#cringe is dead rainbow eyes are alive

[strawbubbysugar]

Under cut for eye gore (ish) and also b(o)dy spoilers

#my art #concept art #so(u)l project #b(o)dy #eye gore #cringe is dead rainbow eyes are alive

[websterss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 𝟐/𝟒 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘  

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your plan to get the group's attention becomes too difficult of a task especially with Ethan leaving your bracelet in his dorms, forcing you to be stuck in his dorm until he returns. You start to wonder whether he'll keep you locked up forever until he presents you with the idea of going to a party for the night.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): A bit graphic, mentions of blood and dying, angst, implications again but no smut, sad flashback

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,005

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Ghost!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoy it! I based this off the song by Lizzy McAlpine - Doomsday

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Perhaps you had overestimated Ethan’s true intentions that night. Being pinned down both alive and dead brought on stress, pain, and ptsd, that wretched night scarred you. Flashes from the night he killed you remain true and gory. The color red turned into your most hated color of the rainbow. The second worst color; was brown. It was the color of his eyes. You used to adore having his attention, wanted nothing more than for him to swing that gaze on you with that charming grin he bore. Now you just wanted to erase every touch, conversation, and his whole existence. You knew the repercussions of attempting to bring justice for yourself, the whole obstacle of being invisible to the human eye; to your friends mostly. They couldn’t see you, and try as you wanted, they would not be able to hear you plead and beg for their attention, which you craved and yearned for the most. Anything but Ethan’s, anything but the heavy reminder of him stabbing you over and over with his knife. 

You were oblivious to his attack. You saw him coming, and you let him into your home, but you never saw his intentions. You would have guessed what the night would have potentially led to had it gone the way you hoped. A kiss, maybe even more, but not this. Not him, and the war he was battling behind his eyes, as he stared at you with a lost expression. 

-

“Hey Eth, do you want anything to drink? There’s water, and juice, a few sodas that I haven’t drunk yet. I’m not much of a beer person, but we can go to that bodega on the corner to get some if you want. I’m kind of craving some chips honestly.” You called out to him. Ethan had excused himself to use your bathroom. He needed to go after a few hours of trying to absorb every painstaking word from his econ textbook. You teased him for his class requirement. Why would anyone put themselves through such a class? Cause it was required for his degree of course. You shook your head as you opened your fridge up. The bright light from inside illuminates your face. Your brows pinch together when you get no response from him. Do guys usually take long to pee? 

“Ethan?” You glance at your fridge one more time before closing it. The second the door was closed you turned, and you wished you never did. “Ethan you okay in ther–” You cut yourself off seeing him stand there at the door of the bathroom. A black robe was now thrown over his clothes, and his hands dawned gloves; also black, but what made your heart sink was the knife he twiddled in his hands. His gaze was solely on the weapon. All you could see was his dark brown curls. “Ethan?” You take a small cautious step back. You kept trailing your eyes up and down his entire. Trying to find the butt of this really fucked up joke. There didn’t seem to be one though, just cautionary fear tingling up and down your spine. You had never really been in a flight or fight situation and you really didn’t want to be. You cringe when he tosses the mask onto the island between you both. The mask revealed all you needed and everything you were afraid of. Your breathing picked up as you stared down the all too familiar ghost face mask your friends warned you about. Your watery gaze rose to meet his detrimental stare. One look at his stance, the way his eyes burned with hate. The tight grip he had on the hilt. It screamed a man with the intent to do harm. And he would because your sweet dorky Ethan was gone. You didn’t recognize the intensity of the man before you. “W-What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna give you two options okay?” His voice was shaky. His jaw clenched. You sucked in a breath as he continued. You were on the verge of sobbing. “You can run, and you might get away with some injuries, or I can get it over with so you won’t suffer as much.” How generous…You look away, walking over to the farthest counter and placing your hands on it. You eye the pan you had left on top of the stove, before looking over your shoulder in distraught.

“W-What’s the third option?” You cry softly. 

“There isn’t one baby…My dad…” His eyes glistened. “He wouldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t be swayed, Y/n. I tried…” He looked down at the knife. “Believe me when I say that I tried. He wouldn’t let up though, he wants you dead.” 

“What?” You shook your head confused. “You tried? What the fuck does that mean? Why would he want me dead? W-We were just studying a few minutes ago Ethan. For your Econ exam. If you wanted to take a break you could have just said so, you didn’t have to go to such extensive measures!” You gesture to the robe hysterically. “Why are you doing this? I-I haven’t done anything to you. I haven’t done anything!” You breath hitches and cracks with every exhale and inhale of your cries. “I-I don’t wanna die Ethan…” You cower back against the door of your refrigerator. “Please, y-you’re my friend. You’re supposed to be my friend...”

“I know baby…” He closes his eyes shut. Then looks back up at you. “But I don’t have a choice. It was either you, or me.” He tilts his head. You go still, terror overtaking your face. You straighten, balling your left hand into a fist. The small pan was hidden behind your back, out of his sight. If he did notice you grab it, he didn’t mention it, maybe to allow you some peace of mind before everything went to shit.

You walk over to him slowly, cautiously, hoping not to trigger his fight response. “Will you give me something then, before you start?” You let out shakenly. 

“What?” His brows furrow.

You slowly reach up with your left and cup one side of his face before bringing his lips onto your own slowly. Your hand slid behind his head and curled your fingers into his locks, tugging him closer. Ethan nearly dropped the knife then and there. You caught him off guard. Might as well right, you thought. If you were going out then you’d go out believing and dreaming of what could have been. Maybe someday, somewhere right? Yeah right. Your breath hitches as you pull away, a tear slipping down your face as you pat his cheek gently. Then you swing the frying pan you grabbed into the side of his head before bolting down the hall to your room. Ethan's stance faltered. He stumbled back into the bathroom door, before falling onto his side. You had barely rushed past him when he tried to reach for your leg, but he missed. Not so safe to say he didn’t appreciate the sudden whack across the head since he thudded heavily towards your locked door. It took him about three powerful kicks before he got it open. You flinched by the window having it halfway lifted by the time he got in. He stood at the entrance, his eyes narrowed. He sighed heavily, as he shook his head. 

“Option one then…” He cracked his neck before he stormed towards you. You cried and fought him off, but the knife still got lodged into your stomach. You cried out in pain as you felt a sudden pinch snip at your wrist before he threw you across the room, you fell to the carpet, doing a horrible job at staying upright. He had gutted you well and efficiently enough to cause you to bleed tremendously. One thought and one thought only ran through your mind then and there. The door. The front door was the goal. The dream really. It was wishing thinking at this point honestly. But you began your crawl in agony. You grunt and whimper as your limbs and organs hurt with every movement and push you force your body to move forward. You couldn’t stay here, you had to get out, You just had to. 

Ethan begrudgingly sat at the edge of your bed. He rubbed against the side of his temple, his fingers drawn back with blood now smeared across his tips. Fuck, he thought. He looked over at you pushing yourself out the door with a struggle. How long he would let you do this for, was the real kicker. He thought it best to let you hope for a little longer. To let you continue ‘escaping’ as he assumed that is what he was looking at. He knew he said he wouldn’t let you suffer, but for some fucked up reason, he couldn’t let you die just yet. He wanted to enjoy a bit of your drive, your determination, and the sound of your voice regardless of the fact you were crying out in pain. He wanted to save it to memory for a few more minutes. You, just being alive. Just a little bit longer, he thought. He couldn’t get your kiss out of his head. Had you wanted to kiss him before? He hadn’t known, nor would he after this. He looked up again to find you out of his sight, had you moved that quickly? He strained his ears to be able to hear your faint grunts. You were slowly dying and he was only dragging it on further than he needed to. He placed his hands on his knees and stood up. He glanced around your room, letting his eyes roam over everything that screamed ‘you’. To the lights, to the fun colors on your bed, to the wall of pictures, to the now bloody carpet. He looked away, feeling a tinge of sadness for turning your most sacred place of comfort into a horror scene in the span of only a few minutes. He’d been in your home for over an hour, and it only took him minutes to ruin everything good in this little home you created for yourself. He walked over to the door, shifting his eyes to a picture you hung on the wall. It was of him and you. Bemused and silly is what he would describe the vibe he felt when he looked at it. Maybe someday, somewhere. That’s what he’d hope for. With one last glance at the pictures, he tapped it with his glove and moved into the hall. You had made some distance, but it was never going to be enough. He couldn’t keep watching you attempt to crawl your way to what you hoped would be your best chance of survival. He had to put you out of your misery. It would probably be the one good thing he could grant you. 

-

Any future attempt at trying to gain the attention of anyone other than Ethan was a no-go. The first few times he hadn’t suspected much when he brought along your bracelet. Your one and only means of transportation to and from places. He threatened to leave it in his room when he caught onto your intentions. You hated how much you begged and pleaded to be let out, be ‘taken out for some sunlight’ if you will. You had become reliant and dependable on Ethan as much as you despised it. He really had been your only source of sanity, without him as he smugly liked to remind you, you’d be stuck in his room. He even went ahead and left the bracelet under his pillow just to prove a point to you. You beat on his chest when he saw you storm up to him as he entered his room. You wanted nothing more than to slap that stupid smirk off his face, so you had, and he kissed you roughly, pinning you to his door.

It was routine, and he seemed to enjoy every minute of it, and you, you just had to go through with it or you’d end up cooped up in his room again waiting for him to return, just like today, on all the days. Halloween has been your absolute favorite and the asshole left your bracelet on his night stand. It mocked you as you sat on his bed staring off into space. You thought back to your Princess Diaries costume that was gonna be awesome, but now it sat in your closet, in your apartment that was covered in blood, your blood, which was now also a crime scene, so now you had nothing to wear but the clothes on your back. You lift your head as the door to his room opens. The devil himself walks in. Ethan approaches you, leaning down to give you a rough slow kiss. His hands cupping the back of your head to bring you closer. You sigh as the kiss goes on longer than needed. A scowl paints your face as he pulls back and bites back a smile. He straightens up and looks down at you with adoration.

“Get off your cute butt, we're going out.” That made you perk up. 

“Out? Where are we going?”

“A party. It’s Halloween remember, let’s go have fun.” He smirks seeing your face contort with confusion. You should have been thrilled, ecstatic even, but his sudden mood shift put you on edge. You noticed that after days turned into weeks. How he’d be nice and touchy feelings with you, then be an absolute sociopath the next. His sudden emotional outbursts scared you. Even dead he could still hurt you. “Come on, get up!” 

“I-I don’t get you.” You shook your head. You knew better than to fuel the flame he had tucked away at the moment, but you didn’t know how to deal with his change of emotions anymore, it was exhausting when he out of nowhere felt the need to play ‘Mr. Nice Guy’. You were over it.

“What do you mean?” He stopped looking for a long sleeve to look back at you. 

“You’ve kept me trapped in your room for five days, and now, all of a sudden you’re kissing me again, and being sweet? I don’t get you, Ethan.” You look away from him. Shrinking in place when he draws near. 

“I wanna take you out, what’s wrong with that?” His shoulders slumped. “You wanted out of here, you’re getting that.” He walked over to his nightstand and picked up the small gold chain. Mocking you with it as he dangled it out to you. Then proceeded to tuck it into his jeans. “Now get up, I’m supposed to meet Chad there. Unless you want me to leave you here.” You immediately got up from his bed.

“I don’t even have anything to wear.” You gesture to your shirt and jeans that you’ve been wearing since you showed up. The red sneakers are your signature trademark. The group used to find it endearing. You wondered if they were missing you right about now. 

“Why should it matter, no one can see you anyway?” Ethan immediately tensed seeing your face fall. “I didn’t mean it like that…look how about we- we could ya know…” He trailed off then met eyes with his white bedsheets then stilled. You watched wearily and then curiously as he stripped his bed of his flat sheet. Who the hell owned a flat sheet? 

“What's with the sheet?” You raise a brow in question.

“Would this even work? I mean you couldn’t even touch your bracelet. It just went right through you.” He eyed the sheet and then walked over to you. “Can I?” He gestured to you then the bed linen in his hands. He took quick notice of your hesitance. “Just trust me.” He waved your doubts away. His words made you laugh out loud causing him to grow still. 

“Says my murderer…” You roll your eyes.

“Humor me then.” He grunts then before you can protest he throws the linen over your head and watches it drape over your frame. When it remained over you, his heart began picking up. “Holy…shit!” He backed up, his hands frozen in mid-air as he surveilled you from head to toe. “No fucking way that worked. Holy shit!” You heard him breathe out aloud. What was he so shocked about?

“I can’t see anything.” He couldn’t see it but he imagined you were pouting. 

“Oh right, sorry. Here take it off!” He pulled on the sheet until you came back into his view. Your hair was in disarray. Wild and full of static. A cute pout on your lips as you stared at him. Observing as he dug out a pocket knife and cut into the fabric. Two eyes holes from what you could tell, and then he was turning back to you, reaching forward to fix some crazy strands. The kiss placed on your lips caught you by surprise. He smiled at you and then went to throw the flat sheet over your head again. He adjusted it until your eyes were directly over the two holes he made. You could see out of it now. “Oh my god, you look fucking cool!” He ushered you to his thin mirror. What you didn’t come to realize soon enough was that the linen over your body did not go through you. Your eyes slowly widened as you began to grasp what this would mean for you. People would be able to see you. 

“Holy shit…” You gasped as you stared back at your reflection. You had a reflection. You couldn’t see your eyes, but you could see the very visible bed sheet that was placed over your frame. “Holy fucking shit!” You exclaim, excitingly. You knew what this entailed, but you realized that Ethan had yet to understand why you were so excited about the sheet being placed over you and why it didn’t phase through you like the bracelet had. You figured that he figured you were only freaking out because he thought you thought this was cool. It was, that was no lie, but you were hopeful again. 

“No one will think twice about it.” Ethan laughed at your reaction.

“It worked!” You extend your arms out and do a little spin. 

“It’s fitting honestly going as a ghost, I mean who’s gonna question the girl with a sheet draped over her head?” He chuckled. He nodded in agreement. You were though, a ghost and all. Dead or costume didn’t change that. Not one bit. You hadn’t known why you let your intrusive thoughts win in the moment. Perhaps you rushed towards him because you wanted to express how you were feeling and needed an outlet. Needing to show Ethan just how happy you felt, though you knew you had acted in such a way because your plan to try and find a way to communicate with your friends was back on track, and Ethan was none the wiser about it. You had shed the sheet and brought his lips onto yours. This had been the second time now that your initiated kiss had caught him off guard, but he welcomed the affection nonetheless. He walked the both of you backward until he fell back onto the bed, taking you down with him as the kiss grew heated and rougher. You stayed on top until he had flipped you both. The hungry gaze behind his eyes knew you were gonna be a little late for the party, but you hadn’t really been too worried about it. 

-

The walk to the frat house had been interesting. You kept turning your head towards every wandering eye that landed on you and Ethan. You bet you both looked like quite the pair. A sheeted ghost and a cardboard knight. You had judged Ethan’s look with love and some honesty. You still didn’t get it when it had to explain to you who he was. He went into detail about his inspiration from the movie Murder Party. A movie you had no idea existed until he showed you a scene in which the character Ethan was being tonight wore said costume. It felt like trivia. 

When you both walked through the door. You were both immersed in the chaos and music blasting through a speaker somewhere in the house. Bodies, bodies, and bodies all around, grinding, talking, drinking, and of course the occasional hookup. You were feeling a bit better than you and Ethan had your own pre-hookup before arriving. You knew better than to let your heart lead, but you couldn’t help the swarm of butterflies in your stomach when he reached behind him, extending his hand out for you to grab, and you did, allowing him to lead the way around the various of party goers fully and barely intoxicated. It wasn’t long until Ethan had found Chad. And boy were you not prepared for him to finally see you. See your ghost costume. 

“And who is this unlively thing?” Chad joked but teasingly nudged Ethan over and over. You had barely registered Chad’s faint words of ‘That’s my boy’ and ‘I told you, full snack baby!’ before he turned his attention back onto you. “What’s your name sweetheart?” Oh his smile, his beautiful grin that you had missed having be directed at you. 

“This is Wyen!” Ethan introduced you. You were glad they couldn’t see the questionable expression you gave under the sheet for the very questionable name he gave you. What the fuck Ethan?

“Wyen?” Chad's brows pinched together in question as well. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with such a unique name.” He shook his head.

“Yeah…she gets that a lot, just think of her name as the letters Y and N and you’ll be fine.” Ethan waved it off. 

“Why would I–” Chad sputtered in confusion. Then turned to you. “What? Is he messing with me? Please tell me he’s fucking with me?” Chad laughed your way. You shook your head and said. 

“No, if only you knew though.” You said. Ethan eyed you, but Chad hadn’t heard you one bit. 

“Is she good?” Chad leaned over to Ethan, as he took note of your lack of responses. “She's not…you know.” He gestured to his ears.

“Deaf? Oh no, yeah she’s fine, she’s just staying in character tonight. Halloween is kind of her favorite holiday.” You wanted to slap him right then and there, so you did. You reached forward and smacked him. Chad found your interactions amusing.

“Ahh okay. Well apologies, ole friendly ghost. I was in the dark of such information, but I respect your wishes to continue to haunt our youth in silence!” Chad placed a hand over his naked chest. You breathe a laugh aloud, but you realize your laugh didn’t reach his ears. It made you tear up a bit, but you concluded that the shake of your shoulders was enough for him to register you did in fact find his teasing funny because his head was thrown back as he laughed. God you had missed him. You tipped your chin down and curtsied, adding to the bit he was doing. “She’s funny too. I like you already.” He pointed at you. “Well, Ghostette and Mr. Landry, enjoy yourselves, not too much of course, but get drunk, and make out. I’m gonna go see where the girls are alright, find me if anything goes wrong okay? Anything. That goes for you too Wyen. Find me for anything!” With that, he tapped Ethan’s cardboard chest in what you assumed was approval and walked in the opposite direction. You scoff knowing that Chad considered you to be Ethan’s conquest for tonight. It looked like trying to gain their attention was going to be harder than you expected...especially since Ethan was hesitant to let you out of his sights now.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry series #writings by juls #my gif

[emocl0wnpp]

Time to introduce one of my other creepypasta ocs,Alma! :D

(Featuring some old art cuz i don't draw them enough💀💀)

◇Basic info◇

(Okay i actually forgot their birthname💀 my bad)

Name: Alma

Birthdate: 31st of December,2008

Age(before death): 28

Gender: non-binary(biologically female if it matters to anyone)

Pronouns: they/them

Sexuality: lesbian

Nationality: Chinese, Norwegian

Height: 176cm/5'7

Personality: laid back, cool, easy going, loyal, basically Rainbow Dash in a different universe-

Other info i can't categorize-

Went through a lot of alt styles,but stuck with being punk for the longest time

Their mother was Chinese and their father was Norwegian

Lived in Norway until they were 15,which is when their parents got divorced and they moved to britain with their mother and grandma

The name "Alma" came from a nickname Claws gave them when they were teens. Short summary: their friendship started out awkwardly by Claws giving them a green apple,and them giving her their chocolate bar..this went on for a few months until they actually became friends. Because of this whole "apple trading" thing,Claws gave them the nickname "Alma" which means apple in hungarian..and they loved it so much they stuck with it (and it's an actual name too!)

Never really fit in with the other kids...not like they wanted to anyway,kids were cruel back then yk

BEST FRIENDS WITH CLAWS SINCE HIGHSCHOOL!!! (totally didn't have an undying crush on her for years...doomed yuri my love </3)

Religious trauma. (Thanks daddy dearest)

During their time alive,they had albinism(the reason why they have white in their hair and red eyes)

Dyed their hair dark blue all the time

Lost their right eye and arm in a camping accident

Despite their "tough looks" they're probably the nicest fella around

Since they and Claws were besties as human,her death BROKE Alma

They visited her grave every day until they met their fate as well (again..doomed yuri my love </3)

After their death they became a ghost and now haunt the cemetary they were buried in

Cause and date of death:

Because cringe culture is dead, the loveable Jeff the Killer got Alma in the cementary

Date: sometime during 2008

Since Alma didn't change much, time for some fun and not so fun facts:

Keeps the cementary safe and peaceful for the other ghostly beings, and they're kind of the "cool older sibling" for the ghost kids there

Drags anyone under the ground if they disturb the peace

Alma's biggest dream was to become a rockstar

Since they met their fate early on,now they usually just preform in pubs in the Underworld with their beloved guitar

Owns a shit ton of rock,metal,punk, ect. band merch, especially My Chemical Romance merch (I wish💀)

Probably met Gerard Way

The "cool aunt" of Claws' kids..honestly they're the "cool aunt" of all of their friends kids-

Had a very active MySpace account

Would and will treat everyone younger than them as a little sibling

<women3

Didn't like the fact that Claws and Jack were together at first,especially considerint the stuff poor Claws went through with her ex...but later on they and Jack became sort of friends

The most loyal ghost friend anyone could ask for

Their wife's name is Rina(she's the oc of one of my friends) and they love her very much,more than anything else in the world<3

I'll probably add more later on but sadly Alma got forgotten for quite some time so i'm still working on them :")

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #oc #art #artists on tumblr #digital art #oc info #oc bio #idk what else to tag

[sumikomitsuzu]

[ This is a character I have made up myself- Sumiko Mitsuzu- the image is how I portray her however with more clothes 😂 this is a snippet of what I’m starting please bare with me nothing has been proof read]

Everything was new to her. As far as she was concerned due to the perish of Gyokko and Hantengu she had been shifted ranks. Thankfully she’d made it to fourth however greedily she craved to take over Akaza’s place maybe even Doma’s. The joy that would spread through her body if she was to take Doma’s place, how she snickered at the image. A female taking his position at that. Oh the deep joy she’d experience. Honestly Doma mentally still acted like a child sometimes, depending on her mood she either couldn’t be bothered with it or she loved having the company and not so serious side of things. She just never ever spent time with Doma and Akaza together, that was a one way ticket to hell. As much as she was a demon and some would say she was part of hell anyway. That hell was a total utter mayhem. She was surprised they hadn’t killed each other if it had been possible or that Muzan hadn’t had enough of them.

Sumiko came to her senses as the ding from the biwa echoed in her ears. Summoned once again, what was it this time? Had another been killed? Surely not, the ranks weren’t slipping that rapidly were they?

The dark haired female looked around, just her on the platform. Well, her and Nakime who sat upon her platform as quiet as ever. Sumiko could have convinced herself that Nakime couldn’t talk she did that little of it. Why, she didn’t know, nor did it interest her that much to ponder or question Nakime herself.

“What now…don’t tell me someone’s dead” huffed the dark haired demon. Mostly to herself it wasn’t like she’d get a reply.

“Kon'nichiwa Sumiko!” The voice cheerfully bellowed out, almost echoing through the empty open space.

Her one crimson red and one sapphire blue eye rolled, she was pretty sure they were in the back of her head. It was him. Why did he always appear first? Obviously her silence fuelled him on to continue his conversation.

“I’m so glad to see you well and alive” he gushed, his rainbow eyes scanning her body mischievously.

Her eyes pinned on him, she could feel his gaze. It was heavy and made her cringe slightly inside.

“You didn’t actually think I’d allow myself to be killed Doma…now I’m hurt that you don’t think I have the capability to take care of myself” she feigned her hurt, placing her hand upon her chest, a gentle pout gracing her lips.

Ding. That could only mean someone else was here. Her eyes looked around rapidly before landing on Akaza. A smile graced her lips, he was almost like a big brother.

“Akaza!” Sumiko exclaimed.

She could see Doma’s pout behind Akaza, obviously hurt the attention was no longer solely on him. However at least Akaza didn’t tease her.

“Sumiko!” Akaza smiled, glad to see she hadn’t been harmed. He knew fine well she could look after herself but the worry was always there. Especially with Gyokko, Hantengu, Daki and Gyutaro being eliminated. After so long of nothing changing, it was crashing down abruptly.

Sumiko pranced forward softly, almost silently. One of her best traits when sneaking up on unknowing victims. They never heard her and if they had they would have heard too late.

Her arms wrapped tightly around Akaza, pinning his arms down at his sides.

“It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever…” Sumiko sighed. Her eyes looking up at him. After all she was only 5’4.

“Apologises but I think we’ve all been busy…you know…demon slayers, blue spider lily…” he muttered out.

“Ah yes, we really gotta step up our game. Can’t we all just attack them. Pluck them off one by one” she smiled mischievously.

Ding.

Tilting her head backwards she looked at Muzan upside down. Her grip on Akaza still there. She knew who it was. The rooms atmosphere shifted. It was heavy and almost ominous.

Those red eyes glared down upon them all as if they weren’t worth his time. It bugged her. If it wasn’t for them he’d have been long gone. Well in her opinion of course.

“Sir…” she began.

Dark eyes narrowing upon her as she spoke. His eyes burned holes in her body almost. It made her uneasy most of the times,he was just always so darn serious.

“I don’t recall asking you to speak…” Muzan began.

Sumiko huffed, he was always much nicer with her at least. Anyone else would have their head off already. Maybe it was because she’d yet to reach her optimal power or maybe it was her personality. Who knew?

Letting go of Akaza she flopped to her backside, looking at him properly. Sideways she could see Doma crawl forward towards her. Settling beside her he threw her a sneaky smirk.

One day she was gonna use her sharp charcoal black and flame coloured horns to pierce him but why would she risk getting blood on them and her hair for that matter.

“The reason behind today…I wanted to gather my top four upper ranks. Yous have yet to fail me in battle. However this boy…this demon slayer with the hanafuda earrings and his demon sister…the threat is becoming more of an annoyance and I do not wish for them to gather more time and strength to attack us. The demon sister. She has conquered the sun. She has been chosen and I must consume her!” he instructed to his upper ranks.

Sumiko understood that the meeting needed a more serious addressing, her eyes taking in a side eye of Doma and Akaza. Reading their expressions and feeding off their feelings to understand what she herself had to replicate.

What did this mean? Did they have to fight? The dark haired female demon loved fighting. The thrill, using her tactics. Learning and adjusting to the enemy’s attacks. To see their face once she’d defeated them, it was heaven for her hell. The only downfall she had was she hadn’t mastered her own abilities, so had no idea how far they stretched neither did anyone else. Secretly she’d been testing them out behind closed doors. As much as she wanted to climb the ranks she was scared incase Muzan used her or wanted to consume her. Kokushibo had been great assisting. Despondently she could never recall her past life, however one thing that followed her into her demon form was the red mark between her forehead. It was Kokushibo himself who questioned her but nothing came to her. However there were familiarities in words he spoke. Flame breathing, thunder breathing and one that caused her body to freeze in reaction Hinokami Kagura.

Battling herself she found she could manipulate certain styles, but fire seemed to be more prominent and easier for her to conquer.

“I do apologise myself…hand on heart. I should be doing better at retrieving the blue spider lily” Doma announced, placing his slender hand on his chest.

Heart his ass. He didn’t have one.

Akaza bowed, head staring at the floor beneath his feet. So loyal, Muzan didn’t deserve how well Akaza performed or submitted to him.

“I have failed. My lord, I have not fulfilled my duties as upper rank three and have yet to kill that boy along with retrieving the blue spider lily” he admitted.

Sumiko innocently twiddled her fingers, she hadn’t been instructed to kill the boy yet so she couldn’t apologise for that. She felt she had to say something though it was only fair since the rest showed up.

“We all have failed in locating the blue spider lily, however I did find some specific information in my travels” her voice almost whispered. Informing Muzan of this information without having full concrete proof and intel she hadn’t brought it forward in fear it didn’t check out.

Muzan’s dark gaze concentrated on her within seconds. What could she possibly know?

“Speak!” He demanded.

Her eyes snapped up, gulping down the air stuck in her throat.

“The flower…the blue spider lily. The reason we may not be able to have yet retrieved it yet seems…it…it’s” stammering, she could feel his gaze it was too intense that it was controlling her ability to form words.

“Spit it out Sumiko” he bellowed out.

It didn’t help that all eyes were on her, waiting.

“The flower. It’s only blooms during the day. And only for several days in the year” she managed. Her gaze faltering downwards in fear to see his reaction.

Silence.

Deadly silence. If a tear was to fall it would have been heard.

“Leave!” Muzans voice echoed out causing Sumiko to look up. Pinpointing her gaze upon Muzan’s finger which directly pointed at her.

“You stay!” He instructed.

Just like that, within milliseconds everyone was gone. Deep down her heart if it could beat it would be in her mouth. She had no one to defend her. Akaza was gone. As much as they loved each other like brother and sister, Akaza’s loyalty to Muzan never faltered.

“Sumiko…” dark and heavy yet velvety the voice of her lord spoke her name.

Shyly her eyes gazed to her lord, her dark hair cascading around her- hiding the trembles in her body. The eye contact that was maintained between the pair had her wishing to cower away to nothing. Regretting even opening her mouth in the first place.

“Lord Muzan” she replied softly, a small gentle nod she directed towards him, her hands clasping together as she fiddled with the nails on her fingers.

Who knew a demon could still get nervous and fear the unknown to come. He was unpredictable, his mood was never the same and could never be deciphered.

Ding.

The air whistled past her exposed flesh on her arms as the floor beneath her gave way and she found herself upon a new platform.

Fear. Dread. Panic.

The ground she was kneeled upon was the same platform as Muzan. She dared to be situated on the same platform as him.

Would she be extinguished?

#muzan kibutsuji #demon slayer muzan #demon slayer #muzan x oc #upper ranks #demons #Akaza #doma

[malereader-inserts]

Chamber of Reflection

Fandom: BBC Sherlock Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Male!Reader Summary: Oh dearest Sherlock, are you ready to move on? Word Count: 2,329 Warning: Blood and Death

“I don’t believe in love.”

You scoff out a laughter before turning to look at them, your smile dropped as you looked at them incredulously, “You’re kidding me right?”

“No?” They questioned back as if it was totally obvious because that’s how they were as a person, “I just don’t believe in love.”

“Impossible,” You shake your head, “Everyone believes in love, you, you’re different. You believe you don’t deserve love. That’s a whole different thing.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Same thing.”

“Absolutely not, Sherlock,” You folded your arms over your chest, “Your mother loves you, that’s family love. John loves you, that’s platonic love. I love you.”

“What type of love is that?”

“Figure it out, smartass.”

He never really figured it out.

Sherlock was smart, but he’s dumb at the same time. 

He could rattle your ear off with different topics that he was interested in. He could give you a rundown about who you are and he probably knew you better than you knew yourself. But, give him a topic on a basic thing - he’ll malfunction. 

“The planets? Sherlock, surely you couldn’t have deleted that out your head.”

“You underestimate me, (Y/n).”

“Clearly,” You replied dryly, rolling your eyes, “But, I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about what basic stuff you’ve decided to ignore or have deleted from your so-called hardware.”

“At least you’re able to keep up with me,” Sherlock comments as you give yourself a little nod to the side as acknowledgement.

“Well, what is it?”

“Talk to me more about love, please.”

You narrow your eye at him, tilting your head to the side for a second, you were suspicious of his intention before sighing and tending to his question - after all, it is rare to have Sherlock say please, it’s not an opportunity to pass up.

“How desperate must you be for this information as you did say please.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“Alright,” you had your hands up in defence, “Well, love is different to each person and I can’t really help you that much Sherlock because it’s a learning process and it’ll be brutal. In a...somewhat good way.”

“That doesn’t explain anything at all!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head, “When you love someone, you just kinda know.”

“Right.”

“And...”

“Well, spit it out.”

You give him a soft smile, almost as if you knew something he didn’t know. Like you had to bit your tongue and refuse to tell him. He looks at your eyes, there is a glint of sadness, though he doesn’t comment on it as he allows you to speak.

“Love is going to ruin you someday, it doesn't matter if you don't believe in love, it doesn't matter if you think that you don't have the capacity to love someone, nothing matters. What matter is that one day you will fall in love and fall so hard that it will ruin you to the point that you will not be able to think correctly, to the point that your illness and cure both will be the love of your life, love will ruin you to the point you will look for sanity in insanity.”

“Back again so soon, Sherlock?”

He doesn’t answer you as he stands across from where you had claimed as your spot, you tilt your head in confusion at his silence, Sherlock loves to talk so why isn’t he talking. 

“Must be a rough day then, ay Sherlock?” You continue to talk, “I don’t blame you, having a fight with your best friend and then your brother being annoying as ever - Mycroft just doesn’t shut up.”

“How do you know about my day, this is the first time I’ve seen you this week?” Sherlock questions.

You knitted your eyebrows together, your lips pursed together, as you give him room to think before interrupting.

“When will you come to the terms that you’re the one who killed me?”

At that moment, Sherlock stops. If a record of music was playing then it did the scratching halt. Sherlock looks over to your way, he didn’t realise that at some point he had stopped looking at you, you sat there with your arms crossed over your chest.

“You’re not dead.”

“Not in your mind palace, Sherlock,” You say, you look at your surrounding, “In here, I’m very much...alive.”

“You’re not dead,” Sherlock stammers out, blinking frantically, “You’re here, in front of me.”

You dismissed his words, “Funny, each time you come to talk to me, we’re in the same room you killed me in. I have to give you props, though, you really have memorised the room I died.”

“It was your house.”

“Yeah!” You snapped your finger and pointed to him, “You remembered, I’m slightly touched.”

“You can’t be dead.”

“And we’re back to denial,” You hummed, sitting comfortably on the edge of the sink, “Look around you Sherlock, you’re just blocking and deleting things out.”

“No, I am not.”

“Look at the blood, Sherlock.”

Your voice was firm as he shuts his eyes, hoping you had calm down because he could clearly hear anger behind the words you spat. Sherlock opens his eyes and there, he saw the full picture. 

You sat on the sink of the kitchen, behind you were the windows and adjacent to your head was cabinets. Both were painted with the splatter of blood. He looked at your appearance, there was red upon your hands and your clothes...

Your clothes, every time he had visited you, you were still in the same clothes - he wouldn’t have mentioned anything to you about it, he knows from you and John that pointing stuff out can be offensive. 

Your clothes, they were drenched in blood - your blood. 

“Look me in the eyes, Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock doesn’t want to, he wants to rearrange the whole scenario and pretend that everything was rainbows and happy, yet he looked at you. He stared deep into your eyes and had to stop himself from gagging at the scene.

There was a bullet hole at your forehead, dried blood seems to drip from the wound when it was fresh. 

“Don’t you remember Sherlock?” You asked, looking at him, “You killed, but at what cost?”

“I-”

“I mean, I know why you killed me, after all, I’m just living in your head so I get to know about what you’re thinking and all. But, I really want to hear it from your own mouth.”

Sherlock felt like he was stuck in this nightmare because essentially he was, he couldn’t just snap back into reality or wake up from his sleep. He felt like you had restraints on him and he’s unable to breakthrough.

“I killed you...” He murmurs as you lean forward, “I killed you because I loved you.”

You chuckled, softly, “Love, it makes you do real crazy things.”

See, Sherlock kept you in his head because you were important to him. You were his first and only love, you and Sherlock have known each other since primary school. You had been his only friend, even if he kept pushing you away. 

You were the only one who could keep up with his smarts and his weird little thinking, but you were by his side - his first best friend. The man he loved. When the two of you got into high school, you and him were often seen together. You humanised Sherlock, back then he understood what it means to feel.

He was human back then, not this sociopathic man that he grew up to be. Sherlock loved you, just like you loved him. Even if you never really said anything out loud, he knew that you loved him with the way you grabbed him by his wrist and leading him away, it was the soft smile, gentle looks and caring words. 

He wished he was able to spend a little longer being your boyfriend because you two managed fess up your feelings when you were eighteen. You were about to go to University, away from Sherlock. He wished he had mustered the courage to ask you to be his boyfriend years before.

“Sherlock, I’m not mad that you killed me.”

Sherlock snapped back into his room with you, you looked at him with the same caring eyes he grew up with, he tilts his head in confusion, he’s missing something in this memory - did he block it out or did he deleted it forever?

“They would have killed me anyway, I don’t have a life further than this Sherlock, both you and I know this,” He listens to your tender voice carefully, you’re no longer angry at him just angry that Sherlock refuses to move on, “You and I did it, Sherlock, you framed the murder perfectly on them.”

Them.

Who was them?

Sherlock looks at you before he hurled himself into the memory.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m quite aware of that Sherlock!”

Sherlock stands by the doorway of the kitchen, it’s messy as you sat on the sink, lifting your shirt to see the wound. You cringed, even Sherlock couldn’t remember what had happened to make you look like this and losing blood rapidly.

“You’re being remarkably calm about this.”

“Thanks, it’s the shock. Give me fifteen minutes, the screaming will happen,” You say, pulling your shirt down and you looking at your boyfriend.

“We need to take you to the hospital.”

“Absolutely not, Sherlock, if they found out I went there. They’ll kill me!”

“They’ll kill you either way!” Sherlock pressed on, “Please, there must be some other way.” 

“You kill me,” You said almost immediately, you looked at him with sharp eyes.

“No, (Y/n), no, are you an idiot?” Sherlock hissed at you, “There is another way, we just have to think about it.”

“We don’t have time to think, Sherlock,” You admitted, “They kill me, they’ll hind the evidence and go live another day, free, do you want that for me?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock was offended that you would suggest that, “I can prove that they kill you, I can do it - you can trust me.”

“I trust you, Sher,” You say, desperate and lovingly, “But, wouldn’t it be better to frame them?”

Sherlock stood there, weighing out the pros and cons in your thinking. Perhaps it was clouded, his judgement as he sees you point out a gun on the kitchen table and reminding him to use a glove so they don’t pick up any of his fingerprints. 

What was going through Sherlock’s mind? He wouldn’t be able to tell you, because when he aimed the gun at you there was no thought behind his eyes. You swallowed nervously.

“Hey, Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Just know I love you, and I will never hold it against you.” 

“I know.”

“Sherlock?” He looks back at you, “Oh, good, you’re responsive.”

“I never said I love you.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” you laughed, he pretends that it didn’t slightly hurt him, “You think I didn’t know?”

Sherlock looked down then back up at you, you were back in clean clothes and the surrounding of your kitchen was clean. Though, you didn’t look phased. 

“I mean-”

You raised an eyebrow, “You did at least frame them right? My parents?”

Sherlock knitted his eyebrows, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock looks at you, watches you breathe in and out, there was a clear disappointment and you had stopped intensely watching him. You turn to look back at him, he was surprised to see you smile at him as you clapped your hand.

“Well, I’m not going to shy away from saying that I am disappointed, perhaps that’s why you blocked out the memory,” You spoke, crossing your arms.

“I can fix it!”

“Can you?”

“I made a name for myself, (Y/n), Mycroft can help me as well as Craig-”

“Greg-”

“Whatever, and we can finally bring you justice, maybe you could be at peace.”

“It’s not me that I’m concern for peace, Sherlock, you’re the one who keeps me alive in your mind palace,” You admitted as you lay down the reality of Sherlock, “It’s time to let me go. The question is: Are you ready?”

Mycroft comes knocking at the door, he was greeted by John.

“Sherlock is busy,” John says from his armchair as Mycroft enters without a proper invite. 

Mycroft looks around the room before stopping at the bookshelves, a picture frame that was permanently situated as face down was now standing, showing the picture that was kept hidden from the world.

Mycroft makes his way towards it as John looks at him.

“Sherlock put it up yesterday, along with a new case.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Mycroft leered, softly smiling to himself, “What’s the case about?”

“The murder of (Y/n) (L/n), Sherlock is convinced that it wasn’t suicide, though I don’t know how he knows about the case, that was closed over a decade ago - at least that’s was Lestrade said.”

“Watson, do you know who is standing next to Sherlock in this picture?”

John looked at the picture, he could recognise Sherlock when he was younger. he still had the curls and bright blue eyes, standing straight up, next to him was a boy smiling and had his arm over the sociopath’s shoulder - though back then, you could hardly call Sherlock a sociopath.

“No?”

“That is (Y/n) (L/n),” Mycroft says as John’s eyebrow raised up, “He is the reason why Sherlock snapped and changed in his behaviour. His death caused Sherlock to lose his pathway.”

“He means a lot to Sherlock?”

“Well, he is the only person Sherlock truly love romantically. Perhaps the first and love of Sherlock.”

“Sherlock loved him?”

“He still does, it’s why he’s reopening this case because dear Watson, between us two and Sherlock. This is not a case to solve a murder, this is to frame someone of murder and we’re going to help him.”

#sherlock BBC #sherlock imagine #sherlock bbc imagine #sherlock holmes x male reader #x male reader #personal favourite

[queenof-literature]

A Sick Wild Child - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Cold

Aaaand we're back! Sorry for the long wait, college is wack.

Uhh big angst warning for this chapter. I can't really tell if this is angstier than the rest of the chapters? But the warning is there.

As I said earlier, I am going to be rewriting this fic as I add to it. Nothing major will change, but I kinda cringe a little when I read back on it because I feel like my style has developed more as I've written.

Ao3 Link:

I hope y'all enjoy!

The rustling of the leaves above were the loudest sound Warriors heard outside camp. Between the soft snores of his companions, the distant flowing stream, and the cackling of the fire, perhaps he should have let himself relax, if only a little. Being as rigid as a board would do no one any good if monsters came, yet Warriors could not force himself to relax. Strained eyes jumped between the other Links, the world outside their overhang, and the only other two not resting.

Whatever allowed Wild to be semi-coherent hours ago had faded as night went on, stuttering chest still rising and falling roughly. 

Twilight hadn’t left Wild’s side, still holding tightly to the boy’s clammy hand. Warriors let out a sigh, trying to force some tension from his shoulders as he stood, slowly making his way over. 

“You need to get some sleep.” Warriors settled next to him, still keeping a sharp ear out for potential monsters. He had made the mistake of letting down his guard, and he wouldn’t do it again.

“I’ll sleep after your watch.” Twilight was lying, and they both knew it.

“You make fun of Time for taking on too much, but you’re the same damn way.” Warriors huffed.

“Pot, meet kettle.” Twilight snarked and Warriors rolled his eyes at yet another dumb country metaphor. “Besides, be careful what you say, Old Man is probably listening.”

“It’d be hard not to with how loud you two are.” A voice said from Time’s bedroll.

“Sorry, Time.” Warriors and Twilight spoke in unison, chuckling lightly when they heard a tired sigh and grumbling.

“Any signs of Wild waking up again?” Warriors nodded towards Wild’s restless form, keeping his voice far lower.

“Nah. I wouldn’t be so worried if he was getting some actual sleep.” As if sensing his name Wild shifted once again, letting out unidentifiable croaks and murmurs. Twilight stroked his thumb across the back of Wild’s pale hand in an attempt to soothe him once more.

“Yeah…” Warriors spoke awkwardly. “The worst will be over soon, then he’ll be able to start healing. Hylia knows Legend and Hyrule are going to shove a rainbow of potions down his gullet when he can handle it.” Warriors joked, feeling success at the small chuckle he received from the other young man.

“I know he’ll be okay, but…” Twilight trailed off, looking down once more at his protege

“Yeah, it’s hard to see him like this.” Warriors nodded.

“Well yeah but I’m worried for what comes after.” Twilight’s eyes still hadn’t met his.

“What do you mean?”

“When he comes to, how much of these nightmares is he going to remember? Some are fake, but his brain is already… addled.” Twilight said for lack of a better word.

“You’re worried about the memories.” Warriors understood now.

“Yeah. He doesn’t remember anything besides a few memories, I’m worried the real ones will mix with the fake ones and just confuse him more.” Warriors hadn’t even thought of that.

“He’ll be okay once he’s aware enough to talk them through, that’s always seemed to help him in the past.” Warriors reassured, clamping a head on his companion’s shoulder. “I know there’s a lot in the air right now, but we need to focus on the now. We’ll deal with the future when we get there.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks War.” Twilight smiled at his companion, finallying meeting his eyes. Both settled in against the wall, taking comfort in the other’s presence. 

~

Cold, scared, confused. Fear struck his heart when he felt the familiar emotions, among others he couldn’t name. His lungs spasmed, and he felt himself cough roughly. Drowning… was he drowning? He didn’t feel wet, water meant drowning… right? Something warm and gentle slid across his hand and he shivered. What was touching him? Was it bad?

No… cold was bad, warm was good, or so he thinks. Yes that seems right. And what was touching him was warm so he could trust it. Yeah, that logic made sense.

Something was wrong though, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. This wasn’t normal. He tried to open his eyes. Wait, when did those get there? He had a body, and bodies had names. Did he have a name? Whatever was blocking his eyes refused to budge, or perhaps it wasn’t even trying. He felt his ears flicker when a noise drew close to him, and the warmth caressing his hand paused. No, don’t stop! He cried out, or he thought he did.

The warmth moved from his hand, allowing the cold to flood back, and he tried to cry out, he wanted to be warm he didn’t want to be cold. He relaxed once more when the warmth moved under his eye, under his eye… his cheek. The hand pushed into the skin of his cheek softly, and he tried to focus on what he heard above him, but he couldn’t push down his panic. What was his name? Everyone had a name, what was his name?

The warmth, which he now recognized as a hand, pushed his cheek with more intent, the noises growing louder. But he couldn’t focus on that, he could only focus on the empty space where his name, his very identity should be. What was his name? Everything would be okay if he could just remember his damn name-

“Wild?” A voice echoed above him, snapping him back from his spiral. Wild… that didn’t sound quite right, but it certainly didn’t sound wrong, and he clinged to it. Wild, Wild, Wild. That was him! 

“Wild?” Another voice asked, and Wild was sure it was a different one. The hand patted his cheek, and Wild felt his nose scrunch. He didn’t like that.

 “Wild? Are you awake? Can you open your eyes?” Wild’s ears perked at the tone, an odd mix of hope and concern. Now out of his spiral, Wild tried once more to open his eyes. Shutting them tightly once more when light assaulted his vision. He felt his head being turned, vertigo crashing into him, only relaxing when his nose brushed against something slightly course but soft.

“Try again.” The voice coaxed. Wild was skeptical, but did as he was told. With great strength, Wild peeled open his eyes. Even after his eyelids revealed the world around him he couldn’t see right away, it took a while for his vision to clear, yet the voice never grew impatient. He felt heat to his back, and it felt like a fire. Maybe that’s what was so bright. After the fuzziness finally faded, Wild could see he was facing a chest, but it looked odd. There was something missing around the shoulders...

“There he is.” The other voice proclaimed quietly.

“How are you feeling, Cub?” Wild felt the chest he was facing vibrate as the person spoke. Cub… cub.

“Tw’ligh?” Wild slurred, wincing at the dryness of his throat.

“Yeah, Cub.” Wild looked up at the face above him, who looked positively elated for some reason. Wild finally realized why the man looked so off, the usual pelt wrapped around his shoulders was gone. Wild glanced around, eyes slow and fluttering. After looking down he finally realized it was covering him instead. 

Wild tried to blink away the fog. That wasn’t right, this was Twilight’s pelt. Oh no, did Wild steal it? That wasn’t very nice…   

“Wild?” The other voice washed over him once more, and Wild realized it had probably been a while since he had responded.

“War?” Wild recognized the bright blue scarf, and the eyes that matched. The fog was slowly receding from his mind, but annoyingly stuck around the edges.

“That’s me.” Warriors confirmed with a fond smirk. “How are ya feeling?”

Wild didn’t know how to answer that. Everything hurt, his muscles felt heavy and useless, his head pounded, his throat was on fire… worst of all…

“Cold.” Wild rasped, trying to bury his face into the chest beside him, enjoying the rumble he felt and the sound of a fond chuckle.

“Sorry, Wild. Your fever hasn’t broken yet, we can’t let you get too hot.” Twilight really did sound sorry, but that doesn’t sound right. Fever means hot.

“Cold.” Wild stressed again, his small movement sending a spike of pain around his ribs. “Hurts.” Wild whimpered at the aches and pain that surrounded his body, especially his ribs. 

“I know, Cub. It’ll get better soon.” Twilight promised.

“How?” How did he know that? Wild didn’t understand. Goddesses, it felt like he was dying-

Wild froze at that thought. No, no Twilight would tell him. Twilight wouldn’t be so happy, he wouldn’t. The conversation continued as Wild’s world was crashing down on him.

“Your fever hasn’t broken, but it is getting cooler.” An optimistic voice continued, not noticing his panic. Why were they so calm? Wild was dying, he was dying! He felt his breaths get more labored, only sending further panic shooting through him. No, he needed to breathe, breathing meant life and Wild was alive he wasn’t dead he was alive-

“-we’ll fix it, Wild, I promise.” Wild tuned in once more and his heart lurched. Fix it? No, no , no, nononono. 

“N-no!” Wild cried out, trying to sit up.

“Woah!” Warriors bolted forward to keep Wild from agitating his illness further. They just got water in his system, they didn't want him to throw it back up now.

“Tw-i. Don’t. P-please don’t.” Wild pleaded.

“Don’t what? Cub we’re not going to do anything.” Twilight’s voice tried to be calm, but the underlying panic only sent Wild further into his spiral. Twilight knew and he was hiding it! The shrine… not the shrine.

“Na- the shrine. P-please. Anythin’ but the shrine. Just let me go.” Wild begged, coughing roughly at the end. Twilight felt his chest grow cold and his stomach drop. ‘Let me go’, ‘No more shrine’, Twilight felt lightheaded. He knew what it meant. Let me die. 

“No, no Cub, you’re not hurt. Not badly, you’ll recover.” Twilight tried to reassure but Wild was too far gone.

“Hey, hey.” Wild felt a different pair of hands on his cheeks, calloused from constant swordsmanship, but impossibly gentle. “Calm down.” Warriors soothed, brushing aside Wild’s bangs. No! He didn’t understand. He couldn’t do it, not again. He couldn’t wake up with nothing but a name he didn’t recognize, cold, hungry, scared, alone. 

“No shrine, nothing like that. We’re staying right here.” Warriors comforted. Wild shook his head, ignoring the nausea it brought. They didn’t understand, he would forget again. He would forget again. Zelda, the Champions, Riju, Teba, Yunobo, Sidon, the Links. All of them.

“Wild.” Twilight’s voice was soft, but stern, demanding Wild’s attention. “Wild look at me.” A hand took his chin, and he was met with dark blue eyes swirling with intense emotions, half of which Wild couldn’t name. “We’re staying right here. We’re nowhere near the shrine. You’re just sick, you’ll get better, on your own.” Twilight specified, rambling in the hopes that Wild would finally understand. Twilight felt his chest loosen when Wild calmed down slightly. 

Twilight wouldn’t lie about that, Wild could trust him. 

“No shrine?” Wild confirmed.

“No shrine.” Twilight put on his most reassuring smile, covering his turmoil at Wild’s earlier words.

“Never. Promise.” Wild demanded in the most stern tone he could muster, and judging by Twilight’s shaky smirk he didn’t do a very good job. 

“I promise, Cub.”

“Yeah, Hylia knows we wouldn’t even know how to work it- ouch! What it’s true.” Wild tried to laugh at the indignant noise, but all that came out was a coughing fit. He still didn’t understand what was going on, but there was no rush or panic or shouting. It wasn’t like the first time. There were no lasers, or carnage, or desperate screaming.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Twilight deemed after Wild’s fit had passed. “You need more rest.” Wild shook his head. He wanted to stay here, away from the things he sees when he closes his eyes. It was nice here, the fog was finally parting and if he went to sleep it would surround him again.

“Yes, Wild.” Wild heard Warriors laugh at Twi’s exasperated tone.

“No.” Wild commanded, well aware of how much he sounded like a petulant child.

“Wild, we’ll be right here. You need sleep. Real sleep.” Wild shook his head again.

“I’d be careful. Mama bear is ready to knock you out.” Warriors teased, yelping when Twilight used his free arm to smack his shoulder.

“Wild, I swear to Hylia, you are going to sleep.” Twilight threatened. Wild huffed. Fine. Wild lifted a shaky and weak hand from under the pelt, pausing to rest the limb above the covers. Slowly he lifted his left hand, barely reaching his target. He swatted uselessly at Twilight’s chest, trying to find a grip. Finally he managed to snag onto the older’s tunic, just above his heart.

“What are you doing?” Twilight chuckled, all ire forgotten at the Cub’s clumsy actions. This would be the hard part. Wild prepped himself, before putting all his strength into his left arm and pulling himself up as far as possible. Even the simple motion of pulling himself up was like climbing a mountain, all his stamina depleted by the time he put his plan into action as his ribs jolted and burned. His world twisted and swirled as dizziness washed over him, his head feeling light and his eyes watering.

“Wild!” Twilight yelped in surprise, hopefully not waking the camp. Automatically his arms flew around Wild to catch the boy now cradled to his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” Twilight asked again, far more bafflement and scolding in his tone. Wild stubbornly shoved his head into the crook of Twilight’s neck, breathing hard. Nausea surrounded him and his aching muscles cramped and twitched. Twilight winced as Wild coughed directly into his throat. Good things this wasn’t contagious.

“You can’t do that! You can’t push your body like that!” Twilight scolded, his words contradicted his actions as he rubbed soothing circles into Wild’s back.

“I mean, you could have asked.” Warriors agreed, smirking at the scene before him now that Wild seemed to be recovering from his little stunt.

“Stay.” Wild demanded, gripping Twilight’s shirt as the other was cradled to his own chest uselessly. His body had no more energy left to spare and he relied completely on Twilight to keep him from falling.

“I’m right here.” Twilight’s exasperated tone morphed more into confusion. Twilight wasn’t getting it. He was warm. Wild was so cold, and he wanted to be warm. Even if that meant soaking up heat from Twilight like a lizard did on a sunny rock.

“Warm.” Wild’s lips twisted into a crooked smile, not aware enough to try and make both the scarred and unscarred sides of his face match. Warriors didn’t even hide his fond grin at the cheesy sight before him, and Twilight’s shocked face was certainly a bonus.

“Wild your fever.” Twilight chided nervously, attempting to gently get Wild away from his body heat. Even being in his lap was pushing it, Hyrule told him to be careful before he went to bed.

“Warm.” Wild huffed, annoyed at Twilight moving too much. Twilight glared at the muffled laugh he heard from Warriors. ‘Help me!’ Twilight mouthed, glaring at him as the other just shrugged and smirked. Jackass. Twilight supposed it would be okay for a little bit, but… just until Wild fell asleep. Besides, Twilight couldn’t bring himself to push Wild off with the dopey and lopsided the grin the younger had. Instead Twilight tucked the covers and pelt around him, knowing he made the right choice when Wild sighed happily and burrowed further. It was the most content he had seen Wild in days, and if Hyrule found out Twilight had disobeyed his instructions and kicked his ass, it’d be worth it.

“We can watch his fever. Let him have this.” Warriors confirmed the voice in his head, and Twilight relaxed at the fact someone else agreed, allowing himself to lean against the wall to better support Wild’s weight.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna move him.” Wild made a noise that Twilight could only interpret as agreement, and tried not to laugh and disturb the boy curled into him. 

“He can understand what we’re saying… that has to be progress, right?” Warriors questioned.

“Yeah, but at this point his fever breaking is the best we can hope for.” Twilight responded as he felt Wild succumb to sleep once more. Twilight didn’t want to admit how worried he was that his fever would never break. He knew that Wild would get better, really he did. But Hylia what Wild had said… what would Twilight do if he had the option. If Wild was dying in his arms and he had a choice. If he had a choice between Wild living with no memories, waking up with them all gone, probably long dead, alone and scared. Or letting Wild, his cub, die. Both options almost sent Twilight over the edge of despair just picturing it.

“Stop.” Warriors scolded, eyes peering into him. Twilight snapped out of his thoughts and glanced back in surprise. “I know what you’re dwelling on. Stop it. It won’t help anything.” Warriors’ tone was harsh, but his eyes were compassionate.

“I know but-”

“No buts. It won’t come to that.”

“You don’t know that.” Twilight’s voice cracked ever so slightly. Warriors sighed, of course he didn’t. Of course Twilight wasn’t the only one who thought at night about where this quest could lead.

“None of us do. But focusing on what-ifs, especially insanely specific ones, doesn’t help it just makes us all suffer. All of us, Twilight.” Warriors stressed, relieved at Twilight’s eyes widening, knowing he had gotten through. The words were harsh, but Twilight never listened when it was just his health on the line. He needed to know that watching him go through that hurt, just as it hurt them when one of the other Links were in a pit of anger and hurt.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Twilight squeezed Wild, needing to feel his heartbeat against his own. He focused on the breaths he felt against his neck. They were shallow and rough but they were there.

“Don’t be, I get it.” Warriors assured. “But let's face it if we think about everything that could happen on this crazy fucking quest we’ll be here for weeks.”

“Yeah…” Twilight shifted, ensuring Wild didn’t have too much pressure on his ribs.

“I’ll watch his fever, you need to rest.” Warriors commanded softly.

“You know that’s not happening.” Twilight glared.

“I didn’t ask you to sleep, I asked you to rest. You need it.” Warriors raised a challenging eyebrow, turning concerned when Twilight just nodded.

“Yeah… okay. Just make sure he doesn’t get too hot.” Twilight leaned his head against the rock, shushing Wild when he mumbled and huffed as his pillow moved. Warriors reached over and placed his hand on the cub’s forehead. 

“It’s fine for now.” Warriors smiled, happy the raging fever had dulled, even a little.

Both Warriors and Twilight quieted, and Twilight allowed himself to simply breathe as Warriors kept a sharp eye on the world around them.

 ~~~

Wild is on a mission and no one shall stop him.

Thank you all for reading! I'll update the summary when I rewrite a chapter so you all know.

And thank you all again so much for the support. I love every comment, and I’m so glad so many people enjoy this story!

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #A Sick Wild Child #wild-centric #wild #twilight #Warriors #Time and Hyrule are only mentioned #same with the other links #sorry lads #sickfic #angst #queenof-literature story #QoL Story

[voidwaren]

hey guys, pandemic brain is a bitch so this week we have the first 6k words of an ENTIRELY self-indulgent Sterek royalty AU that was originally an outline for a profic before I went, “you know what. fuck that. make it fanfic.” and did so.

may or may not be what I’ll be working on for NaNoWriMo this year, since I’ve never done fanfic before and have also never once won.

also: ignore the fact this basically starts off in exactly the same formula as Oak and Mistletoe. I am a one-trick pony. yeehaw.

Stiles met him on a balcony bathed in moonlight, shedding glitter and confetti and the half-melted snowflakes that made their slow descent from the sky above, and he realized—before he’d even opened his mouth, before the man had even noticed Stiles was there—that he’d do anything to meet this man again.

-

The night was alive with the sounds of a party. Lights of every color, food from every land spilling from the kitchens on glittering trays, people laughing and dancing and forgetting their own names beneath the pull of one too many glasses of pearlescent sparkling wine. It was a night of excitement, of merriment and of occasional debauchery. And it was a night Stiles wished he could skip.

Crown Prince Stiles hated parties.

It wasn’t the people he hated. Not the music or the merriment or even the dances he spent months learning properly before each event to make sure he knew all the steps and didn’t trip over himself in front of a hundred or more people. It certainly wasn't the lavish spreads of food that Stiles had made himself sick over many a party before, because that was the best part.

No, the thing Stiles hated about parties was the fact he always had to act like someone he wasn’t. It was the fact he had to dress up in clothes that restricted his movements, the fact he had to waltz around a room with a woman or man whose title he couldn’t care less about and try his best to keep them entertained, the fact he had to act like the proper son of the ruling monarch of the kingdom trussed up like the very same kind of people he used to swear he’d never become, powdered nose and everything. All because of a position he was born into and a title he had no choice but to inherit when the time came. It made him feel like a liar. It made him feel like a fraud, even as he walked around as the person people expected him to be.

Stiles hated everything about it.

It wasn’t like this a few years ago. Hell, a few years ago Stiles had been the picture of mischief among the court, causing all sorts of trouble during the balls and the weddings and the town celebrations, to the point where people came looking for him in the thick of it all asking for him to take them away before they drowned under the pressure of the titles they never asked to bear. And Stiles would do so willingly, easily, taking their hand and leading them on great moonlit adventures through the castle and along the streets of the city in the dead of the night, with nothing but the stars and the creatures of the night to guide them back home at the end of it all.

A few years ago, Stiles had been exactly what he wanted to be—untethered, wild, and uncaring of who would see. He’d been happy, carefree, and so very much alive.

Then his mother had died of an illness that ravaged the city, and reality had come crashing down around his ears. He was the only child of an aging king who refused to separate himself from his people even for the good of his health, and he had to start acting like it.

And, so, he did. The Stiles he had been died with his mother, and there had never been a reason to bring him back to life again.

He was miserable because of it, even as he nipped a chocolate-covered strawberry off a passing tray on its way into the ballroom and stuffed it into his mouth, shedding chocolate all over the carpet below.

“If you get that on your suit, we’ll have a murder on our hands come morning,” a grave voice said from Stiles’ left, and Stiles startled hard enough to nearly rip the curtain he was hiding behind from where it hung.

“Lydia,” he said around the half-chewed strawberry still in his mouth. The woman in question glared at him, then reached out and dusted the shoulder of his red and black party coat. Stiles quickly swallowed. “You’re supposed to be in the ballroom already.”

“I was on my way there when I found your mask” —she paused only long enough to hold the mask in question up in the same hand she already held hers in— “sitting outside your quarters, still in the wrapping paper, and realized I was going to have to find you first.” She narrowed her eyes, and her gold-dusted eyelids sparkled with the movement. “You weren’t planning on hiding all night, were you?”

“No,” Stiles said immediately, sounding about as unconvincing as one possibly could. He winced.

“It’s Scott’s birthday, Stiles. You can’t be a no-show at your best friend’s twentieth birthday party!”

“Sure I can,” Stiles grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lydia actually cringed, then whipped a handkerchief from her decolletage with her free hand and started scrubbing his skin of potential chocolate remnants. Stiles allowed her, if only because he knew fighting it would be futile. “It’s his birthday, no one will notice if I happen to not show up.”

Lydia didn’t deign that with an answer. A smart decision on her part, because even Stiles was fully aware he couldn’t not show up to a party being held in his own castle, regardless of who the party was for. It was just plain rude. Someone would definitely notice, and then his name would be in the papers for weeks afterwards, and not for any reason the king could be proud of. Not to mention Scott himself would probably be put out.

“Two hours,” she said instead. “Just two hours. That should be more than enough for everyone to see you and try to worm a dance out of you. Then you can go back to lurking behind the drapery and stealing food. I won’t even make you sign any dance cards.”

“One hour,” Stiles tried to bargain, but that was quickly shut down with nothing more than a raised eyebrow on Lydia’s part. Honestly, who here was the prince and who was the duchess? Because, somehow, Lydia always seemed to outrank him despite reality being otherwise.

“Enjoy yourself,” Lydia said firmly, handing over his mask, and then she vanished in a swirl of shimmering pink skirts and golden lace. Stiles looked down at the mask and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t surprised—what else would he have been? —but predictable was never a good look on Lydia.

Tonight, Stiles wore the face of a fox.

Not a traditional fox, mind you. That was for the lower ranking individuals currently fawning around in their heavily-decorated clothes and overly-perfumed hair. No, Stiles wore the face of a black fox marked with streaks of red around the ears and muzzle. A unique design, with his sigil hidden in the swirls of fur at the forehead, of a creature people still associated the prince with even years after he stopped acting like one.

Stiles kind of hated how much he liked the damn thing.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the drapery and emerged into the hallway that led into the ballroom. The guards standing on either side of the entrance watched him, one with an apologetic look on her face. He’d asked them not to say anything with a finger to his lips when he’d first dove behind the heavy fabrics, but Lydia had found him anyway. Using a quick hand gesture, he told them he knew it wasn’t their fault, and the apologetic guard relaxed. The other simply continued watching him.

And with a great sigh, Stiles slipped the mask on and tied the red ribbons tight, then walked through the doors into the throngs of people hidden behind the face of every animal imaginable.

The center of the room was a swirling mass of innumerable colors, all twinkling under the glow of the countless lights with both the glitter most chose to wear to costume parties such as this and the sparkling confetti that floated down from the rafters, spreading itself to every corner of the room and deep into the clothing folds of every patron beneath it. Fast-paced music threaded through the air, mixed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional singing voice as Stiles passed through the layers of people and tried to find the man of the hour. He hadn’t seen Scott since that morning at breakfast before they’d both been whisked away to get ready for the party, and, as a long-standing tradition from when they were young, Stiles owed the birthday boy the worst dance he could possibly have of the night. Stiles was ready to scuff some brand new leather shoes, pop a few buttons straight from their silk-lined waistcoats, and then hide from Lydia’s wrath for the rest of the night.

But Scott was nowhere to be found.

Not willing to drop the hunt so readily, Stiles nestled himself into a corner between two of the food tables—one filled with a rainbow of pastries that Stiles made a mental note to ravish later, the other a sea’s worth of crustaceans and fish and other unnamable things, some of which still gurgled in their shells—and tried to remember what it was Scott was wearing that night. Stiles hadn’t been present for the arrival announcement of the visiting crown prince, too busy sneaking around the curtains just outside the room, but he’d heard it happen, so he knew Scott was already there. He also knew Scott’s preferences when it came to his clothing, so a wolf mask was the key point in Stiles’ search. The only problem was: a wolf was a very common mask choice, and Stiles didn’t know what about Scott’s would be the aspect to set him apart.

A crown, possibly? Scott typically hated wearing his crown to parties, claiming it was difficult to dance when he spent a large amount of time worrying it would slip from his head and embarrass him, so that was probably out of the ruling, unless it was etched directly into the mask itself.

His sigil? Would it be that easy to see a double circle, likely hidden somewhere within the design of the mask itself, without staring the mask-wearer directly in the face? Would Stiles have to dance with every wolf-faced masculine figure just to find the person he was looking for?

His eyes scanned the crowds again, and he felt his gall slowly seep down to his toes. There were dozens of masks even vaguely resembling what could be a wolf—Stiles would be there all night.

He suddenly wished he had thought to ask Lydia before she’d left, assuming she’d even tell him in the first place. She probably thought keeping him on the blind hunt would make him stay at the party longer.

God, he really didn’t want to be there. It might have been a birthday party for his oldest and greatest friend, but it was never fun for him unless he could cause a little trouble.

Nabbing a flute or something pink and bubbly from a tray to his right, Stiles downed the thing in one gulp, stifled the consequential belch that tried to force its way back up his throat, and meandered his way to the other side of the room. Still, there was not a Scott to be seen. There was a Jackson, though, loitering by the unmistakable figures of Stiles’ father and Queen Melissa of their sisterlands, Scott’s mother, dancing together in place on the direct outskirts of the fanfare. Setting his empty glass aside, Stiles locked in on his sights and crept his way over.

Years of sneaking around the castle and poking his nose exactly where it didn’t belong meant Stiles had a relatively good track record of getting to the place he wanted to be without being seen, even in plain sight, and not even Jackson, who had technically been trained specifically with Stiles in mind after growing up as a page under King John’s reign, noticed Stiles sneaking up on him until Stiles was pulling the ribbons of Jackson’s dragon mask free.

Jackson started with a hissed curse, his hand flying up to keep the mask on his face, and in the same motion reached behind him and grabbed Stiles by the upper arm with his free hand.

“Your Grace,” he growled in his Jackson way, loud enough to be heard by Stiles’ dad and his not-a-date-just-a-frequent-guest. Luckily for Stiles, they seemed distracted enough in each other not to notice just yet.

“I’ll put it back on properly if you come with me.” Using the grip Jackson had on him, Stiles quickly maneuvered the both of them back into the shadows of the ballroom before Jackson could give much of an answer. Once safely out of view of the parents, Stiles smacked Jackson’s hand off and motioned for him to turn around.

“What was that all about?” Jackson asked as he complied. There was a note of bitterness to his tone, but that was Jackson for you. Growing up, he’d never been Stiles’ biggest fan, especially not when Stiles’ crush on Lydia had become painfully obvious to everyone who so much as looked his way, but he’d softened to Stiles as a whole after the loss of Queen Claudia when they both were sixteen. Having been the one with Stiles when the news broke, first with the onset of the illness and then her eventual death, he’d been one of the few people to see firsthand just how much a person like Stiles could break, and Stiles was pretty sure Jackson never recovered his full dislike of the crown prince in question after it all had been said and done.

Plus, Jackson had been the one to win Lydia over when they were eighteen, and, while the relationship hadn’t lasted, it had also helped to lessen some of the sour feelings on his end.

Stiles didn’t answer immediately as he tied the ribbons tight, then patted Jackson on the shoulder to signal he was done. “I can’t find Scott,” Stiles explained. “I also don’t really want to be here.”

Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, and what else is new? How long did Lydia tell you to stay this time?”

“Two hours,” Stiles admitted sourly. Jackson laughed. “I was hoping you could cover for me if I happened to suddenly vanish from the party?” he tried hopefully, doing his best to make his eyes look puppy-dog-like behind the confines of his mask.

“Hell no,” Jackson said without missing a beat, then quickly tacked on, “Your Majesty.”

“Come on, Jackson! Please? I’ll come back, I just want to go somewhere else for a little while.”

“And have Lydia breathing down my back for allowing it? I don’t think so.”

“I could order you to, you are my personal guard,” Stiles pointed out, but Jackson just looked at him in that way that told Stiles he was raising a single eyebrow behind his mask. Stiles sighed dramatically. “What’s the point of the title if no one listens to me anyway?”

“Plenty of people listen to you,” Jackson corrected, smacking a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Just not me, and especially not tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a fine looking set of specimens waiting for a man such as me to show them how a real dance is done. Have fun finding Scott.”

Stiles made sure his responding scoff was accurately disgusted as Jackson turned and walked off to meet a pair of identical figures in the crowd, one of which Stiles distinctly recalled writing his name on Lydia’s dance card a few parties ago, leaving Stiles glowering to himself alone. Stiles debated marching up and inserting himself into the situation just to be an ass, but quickly rethought the action before he could execute it and get himself stuck in a conversation he didn’t actually want to have.

“May I have this dance?” a voice asked before Stiles could find his way back to the dead fringes of the party instead, and Stiles turned to find Allison smirking at him from behind an owl mask. A quick glance around told him Scott was not with her, and if Scott wasn’t glued to her side like he normally was, that meant he was being forced to dance with some of the other partygoers who had shown up specifically with Scott in mind. Which meant Stiles was certainly not going to see him anytime soon, unless he wanted whoever Scott was dancing with being passed off to him the second Scott spotted him without a partner.

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed, holding his hand out for Allison to take. She smiled brilliantly as she took his hand in her white-gloved one, and off to the dance floor they went.

Allison was, by far, a much better dancer than Stiles was. Only surpassed by Lydia (and only in some dances, at that), she was swift in every movement and seemed to almost float around the dance floor, even in a dress that looked heavier than she was, made of layers upon layers of feathers and fabric with names Stiles couldn’t guess if he tried. She looked like she belonged in her creature of choice, elegant and deadly if she chose, if the legend of her familial background was to be believed. Beast hunters up until a settlement dozens and dozens of generations back, Stiles typically chose to not believe, but he had seen Allison shoot an arrow straight through an apple exactly as Jackson was taking a bite out of it without doing much more than scaring the shit out of him, so maybe it wasn’t all a myth.

Allison’s bright brown eyes met his as the song changed pace suddenly, picking up to an even faster rhythm, and he only just caught the twinkle in her eye before her hand tightened in his and she took him over completely.

She was so much a better dancer than Stiles (and Scott, though Scott rarely surpassed anyone’s dance skill, so he often wasn’t counted in the first place), that every time Stiles did dance with her, she always somehow managed to lead him without ever taking the position to do so. And she did so by using a pressure method via her fingertips against his shoulder and hand, where her hands were positioned. It had taken Stiles a number of dances to catch onto her antics when she started coming to other courts and stayed for parties, and then a few years on top of that to perfect his understanding of her puppeteering, but he was to the point now where he unconsciously moved in time with her ministrations and didn’t even have to pay them any attention. It made her the easiest person for him to dance with, and he actually kind of hated how much time Scott got to spend dancing with her at these things if only because Stiles rarely got a break where he could dance and not have to constantly make sure he wasn’t about to flatten someone’s toes.

(But they were promised to one another, declared by Scott one day when he was sixteen that he would take her hand when she came of age at twenty-one, so Stiles couldn’t complain as much as he would like. They were four years into their seemingly-never-ending honeymoon period, so they kind of deserved each other at this point.)

“After this song ends,” Allison whispered in his ear as they pulled close and turned, “head for the balconies. I’ll cover for you if anyone asks where you went.”

It took Stiles an embarrassingly long moment to understand that she was giving him an out to escape, at least for a little bit. He couldn’t get much of anywhere by going to the balconies, unless he wanted to climb onto the rooftops or get lost in the gardens before returning to the party again, but it was something.

“I could kiss you,” Stiles replied giddily. Allison flashed him a wide smile.

“I appreciate that you could and yet would never,” she responded sweetly, and Stiles couldn’t help but give a genuine laugh. Friends was all they’d ever be, and neither of them had ever cared to make their relationship anything more. Allison was a fantastic friend. Stiles was lucky to have her, and Scott was luckier still to be promised to her.

True to her word, Allison pulled them close for the closing bow as the orchestra played the last note of the dance, then twisted on her heel and pushed Stiles smoothly in the direction of the doors to the garden balconies in the back before he’d even thought to take the step himself. Stiles, far less graceful even than any singular part of Allison on its own, stumbled a bit as he was thrown into motion, but caught himself quickly and hurried his way over to the doors. He thought he heard his name being called faintly over the sound of the next series of dances starting up, but he ignored it and continued on, twisting around each group of attendees as he met them and hopefully not treading on too many dresses and exposed shoe points as he went.

His mask felt hot against his face, the painted leather slipping along his nose as the heat of the room started to feel unbearably stifling, and the second he broke over the threshold of the opened double doors his fingers were already up and pulling at the ribbons that held it in place. It slid down easily, and he tucked it neatly under his arm as he moved into the shadows of the romantically-lit area and found his way to his favorite foothold, hidden by a large ivy growth, that he’d gone to so many times before. The climb required no thinking on his part; he pulled himself up easily in practiced motions that would give his father a headache if he knew. The gardens below stretched beneath him until, finally, he’d found his favorite haunt.

The autumn air was cold on Stiles’ face when he twisted himself up and onto one of the balcony alcoves, and a fine layer of snow was starting to make its way down from the gloomy sky above. Once used for lookouts, archers, and other war-related things, the alcove Stiles had found his way to was connected to a heavily-locked and incredibly dusty war room that had not seen use in centuries, nevermind Stiles’ lifetime, and was now used solely for decoration. Stiles, personally, liked to use it to stare down at the town, as it overlooked the edge of the cliff face that the castle was built into. He never understood why his father didn’t just move the war room and let Stiles have it as his own, but he had a feeling it was precisely because of Stiles’ love for a balcony that he could easily fall to his death from that his father had said no enough times for Stiles, who rarely gave up on anything, to finally let it go. Yet another reason to never let his father know he often scaled his way along the other balconies from his room to get there in the first place.

As it was a balcony alcove to a room that was never used, there was only ever Stiles who occupied it. So, to say he was startled nearly out of his skin when another figure emerged from the shadows of the alcove’s corner would be to put it incredibly lightly.

In fact—Stiles had very nearly screamed. He definitely let out a very unmasculine noise, though he would never admit to the fact if questioned about it at a later point in time. Unfortunately for him, that would be the thing to alert the other figure to his presence in the first place. Which was a shame, he would later think when he ran this encounter through his head over and over again like the action could bring a kind clarity the memory of the event itself simply did not have, because, for the split seconds before Stiles had made his presence known, the man had looked perfect where he stood in the shadows, and Stiles had been immediately infatuated with the sight of him.

But, of course, Stiles could not have nice things, and it was usually because of his mouth. Now was not an exception to the matter.

Stiles let out his noise, and the man startled out of the shadows and into the moonlight like he was expecting a fight. Stiles, though trained to defend himself if need be, did nothing more than scramble back on shoes that slipped dangerously on the snow-slicked stone beneath their feet. The man stopped abruptly, his eyes darting from Stiles’ face, down to his clothing, and back up again. And then, all at once, he relaxed completely, looking strangely put out that it was clear Stiles was not here to fight him. With a sigh that sounded suspiciously disappointed, the man in question turned his face away briefly as if expecting someone else, and that was when Stiles got his first good look at his surprise guest.

He noticed the ear cuff first, flashing in the light of the moon. Made of some kind of golden metal, it sat on the whole curve of his outer ear, nearly obscuring the ear itself completely. It flashed again as the man turned his face back, his features pulled into a completely different expression than they had been in just before, and Stiles found himself staring directly into a pair of cloudy green eyes.

Stiles had no idea who this man was, but he found that he desperately wanted to know. It was like a tugging sensation from somewhere behind his heart.

Silence stretched between them as neither moved, marred only by the faint noises of the party down below, and then Stiles realized something.

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t dressed for the party. Except for the golden cuff he wore on his ear and the thin gold chain around his neck that disappeared into his shirt, he was free of flashy adornments and heavy finery usually worn to parties such as the one being held tonight. In fact, he seemed rather underdressed considering the weather, in nothing but dark pants, a shirt, and a deep red waistcoat hanging undone from his torso. His moonlight-washed hair was unstyled, hanging around his face in that way Stiles’ hair also did when he ran his fingers through it at the end of the night after he’d washed all the grease from it. The man had either attended the party and left immediately, or he hadn’t gone at all.

He seemed just as surprised to see Stiles on that balcony as Stiles was him, too, his eyes drifting slowly down to the mask Stiles held clutched in both hands and narrowing. It made Stiles want to hide the thing behind his back, like he’d just been caught doing something wrong.

“It was hot inside,” he explained quickly, then had to refrain from slapping his hand over his mouth for saying anything at all. He wasn’t sure where the knee-jerk reaction to explain himself had come from exactly, because this was his homeland, and he was the prince of it. Whoever this man was, he didn’t rank above Stiles on his own turf.

And yet, here he was, feeling an ever-increasing need to keep the strange man standing before him, completely underdressed for the snow that was falling around them, from thinking Stiles was weird for being on the roof when a party was happening elsewhere.

Unsure of his actions, Stiles looked away, directing his gaze over the curb of the stone railing. The town below lit up with lights strung from rooftops and streetlights, a sign of the upcoming festival to celebrate the arrival of harvest season, where there would be markets every night and dancing in the squares, with the largest celebration with a potluck at the very end. Scott always had the best birthday out of all of them, because it kicked off the season, taking place what was usually just a few days before the town celebrations started. He’d have a big party, and then he’d continue to celebrate with the townsfolk of both his land and Stiles’, as they were sisterlands and shared the same traditions. Stiles, having been born in the spring, didn’t get to have quite the same experience.

“Do they know you’re gone?” the man asked quietly, his voice nothing like Stiles was expecting from looks alone. Stiles turned his attention back embarrassingly fast all the same.

“Do they…?” he repeated in confusion before he realized what the man was talking about. “Oh! Oh, no. I mean, probably? Someone’s likely noticed. But I don’t think they’re paying attention to where I am, really. It’s not my birthday.”

Shut up, Stiles, Stiles thought frantically. Lord, please, shut up.

The man’s brow furrowed. Stiles took the moment to admire his eyebrows, which were well-suited for his face. Stiles was pretty sure the man could hold conversations with them, if he tried. He could absolutely look menacing, with just the right expression. Stiles knew he could find himself easily terrified of this man. He just had that look about him.

And then, as Stiles was admiring, it occurred to him that he’d never seen this person before in his life, despite him standing right on the rooftop of where Stiles lived. Which, considering who Stiles was, shouldn’t be possible.

How had he never met this person before? Did he climb onto the roof from below? How did he get past the guards?

“Why aren’t you at the party?” Stiles blurted out before he could stop himself, then winced. Strike two. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had that much to drink, had he?

The man eyed him warily, then seemed to come to some kind of a conclusion and sighed. “You have no idea who I am.”

Stiles frowned in turn. “Should I?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, the moonlight washing his features out until he looked nearly a ghost, those cloudy green eyes narrowed. “No,” he said finally. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

Stiles opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, then, miracle of all miracles, thought better of the action and shut it again. Surprise flashed in the man’s eyes, and Stiles could swear the corner of the man’s mouth quirked up, but he knew he had to have imagined it. Because the man’s mouth seemed permanently set in a frown. He hadn’t smiled once, and he had a very strong frown. The man turned his face away again, but Stiles couldn’t stop looking at him.

The moonlight caught off the ear cuff as he turned again, catching Stiles’ attention easily and giving him a better view of its overall shape. Covering the entire curve of his outer ear, the cuff the man wore was shaped like a curling line of crescents and circles in a pattern that tickled some vague part of the back of Stiles’ brain without any true recognition to show for the efforts. He’d seen the exact pattern before, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t place where or when, or what kind of meaning it could hold. It was a curious design, all the same, with smaller chains of gold hanging in loops from the bottom, some kind of bead or gemstone nestled in each center. The entire thing was also, Stiles noticed, studded with the same kind of gemstone that glinted with the light, though the strong tint of the oncoming full moon made everything seem too washed out to really tell any true color.

It was a strange thing to see, even on a night like this. Ear cuffs were found in other lands, but ear jewelry didn’t often extend beyond earrings in Stiles’ land. In fact, adornments in general usually came in the form of necklaces, rings, and makeup and rarely extended beyond that, and Stiles had never thought to question the reason why something so obviously stunning had never become popular in his, or Scott’s, realm. Even Allison’s kingdom, known famously for their silver jewelry and intricate designs, did not show any favor towards such specific things.

Until now, apparently, because Stiles couldn’t think of where else the man could have climbed up to the alcove from if not the party or the town. Though, if something like that was becoming popular, Stiles felt like he would have heard Lydia talking about it at some point. It was very possible she had and he’d simply not listened, however. Stiles’ attention was a fickle thing.

“Are you from town?” Stiles heard himself ask. He was starting to understand why his dad winced each time Stiles opened his mouth, because, right now, he’d soder the damn thing shut if he only had the chance. “Did you climb up here from the streets?”

A soft huffing sound met his unfortunate inquiry, and it took Stiles a moment to realize the man had just laughed.

“No,” he replied quietly, eyes still on the town in question. “I came from inside the castle.”

That stumped Stiles. So he… had come from the party? How had he gotten himself in such disarray? Stiles might not have been paying the best attention to the comings and goings of the event, especially considering the size of the attendance, but he’s pretty sure he would have heard someone say something if someone had shown up in the state the man was in. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Unless he’d gained his current state somewhere between the party and the balcony, which meant he must have done something relatively quick to become that way.

Stiles felt a heat crawl up his neck, swift and relentless, as an idea of what the man might have done occurred to him. The war room was empty and supposedly locked at all times because of its disuse, but Stiles had never actually bothered to check that. At least, not since he’d learned to climb to the balcony instead of going through the room itself, and that had been years ago.

Quickly, Stiles walked over to the large double doors that connected the balcony to the room and wrapped his hand around one of the huge handles. It barely budged an inch beneath the pressure he exerted on it, and even less when he tried with his weight added onto the attempt.

Locked. Absolutely, undeniably locked.

Stiles twisted back around. The man was watching him again, those eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. He still stood at the railing, not having moved an inch except to face where Stiles now stood. Very rarely did Stiles feel any kind of embarrassment for his actions, but something about this man and his strangeness kept the embarrassment coming in waves. Stiles prayed his face, definitely red at this point due to the man’s reaction, couldn’t be seen too well in the dark of the small overhang of the doorway.

“How did you get up here?” Stiles demanded hotly. He thrust a finger at the door handles. “These are locked.”

And, to Stiles’ utter shock, the man actually smiled.

It was by no means sunny, and maybe not even a true smile, but his lips were undoubtedly pulled back from his teeth in at least a smirk. “As you suggested before,” he said simply. “I climbed.”

“From—where?” Stiles spluttered. “Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the man merely tilted his head as if pondering Stiles’ question. He met Stiles’ eyes again, rendering Stiles slightly more dumb than usual with their strange color, and then, in one fluid motion, he bent at the waist in a bow.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” the man said, taking one last glance up from beneath his lashes to meet Stiles’ eyes.

And then he backed up, turned the same corner he’d emerged from, and was gone.

Stiles watched the empty air for a shocked heartbeat. One quickly became two, then three, and then he was tripping over himself as he launched at the space the man had left behind in a desperate scramble to catch up. Unfortunately, his shoes, more equipped for dancing than any other kind of foot movement, slipped on the slick stone floor and he went sprawling instead, knocking his chin hard enough to rattle his teeth and stun him momentarily. His mask went flying, smacking against the ground and skidding a few feet away.

Stiles groaned as he hauled himself up again, clawing his way to the side of the balcony railing where the man must have left, only to remember, with a shock, that this was the side that met the cliff face. There was no way down but a sheer drop to the rocks below.

A white noise started up between Stiles’ ears as he stared down the drop, the disappearance and the lack of a body below not adding up in his brain. A cold wind blew past briefly, rustling his stiff collar against his cheeks and bringing him back to himself enough for him to twist at the waist and look directly up. The action brought no more clarity than the previous one had, and the cold feeling of dread started up in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

The man was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

#I somehow already have 12k written for this #and I'm not done #Sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #royalty AU #WIP Wednesday #work in progress wednesday

[mylittleterror]

Spike Tries Digital Art

Twilight Sparkle gifted a tablet to Spike on his birthday. Spike was exited to have been given one. He always wanted something to replace the paper lists that Twilight always had. A tablet would be much more practical and no trees would be cut. But lately, Spike has been interested in art, digital art. Spike was a creative dragon from the start. He liked to draw, play games and just dream. So why not give digital art a shot?

“Alright! Art. Art art art...” he said to himself as he searched the tablet for an app that was a painting app. After searching for a while, Spike decided to use Notes app. On that app, as all of us know, there is a drawing/doodling section. It’s very primitive, but useful nonetheless.

Spike looked at the colors given on the color palette and saw that there were only the colors of the rainbow with their different tones. He frowned and rolled his eyes. “Just like crayons.” he mumbled. And with that, Spike began to draw.

Getting used to the tablet was a bit hard, especially drawing on it. The first thing that he drew was Rarity, his forever crush. This was one of the many times that he drew her, but this looked much more clean and clear. This made him happy, drawing Rarity and all. He soon added himself as well. He drew himself some big wings too! Spike smiled as he would start to draw-.

“What’cha drawing?” Twilight asked Spake and looked over his shoulder. Spike panicked and quickly turned off the tablet. “Nothing! Just ehhh... Looking at the list for tomorrow!” he said and made an embarrassed smile. Twilight let out a laugh and smiled as well. “Of course. We have a party tonight! I’m very glad that Pinkie helped me a bit with the cake recipe, so we are going to bake now!” sh said and pulled Spike to her. Spike let go of the tablet and went to the kitchen part of the library.

The day passed by quickly and it soon became nighttime. The Mane Six and Spike gathered around the table that was in the middle of the library. The table was decorated with candles, delicious pastries and the grand cake. “Wowee! The cake is delicious!” Pinkie Pie said in an excited tune, as always. Applejack and Fluttershy nodded in unison, because their mouths were full. “Awesome! I didn’t know that Twilight could bake.” Rainbow Dash said and looked at Twilight.

“Well, Spike helped me as well, so don’t forget to thank him as well.” Twilight smiled. Rarity looked at Spike, “So that’s why it is fabulous.” she said to him. These words made Spike’s heart flutter. He blushed and looked down at his empty plate. “I uhh... I’ll get you all some more punch.” he said and stood up. Spike left the ponies alone and made his way to the kitchen. “Does anyone taste something odd?” Applejack noted before everything went black for everypony.

Rarity groaned and inhaled the dusty air. She let out two coughs and opened her eyes. The room looked familiar yet not at the same time. “Oh! You’re awake?” a voice said from across the room.

“Spike? Spike, where am I?” Rarity asked when she recognized the male voice. Rarity’s body was quite weak. She slowly stood up, but collapsed a second later. “Gosh, that thing is very strong. You need another minute to rest.” Spike said to Rarity. “I... Where are you...? Where am I...?” she asked him. She heard footsteps come her way. The silhouette of a small being became more and more clear. Spike appeared before Rarity and knelt down to pet her head. “Shh... Everything will be alright. Just rest a bit, okay?” he said to her. Rarity’s eyelids became heavier and soon she found herself asleep yet again.

A loud sound woke Rarity up. She quickly got on her hooves and looked around. The place looked like a dark basement. The walls were made out of wood and the floor was made out of stone. An odd smell of metal filled the air. “Spike? Spike?!” Rarity screamed out. The light in the middle of the basement turned on and spike appeared at the top of the stairs. This was Twilight’s basement.

Spike made his way downstairs and to Rarity. “Spike? What is happening?” Rarity said and tried to move. She tried to pull her back-right leg forward, but was unsuccessful. Her back hooves, front hooves and neck were chained to the floor. “Hmm... Looks like the potion still has their effects. Zecora wasn’t lying.” Spike said as he stood there. Rarity then tried to use her magic, but was unsuccessful as well. “Your horn is bound with an unbreakable spell, Rarity! You will need some extra help to get it off.” Spike said and walked away from her.

Rarity began to scan the room. The basement had a large table in the middle of it that had sewing scissors, leather, big buttons, needles and some colorful threads. Near the curved staircase was something big, covered by a bed sheet. Rarity looked around some anypony else, but she was alone with Spike. 

Spike walked over to the table and sat down on a metal chair. He grabbed some leather, a needle with a thread already in it and began to sew the two leather pieces together. “You’ve been asleep for the past five days. It’s a wonder that you didn’t die of thirst.” Spike said as he worked on the leather. There was silence between them for a few seconds. Then, it clicked in Rarity’s head. She proceeded to scream.

“Help! Twilight!! Heeelp!!” she screamed. “No one can hear you, Rarity.” Spice calmly said. He stood up and got something from under the table. It was a small bowl of food and a cup of water. He grabbed them and walked over to Rarity. She stared at him with disbelief and fear. “Y-You can’t be... Spike...” she said, her makeup running down her face as she began to cry. Spike put down the plate with food and the cup of water down. Sitting down, his dragon eyes stared at her pony eyes. “Please, eat. I will explain everything.” Spike said to her.

Rarity stared at the food and the water. Her head slowly rose up to meet Spike’s eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screamed and threw the water with the food at Spike. They landed on him, making him covered in it. Spike stood up and shook off the food. “Guess you’re not hungry.” he said to her and walked to the table. “Why?! What are you doing?!” Rarity cried out. Spike stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder.

“What I’m doing can be explained with one simple word: Love.” he said and snapped his claws. More lights turned on, making the dimly-lit basement more clear. Rarity soon noticed that there were some computer, tablet and TV screens scattered all over the walls. All of them showed one of the drawings of Rarity and Spike. “I drew you exactly two hundred and ninety five times and in all of them you look stunning.” Spike said.

He looked at the screens with a smile on his face. His eyes glimmered with happiness. “You see, since the moment I met you, I’ve always imagined us being together.” Spike said and walked to the nearest screen. He put his hand on the screen and swiped from right to left, making the drawings change from oldest to the newest drawing. “Get me out you maniac!!” Rarity screamed out, which made Spike cringe. He wasn’t expecting her to scream yet again. “And this is not all, dear Rarity...” he said and walked over to the big object that was under the bed sheet. Spike grabbed the bed sheet and quickly pulled it away, revealing a horrific sight.

The Main Six, all except from Rarity, stood in various poses. They looked alive, yet dead. Their eyes were replaced by big and colorful buttons. If you looked closer, you could see the sewn parts and some cotton sticking out of their bodies. “I had to do something about it eventually. But I needed them to be alive as well. So, stuffing them was the only option.” Spike said, “Just look at their faces! They look so happy to see us being together.” he soon added and looked at Twilight. The stuffed bodies of Spike’s friends did look happy, but nothing about this situation made Rarity joyful.

Rarity threw up at the sight of her friends. She backed away and began to weep. Her makeup was entirely gone now, but it was the least of her cares at the moment. Spike looked at her and his smile dropped. “No no no! Rarity! Please don’t cry!” he said and rushed to her. “Please don’t cry. You’re with me, okay? I’ll make you happy, okay?” he said to her and attempted to hug her. Rarity kicked him away with her front hooves when she noticed that he was getting closer. “Get away from me, you maniac!! You’re a murderer!! A psychopath!!” she screamed as she continued to cry.

Furious, Spike got up and spit out one of his back fangs into his hand. “Fine! Stay here. You will feel my love eventually.” he growled and went to the staircase. Halfway to the top, he looked down at weeping Rarity and couldn’t help but to frown. It broke Spike’s heart to see her so miserable. But he needed her to calm down. Spike walked to the door that was on top of the staircase, opened the door and left. He locked the door behind him, leaving Rarity alone.

#my little pony #mlp fim #spike #rarity #twilight sparkle #applejack #rainbow dash #fluttershy #pinkie pie #mlp fan fiction

[gwoongi]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 ✰ taehyung (5)

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌 kim taehyung / reader genre: zombie apocalypse au words: 4016

He had you, and that was enough.

warnings: gore, graphic imagery, family trauma, panic attacks, dark themes, drug abuse, drug shaming

a/n: as always,,,,pls leave feedback!! also, after thinking for a while, i realise that the pace of this story might make people upset? not bc it’s fast but because things happen quite quickly, if that makes any sense whatsoever. also, btw, just bc something happens easily in the fic does not mean the rest of the story will end up being that way!!! maybe fate made things easy in order for them to get harder ;)

01. denver ↝ 02. holiday with me ↝ 03. sad forever ↝ 04. surely ↝ 05. scorpion ↝ 06. shakespeare ↝ 07. thrones

“So, is Y/N your girl?”

Unlike yourself, Taehyung seemed to enjoy himself with Namjoon, dragging tied black bags from one end of the yard to the back of the warehouse, where a line of discoloured and rusted dustbins sat. Following a trail of grime from three trips back and forth, Taehyung had memorised this path like the back of his own hand.

“No,” he replied, and he wasn’t sure if he liked his answer. Namjoon looked over, puzzled. “To tell you the truth, we’re not really...anything. Barely friends.”

“Oh,” Namjoon said. “You looked close.”

Taehyung heaved the black bag over his shoulder and into the same dustbin as before. “Survival skills.”

Namjoon turned to head back, waiting for Taehyung to meet his elbow. “You said you’d been together for under two months now? That’s enough to be friends.”

“I don’t know anything about her,” Taehyung confessed, picking up a heavier bag. “I know her birthday, that’s about it. I don’t know- we’re close without being close. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon laughed, looking over his shoulder at him with a grin. “It actually does.”

Matching his smile, Taehyung threw the bag in the slot of the dumpster.

“You’re good at this,” Taehyung complimented.

“I’m used to doing it,” Namjoon replied casually. “Before all of this, I did heavy lifting for a company just outside of Seoul. Moved here to visit my sister for her exchange programme. Didn’t make it back home.”

Information. Taehyung craved it.

“What do you plan to do if you leave?” he asked. “If- that is.”

“Well,” he started in reply, “I wanna get on that boat of yours. Go somewhere safer, hopefully make it back home to our family. Everyone says this, but I know my parents are safe. They own a big business back in Korea and there’s literally no way they’re dead. I know them. Trust me. They’re alive.”

“Even if they are,” Taehyung continued, “do you think you can get there okay? I mean, I’m not being forceful, but I think me and Y/N would like company on the road, and after it. Our group is small, and I was barely there for a month, but they’re reliable. Strong. Safe.”

“Safe enough that no dead-meat can get anyone?” Namjoon asked, and Taehyung thought of Yena and the mess back at the old camp. The silence was enough for Namjoon and he looked away. “Sorry. Touchy subject?”

Taehyung heaved another bag. “Not really. Don’t worry.”

“I know what you want from me, Taehyung,” Namjoon said suddenly.

In alarm, Taehyung looked up. Was he not subtle enough?

“I know you want inside information,” he continued, as if it were obvious. It was, actually. “And I don’t know much. All I know is that they’re secretive pieces of shit. I want out too, like I said. I don’t know anything of value to you, but I might know a way out if it comes down to it. When you need to leave, say the words. I’ll take us-” meaning himself, Taehyung, his sister and yourself- “-to the exit and we can leave. It’ll be harder than I make it sound, but I can do it. Just never had the people to do it for. That’s all I can offer.”

He didn’t really know what to say. “That’s more than enough,” he nodded quietly. He barely looked up, “thank you.”

Namjoon didn’t press the conversation any further and neither did Taehyung. Actually, he didn’t talk until he pulled a heavier bag towards the far end dustbin labelled “PRODUCT WASTE”, and before he even arrived, Namjoon cringed at the smell.

“Smells more like human waste,” he commented, grimacing. “You got the bag? You gon’ throw it?”

Taehyung nodded curtly. “I got it.”

The elder smirked to himself, dropping his own bag to the floor with a squelch, the contents moving like the inside of a water bed. Without really taking any notice, Taehyung wrapped the black material around his hand, closing it like a fist as he readied to throw the bags. It was just like sports back at Uni. A game. Trivial.

“Ready?”

Silence.

Curious as to why Namjoon didn’t reply, Taehyung slouched and looked up through his straw-dry hair, noticing that Namjoon had frozen in movements, the muscles in his back tensed. The lid to the bin was pulled open, standing tall on the brick of the warehouse, a single fly rising from the inside of the presumably empty (or emptier) dumpster. For whatever reason, Taehyung couldn’t understand why Namjoon had stopped.

Without saying a word, Taehyung dropped the bag gently to the floor, minding the sickly moist sound. Stepping around the spilled black material, he approached Namjoon gently, minding him more than the bin. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, Taehyung made sure Namjoon was stable before he, too, looked into the bin.

Inside, he didn’t know if he was relieved or disturbed to see a pile of clothes, children sized clothes. In honesty, he had expected worse. Was this better than a body?

“Clothes?” he questioned, not looking away from the rainbow striped shirt and blue denim shorts. A pair of shoes were tossed to the side, and locks of raven hair. Underneath, he no doubt noticed more clothes. Confused, he looked to Namjoon for answers, stunned when he saw an unreadable expression on Namjoon’s face. “What is it?”

“I know those clothes.”

Taehyung held his breath.

When Namjoon turned, Taehyung half knew what was coming.

“They’re Daniel’s.”

Needless to say, the walk back to the main barn was hurried and silent.

Taehyung didn’t know what to say; he didn’t even know if he had to say anything. Several steps behind Namjoon, he constantly felt his gaze lifting from ahead to the ground back to Namjoon, his strides large and careful, his gaze scanning the lot for his sister. In a pause of great relief, Namjoon stepped quickly towards the smaller cattle barn, puzzled to see Kyungmin alone, afraid to know the reason why.

“Kyungmin!”

His voice was loud, louder than normal at-least, and Kyungmin looked up suddenly. Her mouth rounded to a “o”, and her eyes widened at the sight of her brother marching up to the fence. She rested her weight on the rake and furrowed her brows as he stormed over.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

Namjoon scowled at her, not bothering to answer that question.

“Where’s Y/N?” Namjoon asked, and Taehyung looked up at Kyungmin then, slinking away when he found her eyes darting from Namjoon to Taehyung in alarm. “Kyungmin, I swear to fucking God, I’m being serious. Where’s. Y/N?”

Kyungmin began to talk and choked back the words. “Her hands got bloody so I said she should wash her hands. She went inside. When she came back out, she went to the main barn and started throwing up. I told her not to worry and to stay inside. She just wouldn’t stop throwing up breakfast.”

“Why were her hands bloody?” Taehyung asked suddenly, clearly not alarmed by the fact that you were currently throwing up near the barn. Namjoon turned around, scanning the field and noticing you hunched over near the doors, no vomit, but pain in your posture.

“We were feeding the pigs meat.”

Suddenly Taehyung felt like he knew why you were throwing up.

Muttering a hasty thanks, Taehyung turned on his heels to stride towards the barn, where his gaze rounded on your frame by the doors. Namjoon didn’t bother following, knowing you needed space most of all, and time alone with Taehyung. Instead, he turned back to Kyungmin and ushered her forward for a hug. He knew her clothes. He was thankful he hadn’t seen them in places he never even expected to find clothes.

It took Taehyung less than ten seconds to cross the field, whereas it usually took him thirty. On his last three steps, you had turned around, meeting him halfway through his second and practically pushing yourself into his chest, comforted by the feeling of arms around you, a hand cradling your head, a thumb painting circles on your back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you,” even though he had no idea if it was okay.

He had you, and that was enough.

28TH JUNE. MANY YEARS AGO.

“You never want anything to do with this fucking family! You think we want a fucking low-life in the house? You think I want a drug obsessed alcoholic around my kid? Fuck you.”

Another day in the life of Y/N L/N.

You stopped writing, listening to the last bits of conversation down the stairs of your family home. Aged 7, you had never known anything different than arguing. Every day, like a broken record, the same familiar sound of spiteful arguing, cups smashing and doors slamming greeted you, and to be honest, it felt normal.

Dad’s come home drunk again. He was out with Kristy.

You paused, listening.

“You’re a monster. I hate you. Our daughter doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this.”

He was fucking her.

Setting down your pen, you slid it down the spiral binder of your diary, rising from the top step and heading back to your bedroom. Like every other day, it got boring after the blaming happened. In a few minutes a cup would break, and Mum would leave the house to stand on the patio, crying. At that, you closed your window. You didn’t want to hear it. After that, Dad would come upstairs. He’d cry. He’d come in the room and make empty promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

It was a mundane routine that you couldn’t fall out of.

Sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees, you didn’t flinch when the familiar sound of a mug breaking on the kitchen tiles screamed in the house. Moments later, the door. Even with the window closed, you could hear your Mum crying. As if trying to make a point, she was crying louder. Harder.

The neighbours also closed their windows. It was easier that way.

Eventually, you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, slow and heavy. You clamped your eyes closed in dread; you dreaded hearing those words. You dreaded being filled with false hope, only to be disappointed endlessly the next evening.

A quiet thud made you look up towards your door, noticing your Dad step inside with bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t been crying this time. They were red from drugs, from the weed you could smell on his clothes. Today, he was stumbling across the room. Drunk.

“Y/N, baby,” he said, his voice gentle but slurred. You cringed away and he paused, noticing. “You’re not afraid of me, are you sweetie?”

“Dad,” you whimpered.

He dropped to a small frog-like crouch, taking tiny steps towards you, his hands outstretched. They were shaking. Would he even remember this in the morning?

“You know I love you baby,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion or empathy, let alone love. He waved his hands, motioning you to come forward. Above everything, he was still your Dad. The only Dad you’ll ever have. “I love you so much sweetheart. I’m gonna fix everything and it’ll be okay again. I’m gonna make things right. I’m gonna come and get you in a few years, okay? We can move somewhere nice. By the beach?”

His voice lifted, and you thought the beach sounded nice. Relieved, he saw a nod.

For the first time in two months of this never-ending cycle happening, you moved forward into his arms, accepting a hug. One of the last hugs from him.

“There, there, honey,” he murmured against your hair, rocking you from side to side. A hand on the back of your head. Another on your back. Familiar. “I’ve got you, honey. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.”

PRESENT DAY.

Since this morning, Taehyung’s hand had never once left your back.

It felt like a reminder that he was there for you, no matter what. Without words, he comforted you, letting you know that even when the world felt like complete and utter shit, there was someone you could rely on.

You sat quietly by his side, your thighs touching, legs hanging down over in the barn. Taehyung rested his chin on the beam running across as a sort of barrier to stop boxes from toppling down from where he had set up your shared sleeping mat, one hand under his chin, the other on the small of your back, becoming friendly. He hadn’t said anything since earlier. You liked that about him; he never pushed you to speak when he knew you didn’t want to.

“Earlier,” you said, and he quickly looked over, mostly surprised you were talking. Your gaze was downcast, staring at an empty spot in space. He moved his hand from your back to your lap, gripping your own hand with a comfortable force. “When you held me, you reminded me of my Dad.”

Oh. He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing, figuring you had more to the story.

“When I was younger, my family would fight a lot,” you continued, voice quiet and gentle, like the voiced feeling of stroking a feather, “like every other family. I was no stranger to the typical parent fights. Only, they were daily. Every single day, I would hear them fight downstairs. I was so scared that one day, it wouldn’t be a cup breaking. I was scared I’d find my Mum downstairs on the floor instead of china or glass. I was scared of seeing either one of my parents hurt. My Dad...he’d come upstairs. Hold me for a while, crying. I’d cry too. He’d tell me that he’d come back for me. That he’d hold me tighter. That he had me. I felt so safe in his arms, even though I knew they were filthy. The arms of a monster.

“But I loved him. Because he was my Dad and no matter how much he hurt my Mum or me, I’d still love him. Everyday, I’d fall for the same recycled bullshit explanation. Until one day, he didn’t come upstairs to find me. One day, he just left. He left me and my Mum alone. He’d run off with the woman he was sleeping with on the side. He said- said he was too upset and neglected to come back to trouble. To come back to us.”

Taehyung truly didn’t know what to say.

“My Mum got diagnosed with breast cancer a couple months later. It broke us. Broke her and me, our relationship. And-my Mum phoned my Dad one day. She asked him to take care of me when she passed away. He said-” you choked on your words, unaware that tears were rolling down your face uncontrollably. “-He said that he didn’t know who was calling. Didn’t know a [Mum’s name] or a Y/N. Fucked off with another woman and had more kids. Forgot about the one who loved him. And, when my Mum died,” you sniffed, inhaling breath, “I had nothing. No money and barely any family. I moved in with my grandparents.”

Wiping away the tears, you braved looking at Taehyung. “Truth is, Taehyung, I’m scared. I didn’t wanna let you in, because I didn’t wanna be alone again. But, I need you. I need you. I need you to live. If not with me, then for me. Right now, you’re all I have left.”

He knew no words could reply. Instead, he pulled you forward, tightly wrapping you in an embrace beyond friendship. Inhaling the natural smell of your skin, he tightened his grip, content when your arms snaked around his waist, your face pushed near his armpit, his own face buried in your nest of hair.

“You’ve got me,” he whispered. He was sincere, you could hear it laced in his words. “You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere without you, okay? I’m here. I’m here for you, always.”

The hug lasted longer than before, until it became physically uncomfortable to hold. When he pulled away carefully, he held your face in both of his hands, leaning to press a gentle kiss against your jaw, whispers hot against your skin, repeated, “I’ve got you,” marking your skin like a tattoo. His thumbs absentmindedly moved tears from your face, and when he moved from your jaw, he rested his forehead against your own, forcing himself to look down into your eyes.

It was suddenly intimidating, being this close to intimate with you.

“Don’t,” you said whilst moving away. His lips turned to a frown. “I smell like vomit.”

At that, he smiled softly, laughing almost. “I’ve literally smelt worse today. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s gross.”

He hummed as if indifferent. “It’s okay. Doesn’t bother me.”

Triumphant, you moved back, your hands curled around his upper-wrists as he cradled your face.

“What I saw today,” you began, after some time of silence. You struggled to find the right words. “I- Daniel-”

“I know,” Taehyung replied quietly. “I saw his clothes. A dumpster full.”

“They were feeding the pigs human meat,” you exclaimed, exasperated, moving away without realising with your hands still around his wrists. He let you move. Instead he just held your hands. “Human meat. And guts and there was so much blood and- it’s completely different to seeing a biter. They had bodies in the freezer, Taehyung. I don’t know if they eat them or feed them to animals but I saw what I saw and-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Taehyung soothed, calming your panicked breaths. “I know. I take it this is one of your, ‘I told you so’ moments, huh.”

You smiled at that. “Isn’t it true though? I told you.”

“You did,” he agreed. “And I’m sorry for shrugging it off.”

Glancing up, you caught his gaze. Looking in his eyes, you let out a gentle sigh, “we can’t stay here, Taehyung. We really can’t.”

“I know,” he nodded, kissing your knuckles briefly before looking down at the bottom of the barn. Namjoon moved away from Kyungmin to look over at the group of other outsiders, and then his gaze flickered up to you both at the top of the barn. He nodded wordlessly, and Taehyung turned to you with a gentle and soft gaze. Had he ever looked at anything more beautifully? “I know. I’m gonna make things right.”

You closed your eyes.

It was not yet sunrise, and Taehyung figured he had to act quickly if he wanted to seize the chance to leave. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of reloading rifles and trucks transporting firearms further inside the warehouse, and he quickly descended the ladder to join Namjoon in the middle of the barn. Never before had the gun tucked at the back of his jeans felt so tight against his skin, as he walked with a newfound sense of pride and bravery towards Namjoon and Kyungmin, who sat on a hay-bale quietly. Joined by yourself, Kyungmin shuffled to lend you a seat as Namjoon gently led Taehyung away from the pair of you to a space of silence.

“I can’t protect everybody here,” Namjoon admitted quietly, gesturing to the rest of his old group huddled in their usual corner. In honesty, Taehyung hadn’t considered the possibility of them coming along. “But I can protect you and Y/N. Kyungmin is my priority, and I’ll do what I can to make sure you and Y/N get out safely. But I cannot guarantee everybody here will make it.”

Taehyung nodded. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

“I don’t want to carry the guilt,” he replied. “Just putting it out there.”

He lifted his hand to Namjoon’s shoulder, clapping it tightly and smiling as naturally as he could. Satisfied with the ghost of a smile Namjoon gave, he let go, approaching Kyungmin and yourself back on the hay bale. Reaching out to your hand he took it in his own, pulling you to your feet with Kyungmin following behind, meanwhile Namjoon stepped towards the huddled group in the corner of the barn.

They looked up, noticing Namjoon lingering near the open door to their area. A woman closest to the door took several moments looking at each one of you outside the stack. “What’s going on?”

Namjoon felt nervous. “The insiders are fighting a horde of dead-meat at sunrise.”

Someone scoffed. “Who cares?”

“Me. Because as soon as all attention is on the left, we’re leaving through the right.”

At that, a burst of life erupted from the corner, a mixture of exclamations and protests.

“You can stay if it’s too hard for you to leave,” Namjoon carried on talking, “but if you come, and you make it out, we can band together. Taehyung and Y/N know a group in Georgia with boats. Now, these boats can get us to the islands off the coast, where the infection probably hasn’t spread. We stay there until we have enough resources to continue going to wherever we best see fit. Most importantly, we’re not asking permission to leave. This is my last goodbye.”

“Namjoon!” the same woman rose to her feet. “You’re going to just abandon Jenny and Daniel? And Clara? Just for a bunch of stragglers we barely know?”

Namjoon nodded, confident. “I trust them.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be dumb.”

He took several steps backwards, his arm extending around Kyungmin in a protective manner as the group simultaneously rose to their feet. From the back of the small group of survivors, a man you remember being called to as “Harry” stepped up and over a bale of hay, a smooth black pistol in his hands pointed forward.

Namjoon immediately raised his hands. “Put it down, Harry.”

“No, man, fuck you!’ he cursed. “You pickin’ them over us? After all we’ve been through? Throwin’ it away for some fuckin’ Asian lowlives-”

“Way to make it personal,” you muttered, and his pistol spun in the air to face you.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

As his gun moved in your direction, Taehyung felt his body set into Protective Mode: he grabbed the gun from the back of his jeans and pulled it out, pointing it steadily towards Harry. The crocodile skin caught Harry’s eyes first, followed by the engraved golden initials of “PBG”, and Harry paused. His gun was still raised, although his gaze moved between each person with fury.

“Why the fuck has he got a Scorpion’s gun?”

Taehyung didn’t waver, or cower. From behind his muscles, you noticed that his hands didn’t even shake as he held the gun outwards, a frown on his lips and a small line between his brows. Every-time you moved to see, he would step in front of you, a shield.

Harry seemed agitated at having no answer. “You a Scorpion?”

“No, but I have connections and I know how to use them,” Taehyung replied in a deeper voice than usual. He sounded scary. When had you ever been scared of Kim Taehyung? “Put down the gun and I won’t exercise my skills.”

“Is that a fuckin’ threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“You’re banding with Scorpions, Namjoon,” the same woman said, her voice elevated and face covered in worry. “Please don’t do this.”

Of course, Taehyung having relations to the Scorpions came as a surprise to Namjoon. It had certainly been something that was left out of conversation. Even though, yes, it was information that Namjoon would have liked to have known before being put in a situation such as this one, he still trusted the both of you wholly. Namjoon stepped once in front of both guns, his arms in a T pose, forcing both gunners to stand down.

“I trust them,” Namjoon repeated, pleading to the woman you still didn’t know. You never would. “Please. We’re not begging you to come. But we’re leaving. Please...please. Let us go, please.”

From across the room, the woman lowered her head. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, feathering against her eyelashes and she eventually looked back up, turning to Harry with a sour expression.

“Let ‘em go.”

#heehee id die for y/n js #bts #btsguild #ktaenet #bangtan #bts scenarios #bts imagine #taehyung #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenario #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #kth #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts zombie apocalypse au #gwoongi #bts au #au #tw: zombies #tw: gore #tlou

[hulksmashin-bannerpackin]

Sunny Days Part 11

Pairings:

Bruce Banner x Reader

Hulk x Reader

Summary:

For the first time in Bruce’s life, he believed in miracles.

————-

Bruce honestly didn’t remember what happened next. Between hearing his father scream about killing his mother, his child and seeing his beautiful Y/N crumble to the ground, too shocked to even scream.

The next thing he became fully aware of was being guided to sit down, he sat in a golden room alone and broken, blood covering his hands as he shook and sobbed. He was an utterly useless heap. He tried to piece together his fragmented memories.

“HEIMDALL!”

Bruce remembered Thor’s thunderous voice boom.

“OPEN THE BIFROST!”

Bruce remembered clutching Y/N in his arms, praying to every God that he didn’t believe in that she would be alright, that this was a dream. He remembered being sharply yanked away from her, he remembered a bright colourful light.

Bruce felt like he should have been more disoriented, what with being pulled into an extraterrestrial portal, being suddenly hoisted onto a large horse and held by a very large presumably Asgardian man, having never even petted a pony before, and now galloping across a literal rainbow bridge that reminded him a little too much of a psychedelic punk rock music video.

Bruce just sat in the room lifelessly, head hung in his bloody palms. His baby was dead, his Y/N was potentially dying, if she didn’t make it through this Bruce didn’t know how he would either. In the pit of his despair Bruce thought that Steve would make a better father then him anyway.

He basked in heavy silence as his mind continued to attempt to unlock the puzzle that was his memory of what happened. Why couldn’t he remember?

There was so much blood, Bruce remembered a sickening crack as his fathers skull went crashing against his mother’s headstone. He remembered that Hulk was no where to be seen, one of the few instances that Bruce’s brain felt absolutely his own. He remembered a rage that was all his own. He remembered blood pouring onto the grass. He remembered shaking as his hand was still held in a tight fist, his stomach coiled in a white hot rage and tears streaming down his face.

Did, did Bruce kill Brian? God did he kill his own father? Is that what happened? Bruce knew he was a monster... Hulk was still silent and it was almost funny, for years Bruce wanted desperately for the inside of his head to be this silent, and now he couldn’t stand it.

The silence was shattered as the two doors swung open violently, heavy pounding footsteps echoed across the room as Thor appeared.

“Dear Bruce! I bring you great tidings!”

Bruce remained quiet, he kept his head in his hands as violent silent sobs racked through him.

This however, did not deter Thor in the slightest as women flittered behind him, trying to politely tell their prince to be careful.

“Come see your tiny yet glorious warrior!!!”

Bruce looked up startled when he heard the sudden crying of a baby.

“Please my prince!” One of the women attempted to work up the courage to chastise their prince. “The baby will be easily startled! You must be quiet.”

“And GENTLE!” Another maiden with more grit chimed in. Thor had never pertained a reputation for being delicate.

None of the women knew what to do when suddenly their crowned prince of Asgard had decided to take the baby from their grasp and proceeded to happily storm away seeking out Bruce.

No.... Was this hell? Was this a sick and twisted joke? Giving him one last tinge of hope only to rip it away. His child was dead and yet Thor was cruel enough to give him hope.

Bruce turned his head, just the slightest so that one eye was peaking out of his palms, his hollow gaze directed at Thor who, once again was completely unaffected by the harsh vibe of the room.

“While tending to your wife’s injury labour was induced. Your baby seemed to have healed herself in the womb!” That’s what the healing woman told him anyway.

“There’s not a scratch on her!” Thor’s voice boomed proudly, the baby cried once more and Thor this time, looked guilty and whispered a soft “Sorry small one.” to the infant in his arms.

Bruce was almost too afraid to take a look into the bundled blanket. It was impossible... If this was a trick he had no problem morally with tearing down Asgard. Yet, that was definitely the cry of a baby.

He took a deep breath and stood up, shuffling towards Thor. When he gazed down he saw a tiny baby, her skin seemed to be splashed with patches of green, there was the smallest tuft of (H/C) hair and vibrant green eyes were staring widely back at him as the small baby stopped crying in favour of holding Bruce’s attention.

Bruce’s mouth hung open and his heart sped up and Hulk rushed to the forefront of his mind so quickly he felt an immense headache for a few seconds and almost fell down from the impact.

True to Thor’s word she was fine, her tiny belly rose and fell as she breathed and she didn’t have a single scratch on her.

She was alive...

She was a she...

Bruce had a daughter...

He felt a surge of instant recognition from Hulk, feeling a connection immediately.

“She’s a hulk.” Bruce uttered in astonishment, not really knowing what else to say. She had Hulk’s healing factor. Come to think of it Bruce had never seen a scratch on S/N from all the wild and rugged outdoors play he did.

The moment that, that gamma radiation bomb went off and changed his life Bruce felt cursed but now an overwhelming feeling of gratitude crashed over him in waves. All the pain and all the grief that came with that transformation was suddenly worth it, because now the results of that transformation had saved his baby girl.

He could feel Hulk underneath his skin beaming with pride.

“And-and Y/N?” Bruce’s voice was barely a whisper and his eyes were wide as he swallowed thickly, that tiny tinge of hope never felt so strong.

“The lady is recovering, she is still receiving care but she shall be fine.” One of the women spoke kindly to Bruce with a smile.

Bruce collapsed, falling to his knees ungracefully with a loud thud. Was this really happening? Was for once finally something in his miserable life actually going his way?

“Come now Brother Banner!” Thor dropped to the floor himself as the women behind him let out soft gasps and some even cringed at his unintentional reckless behaviour.

Thor, with a sense of gentleness, extended his arms and held out the baby in Bruce’s direction. Bruce was frozen, this baby was so pure, he didn’t want to taint her with his-

Bruce had no time to finish that thought as Thor forced the baby into his arms.

“Gaze upon her and hold her close dear Bruce! She is small yet mighty!”

Bruce held back another fresh sob,

his tears however, continued to stream down his cheeks as he held her, his daughter. This tiny life that meant so much to Bruce in such little time. Bruce knew at this moment he would do anything for this child. He raised his hand and gently brushed his fingers across her warm cheek. The baby cooed as she reached out and grasped onto Bruce’s finger.

A smile broke through his cries, Bruce and Hulk were both bursting with happiness.

Permanent Taglist:

@insanityismysanity12345 @greenangrysnowflake @zadyalyss @theweirdlunatic @itsjackothy @surfin-the-sun @daft-not-punk @fangirlbitch02 @gabriels-trix @ivy-16-18 @jedionironthrone @theblackqueen-ofmyheart @slowlywithfreedom @holyn0vak @peachamma @lifeisabitchandsoareyou @jadepc @aw--heck @no1brucebannerfangirl @hana-the-starry-eyed-fool @curious-expectations

Sunny Days Taglist:

@nyu-kun69 @saysay125 @livingoffsavvyillusions @madelonj @soulshadow1027 @jinxpikachu @goldhat-coolcat @spoiledtunaprincess @larrryyyisinloveee @be-cool259 @random-fandom-lady @marvelnersworld

#bruce banner #hulk #avengers #bruce banner x reader #marvel #incredible hulk #bruce banner imagine #hulk x reader #hulk imagine #avengers imagine #bruce banner appreciation

[sig-nifier]

sad and angsty FAHC

this was going to be a now or never kiss but it got real sad real fast

i’ve made myself sad and i apologise in advance

-

It was cold.

Or, maybe it wasn’t, but Ryan’s rain soaked clothes pressed up to Michaels own was enough to chill his whole body.

“You still there, Ryan?”

“Course.”

The heist had been a fucking disaster to say the least. Somehow, the LSPD had been tipped off of the crews plans and caught them by surprise. They hadn’t been aiming to take them alive.

Gavin had gone first. He’d been hauled up in a van a few blocks away with all of his equipment, ready to send them any codes they’d need and block any cameras. It had been going smoothly, everyone was in position and buzzing to go as the general pre-heist banter floated through their earpieces. Jeremy was telling Michael not to blow them up this time round, Michael shooting back a ‘don’t tempt me’ as he heard Geoff’s laughter.

Then they heard the gunshot.

For a second, Michael had no idea where it had come from. It hadn’t been near him or Ryan, where the two of them were waiting in an alley across the street from the bank. It hadn’t been Jack or Jeremy - he knew that as he could see them in their own hiding spot. They both looked equally confused. Geoff’s voice broke through the silence that had fallen.

“What the fuck w-“

An almost deafening shock of static pierced Michaels eardrums and he cringed, reaching up and ripping the com from his ear. Across the street he could see Jeremy and Jack doing the same thing. He pressed his hand to his ear, willing the ringing in his brain to stop.

“Fuck. Do you think Gavin’s alright?”

Michael had almost forgotten that Ryan was a living being beside him and not just one of the voices that floated through his mind.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just fucked up the connection. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. When he turned to look at Ryan he saw a pool of concern swimming in the ocean blue of his eyes. That did nothing to calm his own nerves.

Together they made the decision to cross the street to Jack and Jeremy, now that they had no way to communicate. Michael could only hope Geoff had figured something out on his own. Ryan led the way out of the alley, Michael hot on his tail.

Thats when it really went to shit.

As soon as the pair were crossing the road police cars shot out from all sides, guns firing and sirens echoing loudly. Michael felt the whip of the wind as a bullet whizzed past his head. He reached out, grabbing Ryan’s arm and hauling him back the direction they’d came, back into the alley and safely behind one of the dumpsters that was located there. They both ducked down, breaths harsh despite not having ran very far. Michaels ears still rang. He poked his head out from his hiding space, heart beating in his chest as he took in the scene before him. He could feel Ryan leaning over his shoulder as he watched too, his breath hot on Michaels neck. They weren’t very close, but they didn’t need to be to see what was happening.

Jack was dead. Michael could see his limp body laying on the floor, a pool of crimson red slowly expanding around him. He felt a lump well up in his throat, heard Ryan mutter ‘no’ from behind him and it took everything in him not to throw up. Jack had never been hurt in a heist. It was an ongoing joke in the crew that Jack was a lucky charm due to him never being shot before. Michael had the sick thought of go big or go home in the back of his mind.

Jeremy was still on his feet, one arm hanging loosely by his side as the other held his gun tightly, firing shots at anyone who got too close. Michael thought he could make out movements in his face and he knew Jeremy was stringing out all the swears he knew. Michael felt an odd sense of pride at that. Then Jeremy’s body stumbled back, a hand going to his chest as he staggered on his feet. Jeremy hit the ground and his movements stopped all together.

A sob tore it’s way through Michaels chest, a deep pain setting into his heart. He felt hands on his shoulders, heard a voice before he was being pulled to his feet, a hand in his own as he was dragged back down the alley. It was raining, now, Michael noted as broken drainpipes sprayed cold water when he passed. It was a harsh rain, violent and freezing as it clung to his clothes and dripped from his hair. He heard the faint sound of sirens as they ran, the noise drowned out by the rain and their feet hitting the concrete.

Ryan had let go of his hand now, running slightly ahead of him. His friend ran out into an opening, intending to cross the street to the next alley. He didn’t make it that far. Michael watched as he stumbled sideways, hand going to his waist as he backtracked into the alley Michael hadn’t yet left.

“Go back. Think I saw somewhere we can hide.” His voice came out strained as he spoke through his teeth.

Michael came up beside him, slipping a hand round his waist to support him and applying pressure to the wound. He heard Ryan let out a small groan as he leant his body onto Michaels.

So there they were, huddling for warmth, Michaels arm still wrapped around Ryan’s side as they waited. The place Ryan had spotted before had been a rundown bakery, window smashed and half it’s contents robbed. They had gone all the way down to the basement, closing and locking the door behind them before they had settled down.

It had been silent for a long time after that.

They didn’t talk. Not about how badly everything had gone, not about their dead friends, not about whether or not Gavin and Geoff were still alive. They just sat and listened to Ryan’s ragged breathing and the sounds above, tensing whenever a siren got just a little too loud.

“Michael-“

“We’re not doing that.”

“Michael-“ Ryan’s voice was cut off by a series of coughs racking his chest. “I hate to be a pessimist, but I think it’s just us now.”

“No it’s not. Geoff’s still out there somewhere and so’s Gavin, Jeremy and Jack went down but that doesn’t mean they’re dead Ryan, I mean for fuck sake man just because we saw them get..just because..they’re not dead, Ryan, they’re not.”

There was no response.

“You still there, Ryan?”

“Course.”

“Good. You have to stay with me, man. I..We have to stick together. We have to go and find Gavin and Geoff and patch up Jack and Jeremy. Then we tear down the asshole LSPD of this city. We get Gavin the latest equipment so he can’t fuck up the coms, we get Jack a plane and Jeremy a gun in his ridiculous colours. Geoff can get an even fancier suit and we’ll get you some of those ridiculous, rainbow reflective knives and me? I think I’ll get a real fast car. Yeah, real fast and real expensive..”

Michael ignored the lack of reply and the way the body next to him had gone cold and lifeless. He kept talking. He kept telling himself the plans for their future - the plans of the infamous Fake AH Crew.

By the end of his rant his voice was barely a whisper.

“You have to stay with me.”

#achievement hunter #fahc #ah #michael jones #ryan haywood #geoff ramsey #gavin free #jack patillo #jeremy dooley #angst

[thecompostpile]

Adult Mom Concert and Hard Ice Cream From Bill’s Carousel

Adult Mom Concert and Hard Ice Cream From Bill’s Carousel

Adult Mom Live One Night Only

Do You Full Screen Your Porn?

One Scoop Hard Ice Cream On A Cone

Ice Cream Essay #1

I still wake up first thing in the morning, when I would be leaving to student teach. I mostly wake up because of stress dreams. I am back at school but something extra terrible is happening or someone is telling me how disappointed they are in me. I am sorry but there is nothing I can do. I am asleep.

The good part about finally being done, even if I am not quite done, is at least I get to do fun things again. When I was student teaching my entire night was taken up. I stopped watching tv shows I enjoyed. Stopped going to concerts or movies. Now at least I have those things back for a little while.

I didn’t think I was going to be able to go to this concert. I should have still been student teaching. I was supposed to have two more days left after today. I had thought about that day a lot but it never came. It’ll come sometime in December. So much of my 26th year alive will be dedicated to student teaching. It kind of makes me sick to think about.

The good news is I will be able to attend this concert. Adult Mom is one of my favorite band. I have seen them at least three times. I say at least because I feel like I saw them once before I knew who they were but I can’t be sure. I am sure of two other times I saw them because they were both great and Adult Mom, as previously mentioned, is one of my favorite bands.

I also remember a time when I skipped their show. They were playing for free at BAR, a pizza place, in New Haven. I had wanted to go. I was planning on going. I was barely working as a substitute and could take any day I wanted off. I told myself it wouldn’t matter. Adult Mom was from New Haven they would play there again. Adult Mom moved from New Haven later that month and I didn’t see them for another year.

The first time I saw Adult Mom they opened for Emperor X at the Lyric Hall. Lyric Hall is one of my favorite venues. It is a really small theater and reminds me of a David Lynch movie. The scene from Mullhand Drive that takes place in a big theater this is kind of like that. Mullhand Drive is the David Lynch movie I’ve only seen once and I was barely paying attention. I have been meaning to watch it again. For Everest also played that show, I thought about that band tonight for the first time in a long time for that reason.

The other last time I saw Adult Mom they opened for Kevin Devine. I used to really like Kevin Devin in High School. I liked him my freshmen year of college too. And I don’t dislike him now but I also don’t actively listen to him. However, he does always tour with bands I want to see and so I always end up seeing Kevin Devin play live. Man, if you haven’t seen him play live you should he puts on a really good set, even if I don’t care much for his music in recorded form anymore.

We missed two of the four bands that were also playing the show. Two-Headed Girl is a band from Rocky Hill that I saw once at NG2BC a DIY venue I can’t tell you about. I really like them. Long Neck was the other band. I have never heard a Long Neck song. I am afraid to listen to them now because what if I really like them. Then I will always look back at this concert as the time I could have seen Long Neck but didn’t.

Goblin Jr was the first band we made it there for. The first song on their album goes “I’m going to work high/I’m sitting at work high/I’m smoking at work hi, nice to meet you”. The lead singer/keyboard player also played the kazoo in the middle of the song.  The song is called “Afraid of Me” I listened to it before the show and that line made me laugh. It made me laugh at the show. Goblin Jr was a lot of fun. Good opening lines to a song mean everything to me. The first time I heard Adult Mom’s “Full Screen” I laughed hard at it, it wasn’t out yet they were just playing it. I couldn't wait for it to come out.

A lot of people were dancing and it was fun to see people actually enjoy themselves at a show. Some times at punk shows like that I feel like everyone is just watching wishing no one else was around. They know the words to the songs but don’t sing them. They must somewhat enjoy the band but you would never know it. Maybe that is what is cool about more queer bands playing shows. Queer people are more fun than straight people. That’s just science.

Adult Mom 2nd and 3rd songs were two of my favorites, “Paws” into “Fullscreen”. I sing “Paws” to my puppy, Bub, all the time. I sing a lot of Adult Mom songs to myself. I’m not as good a singer as Steph but I like how my voice sounds when I sing them. I have been singing it to him a lot lately getting ready for the show. It’s just a sweet catchy song. My favorite emo troupe is lyrics about being a dog and this song nails that on the head but it is also just a cute song. It makes me feel good to sing along to.

Adult Mom has a lot of fun songs to sing along to. They picked a perfect set. I sang along to almost every song. They decided to play a new one called “Frost” and announced they had just finished recording a record that they didn’t know when it would come out. Everyone danced for part of the Adult Mom songs that moved fast and could be danced to. Sometimes the group of people would start dancing and then slowly realize the song wasn’t very dancy. Adult Mom has a lot of sad songs, a lot of break up songs. They aren’t the best band to dance to.

It was fun to hear all the songs I wanted to hear. They stuck to mostly older songs which was cool. I have listened to their newer album Soft Spots more but like both equally. Most bands seem to play only newer stuff and a few old songs. Adult Mom didn’t follow this unwritten rule.

Middletown is a far drive from New Haven. Less than an hour but close enough to it that it might as well be an hour. The show ended at 10 and we headed home as soon as Adult Mom’s set ended. None of us got any merch or any of the drummer's hair, which was also on sale. We got back to Kevin’s at 11:00. I still had to drive from New Haven to home.

Bill’s Carousel is an ice cream place down the street from my friend Kevin’s apartment. We walked there a few weeks ago before we watched First Reformed. I got a soft-serve swirl with rainbow sprinkles. I almost got a blueberry sundae but Kevin got soft-serve and it looked good so I followed. It was much easier to eat the soft-serve as I walked back to Kevin’s place with him so I think I made the right choice.

After I left Kevin’s I decided I really wanted ice cream. I knew I was going to drive past Bill’s, I always drive past it on my way home. Most of the times I quickly think ”I should get ice cream. I wonder if it is open.” then keep driving. Today the dripped into my mind like melted ice cream well before just driving by. By the time I had reached Bill’s I knew I wanted ice cream and proudly pulled in.

Bill’s open sign was still flashing and there were people getting ice cream. It was late closer to 11 then 10 and most ice cream places close at 10 pm. But here was Bill’s wide open. I pulled into the parking lot and tried not to hit a guy riding his bike. You can hear a river behind the parking lot flowing. It was peaceful a relaxing way to end a fun night.

A group of college kids was getting ice cream in front of me. They were laughing and having a good time. How could you not have a good time when you are getting ice cream? One of the girls couldn’t handle money. She was trying to make the exact change with coins and kept messing it up. She was laughing. The ice cream guy was laughing. I laughed.

Last time I was at Bill’s I didn’t notice the hard ice cream. Today though I was thinking about hard ice cream. I scanned the menu. It started off Chocolate, Strawberry then had some other classics Cherry Vinella, Rocky Roads and some weirder stuff like Pumpkin. I usually look for fruity ice cream, cherry or coconut today. Nothing was really catching my eye when towards the bottom I found it Coconut Almond Chocolate Chunk. Far too many words but it sounded great. I got a small on a sugar cone. I forgot all the words in the name by the time the guy asked for my order. They stumbled out of my mouth in the wrong order but the man understood. I had hit all the right words just not in the right order.

I always forget which cone is which. I get ice cream all the time. I get asked the same question all the time. Yet I don’t know the difference between a sugar cone or a wafer cone. Waffle cones are my favorite. The wafer is my least favorite I usually go with sugar. I don’t even remember what the guy asked me. I just said yes. I got a light brown cone. It wasn’t the cone I wanted but I had ice cream who could be upset. As I walked back to my car I cringed realizing I could have gotten sprinkles. Sprinkles make everything better.

My phone was dead and charging. I ate my ice cream and sung Adult Mom songs I had just heard too myself while I ate my ice cream. I had nowhere to be. No one was expecting me. I could hang out in a parking lot with my ice cream and sing to myself.

The boys behind in line were also parked next to me. I watched as the driver of the car took three pictures of his ice cream. It slowly melting as he took them. He smiled when he finally got the one he liked and started to type. I wondered who he was sending it to. Was it someone personally or was he posting it on Instagram or Snapchat? I laughed at the options then thought I should take a picture of my ice cream but I was too late it was almost to the cone. Almost to my favorite part.  

My phone was back on by the time I finished eating. I turned on Against Me! and headed for the Merit Parkway to take me home. I still wasn’t feeling great but at least there was one good night full of friends, music and ice cream.

#ice cream #adult mom #concerts #review #essay #depressed #student teaching #am writing #writing #eating ice cream #ice cream essays

[leosault]

The Tide Pod Loli War

The future looked bleak.

It had been three and a half months since the war began and whilst the Ugandan Knuckles Army were long gone, the Tide Pod Loli forces were still at almost full strength. The Twitch Streamer and Youtuber Alliance had managed to push the Lolis back to the coast, but at a severe cost; nearly all of the Alliance had been wiped out. Sgt. Regular's platoon had spearheaded the pushback but in order to succeed they had paid the ultimate price. Two weeks prior to that, the Lolis had launched what they had despicably named "The Copyright Strike"; a barrage of several tide pod mortar strikes that wiped out the entire Youtube regiment, even taking down General Jameskii. But most recently, a large napalm bomb filled with tide pod powder had been detonated in the trenches taking out almost everyone. Shmoodle was gone, Dengeki was gone, Sugar, Jyhos, Bunny… all gone. All that was left was Sgt. Jonny and his second in command, Stefan.

"Waffles? Do you read me? General Waffles, come in! Over!" Jonny called into the radio but no response. "We're fucked!" cried Stefan, clutching his head in his hands. The constant thudding of tide pods all around them was beginning to drive Stefan crazy, and Jonny knew he had to do something before Stefan did something stupid. Jonny walked slowly over to the streamer camera embedded in the muddy wall of the trench and tapped it a few times in desperation. The light indicating that it was live and recording had died days ago but Jonny needed a miracle, and tried one last plea. He knelt down in the mud before the camera and cleared his throat, looking straight down the slightly cracked lens.

"Please, guys… If the channel is still on air… We need your help. It's just me and Stefan left… Your beloved thot and his Swedish roommate are almost no more. I don't know what you can do or how you would do it but… Please… try."

He paused for a moment as a tear rolled down his pretty anime boi face and turned away to wipe it from his pale cheek. He had noticed his copy of the propaganda posters Dranoko had commissioned that depicted him and Jonny Jr back to back under the slogan 'The Metaverse needs YOU.' "Victoria, if you're watching, take care of little Jonny Jr for me. Raise him as your own. Help guide him to continue the TFMJonny legacy." He gazed at the camera longingly before blowing it a kiss and then clutched his hands over his heart, smiling weakly.

When Jonny stood back up again, he looked over at Stefan who was also starting to get teary. Just as Jonny opened his mouth to ask Stefan if he was alright, Jonny was interrupted by a loud crashing noise from inside the shelter. Curious, Jonny and Stefan both slowly approached the shelter door and opened it slowly, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness inside. In the middle of the room was a small seal waddling around, picking up pans from the floor. "You should really tidy up around here" he said while putting the pans up onto the table. "Waffles!!" Jonny and Stefan cried in unison and ran up to him in delight. Jonny patted his little seal friend on the head and asked "What are you doing here?"

"Well, your radio hasn't worked for ages so I came down to give you your orders personally." Jonny gave him a look of realisation and Stefan rubbed their previous tactics off of the whiteboard. "It's okay, you won't need to write this down" Waffles said as he tiptoed up to put his flipper onto Stefan's arm, stopping him from further erasing. "Jonny, do you still have your mic?" Jonny pulled his microphone from his back pocket and handed it to General Waffles. "Hmm. You only have one song left on this; that means we cannot fail under any circumstance. We are going to need a perfect performance. We need to initiate… Plan A… B-B-A." Stefan gasped in shock. "Plan A-B-B-A? But that means… it's all down to me?" Waffles slowly nodded and Stefan turned to Jonny slowly. "You can do this, Stefan. I believe in you." he said to Stefan reassuringly and placed his hand on the nervous Swede's shoulder. Suddenly, out of the darkness, sounded a familiar honeyed voice. "Yes, darling. Pull yourself together. The fate of the metaverse is in your sticky, meatball-fondling hands. Don't mess it up, dear." Alfonsalona stepped out of the shadows wearing not much of anything and twirled unnecessarily. Jonny glared in confusion. "What are you doing here?" "Well darling, when Waffles told me he was going to initiate this idiotic plan, I wanted a front row seat to watch you fail miserably." Jonny and Stefan ignored Alfonsalona's pessimism and turned back to Waffles, who was now holding out the microphone to Stefan.  Stefan took it from him and took a deep breath before leading them all outside.

Jonny reached down to the radio and pulled a CD from behind the unit; 'ABBA Gold: Greatest Hits'. He opened the disc tray and placed the disc inside. He skipped to song number 18 and flicked the 'Yell' switch on. The opening piano bars played and Stefan took another deep breath before raising the microphone to his mouth. "I'm nothing special… In fact I'm a bit of a bore" he began, his Scandinavian-accented vocals blaring from their position right across to the Tide Pod Loli frontline. He continued to sing and as Alfonsalona sighed and cringed at his singing, Jonny put his arm around Stefan and looked down at Waffles who was, of course, slowly nodding his head up and down in enjoyment.

"So I say… thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing…" Stefan belted out and Jonny could see in the distance that the Lolis were ceasing fire and looking at each other in confusion. It was working. "Thanks for all the joy they're bringing…" The Lolis were now not firing any tide pod weaponry at all and Jonny couldn't help but start to sing along with Stefan. "Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be?" Jonny began to laugh in amazement as the Lolis began to link arms and sway to the music. "Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music for giving it to me…"

By the second chorus, the Tide Pod Lolis were all swaying and singing along and Alfonsalona looked as shocked as Jonny was. It was at that moment that Waffles tugged on Jonny's trousers and pointed at the streamer camera. It was blinking again. It was live. Jonny immediately looked straight into the lens speechless and quickly opened up the communication screen next to it that hadn't worked in forever. He screamed with joy as it also turned on and he read the chat he hadn't seen in what had seemed like forever.

'battlefieldmatt has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

'vincentdefash has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

'cyberwolf2l has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

'Leosault has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

'bladesmithbigern has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

'dranoko9 has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

'bran1299 has gifted 5 Tier 1 subscriptions.'

As Jonny and Waffles stared at the screen in disbelief, a sudden loud yelling burst out of the radio, drowning out Stefan's hypnotic rendition of 'Thank You For The Music'. It sounded like several harsh military voices yelling over each other. Then Jonny realised what was being yelled.

"TACTICAL NUKE, INCOMING!"

The four of them looked to the skies to see close to thirty fighter jets speed overhead, zooming right over the Loli frontlines. The Tide Pod Lolis stopped swaying and singing and began to run around in a frenzied panic. As several launch sirens sounded, Jonny and co watched in glee as the deafening whistle of bombs rained down from the sky. As the first wave hit, they started to shield their eyes as the blasts illuminated the battlefield and only got brighter as each wave hit. When it was finally over, they slowly peeked over the top once more and watched as rainbow coloured ash gently snowed all over the area. As it began to land on their skin, they felt more alive than ever and noticed that there was movement on the field. Bodies that had been laying there for days were now regenerating and getting fresher and fresher until their eyes suddenly popped open as they gasped for air. The soldiers that had been lost were now being resurrected by the ash of the obliterated Tide Pod Lolis. Shmoodle came running back, as did Regular, Sugar and the rest of the Twitch Streamer and Youtuber Alliance.

Before Jonny knew it, the entire gang was back with them celebrating and General Jameski and the YouTube Regiment saluted as they marched past and back towards home. Jonny couldn't believe it. Alfonsalona couldn't believe it. Even Stefan was struck speechless by the events that had just unfolded. Waffles, however, was as cool as ever and was celebrating with the others, of course. Alfonsalona gave a slow clap and the rest of the army gathered round Stefan and applauded too. "Give it up for Stefan, saviour of the Metaverse!" yelled Jonny in celebration. Everyone ran to him and lifted him off of the ground and paraded him around the battlefield chanting "Ste-fan! Ste-fan! Ste-fan!" Jonny watched in delight until he felt a hand on his shoulder, Alfonsalona's, who was looking up at the rainbow ash still falling upon their heads.

"Raising the dead, eh…? So, darling, I guess the Tide Pod Lolis were somewhat useful after all."

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader (Frost’s Daughter) - Frost’s Secret - Part 5

Ok guys, sorry it took me so long to get this one done, the last few days has been quite busy for me. This part is quite short, but I think I roughly know what I’m doing for the next so hopefully it shouldn’t be too far behind once I’ve done a few parts of my other stories!

I hope you enjoy it - I’ve gone a bit off track from where I had originally seen this story going, but I’m just kind of rolling with it...?

Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything!

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN

MAIN MASTERLIST

FROST’S SECRET MASTERLIST

You staggered, feeling the sharp sting of the cut where the heavily ringed hand had caught you. Your legs were weak and unable to keep you upright and you threw out your arms as you fell, jolting your wrists painfully when they made contact with the floor. You felt the grazes on your palms prickle and the pain in your hip blossom as you fought back the water in your eyes.

You remained on the floor, trying desperately to keep some sort of dignity. You knew better than to get back up again – though you hadn’t known better than to back chat the man a moment ago.

“Your pathetic mother was only supposed to threaten Frost.” The man growled, pacing in his temper “She seemed to think she seized an opportunity by nabbing you – personally” He snarled darkly. “I think, she’s just saddled me with another thing to feed.” He spat at you cruelly, looking at you like you were something he’d found in a drain.

Everything in you wanted to snarled back at him, but you kept your mouth shut, twisting your head up to glare at the tall, burly man.

No, you wouldn’t get yourself killed, but you wouldn't let yourself be bullied either. You defiantly refused to stem the slow trickle of blood now oozing from your cheek - he’d have to try harder than that to break you.

“Now.” He growled again, his temper gone, but replaced with a nasty grin. “I am more than happy to withhold such luxuries from you.” He warned, grabbing your chin in a painful hold, crushing your jaw in his strong fingers so you couldn’t help closing your eyes at the pain. “But… whilst you’re here…” he mused quietly in your ear. “We might as well make use of you...”

 Frost had watched the video three times now since it had turned up outside his flat door earlier that morning. Twice he had watched it alone, now he was finally showing it to his boss.

J’s jaw had got tenser the longer he watched to the point that it looked close to snapping.

“What are they asking for?” He finally growled out, not moving his gaze from where [Y/N] - weakly supporting herself on her hands and knees - was now kicked in the stomach, spending her sprawling across the floor. The child was bruised, bleeding and weary, but he could see something in her eyes that told him she hadn’t given up yet. There was still some fight in her.

“Money. A large amount of it.” Frost answered stiffly, wishing he didn’t have to watch the torture again.

“And this was just sent to you?”

“Yes.” Frost frowned, confused by the question.

“Good.” The Joker muttered, now getting up from his chair at the head of the long meeting room table, though the tape continued to play out on the projector screen.

“Boss?”

“If they’re only threatening you, Frosty,” J grinned sinisterly, “then they don’t know about my part in this…” He mused to himself, a plan clearly forming in his mind. “And they’ll believe you’re limited to your resources alone.”

“And I’m not, boss?” Frost questioned with a raised brow. “Are you offering to help get my daughter back?”

“No.” J growled, turning back to the video screen, watching the balding man now back handing [Y/N]’s already bruised face. “I’m going to get my girl back.”

Frost had inwardly cringed at J’s continual possessiveness over [Y/N], but he couldn’t afford to argue with the crime lord now, desperately needing access to the Joker’s funds and equipment – especially with the time passing so quickly and having no way of knowing how well his daughter was holding up.

J had happily handed over the large sum of money without Frost even needing to ask, but the head henchman did have to draw the line when the Joker wanted to accompany him to the transfer point. Frost couldn’t risk causing any more harm to [Y/N] by him dragging along his unpredictable boss.

So, Frost now found himself driving, alone, into the cavernous loading bays of one of the many abandoned warehouses that lined Gotham’s docks. It was hopeless to think that this was the kidnapper’s hideout - this was just a suitable location off police radars that had enough boxes, rooms and other nooks and crannies to hide a small army, as well as conceal numerous snipers should Frost make a wrong move. He wasn’t stupid, he knew his movements would have been watched since the moment he’d turned onto the street.

Frost pulled up opposite a car that was already parked in the large, concrete room, noting the large balding man – roughly Frost’ s size – who leant against the side of it, watching him as he got out. Frost met the man’s gaze, alert for anyone else around him or any slight movement.

“Hello Johnny-boy.” The man grinned, his arms crossed over his chest. Frost showed no sign of acknowledging the greeting, his face blank of expression. “Got a bit of lose cash for me?” The man continued, unperturbed by the lack of response.  

Frosts turned, without a word, back to the car, reaching in and extracting a black leathery briefcase which he then swung up onto the roof.

“Now hand her over.” Frost growled across the length of concrete, turning back to the blackmailer.

“Oh, no.” The man grinned, pushing himself off the car so he stood upright, “That wasn’t our deal.” He said, shaking his head. “You think I’d give up my little bargaining chip over a petty pile of cash? Nah. Our deal was, give us money and we wouldn’t put any more scars on her pretty skin – you know you really should read the fine print...” The bald man added with a smug smirk. Frost glared coldly at the man’s deception, any hopes of getting his daughter back quickly waning.

“Now toss it over.” The man gestured for the case.

Frost was having to think on his feet now, and quickly, the silence between the men stretching into the lingering shadows. He turned and grabbed the suitcase, but then promptly dropped it on the floor, sending up a fine layer of dust. “Only if I see she’s still alive.” Frost growled.

“Fine.” The man shrugged, before gesturing behind him with a flick of his wrist. For a moment nothing happened as the signal was conveyed to the necessary people, then a solid fire-escape like door behind the kidnapper was opened and [Y/N] was forced out. Her shoulder was held firmly by a burly man behind her who was then flanked by another two more men with machine guns in their hands.

[Y/N] appeared to be cringing under the grip on her shoulder as she was driven forward, her movements laboured and indicating a limp from her left leg.  

When she got closer, the extent of her injuries became more apparent, her face swollen and patchy with dried blood and a rainbow of bruises, her cheeks and jaw decorated with small cuts gashes and her throat held the clear marks of fingers.

She was manhandled towards Frost and the other man until she was harshly pulled to a halt next to the bald man.

“Daddy.” She croaked pathetically through a fat lip, her voice raw and scratchy and her eyes watering as she drank in her father’s appearance. From her, Frost could see her legs were weak and shaky, close to giving way under her. He wanted nothing more than to run forward and support her before she collapsed, but he knew one slight movement in that way, and they’d both be shot dead by an unknown figure hiding in the eaves above them.  

Frost finally managed to tear his eyes away from his daughter and back to the bald man who appeared to be the mastermind behind all. He stood now with a smug expression, his arms crossed over his chest once more, watching Frost as he battled to keep his face void of any emotion. He could show no weakness.

Coming here had been weakness enough, but for his daughter Frost was willing to give these men that much, but now he couldn’t afford for them to get anymore over him.

“What is worth her return, then?” Frost growled, determined not to look at his little girl again, needing to keep his head straight if he was to have any hope of negotiating her release.

The man paused in thought, though didn’t dwell on it very long, clearly having expected this question. “The clown.” He said simply. “Dead, or alive, it’s your choice.” He shrugged, uncaring.

Frost’s eyes didn’t leave the man as he thought about this, his gaze unwavering. If [Y/N] could have managed to speak she might have protested at this offer, but it was taking all her energy to remain on her feet and she couldn’t seem to open her mouth.

“Deal.” Frost finally growled, kicking the suitcase across to the man, briefly allowing his eyes to flicker to his daughter once last time before he then smoothly turned climbed back into the car. In an instant he was revving the engine angrily tearing out of the building, unable to make himself look back in the rear-view mirror where [Y/N] had finally collapsed, tears streaming down her grimy cheeks.  

tags: @sami1024 @mundane-cup-noodles @sheldonsherlocktony @jemjem-chan @white-chocolate-mocha-fan

#joker x reader #joker #joker fan fiction #joker x reader fan fiction #frost's daughter #frost's daughter fan fiction #joker x frost's daughter #joker x reader (frost's daughter) #frost's secret #johnny frost #johnny frost fan fiction #frost's secret part 5 #part 5 #thejokersenigma #thejokersenigma fan fiction

[multifandom-hoes]

Nightmare Come True

Member: TaeYong // NCT

Genre: Horror, Yandere, Thriller(?), Psychological(?)

A/N: TRIGGER WARNING

Words: 2.1k

The blood… There was so much blood. On her. Around her. Inside her mouth. Dripping down her hands and splattering bloody splashes onto her bare thighs, the one-white shirt barely covering any skin. And she sat smiling, drenched in all of that blood, a knife in the stomach of the man who once held her captive.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them to her face, to inspect the limbs that so mercilessly murdered Lee TaeYong, a man so passionate that he was blinded. A man who mocked her body and drove her insane, little by little. A man who slowly, torturously slowly tried to break her into a toy to look at and play with.

She was not broken. She was victorious. And he was dead.

With half a mind she discarded the clothes he had given her to wear as her own, which was but the same, now drenched in his own blood, white shirt. No pants and no undergarments; just that damned shirt. You can have it for yourself now, Lee TaeYong, as you will face the judgement of God, she spat on his motionless body, eyes blank and yet lips smiling.

She turned her back on the man, stumbled through his kitchen, lifted her arms to hug her bare breasts and strode out of his house in all her naked glory. All that followed her being were the wails of early woken ladies strolling in the morning cold for daily exercise.

She was attacked and held captive, she told the women, and the said the same to the police. The man was a young fellow of handsome features, she had added through tears in her eyes and a stuffed throat. Yet he was mad with passion and lust and want, and he held her captive in his house, where she screamed and wailed and begged to be let out, but he had not yielded.

Where was the house? The officers had asked, yet her memory failed her, and thus it was deluded that met with great shock she had suffered a memory impairment. No questions were asked, though she did visit a therapist for a better part of the year following. And good for her, since the apartment went undiscovered and she was not charged a murder.

However, in her drunken stupor, to her future regret, she had failed to notice that her assailant was not at all dead, and as the door of his apartment closed upon her exit, his finger moved and his nose twitched. He was very well alive, though barely. Yet he would live. He had a debt to repay.

The therapist had bid her a goodbye, and a final one, at the very last. She was a bright woman again, fully conscious of her surroundings and no longer blubbering nonsense about blood and death and devils- she saw her day for what it was, people no longer scared her, though from some she steered further away, still. She was normal once again.

Her hand clutched the bottle of antidepressants tight, and a smile strained from ear to ear as she told her thanks to the doctor who led her through so much. She was grateful, truly, for many things. The doctor didn’t push her, was patient with her, never asked to repeat where the apartment was. She was left completely alone in the hands of a well-skilled doctor, yet maybe a little naïve still. It didn’t matter.

She was now free. She was now normal. She was now a woman again, not a toy to be put into a place. She was ready to cry from happiness, but decided against it as her mother waved in her direction with tears welling in her own dull eyes.

That evening there was a magnificent feast, her friends had gathered, her boyfriend of before, whom she had a lot of trouble to let in close by in fear of repetition of events. She must have been a saint in her previous life for her boyfriend, much like the therapist, was patient and understanding. He didn’t shove her away when she smacked his chest and hands and arms and yelled atrocities in his face, willed him to get away and never come back while tears stained her face. No, he went away and came back when she needed him most. Did she even deserve such a person to be by her side? She wasn’t sure.

Everyone was laughing in mirth- their dearest friend, their dearest daughter, their love- was fine and healthy and her fears now cultivated into nothing. Her kidnapper lay long forgotten in their memories, the belief of his death by blood-loss making it all too much easier to get rid of such a memory. Life got on in a joyous stroll filled with rainbows and ponies.

That night the star of the night had resigned the earliest, drained from the exuberant mood and needing a breath for herself. She was only able to fall asleep after all sound died down and the guests had vanished. That night her mother came into the room, stroked her hair and kissed her cheek goodnight.

She was warm all over, and soon that warmth turned overbearing, yet she slept, unable to wake up, thrashing in her bed and moaning the name of her captor as nightmares plagued her mind. Yes, that was where the problem lay- the therapist only aimed at her physical fear of Lee TaeYong, his appearance, his actions and even his voice were all but wiped off from her mind, but now in that handsome man’s stead she dreamed of a lurking darkness in all corners ready to devour her, and his voice had turned raspier and deadlier than before- it was an inhuman monster that she saw, not Lee TaeYong, the handsome young psychopath. That therapist never managed to make her cognition delete the image of trauma inflicted on her brain, and so she was left all alone to battle with it.

Her eyes were bloodshot the next morning, yet she got on with her day like a robot, all jerky limbs and flailing eyes into the shadows, afraid that the darkness will transform into a man. She shook her head at thoughts like these- no! She was normal, now. She was okay, now. There would be no shadows turned human. Not now and not ever.

Work seemed extra tedious that day, particularly since she was given the most tedious task to do; handing out leaflets promoting her company was not a thing she wanted to do, not yet when she still steered and cringed away from people from time to time. But she had to brave through that task, she was normal. She fit in.

And so, her face bore a brilliant smile, stretching her skin a little too tight, the smile a little too big to seem genuine, and her voice too sugary to sound pleasant. Yet people took the leaflets one by one, and at the end of the day, when dawn was about to turn into a deep-set evening, she barely had a dozen of those leaflets, where before there were hundreds and beyond. Her feet hurt, her face hurt, her head hurt. She braved on.

“Good evening, Miss…” a young, male voice spoke up behind her, and the hairs on her arms stood on end, “What product are you promoting, right now?” the voice asked, but she was scared to turn around. It sounded familiar. It sounded scary. It sounded nice to the ear. She turned around.

A smiling, beaming face stared back at her, eyes squinted with the man’s smile, and she could have sworn this man was shining brighter than the sun. Much like her his smile was too big, voice too sweet, posture too stiff to all be pleasantries. “Cheaper prices to promote the new store that’s just around the corner, Sir.” She bowed at the man, her breath irregular, eyes unwilling to meet those dark orbs of her converser. She was quite sure she hadn’t saw the man before, so then why..?

“I’ll take one of those leaflets, then.” He beamed again, and reached out to take the piece of paper from her hands, but she jumped back in defence, breath haggard and eyes wild. It was then she saw the dark thing stirring in his black eyes, and instead of his beaming smile there was a wolfish grin, staring at her as a prey.

He took a step closer, then another and a third, reached out to take the leaflet but his hand was suddenly in hers, clenching and shaking it as he spoke, “Lee TaeYong.” He said, completely aloof in his manner, yet his grip was savage, and she was sure she was going to bruise. “Well met, Miss.” And he stepped away, and away, and away into a crowd until he disappeared, and with him the heavy air full of malice.

Her knees shook and eyes welled with tears. She damned the therapist over and over in her mind. It was that therapist who made her forget the voice, the appearance, the violence and the manner. Yet the name was fresh on her mind. Like a burning stamp behind her eyes as she slept.

And what’s worse she cursed herself; he was alive and she was so sure she managed to stab the male to death. She stabbed him so many times. There was so much blood. She was sure he stopped breathing, even. He wasn’t moving. So how?!

Her mouth cried out before her ears could hear her, and she fell to the ground, her knees now bleeding and staining the cold ground in crimson. She was sick. She was so very sick. And she got even sicker as she saw Lee TaeYong’s reflection in the eyes that surrounded her, asking whether she was okay.

She was not.

She muttered insanities until an officer made her quiet down with the announcement of her therapist coming to see her. And she sat peaceful, unmoving, only tears flowing down her cheeks. At the first fight of that vile creature that made her forget she lashed out, clawing at the therapist’s eyes and face and arms and all where she could reach. “It’s all your fault that daemon came for me! He was dead! He was dead! And now he’s alive and well and came for my head! He has risen from his grave to repay the debt!”

And yet none believed her, for she described her captor as a shadow, darkness, with eyes of ruby red gleaming in the dark, his voice smooth and pleasant and everywhere- Lee TaeYong was a devil in her eyes, and she but let them see a fraction of his scare.

Her therapist was changed, but her stability did not come to, and her mentality seemed to further deteriorate as her sessions continued. She became more violent, more wraith like in the confines of her room, and her dreams turned lucid- she saw no difference between her dreams and reality, and it was clear there was no helping her once innocent and normal and clear being.

She soon wore white and sat in a soft cell, with but one window and no tables, and nothing relatively sharp.

She cried and laughed, then, being left alone to suffer the humility of her familial decline- she was not needed, as her normality had gone with the appearance of her captor. She was broken in the end, he had managed to win over her.

If that wasn’t enough, and if her dreams weren’t causing her too big a damage, now she saw Lee TaeYong as her serving nurse. He was always there, morning till night, bringing her breakfast, helping her shower, bringing her dinner, walking her out like a dog, and bringing her lunch, then playing games after. All times of day, he was at her side, and the more time passed, the more she was forced to believe that Lee TaeYong was not just a fragment of her imagination. Lee TaeYong was real- every doctor and nurse and patient greeted him, he was able to touch her and her to feel his touch. He was able to strip her bare in front of himself, and she to feel the humiliation burning deep in her core.

He was a nightmare and a devil, and nightmarish devils always got what they wanted. Lee TaeYong wanted her.

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[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for monday, September 21 of 2020 with Proverbs 21 and Psalm 21 accompanied by Psalm 94 for the 94th day of Summer and Psalm 115 for day 265 of the year

[Proverbs 21]

The king’s heart is like a channel of water directed by the Eternal:

He chooses which way He bends it.

Everyone may think his own way of living is right,

but the Eternal examines our hearts.

To do what is right and to seek justice—

these please Him more than sacrifice.

The lamp of the wicked lights his way;

a proud look, an arrogant heart—all sin.

A well-thought-out plan will work to your advantage,

but hasty actions will cost you dearly.

The fortune made by a swindler

is a fast-burning fog and a recipe for death.

Wicked people will be swept up in their own violence

because they refuse to seek justice.

Dishonest people walk along the crooked path they have made,

but the innocent travel the straight course they have laid.

It is better to dwell outside on the corner of your roof

than to live inside your house with a badgering wife.

Wicked people delight in doing bad things;

their neighbors never see even a hint of compassion.

A naive person wises up when he sees a mocker punished.

A wise person becomes even wiser just by being instructed.

The right-living understands how evildoers operate;

he subverts them and ruins their plans.

If you ignore the groans of the poor,

one day your own cries for help will go unanswered.

A gift given in secret soothes anger,

and a present offered privately calms fierce rage.

When justice is done, those who are in the right celebrate,

but those who make trouble are terrified.

People who wander from the way of wise living

will lie down in the company of corpses.

Those who live to party, who pursue pleasure, will end up penniless;

those who enjoy lots of wine and rich food will never have money.

The wicked become a ransom for those who live right,

and the faithless pay the penalty for their treachery against the upright.

You would be better off living in the middle of the desert

than with an angry and argumentative wife.

The wise have a generous supply of fine food and oil in their homes,

but fools are wasteful, consuming every last drop.

Whoever pursues justice and treats others with kindness

discovers true life marked by integrity and respect.

One wise person can rise against a city of mighty men

and cause the citadel they trust to collapse.

Guard your words, mind what you say,

and you will keep yourself out of trouble.

The name “mocker” applies to one who is proud and pompous

because he is defiantly arrogant.

What slackers crave will surely kill them

because they refuse to work.

All day, every day the greedy want more,

while those who live right give generously.

The offerings of wrongdoers are despicable to God;

it’s even worse when they bring them with evil motives.

The testimony of a false witness is eventually impeached,

but the person who truly listens will have the last word.

The wicked wears a defiant face,

but the right-living plans his path.

No one is wise enough or smart enough,

and no plan is good enough to stand up to the Eternal.

No matter how well you arm for battle,

victory is determined by Him.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 21 (The Voice)

[Psalm 21]

A David Psalm

Your strength, God, is the king’s strength.

Helped, he’s hollering Hosannas.

You gave him exactly what he wanted;

you didn’t hold back.

You filled his arms with gifts;

you gave him a right royal welcome.

He wanted a good life; you gave it to him,

and then made it a long life as a bonus.

You lifted him high and bright as a cumulus cloud,

then dressed him in rainbow colors.

You pile blessings on him;

you make him glad when you smile.

Is it any wonder the king loves God?

that he’s sticking with the Best?

With a fistful of enemies in one hand

and a fistful of haters in the other,

You radiate with such brilliance

that they cringe as before a furnace.

Now the furnace swallows them whole,

the fire eats them alive!

You purge the earth of their progeny,

you wipe the slate clean.

All their evil schemes, the plots they cook up,

have fizzled—every one.

You sent them packing;

they couldn’t face you.

Show your strength, God, so no one can miss it.

We are out singing the good news!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 21 (The Message)

[Psalm 94]

God, put an end to evil;

avenging God, show your colors!

Judge of the earth, take your stand;

throw the book at the arrogant.

God, the wicked get away with murder—

how long will you let this go on?

They brag and boast

and crow about their crimes!

They walk all over your people, God,

exploit and abuse your precious people.

They take out anyone who gets in their way;

if they can’t use them, they kill them.

They think, “God isn’t looking,

Jacob’s God is out to lunch.”

Well, think again, you idiots,

fools—how long before you get smart?

Do you think Ear-Maker doesn’t hear,

Eye-Shaper doesn’t see?

Do you think the trainer of nations doesn’t correct,

the teacher of Adam doesn’t know?

God knows, all right—

knows your stupidity,

sees your shallowness.

How blessed the man you train, God,

the woman you instruct in your Word,

Providing a circle of quiet within the clamor of evil,

while a jail is being built for the wicked.

God will never walk away from his people,

never desert his precious people.

Rest assured that justice is on its way

and every good heart put right.

Who stood up for me against the wicked?

Who took my side against evil workers?

If God hadn’t been there for me,

I never would have made it.

The minute I said, “I’m slipping, I’m falling,”

your love, God, took hold and held me fast.

When I was upset and beside myself,

you calmed me down and cheered me up.

Can Misrule have anything in common with you?

Can Troublemaker pretend to be on your side?

They ganged up on good people,

plotted behind the backs of the innocent.

But God became my hideout,

God was my high mountain retreat,

Then boomeranged their evil back on them:

for their evil ways he wiped them out,

our God cleaned them out for good.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 94 (The Message)

[Psalm 115]

Not for our sake, God, no, not for our sake,

but for your name’s sake, show your glory.

Do it on account of your merciful love,

do it on account of your faithful ways.

Do it so none of the nations can say,

“Where now, oh where is their God?”

Our God is in heaven

doing whatever he wants to do.

Their gods are metal and wood,

handmade in a basement shop:

Carved mouths that can’t talk,

painted eyes that can’t see,

Tin ears that can’t hear,

molded noses that can’t smell,

Hands that can’t grasp, feet that can’t walk or run,

throats that never utter a sound.

Those who make them have become just like them,

have become just like the gods they trust.

But you, Israel: put your trust in God!

—trust your Helper! trust your Ruler!

Clan of Aaron, trust in God!

—trust your Helper! trust your Ruler!

You who fear God, trust in God!

—trust your Helper! trust your Ruler!

O God, remember us and bless us,

bless the families of Israel and Aaron.

And let God bless all who fear God—

bless the small, bless the great.

Oh, let God enlarge your families—

giving growth to you, growth to your children.

May you be blessed by God,

by God, who made heaven and earth.

The heaven of heavens is for God,

but he put us in charge of the earth.

Dead people can’t praise God—

not a word to be heard from those buried in the ground.

But we bless God, oh yes—

we bless him now, we bless him always!

Hallelujah!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 115 (The Message)