing around to make sure that she had everything she might need.

“If you need anything just let me know. I’ll be right in the living room,” taking a step towards the door, he was halted by her hand grabbing his, intertwining tightly with his fingers.

“Wait,” she rubbed at the back of her neck with her free hand. “Just…” sucking a deep breath that she let out with a huff, she glanced around. “The bed’s big enough for both of us,” she said finally, dark eyes glancing up at him cautiously.

And just like that, every possible thought flew right out of his head. His cheeks felt like they were burning with how hard he was blushing.

“It’s fine if you would prefer the couch,” Vanessa said, looking down somewhat dejectedly, taking his silence to mean rejection.

“No!” Jonathan swallowed hard, doing his damnedest to not seem too over-eager. “If you’d rather I stayed…”

“I would,” she said, eyes round and hopeful.

“Okay.”

Nodding, she climbed into the bed, curling up in a ball underneath the covers that were pulled up to her chin. For the briefest of moments, he caught the smallest of pink tints blemishing her cheeks, the realization that she was perhaps secretly just as flustered and new to all of this as he was putting him somewhat more at ease. Taking a moment to breathe in a futile attempt to keep himself from hyperventilating, Jonathan slipped in carefully beside her, setting his glasses on the bedside table and flicking off the light. He laid in a rather stiff position with his arms and legs drawn in close to him, head spinning like a demented carousel as he stared up at the ceiling. 

This broke just about every rule he had ever been taught his entire life.

Granny would have an absolute conniption.

But Granny wasn’t here anymore.

When he closed his eyes, he was met with the sight of an eyeless corpse, the twin holes where Granny’s eyes used to be, after they’d been pecked out, two smeared bloody pools.

Sometimes he wished that he hadn’t gone into the chapel. Hadn’t turned over her limp body to examine the flesh that the crows had shredded with their beaks and claws. But he’d needed to make sure that she was truly dead. That she wasn’t going to burst free from the chapel and descend upon him with all her fury. It was the only way he would be able to fall asleep at night. 

Shuddering, he forced himself to relax, turning over onto his side to squint at Vanessa’s figure beside him in the dark. There was the temptation to reach across to touch her. To stroke her cheek or caress her shoulder, but he kept his arms pulled in close to his chest, refusing the sudden urges.

He wasn't sure how long he laid there, listening to the rain beating on the windows and Vanessa’s breaths slowly beginning to even out. He didn’t even know when it was that he finally nodded off, drowsy eyes falling closed as his body relaxed into sleep.

What he did know was that when he woke up, Vanessa’s head had migrated to his chest sometime in the night, his arms wrapped around her, and her own arm thrown loosely over his waist.  

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

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Masterlists: Main • Series • Fic    

#vanessa sullivan #vanessa sullivan x jonathan crane #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x oc #my ocs #fanfiction #the dark knight trilogy #how to make a monster #my fanfiction

[redadm1ral-moved]

scuttles back on this blog. I come bearing gifts

well, kinda: I'm still throwing myself against the wall that is reworking Chapter 1 of The Plagued Capital (for new followers who've been trickling in during my inactivity: that's my Dishonored/Call of Duty: Modern Warfare crossover). I've come to realize that the first two acts of the fic needed serious overhauling, which I think was contributing to my writer's block; now that I'm smoothing out those issues and changing the plot happenings up a little, I'm a lot more eager to write. I'm also getting a handle on the type of tone and writing style I want to go for in COH as a whole, which means my Chapter 1 rework is going a bit faster too.

it'll be a while before I have new stuff to share still (I've been at the mercy of ailing physical and mental health for a while). but I do really want to share a portion of what's for sure definitely gonna be the final version of Chapter 1. I'll stick it under the cut (and maybe also tag @onlycodcanjudgeme since it's WIP Wednesday)

Dove gray light scattered across the overcast sky as the frigid morning sun crept over the eastern horizon, pulling the jagged fragments of Prague into the tentative embrace of dawn. Black pillars of smoke towered over the city’s rooftops, spitting debris into the clouds and shrouding the world in a thick veil of gray and brown. The air shivered with the deep drone of patrolling helicopters, punctuated by the occasional crack of gunfire from the streets below.

An icy breeze snaked through the old city’s veins, scraping soot from the bottoms of mortar holes and dusting the steps of shelled-out buildings in ash. The ash clung to frost-coated walls, to rain water trapped in the dips and crevices in pavement, to the blood seeping between stones and pooling under the corpses of waxy-faced insurgents. Crows squawked and squabbled between each other as they feasted on the bodies amid the smoldering, mangled remains of the civilian vehicles and military transport trucks scattered across the Old Town Square.

Rising above the carnage, glimmering under brilliant white floodlights and crowned by a grand brass clock, the Hotel Lustig stood as a beacon on the southeastern end of the square. Golden light beckoned from around the scarlet curtains in her arched, frost-kissed windows. Her unblemished silvery walls promised security, comfort, warmth—though only for some.

Soap narrowed his eyes at the Hotel Lustig. Unlike the hotel, the Church of Saint Nicholas swaddled its many occupants in darkness, in the muggy warmth of moving bodies and the tenuous security of her stone walls. But that was many stories below Soap’s feet, in the nave. Up in the church’s mortared bell tower, Soap and his companion, Yuri, weathered the cold October morning on their own. The freezing wind plunged through the mortar hole and sank frosty teeth into exposed skin, chilling their blood and stiffening their gloved fingers, and Soap drank down the stink of smoke and the threat of rain with each slow breath. And yet, rather than envy, the Lustig’s rosy lie of safety inspired contempt. The hotel—and its occupants—could burn as far as Soap cared.

And by noon it would be, God willing.

Soap slipped his hand into his pocket, tangling his fingers in the cool, solid beads of his rosary. This would be the best time and place to appeal to God’s will, if he wanted. And once upon a time he might’ve. But he would not; Soap was certain God had long left the equation by now, just as he was certain of the cool, firm weight of the rifle resting across his thigh.

The shuffle of fabric and the soft clink of metal against metal alerted Soap to Yuri’s movement. He’d started yet another examination of his gear. Nervousness from Yuri wasn’t new—he’d always been quiet and reserved, sometimes to the point of neurosis—but he’d already counted his rounds ten times, and he moved with the careful precision of a man focusing too hard on staying calm. Truthfully, the anxious knot in Soap’s own gut left him with little room to judge even if he wanted. Any apprehension this morning was warranted.

“Which vehicle do you think he’ll be in?” Soap asked. A pointless question; unless he’d spontaneously gained the gift of prophecy, Yuri wouldn’t have a straight answer. And for once, Soap didn’t want one. What he wanted was reprieve.

A few moments slipped by before Yuri lifted his gaze to the hotel. The dim morning light glinted off the round he rolled between his thumb and forefinger, and a white cloud floated past his lips as he let out a long, low breath.

“They constantly rotate for security.” The gentle clink of metal against metal as Yuri slid the round into the magazine underscored his statement. “We won’t know until he steps out.”

It was a perfectly acceptable answer. An educated guess. Soap might’ve come to the same conclusion, had he been asked. Even so, Soap found himself lingering on his companion’s face as Yuri returned to refilling his magazines, searching for…well, he wasn’t certain. Because it was a perfectly acceptable answer, after all, and so he let out a low scoff and simply muttered:

“You seem to know a lot about Makarov.”

Yuri’s fingers stuttered over the rounds, not quite fumbling, then returned to their smooth, rhythmic glide over the metal.

Soap gave himself a mental shake. Paranoia at this stage would do him no good; Yuri was a man, just as susceptible to clumsiness and anxiety as any other. And as Soap turned his gaze once more to the square, to the corpses scattered across the stones and the writhing black mass of crows that devoured them, he knew as well as God that they had every reason to be afraid.

Because Vladimir Makarov was responsible for this. Every corpse, every burning building, every speck of ash and soot on the wind and every drop of blood seeping between the stones of every city square and footpath, the cracks in the pavement of every street—he had orchestrated it all, carving a bloody swathe from the Urals to the shores of the Atlantic. Chasing Makarov had been a long, grueling, bloody endeavor, a spiraling descent into cruelty and betrayal. But it would be worth it. Bringing the architect of a third world war to justice would give meaning to all of Soap’s sacrifices. And maybe, once the head had been lopped off the viper and all was said and done, the dreams would finally—

The crackle of Soap’s radio snapped him back to reality.

“Alpha One,” came Price’s low, firm voice through the static. “Radio check, over.”

The black hands of the Lustig’s clock read seven. Almost time. Soap untangled his fingers from his rosary and held down the transmission.

“Bravo One, copy,” he answered. “We’re dug in with line of sight.”

“Right. Kamarov’s our eyes and ears inside the hotel; once he gives us the nod, we’ll kick this off.”

Soap said nothing as he scanned the hotel again, hunting for any sign of their approaching quarry. A flicker of movement caught his eye—on the second floor balcony, human-shaped blots teemed in the shadows like maggots emerging from carrion. The long silhouettes of rifles stood out against the soft light filtering through the curtained window. Ultranationalists.

“You see that?” Soap growled to his companion. Yuri responded with a low hum, and Soap reached for his radio.

“Price.”

“What do you see?”

“I’ve got some activity on the balcony,” Soap answered. “Four armed guards.”

“Any sign of Makarov?” Price pressed.

Soap scoffed. “Bugger-all, mate; looks like Makarov’s late for his own funeral.” Beside him, Yuri let out a dry snort. “They’ve got curtains up on the second floor—you and Kamarov are gonna have to take care of ‘em if you want sniper support.”

“Right. Sit tight until you’ve got a clean shot.” Price’s low, dry voice darkened. “Then you can put as many rounds on him as you like.”

Here they were: three men perched on the edge of a bloody morning, poised to finally catch their kingfish after years of relentless pursuit. Yuri had never been completely clear about his stakes in this hunt for Makarov, but when their gazes met and the resolve in Yuri’s stony brown eyes mirrored Soap’s, suddenly, the specifics didn’t matter. All that mattered was putting Makarov in the ground.

“It’ll only take one,” Soap growled into the radio.

Silence settled over the bell tower.

The urge to smoke nibbled at the back of Soap’s mind. If time were on his side, he’d have indulged in that craving; instead, he chose to spare his lungs, slipping his hand back into his pocket to tangle once again in the cool comfort of his rosary. The sensation of the beads rolling between his gloved fingers melted some of the tension in his shoulders, and on his tongue settled the distant anticipation for the cigar he’d share with Price once this was all said and done.

“How are you feeling?”

Yuri’s voice snatched Soap from the comfort of his short-lived fantasy, and he gave his companion a quick glance—Yuri stared at the hotel, having abandoned his inventory-taking. With a low huff, Soap averted his gaze and grumbled, “I’m fine. Freezing my arse off, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“No,” Yuri pressed. “How are you feeling, John?”

Soap turned toward Yuri with deliberate slowness, making no effort to hide his annoyance; he’d made it clear that he wanted Yuri to address him by either his last name or his callsign. Yuri had never slipped like this before—and if the earnest, though cautious concern lurking in Yuri’s eyes as he faced Soap was of any indication, he hadn’t slipped this time, either. A misguided attempt to foster familiarity, then. Or maybe Yuri just wanted to mess with him.

“What’s this, therapy hour?” Soap released the rosary in his pocket and brought his hand back to his rifle. “I’m fine.”

Yuri hesitated. “Are you still having those dreams?”

Soap arched a brow. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

He and Yuri spun away from each other, repelled by the awkward tension crackling between them. As Soap stared at the men patrolling the Lustig’s second floor balcony, he struggled—and ultimately failed—to suppress a low, sharp sigh.

They’d started in the early days after Shepherd’s last stand. Morphine-induced slumber had trapped Soap in a whirl of twisting dreamscapes, a contradictory cacophony of whimsical vibrancy and achromatic desolation. Under normal circumstances, none of this would be notable; Soap had always been predisposed to vivid dreams, and he blamed any disquieting dips into surreality on the drugs. But as the weeks dragged on, as his knife wound closed and he was weaned off the morphine, one dream persisted—and increased in frequency.

Words alone struggled to encapsulate the sheer vastness of his recurring dreamscape. To Price, he called it an abyss; in his journal, he called it a world of only sky. A cold, brackish mist diffused the light of a blazing sun, a brilliant hole punched through a limitless dark that stretched leagues, eons. Through the mist, a frigid, swirling wind carried the mournful calls of unseen creatures and shivering islands of jagged black stone. One of these islands kept Soap from plummeting into the abyss.

On another island stood a stranger; the flickering haze reduced him to a tangle of disjointed images, to snatches of curly, dark brown hair, patches of a deep umber complexion, and fleeting glances of curious black eyes. The stranger drifted through the mist, sometimes closer, sometimes farther. Sometimes the mist consumed him entirely, with only a deep-seated pull in Soap’s chest to assure him of his sole companion’s presence. Soap’s calls to this stranger went unanswered, swallowed by eternity.

Soap drank in a deep breath, and the frost and ash he swallowed down reminded his lungs of the freezing sting of that unending sky. Images of the black dreamscape lanced through his mind, and dense, deep pressure—the pull, the tether—battered against the cage of his ribs. It felt ridiculous to admit even to himself, but Soap never woke up from these dreams. He returned from them.

Soap drummed his fingers against the side of his rifle and glared out at the broken horizon. After a few moments of prodding the raw inside of his lip with his tongue, he finally asked, “How did you know?”

A few heartbeats passed before Yuri answered: “I overhear you sometimes. Talking to Price.”

“So you’re eavesdropping on us now?” Soap demanded, and internally winced—his attempt at a playful jab had come off far more forceful than he’d intended.

Yuri’s eyes widened. “What? No, I—” He cut himself off with a sharp sigh, then said, “You seemed distracted.”

“I’m fine,” Soap insisted. He drummed one last beat against the side of his rifle before forcing his fingers into stillness. “I’m just focused on Makarov.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Yuri asked.

Soap weighed his response against the rifle in his hands. He’d come to Price about the dreams because he trusted him in a way that transcended friendship, transcended family—an entirely different beast than the more tenuous, practical trust he placed in Yuri. To Soap, the quiet, solitary ex-Spetsnaz sat firmly in the categories of ally and asset but not quite friend. He’d assumed Yuri felt the same; perhaps that was why this uncharacteristic line of questioning bothered Soap so much.

“Aye,” Soap finally answered, and he gave Yuri a sideways glance. “I’ll be even better once we put a bullet in Makarov’s skull.”

Yuri nodded, silent and firm.

The minute hand inched past five.

A splash of green and red emerged from the Lustig’s main entryway: four more armed guards, milling impatiently before the Lustig’s stone walls. Then the telltale thunder of a low-flying helicopter rumbled through the frigid air, prompting Soap to duck behind cover moments before it swept into sight. It passed without landing, and Soap raised a brow at his companion, who’d also hidden himself away. Yuri responded with another silent nod just as Soap’s radio buzzed to life.

“You see that?” Price growled through the crackling static.

“Aye,” Soap answered. “Any sign of him?”

“Negativ— Wait.” A pause. “I think that’s them. Four armored vehicles, coming from the east.”

Soap swung his rifle into position and rested it on the edge of the crumbling wall, then settled into his perch overlooking the square. Yuri clicked his magazine back into place and mirrored Soap’s position.

“Head’s up,” Price said. “Makarov’s convoy is arriving now.”

#cod yuri #john soap mactavish #captain john price #vladimir makarov #call of duty #modern warfare #au: call of honor #fic: the plagued capital #(not using any dh tags here bc there's not a lot of dh-ism in this chapter. other than the void)

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 5: Revenge

(Trigger Warnings: talk of death/dying, implied murder, descriptions of rot/decay, pain/suffering, blood, broken bones, fatal injuries, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1  Day 2  Day 3  Day 4  Day 6 Day 7

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza had never been too appealing of a place. Mare had held that opinion even when the restaurant was operating, before he’d died.

The place had changed—not for the better, obviously—after being closed and forgotten about for years.

Puddles were scattered about the black-and-white checkered floor, slowly but surely growing in size thanks to water that was still dripping from holes in the roof. Black mold gathered in the corners, crept up the walls around peeling paint. Rats scurried here and there, probably trying to decide whether or not Mare was human. The air was damp and fetid; if Mare had still been alive, he had no doubt that the stench of decay would’ve quickly worked its way into his clothes and hair.

All in all, the restaurant seemed to finally look the way it had always felt.

Mare drifted through the dining area for the hundredth time now, past the show stage (which had practically sunken into the floor). His footsteps made no sound. He didn’t even feel like he was moving. He paused just outside of Pirate’s Cove, waiting patiently. 

The Foxy animatronic eventually poked its head out through the purple, star-patterned curtains, looking at him with a glassy, bright yellow eye. Mare waved a hand towards himself before turning away. He could hear metal thudding and scraping against the floor as Foxy followed his lead.

Mare listened to booming thunder and drumming rain. He hummed in time with the storm outside as it tried its best to shake the abandoned restaurant. 

He’d been navigating this place for an eternity by now. He hated knowing every single nook and cranny by heart. He couldn’t even take comfort in the fact that he’d never been alone. The only people he had for company were in a constant state of agony and anger like he was. Even now, he could feel the anger radiating off of Foxy, who was only following him out of confusion.

But tonight wasn’t like all the other nights he’d been trapped here.

Because someone else—someone alive—had been trespassing and hiding out in the building for the past four nights. Mare knew who the aforementioned trespasser was, and he’d made it abundantly clear to the trespasser that he was being stalked, being hunted.

And the trespasser just kept coming back. Which, of course, prompted Mare to start experimenting with different tactics. He’d managed to form a plan, and so far his attempts had been successful.

As long as tonight followed the same script as the previous ones. . .

Mare led Foxy down a certain corridor; the one that led to the restaurant’s saferoom.

Three familiar animatronics—Freddy, Bonnie, Chica—lay on the floor, completely and utterly dismantled. Their limbs were twisted in unnatural positions, their rusted jaws hung open, their blank eyes stared at nothing.

Despite all this, somehow, you wouldn’t be able to see what was inside those robotic carcasses.

But Mare already knew. He didn’t need the animatronics to be opened up.

Even after all this time, the stains around the animatronics’ eyes, mouths, and joints—the areas where blood and mucus had leaked out through—still had yet to fade.

He stopped and stood before the carnage, waiting.

As soon as Foxy caught up to him, the saferoom’s door slammed against the wall.

A blur of movement rushed past Mare, and Foxy was suddenly writhing on the floor. A man stood above the animatronic, mercilessly beating it with what looked like a sledgehammer.

Foxy shuddered and convulsed, trying and failing to fight against its attacker.

In a matter of minutes, the animatronic was in pieces, just like the others. The man panted like a dog as he finally stopped his ambush. Mare stepped closer, glowering at him with all the hate he could muster.

This wasn’t a man; this was a vile, hideous, motherfucking waste of space parasite who’d killed innocent children because watching people suffer was the only source of joy in his pathetic life. Out of all the victims he’d taken, only one had been an adult: a night guard who had known that something wasn’t right with him, who watched him very carefully, who had managed to follow him into his little hideout and witness the atrocities he’d been committing.

And that night guard had gone by a name that Mare simply couldn’t remember anymore.

That night guard would’ve looked a lot like Mare, had Mare been healthy and breathing.

That night guard had died in the middle of trying to save that bastard’s victims.

The parasite sneered right back at him as he hurried into the saferoom, just as he had the previous nights. Mare lingered near Foxy, staring down at the mess the parasite had made.

He watched as what looked like a cloud of mist began wafting off of the animatronic. The cloud hovered in the air for a few seconds, then shrunk into a humanoid silhouette. And just like that, the spirit of a young, freckle-faced boy was standing before Mare, looking lost and frightened.

Muffled screams began echoing from the saferoom. Mare huffed a laugh as the boy’s expression grew more and more aware. Without needing to be instructed, the boy phased through the door. Mare was right behind him.  

The second Mare and the boy entered the saferoom, four more children—the ones who had previously been trapped inside the other animatronics—all converged into the room.

Just like him, their eyes resembled pools of ink. Just like him, their faces were semi-obscured by tear tracks, which resembled stationary wisps of curling smoke. Just like him, their skin appeared unsaturated and decayed. They each boasted different types of horrible injuries. Stab wounds, blunt-force trauma scars, discolored impressions of fingers encircling the skin of the throat. . .

They were all dead, having been killed in this very place all those years ago.

The children circled around the parasite like sharks in a frenzy, howling with rage, clawing at the parasite’s clothes and hair. The parasite’s face was contorted in panic, fear, and understanding.

Mare watched, feeling the schadenfreude that had become so familiar.

The parasite tried swinging his sledgehammer down onto the freckled boy’s head. There was no impact. No blood sprayed against the wall. The boy didn’t scream or fall to the floor. Instead, the boy gripped the sledgehammer’s head, wrenched it out of the parasite’s grasp, and swung it right back at him. The weapon collided into the parasite’s side with a solid crunch. 

The parasite cried out in pain and stumbled back. He tried to charge at Mare, but Mare’s only response was to herd him back into the center of the room. The freckled boy dropped the tool and joined his peers to give chase.

Now swaying and limping, the parasite sprinted in circles, fairly uselessly. The children kept intercepting him as he kept failing to hurt them. Obviously desperate, the parasite surged over to the corner, where a bulky yellow springlock suit was slumped against the wall. It was none other than Spring Bonnie: the same rabbit-looking mascot that the parasite had used for his disguise.

Mare knew for a fact that he had every single fucking right to hate that thing. But he also couldn’t deny that, even if it hadn’t been part of the parasite’s signature, it still would’ve just looked. . .wrong. The smile its face had been designed with looked eerie, more obsessive than genuinely happy.

The suit was a monster all on its own, but the parasite had made it even worse.

The parasite knelt before Spring Bonnie, hastily shoving its head off of its neck, opening it up around its joints. He managed to close it up around himself, then picked up the rabbit’s head and positioned it over his own like the mask it was. He stood there, breathing heavily as he stared at the ghosts he’d created.

Mare paused, then glanced at each of the children in turn. Despite the hollow murk of their eyes, it was clear that they were frightened. They were remembering how the parasite had donned this exact costume when he’d lured them to their deaths.

Not only that, but they were all obviously trying hard to be brave. They continued snarling and shouting at the parasite, but their voices wavered. Their trauma was still present, and that caused a dull ache to resonate through Mare’s empty chest.

And as if it couldn’t get any worse, a scratchy, ear-splitting sound was suddenly filling the room, bouncing off the walls. It took Mare a few seconds to realize that the parasite was fucking laughing at the children.

He started to lunge at the parasite, but a small blur suddenly rushed past him. His heightened anger was replaced by surprise as he watched a dark-haired girl pounce and shove at the parasite with everything she had.

Had she been alive, her attack likely wouldn’t have been successful. But death, in all its irony, could make you deceptively strong, no matter what age or condition you’d been in before the end.

The metallic parts of the parasite’s disguise crashed and groaned as he hit the floor, toppling over like a slow avalanche. The girl loomed over him, punching and kicking and shrieking at him with absolutely no mercy. Almost immediately, he started screaming, convulsing. 

Mare tilted his head at this. He drew closer and discovered that blood was seeping through Spring Bonnie, slowly but surely mixing into the rancid puddle the parasite had been shoved into. Then, a muffled cacophony of flesh being punctured and torn, of bones snapping finally made itself known to him, though the sounds were nearly drowned out by the girl’s war-cry.

This encouraged the other children, who rushed over to surround the parasite.

Mare remembered overhearing the pre-recorded messages one of his co-workers had been required to listen to. He remembered the very explicit safety instructions that came with wearing one of the suits Freddy Fazbear’s was (in)famous for; if any of the springlocks inside were dampened—hell, even just nudged out of place—they would disengage. And if they disengaged, then the wearer would suddenly be completely vulnerable to the suit’s internal exoskeleton. And at that point, it would’ve been more appropriate to stop calling the suit a suit and start calling it an iron maiden.

Although the children were incapable of being physically struck, and although the parasite didn’t have time to even try to struggle against them, Mare’s instincts were in overdrive. Mare maneuvered himself around the children and grabbed the parasite’s arms in a vice-like grip, holding them at an angle that would not only cause the parasite more pain, but made it impossible for the parasite to attempt self-defense.

The children kept at their attacks for. . .Mare actually wasn’t sure for how long. Minutes had always had a bad habit of dragging on when he was alive, and time moved even slower after he’d died. But he didn’t mind; the children had been waiting far too long for something like this to happen. He wasn’t about to make them stop. They’d stop when they were good and ready.

For the first time in years, Mare felt himself relax. He smiled at the scene before him with a sort of joy that would’ve been unconventional had it not been justified.

To put it simply, he was proud of the children. He’d never seen himself as a fatherly type, but he’d spent the vast majority of his afterlife trying to guide and comfort them. And now? They were getting the justice they deserved all by themselves.

Sooner or later, the children eventually began to calm down. They stopped screaming, stopped the ambush altogether, though you could tell that it was as begrudgingly as it was out of exhaustion.

Mare watched as the children moved away from the parasite, then turned his head to stare into the parasite’s eyes. Even with the children’s escalation, it would be a long, long, long time before he actually died. It would be slow and agonizing. And he deserved every single bit of it.

He also wasn’t worth any more of Mare’s time. So, Mare roughly released the parasite from his hold and delivered one more kick to the side of his head.

He left the parasite in a wailing, twitching, worthless heap.

But he only made it halfway across the room before stumbling to his knees.

The children all gasped and quickly approached him, trying to help him right himself.

Since the day he’d died, Mare had felt nothing but numbness and cold, which was occasionally accompanied by dull pain. Right now, however, the aches he’d never quite adjusted to were slowly dissipating. He felt lighter, warmer, and. . .

Tired.

Not even while he’d been bleeding out had Mare ever felt so tired.

Mare glanced around at the children, and his mouth fell open in surprise.

Each of them seemed to be glimmering. Their skin transitioned from sickly gray to the natural shades they’d been born with. Their wounds vanished, one by one. Their dark, oily tear tracks evaporated into the air as their eyes softly shifted to colors other than black. Mare didn’t need to look at himself to know that his form was changing in a similar manner. For a split-second, he could’ve sworn that he’d felt a heartbeat rushing through him.

In no time at all, the children each looked healthy enough to be alive again.

But they weren’t. Mare knew they weren’t, and they did, too.

Even after the miraculous healing process, the children were still translucent. Except now. . .light seemed to be fluttering around them, as though candles had been embedded into their cores.

They were fading in and out of view, becoming harder to see with each passing second.

The children’s expressions were all an odd mix of confusion and relief. Mare beamed at them, knowing that they wouldn’t need him to explain. Slowly but surely, the children smiled back.

Up until now, they’d only ever known death. Mare didn’t expect them to have an idea of what would come after they’d been forced to remain for so long; not when he had no idea what was in store for himself. But whatever it was, his instincts made it clear that it was good.

Mare barely had any strength left, but he held onto it. He had to if he wanted to see the kids off.

He waited silently, patiently as each of the children vanished into thin air.

After a few moments, only one was left: the dark-haired girl. The one who had been the first to attack the parasite.

Her face was joyful, but still uncertain. She kept looking around him to glare at the parasite. She was making a valiant effort to stay. She knew she didn’t need to, Mare could tell, but she just couldn’t help but be anxious.

Mare knew that anxiety inside-out. He knew it hadn’t felt the same to him as it had to her, but he understood. And that was just enough.  

Mare gently patted her shoulder. “You’ve got to get some rest now,” he said, as she craned her neck to face him. “It’s time to move on.”

She blinked, then let out a small sigh and nodded. She closed her eyes and hugged his arm tightly—Mare could still feel her embrace after she disappeared.

That was it. Everything was finally over.

Foreign light began creeping around the edges of Mare’s vision. . .The room started spinning, but it didn’t make him nauseous. . .All he felt was an indescribable, wonderful sense of contentment as he quickly and painlessly went blind. . .

And then. . .

. . .He was gone.

@that-bat  @sammys-magical-au

#my writing #goretober 2022 #nathan sharp #natewantstobattle #natemare #natemare nwtb #fnaf #fnaf missing children #tw blood #tw talk of death/dying #tw implied murder #tw gore #tw broken bones #tw fatal injuries #tw pain #tw decay/rot

[uwukillmenowowo]

To Wash the Inky Stains of Hate

[Cover by: me/Kumon]

[Dabi X Ink Demon! Reader]

Requested by:

mayaimishigo

[This lovely person right here~!]

Fandoms:

Boku No Hero Academia & Bendy and the Ink Machine

Trigger warnings:

- Blood/Death/Gore/Murder/etc

- Swearing/Foul Language

- Stop, don't touch me there, this is my no no square! [In future chapters]

[Main Characters:]

- Twice and Mange are deceased.

- Dabi - 24

- Reader - 23

- Shigaraki - 21

- Toga - 17

- Kurogiri - Died 17 - Technically 18 [Got off Google Idk I didn't watch/read that far :( ]

- Alice - XXXX

- Boris/Buddy - XXXX

- Alice/Allison - XXXX

Quirk: Ink Demon

This quirk allows its user to manifest a demonic creature made entirely out of ink, this demonic creature is extremely powerful and can cause great amounts of destruction to whoever and whatever it comes into contact with. This creature has great speed, strength and durability. It also has a very high intelligence, capable of devising complex plans and strategies to use against its opponents. The user of this quirk must be very careful in using it and have a great understanding of how to control it. the user also has the ability to produce and control ink, it can make structures, entities, objects and so much more.

[Notes:]

- This is... like season 6 [Of BNHA] but it isn't

- Dabi's hair will still be black because it's easier for me.

- There will be others if I remember them...

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Chaos

1396000 people

2792000 people

5584000 people

The massacre never ends, does it?

{Third POV}

~~~~~

"Whaaa~! She's really on a massive genocide, isn't she? Look at all the blood and corpses~!" A female with ash-blonde hair fangirled with her hands on her cheeks and a blush on her face. "She does have quite the body count..." "And what's with all that black liquid..?" The trio continued to observe, as well as theorize about the so-called "Black liquid" that she was producing.

"It also looks like she's controlling all of that black stuff." The white-haired male nodded, continuing to watch the chaos unfold. 'How many heroes and civilians has she killed already?' He thought as he continued to stare at the ruined city that was once protected. But did he care? Absolutely not, in fact, he actually thinks that all those people deserved it. He's been through all of it before.

"It... kinda looks like ink." The ash-blonde female said as she used her hand to cover her eyes from the afternoon sun. She found the other girls' brutal techniques rather interesting. I mean, the girl has killed millions of people in the span of a few hours. She kind of wanted to learn from the girl. She could get so much more blood that way!

"Using ink to control, create, and destroy? Kinda cringe and cliche..." The black-haired male sighed as he turned his gaze away. Obviously annoyed and seemingly not impressed. In all honesty, he just wanted to join in the carnage to let out some of his frustrations.

"Shut it Dabi. That quirk of hers actually looks kind of useful. Unlike that masked bird bitch." The white-haired male stated, not turning his gaze away from the scene. "If what the wacko said is correct and that's ink then I don't find it all that impressive." "Hey! You burnt chicken nugget! Yours also isn't impressive! I mean- it's just fire but blue!" "What did you call me nutjob?" "*Hmph* You heard me!" "SHUT IT! BOTH OF YOU! I'm already having a fucking headache and the both of you are making it worse!"

The "Nutjob" huffed and crossed her arms while Dabi placed his hands on his hips, both watching as the white-haired male started to leave. "Kurogiri, teleport us back. We need to inform him of our findings. If he deems that maniacal girl worthy then we should try to recruit her. Find out her quirk, wants and dream and then he'll decide what we do with her after."

A purple swirl of clouds appeared and the three started to leave. Leaving leftover heroes to deal with the crazed genocider.

{XXXX POV}

~~~~~

"8375990 out of 8376000 people... Heh- *Smirk* Almost around 60%..." I muttered to myself as I ordered another squad of searchers to destroy another group of tanks that the military tried to send while I dodged more chains from the warden hero: Crushlock. A hero that helps the cops in the crime department in restraining "berserk villains." Did I care that I was killing a lot of people? No. Did I care that the government wanted my head? Pffttt-! Of course not! I needed to make HIM pay for everything he's done to me and all the others and there's no way in hell I'm stopping until I archived that goal.

"HALT VILLIAN!"

I sighed, glaring at the heroes that kept coming. They're not that much fun to fight. Not even good enough to pass the time. Just bugs that hover around a meal that was left unattended. I held my hand out, creating ink in my hands and pointed my palm to the floor, raising an inky barrier as another hero tried to attack me.  "Annoying..." I said to myself and then raised both my hands, creating a tsunami of ink.

There were screams, lots of them. Then when the ink faded there were just the corpses of everyone who tried to stop me. Now, I would've used this attack from the beginning but i was hungry and haven't eaten in a few weeks. But now that i've used it I'm hungry again... "Does anywhere have bacon soup?" I questioned myself, looking around the ruined area.

"Hmmm..." I groaned and snapped my fingers, the searchers came back to me and I commanded them to find some food. While I waited I sat down and started to stretch.

It's been almost an hour... I crossed my legs and crossed my arms. "Where are my searchers..?" I know that they're still alive since I could still sense them. They are my creation after all. They haven't run into any heroes either. So what's with the—

!

One was destroyed?

Two...

Three...

Four...

I glanced around me, expecting another hero. Four searchers died. Burned, disintegrated, slashed, and drowned. I stood up wearily but then I saw some sort of portal appear in front of me. 'It's like my ink domain.' I thought as I raised my hand, ready to attack.

{Third Person POV}

~~~~~

The four beings entered the portal, not surprised when they saw a female in a fighting stance. The foggy-headed male raised both his... hands and walked slowly toward the female. "Miss [Y/n]," He stared, startling the female since she did not expect them to know her name. "We mean you no harm. We are the League of Villains and we've come to make a request." The female furrowed her brows, not trusting them. "What..." was all she asked, still in a fighting position.

"We simply want to examine your quirk. Want to know how it works." The female faltered and sweatdropped. "That's it..?" The foggy boi nodded and the female looked behind him, seeing a white-haired male with hella chapped lips, an ash-blonde girl who looks like she was about to climax, and a black-haired male who looks like the only sane person here. "Hmm? Oh, these three behind me ate my comrades. Shigaraki Tomura, Toga Himiko, and Dabi. As for me, you can refer to me as Kurogiri,"

"So chapped lips is Shiggy, Horny-looking ass is Toga, Burnt nugget is Dabi, and you're Kurogiri." As the female said that they all had mixed reactions, Shigaraki and Dabi looked pissed and annoyed. Toga looked... like herself but was laughing, and Kurogiri appeared shocked. "I... suppose so." Kurogiri said as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Will you help us with your quirk?"

"Hold up— What am I getting out of this?"

The four froze. They did their research but most of that research was just her birth certificate. And her parents' names were scratched out, they knew nothing of her past or her desires. "Thought so... Fine. I'll help y'all out, but do you know of someone called Joey Drew and Henry Stein." The villains looked at each other before shaking their heads. Who were they? People you cared for or people you wanted to kill?

[Y/n] scowled. "However..." She then perked up to what Shigaraki had to say. "We could help you try to find whoever they are." [Y/n] then pondered on. It would certainly take less time than killing everyone to draw them out... 

She sighed and crossed her arms, using her quirk to create an ink hand so that she doesn't have to touch them. She doesn't know what their quirks do after all.

"Fine. I'll let you examine my quirk. In exchange, you gotta help me find who I'm lookin' for... Deal?"

Kurogiri looked at Shigaraki, who in turn walked forward and shook the inky hand. 

"Sure... Deal or whatever.

Wooooo! Actual post pooogg!

I am well aware that they are kind out of character

This is actually my first request so eeeehhhhh-

bare with me plz

#batim ink demon #bendy and the dark revival #ink demon #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki #Dabi #dabi todoroki #League of Villians #Ink Demon Reader #𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧�� 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞

[captainpetebradshaw]

Movie Diary 2021

Apparently I never got around to posting this last year so belatedly here are the movies I watched for the first time in 2021. My faves are bolded :)

1 Wolfwalkers

2 Wonder Woman 1984

3 Another Round

4 Soul

5 Promising Young Woman

6 Da 5 Bloods

7 Minari

8 Jaws

9 To All The Boys: Always and Forever

10 Derek DelGaudio’s In & of Itself

11 Space Sweepers

12 Spies in Disguise

13 Josee, the Tiger and the Fish (2003)

14 One Night in Miami...

15 Deliver Us from Evil (2020)

16 Michael Clayton

17 Raya and the Last Dragon

18 Coming 2 America

19 Made You Look: A True Story About Fake Art

20 The Personal History of David Copperfield

21 Demolition Man

22 Wall Street

23 Nomadland

24 Mank

25 Better Days

26 Judas and the Black Messiah

27 Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

28 The Father

29 A Shaun the Sheep Movie: Farmageddon

30 Borat Subsequent Moviefilm

31 Quo vadis, Aida?

32 Hillbilly Elegy

33 The United States vs. Billie Holiday

34 News of the World

35 The Man Who Sold His Skin

36 Pieces of a Woman

37 Collective

38 The White Tiger

39 Love and Monsters

40 Greyhound

41 Time

42 Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution

43 My Octopus Teacher

44 The Mole Agent

45 Saint Maud

46 The Mitchells vs. The Machines

47 Stowaway

48 Daughters

49 Mortal Kombat

50 Army of the Dead

51 Nine to Five

52 Dance of the Forty One

53 Ammonite

54 Bo Burnham: Inside

55 The Last King

56 Bungee Jumping of Their Own

57 Kajillionaire

58 XXY

60 Perfect Blue

61 Supernova

62 Wish Dragon

63 Emmanuelle: Queen of French Erotic Cinema

64 Luca

65 A Quiet Place II

66 Black Widow

67 Gunpowder Milkshake

68 Freddie Mercury: The Untold Story

69 The Magic Vocies of Pop

70 Jungle Cruise

71 Flight of the Navigator

72 The Suicide Squad

73 Shall We Dance? (1996)

74 Space Jame

75 The Legend of Hei

76 Space Jam: A New Legacy

77 The Green Knight

78 Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguar

79 Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

80 Tove

81 Pokémon: The Rise of Darkrai

82 A League of Their Own

83 Kate

84 Dune

85 Escape Room: Tournament of Champions

86 Pig

87 Free Guy

88 Best Sellers

89 Yes, God, Yes

90 I Am Divine

91 Nightbooks

92 Annette

93 The Lost Boys

94 The Love Witch

95 The Medium

96 Gerald’s Game

97 Venom: Let There Be Carnage

98 Lamb

99 Z-O-M-B-I-E-S

100 The Trip (I onde dager)

101 Eternals

102 Red Notice

103 The Devil Wears Ju-Ni Hitoe Kimono

104 Josephine Baker: The Story of an Awakening

105 Army of Thieves

106 Jiang Ziya: Legend of Deification

107 The Eyes of Tammy Faye

108 Last NIght in Soho

109 The Rescue

110 Spider-Man: No Way Home

111 Contact

#2021 #movie diary

[terrence-silver]

I have some simple questions ab Terry. 1). what would his favorite food be? 2). What is his favorite movie? 3). what is his favorite book? 4). How early do you think he gets up?/what time would he go to bed? 5). Who was his favorite parent?

Terry Silver eats like a snake eats; he eats meat. In all actuality, he does. His dietary habits changed over the years the same way his personas changed, shifting, transforming and befitting each new role and each new fashion fad (a viper on a lettuce and tofu diet is a strange thing), but deep down, I think covets a good, classic rare stake paired with fine liquor when he isn't out to, if you will, wear a mask or win over a crowd with how admirable and green his choice of meals are. It is a means to an end, of course, especially when he's older. Who doesn't want to prolong themselves? He covets bizarre food too. The slightly daunting and unusual most people would be put off by. Squid ink? Blood soups? Rare types of Crabs? Undoubtedly a great many dishes that are Korean too. Wouldn't be surprised if Terry had a particular penchant for lamb, veal and rabbit meat, just due to what the flesh of a particularly tender (stereotypically pure) animal alludes to.

I think Terry would unapologetically have a penchant for old timey movies. The elegant. The classy. Old Hollywood stuff. (Maybe Japanese Retro Cinema, as a guilty pleasure?) I don't think most of modern cinema does too much for him, unless this is the 80's and a new slasher film just came out. I'm even prone to go as far and say he enjoys black and white movies in particular and always has. It would've been something, to an extent, still in fashion when he was young, so the habit remained and dragged on all throughout his life. Don't know why, but think someone lovesick and often violently obsessive and possessive as Terry would enjoy a good romance ranging anywhere from the 1930's timeline-wise to something like Bonnie and Clyde (1967) because he sees a certain ideal...in a pair of lovers shedding all inhibitions on a rampage and their eyes meeting in cathartic vigour before they're shot to death in a scene that goes on and on almost sadistically so. He doesn't know who he'd rather be; the people shooting or the couple dying. Maybe he just likes to watch.

Notwithstanding the likes of The Art of War and Machiavelli's Prince as his all go-to's alongside most major works of Philosophy you could think of, which he, yes, reads religiously in his downtime (We literally see him read Leviathan by Hobbs), I feel Terry would enjoy something gritty and gory like Blood Meridian (The Evening Redness in the West) by Cormac McCarthy. Why? A major theme is the warlike nature of man? Critics declaring they that their "first two attempts to read through Blood Meridian failed, because [they] flinched from the overwhelming carnage"? Book quotes like "You can find meanness in the least of creatures, but when God made man the Devil was at his elbow. A creature that can do anything". Yep. Outside of that, on a slightly milder, less morbid and dark note? Don't laugh, but Wuthering Heights. I think that lovers haunting each other from beyond the grave has something that would just do it for him in a weird sense, you know? There's a zeal to that manner of devotion. Not that he'd ever mention he enjoys that one.

Terry seemingly has no clear-cut schedule of when he sleeps and his habits are often confusing when observed. He can stay up all evening, being an absolute night owl, doing goodness knows what and still be up at an unusually early time, training, like nothing happened. How he does it and how he ticks like perfect clockwork is unclear, but it is like he has always had excess energy and an almost Spartan discipline and drive intermingled with the decedent where he easily pulls all-nighters and still starts his morning routine at five o'clock sharp, easily before everyone else, doing push-ups and warm up Kata alone, right before either heading out to Dynatox's HQ, to the dojo, taking a business call, depending of the era he's in --- regardless, Terry is meticulous and orderly, regardless if he's orderly from a jacuzzi or an office. Undoubtedly a habit brought back from the military that was just drilled into him.

Could've been his mother, if only by a little bit? I feel Terry's father was undoubtedly strict and despotic, riddled with huge expectations one needed to live up to by any means necessary. But then again, so could've his mother, in a sense. I think he loved them both for all their darkness and faults and authoritarian nature regardless because they were his and Terry hasn't had anyone who was his by blood since. Nobody he was tied to that way. I think he loved them even more when they died and a great many of the possible obsessiveness, controlling (yet ironically out of control?) tendencies and maybe even cruelty they showed him was compartmentalized. Now, they joined a deceased Ponytail in their role. They became someone he absorbed into themselves through the habits and the teachings they left him with. What if his dad used to call him Terry-boy? What if he wore his father's rings? What if he had his mother's smile? I can see that much. Now, he was their only living picture.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #terry silver headcanon #terry silver headcanons #character analysis