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i-am-dead-inside-666 · 3 years

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On his knees.

Please don’t post this on any other sites without my consent.

Pairing: Bucky/Zemo

Minors dni. 18+ only please. Nsfw.

Warnings: Dubious consent, brief disassociation, face fucking, boot grinding, getting stepped on, kinda violent, rough, no actual sex though.

This is my first published story please be kind, reblog and like if you want. I would love it if you came and talked to me about it. I think this is going to part of a series.

“It doesn’t really matter what my opinions on Steve Rogers are, he’s not here anymore.” The smugness that shone in the barons eyes, and the casual shrug of his shoulders made Bucky’s blood boil. How dare he talk about Steve that way.

Grinding his teeth together, he forced himself to loosen his grip on his glass when he felt it begin to splinter.

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation, glancing between the two like a tired parent. Placing a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he felt the coiled tension in his muscles. Just as he opened his mouth to try and defuse the situation, his phone rang.

A quick look at the name and he sighed, “Can you watch him for a moment?” Sam asked, covering the bottom of his phone as he glanced from Bucky to Zemo.

The super soldier nodded, forcing himself not to flinch as Sam patted him on the shoulder before leaving. Bucky listened to the faint sound of Sam laughing at something Sarah had said, waiting until his voice had faded away before he moved.

He stalked past Zemo to the kitchen, dropping his glass in the sink and watching the expensive alcohol slip down the drain. Bucky struggled to refrain from smirking as he did, he could almost feel the pain in Zemo’s expression.

He never asked to become a super soldier, but sometimes his unparalleled sense were useful, Bucky didn’t need to check to know that Zemo had followed him to the kitchen.

“I apologise, if my earlier comment was.. insensitive.” Bucky pressed his palms against the counter, concentrating on keeping his breathing level, even as his fingers ached to choke Zemo until he passed out.

Bucky turned to face Zemo, temper flaring at how calmly he was leaning against the counter, “I understand how much Steve meant to you.”

That was it.

Bucky moved faster than any normal human could even dream of.

In a split second, he was on top of Zemo, his lower body pressing Zemo’s hips into the counter to trap him.

His vibranium hand curled around the shorter mans throat, cold, unyielding fingers digging into the soft skin.

Bucky used his grip to shove Zemo backwards until his back was pressed against the counter, the back of his head slamming into the marble surface.

Zemo groaned beneath the metal, his vision swimming. If you’d have told him that he’d cracked his head open and his brains were currently spilling out, he’d probably have believed you.

“You don’t know a damn thing about what it feels like to lose someone.” Bucky snarled, satisfaction flaring in his chest as he watched Zemo writhe under his hold, fingers scratching uselessly at the metal.

Rage blinded him, and for a moment, he considered tightening his fist. How easy it would be to crush Zemo’s windpipe. He’d torn metal in half with ease, it would take barely any effort to end this mans life.

Shame flooded him as he realised what he was doing. He uncurled his hand, stepping back to watch Zemo cough and gasp for air, tears running down his face.

He’d slipped back into violence so easily, they said he was free, but was he? Would his mind ever truly be his own. He wasn’t The Winter Soldier anymore, but he wasn’t Bucky either..

He was drifting, losing himself in his own mind.

A low thud snapped him back to reality, Zemo’s knees had buckled, and he’d slid off the counter and onto the floor where he knelt, massaging the dark, finger shaped bruises around his neck. “Hmm, being on your knees suits you.”

“You-“ Zemo’s voice was barely audible, he shifted uncomfortably on his knees and cleared his throat slightly before trying again.

“You are unused to having this level of control over your own life. Yes?”

Bucky scowled, reaching down to thread his fingers through Zemo’s hair, guilt swirling in stomach as he felt warm blood coat his fingers, “Sorry.” He murmured.

Zemo grimaced as Bucky pressed down on the wound, “no you aren’t.”

The super soldier smiled wryly, “no, I’m not.” He pulled his hand away, examining the crimson liquid staining his fingers. “I have control over my life… I want control over you.” Bucky whispered, his voice low, a dark edge creeping into it, sending shivers down Zemo’s spine.

He didn’t give the baron chance to respond, moving his bloody fingers to rest on Zemo’s lower lip, pushing insistently until they parted. Bucky’s fingers slipped into Zemo’s mouth, coating his tongue with the coppery taste of his own blood.

Bucky’s left hand moved to cup Zemo’s face, the action seemed gentle at first, the cool metal sliding over his jaw. Then Bucky’s fingers pushed right to the back of Zemo’s throat and he gagged, trying to pull away only to be stopped as Bucky’s hand wrapped further around his head, holding him in place.

Narrowing his eyes, Zemo bit down hard on Bucky’s fingers, breaking the skin with ease. Bucky snarled, moving his hand back to Zemo’s jaw, pressing his fingers into the weak point just in front of his ears.

The pressure slowly increases until Zemo’s finally forced to open his jaw wide, Bucky’s hand releasing its grip and slipping back to its previous position. Despite the intrusive fingers in his mouth, Zemo manages to pant around them, pain ricocheting through his jaw as Bucky’s fingers delved deeper.

Bucky smiled lightly, watching Zemo choke on his fingers, tilting his head in curiosity, he pressed them further down Zemo’s throat, and watching as he gagged wetly around them, desperately trying to break Bucky’s iron grip on his head as he fought to breathe.

Just as Zemo looked like he might faint, Bucky pulled his fingers back, allowing Zemo to fall forwards at his feet gasping for air.

Bucky ignored his coughing, turning his attention back towards the door, straining his ears, he could barely make out Sam’s voice.

“chto ty delayesh' soldat?” Zemo panted, trying to smirk, but ending up grimacing at how much it hurt his throat to talk.

Bucky slapped him.

Not hard enough to hurt him badly, but enough to make his head snap to the side, and his dick twitch up against the confines of his pants.

Bucky let his fingers ghost over the fresh, purple bruise on Zemo’s temple, courtesy of John Walker, he pushed a stray strand of hair out of his way and hummed quietly, wondering whether two concussions in under 24 hours would make the baron less of an asshole.

Bucky frowned, slipping his hand back through Zemo’s hair to jerk his head back, exposing the pale column of his throat. Zemo’s pupils were blown wide, his deep brown irises nearly invisible. “Soldat?”

“Shut up.” Bucky rolled his eyes, plunging his fingers back into Zemo’s hot mouth without restraint. This time however, he didn’t hold them still, but set about fucking Zemo’s throat with his fingers.

By now, Zemo had lost all of his usual composure, he gagged and whined unashamedly around Bucky’s fingers, spit dripping down his chin every time they withdrew.

Hearing Zemo’s panicked breaths and soft moans accompanied by the wet squelch of his fingers made Bucky grin. This man had manipulated and lied and killed, and here he was, on his knees, choking on Bucky’s fingers. The thought made his dick press against the denim of his jeans, achingly hard and leaking precome against the inside of his pants.

Finally, he pulled his fingers sharply from Zemo’s mouth, admiring how fucked out the baron already looked, held up only by Bucky’s firm grip of his hair.

His cheeks were flushed pink, and the hair that wasn’t trapped in a vibranium fist, was no longer neatly parted and combed, instead it fell in strands in front of his face, moving slightly with every breath.

Silent and stony faced, Bucky wiped his slick fingers across Zemo’s cheek, leaving a trail of glistening spit across his skin. Bucky could have grinned at the shudder he felt pass through Zemo’s body at the degrading act, but he refrained, schooling his face into an emotionless mask.

He then moved his hand to his belt, unbuckling it with nimble fingers and shoving his jeans down along with his boxers. Zemo whimpered at the sight of Bucky’s hard cock, trying to pull away, but unable to due to the tight, unrelenting grip on his hair.

“Soldat?” He desperately choked out, reaching a hand up to encircle the vibranium one, trying to loosen its grip. Bucky moved his now free hand to curl back around Zemo’s throat, the gap between his thumb and finger fitting just beneath his Adam’s apple.

He growled low in his throat, pulling Zemo’s head back further so that their eyes met, “Call me soldat again, and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember how to breathe, never mind speak.” He felt Zemo swallow beneath his grip, eyes wide with fear, before he nodded as much as he was able to with Bucky’s hand restricting his airflow.

Giving one last warning squeeze, Bucky removed his hand, using it to leisurely stroke his cock. He glares down at Zemo as he does so, watching his already shiny eyes fill with tears when he tightened his fist in the barons soft hair.

A small groan escapes his lips when he glides his palm over the head of his dick, coating his hand in the slick precome that’s gathered there. He drags his hand down to the base of his thick cock, and then quickly back up to the sensitive tip.

Zemo stared up at him with bated breath, fear and curiosity warring across his face. Bucky sneered, using his grip to force Zemo’s head forward, close enough to nudge the tip of his dick against Zemo’s spit slicked lips.

“Open up.” He ordered, a chill rushing through his body as he did so. Somewhere, deep in the darkest part of his mind, a voice was screaming at him. He’s your handler! He’s going to punish you! You’re disobeying orders! You’re just a weapon. Just an asset, meant to be used. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

He ground his teeth together, silencing the voice by pushing abruptly into Zemo’s hot, perfect mouth, even as the baron frantically tried to pull away.

Bucky hunched forward his hand shooting out to clutch at the counter. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of Zemo’s tongue working against the vein on the underside of his dick.

“God. Your mouth is heaven.” He sighed, bracing himself with the hand on the counter and the one entangled in Zemo’s hair, before he started rocking his hips.

Bucky moaned softly watching his cock sink further into Zemo’s mouth, feeling it bump against the back of his tight throat. He painstakingly unclenched his hand from the edge of the counter, ignoring the fact that he’d left dents in it. He slid that hand against the other side of Zemo’s head, holding him completely still.

With the shorter man rendered completely immobile beneath him, Bucky took the opportunity to push all the way down the wet slide of Zemo’s throat.

“Well, this... this isn’t how I expected- today to go..” Bucky panted, hand pushing against the still bleeding wound on Zemo’s head, pressing the barons nose into the wiry hair at the base of his cock.

Zemo gagged around the dick, so deep in his throat that Bucky could see the shape of it beneath the barons bruised neck. There’s already a dull ache spreading from Zemo’s jaw, joining the throbbing pain in his head and making his vision foggy.

His throat convulsed in waves that made Bucky growl, fingers digging deeper into the Sokovian’s already blood stained skin.

Zemo’s previously idle hands came up to desperately claw at Bucky’s thighs, his lips stretched painfully wide around the thick base of the soldiers cock. Scowling, Bucky pulled back just enough to let Zemo inhale a quick, panicked breath, a rush of saliva spilling out and dripping down his chin.

The soldier watched Zemo gasp for air, long lines of spit connecting his sore, abused mouth to Bucky’s cockhead in thick, silvery strands.

Deciding that the baron had had a long enough reprieve, Bucky shoved forwards again, barely noticing Zemo’s grip tighten around his thighs. Gradually, Bucky increased his pace, building up to short, powerful thrusts as he fucked Zemo’s mouth.

Tears streamed down the smaller mans face, his cheeks going from flushed pink to a concerning shade of red. “I’m not gonna stop even if you pass out.” Bucky warned, smirking at the scared whimper that his threat prompted.

Despite the two, very painful, head injuries that currently made his thoughts feel like maple syrup, Zemo couldn’t help the rush of arousal that accompanied being used as a fucktoy by The Winter Soldier. His hips moved automatically, humping the air as much as he could whilst stuck on his knees.

Bucky feels his grip tighten around Zemo’s head, fingers digging deeper into the injury he’d caused earlier, feeling the vibrations through his cock as Zemo groaned around his length. Glancing down, he noticed the tent in the war criminals slacks, and the desperate bucking motion of his hips.

Grinning despite himself, Bucky used the tip of his boot to nudge Zemo’s legs wider apart before wedging his boot in the gap between Zemo’s throbbing dick and the floor.

“Grind down on my boot like the desperate slut you are.” The pathetic mewl that slipped from Zemo made Bucky bite down on his bottom lip, stifling a moan.

Zemo whines, the noise almost immediately cut off as Bucky forces his length even further down the barons throat, his thrusts getting slower, but harder, cutting Zemo’s oxygen off entirely. His balls slapped against Zemo’s chin with every smooth push forwards, dripping wet with the spit that spills out from around his dick.

Bucky used the grip he had, with one hand in Zemo’s hair, and the other wrapped around his head, he pulled Zemo down onto his cock each time he thrust forward, smirking at the loud gurgling noise the baron made when he choked.

Zemo’s hips rocked carefully against Bucky’s boot, he desperately sought to chase the friction against his painfully hard member, pushing tightly against its constraints.

Yet shame settled deep in his gut at how easily he’d submitted to someone, it had been so long since Heike- and it wasn’t just someone, it was a super soldier. The very beings he’d sworn to himself that he’d destroy, for Heike, for Carl.

The soldier in question decided that Zemo wasn’t moving fast enough. Pulling his boot away, he rocks back into his heel before pressing down, the tread of his boot pushing down on the hard line of Zemo’s cock through his pants.

Zemo’s moans as loud as he’s able to with his mouth stuffed full of cock, pleasure burning through his veins even as he resents how wonderful being stepped on feels.

“Figures you’d get off on this.” Bucky growls, relishing in the fact that his mind feels more like his own than it has in months. “Slut.” He snarls, and before he even considers his actions, he presses Zemo’s head all the way down in one quick, possibly too fast motion.

Bucky heard the sharp pop of cartilage being torn away from bone, over the sound of his light groans, and the wet smack of his balls against Zemo’s chin. A small, pathetic cry works it’s way out of Zemo’s throat as his jaw dislocated.

Pain shot through Zemo’s body, white hot and warring with the pleasure as Bucky leans forward to press more weight down on him, rocking the thick sole along the very visible bulge in his pants.

The agony of his head and jaw, mingling with the intense pleasure is too much, tipping him towards his climax.

Suddenly he’s cumming in his pants, his vision going completely white and his entire body thrumming with a searing heat.

Zemo sees stars behind his eyelids, his injured head pounding in time with his frantic heartbeat. His jaw screams at him in pain every time Bucky forces himself back down his throat.

It’s all too much.

Zemo’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his body going completely limp and pliant. The only thing stopping him from slumping to the floor is Bucky’s iron grip of his hair.

Bucky barely notices that the baron has passed out, his head tipped back towards the ceiling and his mind is blissfully blank as he continued to use Zemo’s mouth.

He finally looked down, when he realised that he could no longer here Zemo’s sweet little whimpers over the blood rushing in his ears.

The smaller mans face was sheet white, contrasting starkly with how red his swollen lips looked. Dark hair framed his face where it wasn’t fisted in Bucky’s vibranium hand, and the bruises around his neck in the rough shape of a hand looked sore.

The thought of using Zemo whilst he wasn’t even conscious pushed Bucky over the edge, his mind going completely blank. The lingering voice in the back of his head going silent, and for the first time since Steve left, his mind feels truly his own.

His hot seed spills down Zemo’s throat, pleasure washing over him in waves that threaten to drown him. He feels almost every muscle in his body tense at the same time, his thrusts no longer steady, but erratic and rough.

He’s brought back to Earth by Zemo’s throat constricting around his sensitive cock. The barons arms flailing wildly as he’s brought abruptly back to consciousness, unable to breathe.

Gripped by panic at the thought of Zemo actually choking to death on his cock, Bucky hurriedly withdrew from Zemo’s mouth. He unclenches the hand fisted in his hair, but stooping down quickly to hook an elbow under each arm and stop him from face planting on the ground.

“Oh god- I’m sorry- I-“ he rambled quietly in his stress, wincing as he fit his fingers into the bruises around his jaw and as gently as possible, pushed it back into place.

A strained gasp escaped Zemo’s rough throat, his eyes still slightly glazed from both the pain, and the intensity of his orgasm. It took a moment for him to focus, but when he did, a flicker of fear crossed his face.

“I’m sorry..” Bucky repeated, gently rubbing his cold fingers along Zemo’s jawline as he sank to the floor beside him. He pulled Zemo into his lap, resting the barons head against his shoulder and stroking sweat damp locks of hair behind his ear.

“It’s fine-“ Zemo groaned, his voice almost as wrecked as he looked, his head lolled back against the crook of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky’s soft smile faded as he heard Sam’s footsteps approaching the door. He shot to his feet, pulling Zemo up with him and shoving him towards the counter when he looked as though he was going to collapse again.

Sam pushed the door open, tucking his phone into his pocket, the smile on his face quickly replaced by a frown when he remembered the high tension in the room. “Everything alright in here?” He ventured, casting a worried look at Zemo.

“Yes.” Bucky replied curtly, hoping his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. Zemo had his eyes squeezed shut, thankful that his back was to Sam as he tried to ignore the lingering taste of Bucky’s cum that coated the back of his throat.

“…ok… well, I’m going to get food. Can you- keep an eye on Master Criminal over there?” Bucky chuckled darkly, nodding, “yeah, could you pick me up a sandwich?”

Sam flashed him a quick thumbs up on his way out the door. The minute it was closed, Zemo let himself slide down onto the floor, head pounding. When he’d finally managed to blink his eyes open, the first thing he saw were Bucky’s boots, his face going bright red at the thought of what those boots had done to him.

Bucky stared down at him, “You want to talk?”

#winterbaron #zemo #tfatws #baron zemo #daniel brühl #helmut zemo #bucky barnes #bucky #zemo x bucky #winterbaron smut #smut

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

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Regret - Nik

I feel like I make the joke of “whoa who is this?? every time I post Nik.]

CW: captivity, stress position, intimate whumper, noncon touch (non sexual), possessive language, brief suicidal ideation, death mention, blood, broken whumpee.

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

A sound. It’s so sudden and unknown that Nik tenses. Was it real? There have been sounds creeping around his awareness lately, sounds and lights and shapes in the darkness of the blindfold. He whines slightly, testing to see if the sound responds.

Sometimes they do.

It’s worse when they do.

He swallows thickly, jaw throbbing with the ache of being held open for so long. How long as it even been, locked immobile in the darkness? Nik’s internal clock had been destroyed long ago, smashed to bits by the fake sunrises and tauntingly inconsistent days.

“Feeling remorseful yet?”

A voice. Real voice; he’s sure of it. This one is different, echoing off the stone walls.

The voices from his head can’t replicate that.

A frantic, begging whine. Yes, yes I am. Please, please just let me move. Let me go back to the vivarium. I’ll never disobey you again, I swear. Nik tries to nod, tries to show the Sorcerer that he’s sorry, but he can’t move. The metal around his forehead and neck keep him securely locked onto the wall.

How long has it been since he moved even an inch?

A hmm and Nik stills immediately. His heart is pounding in his throat, threatening to be the end of him he’s sure. He can feel his own trembling, but it’s vaguely distant, separate from him.

Footsteps, there are footsteps. Nik’s breath hitches as he feels tears pricking behind his eyes. Please, please I’ll do anything. I’ll never disobey again.

In one motion, all the cuffs disappear entirely, freeing him from the wall. Nik falls forward, unable to catch himself. Free, but still unable to move his locked joints and muscles. His skull cracks against the hard, stone floor, sending the darkness spinning. He groans brokenly, chest expanding farther than it has in, in… since the darkness. He can feel something warm bubbling up from underneath his skin and drip onto the floor.

The Sorcerer smiles down at him, reveling in the wrecked, thin body that he’s made Nik into. He crouches down, cupping the side of Nik’s neck. The creature shudders as he strokes his thumb across its jaw. He can feel its response, the curling tendrils of violation that course through its blood. He knows the pathetic little thing would try to flee if it could, but it can’t. It can’t – not only because it’s too weak, but because there’s another part of itself that craves the touch. Craves the comfort and stimulation that even this minuscule movement provides.

And wouldn’t it? It hadn’t felt anything in nearly a month.

The Sorcerer admires it for a moment more, before sending a blast of lightning through its body.

Nik screams behind the muzzle, muscles atrophied by stillness now forced to contract, to move by the electricity pumping through him. He can feel his joints creak at the sudden change, a body so frozen in one position now forced into movement.

Muscles tear and he screams.

Sobbing, Nik sprawls limply in a new position but still unable to move. His limbs throb, laying useless at his sides. He still wants to move, he wants to crawl away, to heave his body away from the man that he knows will only bring more pain, but he can’t. Even unrestrained, he can’t move.

“Did you really think I was going to let you off that easy, hm? Just a little time in the dark? Poor stupid thing; you’re not close to done.”

The man’s arms dig around him and lift him bodily from the floor. He can’t help but sob; couldn’t stop even if he tried. He’s aware of every inch of his body, the aches and hurts and deeper pains that radiate from them. His consciousness is a spinning, swirling, intangible thing that Nik couldn’t even hope to grasp. There’s nothing outside of this moment. No understanding that the pain will eventually end, no hope for comfort, no ideals of a better time. Only pain that radiates with each breath and the general motion of being dragged to another room.

To the workshop.

He’s dumped on the floor as the Sorcerer moves to gather the items he needs. Nik’s lungs are burning, his throat feels tight and pained. He tries to heave for another breath, tries to focus on the cold stone here. It’s familiar, having spent so long laying upon it, wishing for death.

His fingers twitch, and he nearly begins to cry a new. They twitched, he moved them. It’s the first inkling of movement, of control that he’s felt in so long. The slightest movement, maybe not even visible to the unknowing observer, has become the only glimmer of light he can even fathom.

Before he can try to move farther, a loop of rope is circled around his neck. It doesn’t cinch, but pulls upwards. He coughs, the rope pressing on his windpipe, and hands come to help guide him to his feet. He’s shocked that he can stand at all, considering the weariness and shaking of his legs. The rope around his neck stops rising, but keeps taunt. He either stands or chokes, and it feels like no matter what he does they will both happen.

After a moment to balance himself, his hands are grabbed and tied in front with yet more rope. They’re pulled down, the rope attaching to the ground and adding more strain around his neck. Breathing is difficult, standing is difficult, everything hurts and is too much - but also there is nothing surrounding him, nothing that he can recognize and use as an anchor. It is too much and not enough, all at once.

The hand lights around his neck again and he whimpers.

”Do you know why I can do this to you? Because you’re mine.”

Nik shuddered. He could feel another hand roaming over his back as the other continues with the horrifically gentle motions on his jawline. No matter what he does, no matter what he tries, he can’t escape. He knows. Knows that there is nothing for him to do now but suffer.

A thought forms on the outside of his awareness, a fleeting bit of logic that tells him he’ll go back, he’ll be returned to the little sprite, that things will get better.

It’s gone before he can really believe it.

The hands retreat and he’s torn. He’s thankful, grateful that they’re no longer on his skin and touching him, but he misses them at the same time. They were grounding – real, when nothing else feels real right now.

The first lash across his shoulder blades shocks him, knees buckling with the surprise and sudden pain. A strangled keen fills the air, but it’s choked off by the loop as it presses into his throat. Hands reposition him, and something else. A clink against his wrist and a faint feeling. So very faint, but noticeable. Just a little more of his magic is accessible, just a fraction more. But it’s enough. It’s enough to give him back a bit of strength and stand.

To continue to be tormented and tortured.

The next lash mirrors the first. The third crosses them both. Another, then another, and another. Nik cries out for each one, but his voice is so broken and rough from unuse that it feels as if there’s glass in his throat. It burns and cuts like the whip, cutting him open.

When the whip does stop, he’s fighting for every breath. He needs the air desperately, but the shift of his back is unthinkable. He needs the air, but the cost is high.

“You’re mine, little forest creature. Only mine. Others may look, might even be allowed to touch, but you’re mine. Your tears are mine, your blood is mine. Your magic, your life is mine.”

Nik’s chin falls to his chest, unable to keep it up any longer. He’s waiting, waiting for the familiar feeling of buzzing under his skin. Of the emptiness that comes with his magic being drained away. The Sorcerer is predictable - is greedy. He wouldn’t leave this opportunity to get such misery tainted blood that he could use on his enemies.

So Nik waits. Wait for the relief that the numbness brings.

He waits, and waits, and breathes and regrets the motion it brings, and waits. But nothing. No relief, no emptiness to take the pain away; even for just a little bit.

“How long do your kind live, I wonder? I’m sure longer than us. Well, normally,” the man chuckles, cupping the boy’s cheek to lift his head. He admires the blood that stains the blindfold, the intricate looking sash that the boy had made. Cute designs.

“How long will you live? Kept in the dark away from your precious trees, your lifeblood being taken from you drip by drip?”

Nik shivered as the man tilted his head side to side. The touch was more invasive than the words. It was nearly impossible to focus, to grasp any information being presented to him. The words themselves didn’t sink in, but the air of possessiveness needed no words.

Nik got the message.

“I’m sure more than long enough. Besides, once I gain more control over these idiots who call themselves Kings I’ll find somewhere better for you. Just as secure, of course. Would you like that? To be kept outside someday?”

The man’s fingers traced the edges of the muzzle and Nik felt himself crumbling. Slowly falling apart; past what he ever thought he could be. Pieces ground into dust under the man’s shoes.

“Who knows; you might even outlive me. Doubtful, but possible. Fear not, little thing, I’d find someone to take you if that happened. There’s power in a weapon that no one else has. Power is using it to keep people in line and fight to get their own hands on it.”

He sighed. “You’ll prolong my life, this I’m sure of. Shame it’ll drain yours, but I’m sure you understand. There’s an order of class, of importance in life. Some things are just not quite as important.”

Nik was crying again. Please. Please take the pain go away. Just for a little bit; please. Please. Take it, take it I don’t want it anymore. Just let me fall asleep, let me escape this if only for a little bit.

The man took no notice of the way the boy in front of him trembled and shook, instead focused on carding through the dark hair. It was dry, graying slowly from the roots. Interesting. Worth getting a sample from later.

He reached back and undid the knot behind the boy’s head, drawing away the blindfold. Nik squeezed his eyes shut in fear. The Sorcerer brushed over his eyes with the pad of his thumb, wiping away the tears and crust that had formed after so long.

“Now, are you ready to behave again?”

Nik whined and nodded the best he could, trying to look up at the man. He didn’t want to see the smirk, the glint of possessiveness in the man’s eyes, but he very much wanted to see something. Anything. Anything at all.

The Sorcerer admired the eyes; a dull yellow instead of the shining, strong gold he saw that first day.

“Good. Then let’s put you back where you belong.”

tagging @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @as-a-matter-of-whump @thehopelessopus @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @pepperonyscience @insanitywishes @redstainedsocks @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @whump-me-all-night-long @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @whumpeesblog

Plz let me know if you wish to be added or removed from the taglist! Also thanks for waiting lol.

#whump #Nik #captivity tw #stress position #intimate whumper #non con touch tw #possessive language tw #suicidal ideation tw #death mention tw #blood tw #broken whumpee

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the-currian · 4 years

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10 and Hisoka? I hope u feel better :( Pls rmb to always take good care of ur body and stay hydrated no matter what's happening alright? ❤️

Hello, anon dear! I feel much better, thank you very much. :) Yep yep yep trying my best to stay hydrated and healthy! I had fun writing this one - Hisoka’s backstory leaves so much room for angst ahaha. Sooo spoiler alert for Act 2 onwards!

10. “Don’t come any closer to me.”

It happened all too suddenly for you to really process.

One minute, you were approaching Hisoka from behind in an attempt to surprise him, and the next you were slammed onto the floor, your boyfriend’s forearm digging into your windpipe. You desperately grasp at him while trying to get air into your lungs, but he keeps you pinned down with a monstrous strength.

Black spots start to cloud your vision, tears welling up in your eyes, when you hear someone shout your name. Hisoka is pried off of you, and you gasp once you’re free of his grasp, sputtering as you take in huge gulps of air.

Hisoka’s eyes widen as he takes in your state, and he goes slack with shock in Tasuku’s grasp.

“Th-thanks, Tasuku.” You manage to get out. After a few more shaky breaths, you turn your gaze over to Hisoka, who is visibly shaking in Tasuku’s grip. Your heart aches for him, and you reach out to reassure Hisoka – to give him some semblance of comfort from his obviously emotionally unstable state. This seems to wake him from his stupor, and he shakes himself free from Tasuku’s grasp, darting out of the room before either of you can stop him. Confused and hurt by Hisoka’s actions, you slump back down onto the floor.

“Are you okay?” Tasuku asks, holding out a hand to you. Numbly, you nod and allow him to pull you to your feet. “Just give him some time. Hisoka is a complicated person, I’m sure you know.”

And you decide to believe Tasuku – he is his troupe mate, after all. But when you go to visit the dorms the next day, you find out that Hisoka is nowhere to be found.

“He wasn’t even lured back into our room by my special marshmallow stash!” Homare laments.

The members of the company who were free searched for Hisoka the whole day but to no avail. You’re about to call it a day and head back home, when Chikage and Itaru arrive.

“Welcome home, you two.” Izumi greets the duo of businessmen as they deposit their shoes at the entrance.

“Yo.” Itaru says in greeting, then zooms off to his room, most likely to catch up on his games.

A bit more tactful than his junior colleague, Chikage takes the time to greet you properly. As he is about to wander off, a thought suddenly comes to you.

“Hey, Chikage?”

He turns around. “Yes?”

“Um…could I talk to you in private, please?”

He raises an eyebrow in suspicion but acquiesces. The two of you make your way to the courtyard and settle down. You glance around for any passersby, and satisfied upon finding none, you regard Chikage with a serious expression on your face.

“Hisoka is missing.”

“…I am aware.”

“And at this rate, I think that you’re the only one here who can find him.”

“What makes you say that?”

You explain to Chikage what happened yesterday. If something about Hisoka’s actions struck a chord within Chikage, he sure did a good job of hiding it.

Chikage stays silent, mulling over your words before he responds. “And what makes you think that I’m the only one who can find him?”

“I know about the past you and Hisoka share.” You sharply cut in, adopting a no-nonsense tone to make sure you get your point across.

Something changes in Chikage’s stance, an intimidating aura taking over him that suddenly makes you nervous. Determined to find Hisoka, you muster the willpower to match Chikage’s stare. Seconds pass with the two of you sizing each other up until Chikage suddenly sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright.”

He walks away without a word, but you decide to put your faith in him. You go to the living room where Izumi also anxiously waits for the safe return of her company members.

Hours later you awaken to the ringing of your phone.

‘Crap, I fell asleep.’ You think as you pick up the call.

“H-hello?” you say, stifling a yawn.

“I found him. He’s at the beach. Haven’t approached him yet; might scare him off. Get over here quick, I have no idea what he plans to do.” Chikage tells you before he abruptly hangs up.

You pout at your phone in annoyance at his cold attitude but get up and stretch, readying yourself to go see Hisoka. You inform Izumi about the situation and quickly make your way over to the beach. Sure enough, Hisoka is sitting there in the sand, waves lapping at his feet as he stares out to the horizon, a contemplative look on his face. Making sure to not creep up behind him this time, you call out to him before approaching. Immediately, Hisoka stiffens at the sound of your voice, body coiled as if ready to spring up and run away.

“Wait!”

His posture is still stiff but he makes no move to leave the vicinity as you walk up to him.

“Hisoka, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t come any closer to me.” He spits out, a hint of his self-loathing creeping into his voice.

You slow down your steps, but continue, undeterred. “Why are you running away from me?”

He turns away at your reproachful tone. “…I’m dangerous.” He murmurs, burying his head in his hands. “Don’t you realize what I did to you while I was on autopilot?! I can’t help my reactions sometimes. They’ve been ingrained in me due to my past.”

When you finally make your way over and sit down in front of him, you cautiously put your arms around his shoulders. He looks up at your touch and slowly reaches up to the bruises he left on your neck. His hand hovers over them as he hesitates, but you grab his hand and carefully bring it to your neck. Hisoka lets out a choked breath.

“…I’m sorry.”

You intertwine your fingers, letting him know that you’re still here. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

At that, he all but slumps against you, letting his exhaustion take over him as his eyes flutter closed, finally at rest. “I… I don’t want to remember who I was.” He sleepily mumbles. “I just want to be the person that I am with the Mankai Company – the person that I am when I’m with you.”

You feel his tears soak your shirt, but you pull him in even closer.

#a3!#hisoka mikage #hisoka x reader #a3! hisoka #a3! act! addict! actors!

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 14

Anti's "puppets" take a final stand against him.

Tws for violence, fighting, grief, death, blood, and extreme distress.

Part 14 - Gone

unpredictably-ghostly asked: O-kay, whatever up with Anti can't be good, what's happening? Dapper, do you know what he's doing, have you seen it before? You're all so close to the happy ending you deserve, and we're so proud of you for making it this far, please keep fighting!

Dapper stares up at the corrupted version of himself from the ground, coughing hard, his body exhausted from what little fighting they’ve done so far. He’s hot and his head pounds. He can’t tell if this is real or not. He’s afraid.

“Look at you,” signs the being above him, cold white eyes, pupil-less and uncolored, staring back at him. Strings rope the monster from head to toe, pure white strings wrapped so tight they leave marks behind and drain all blood from his porcelain form. He is so young he may as well be a child, wearing a suit which is choking the air from him. “You really thought you could ever get away from us? From yourself. Psychotic and weak and mute to all the world but Anti, the only one who really knows exactly who you are. Pretending to be Christ’s little lost lamb. You’re just Anti’s murderer. Anti’s smiling, stupid, helpless little murderer.”

Blood fills up the monster’s mouth and comes drizzling down his chin, staining his neat beard. Blood follows from the eyes and ears. Blood coats the hands and drains from beneath the strings. He is coated in it. Those bloodied hands reach down and grab Dapper by the throat, hauling him up to look into those dead white eyes.

“And you always will be.”

He shudders and cries, clinging to the wrist of the amalgamation.

Anonymous asked: None of them belong to you. Let them go or die right here and now. At least lose with dignity, you bastard. Jack never intended for you to win this fight, and you're absolutely right on one thing. None of you can escape the destiny of your story.

“I won’t fall down like this!” Red shouts, even as he feels his heartrate pick up and his skin begin to tingle and hurt, everything too cold and too close and too overwhelming. “They’re right and I finally realized it! You were always meant to lose. You were always the villain in this story!”

“But it took us so long to realize,” answers a voice beside him, somehow both too loud and too quiet, and always entirely unaware of it. He drags his gaze up to the being beside him, sitting in the grass and rocking himself, eyes closed and hands over his ears. A black hood covers his face, but everyone can see the tears running down. He’s thin and his nails are filthy and broken from scraping against chains and locked doors. “So, so long. And we weren’t just passive - we were part of it. We hit them… we yelled and insulted them, dragged them by their hair and their throats. They hated us. They still do. And they’re scared, too, everyone but Blue. If Anti goes away, all of them will get sick of us. We’re so pathetic. No one can take care of us and we can’t take care of ourselves. You were a coward when they needed you, blind and cruel to them!”

Red feels something in his chest begin to shake. He’s sobbing again despite himself, shaking his head.

“Look at you, crying again,” sneers the Anti-Red, gritting its teeth. “You weren’t enough for Anti and you’re not enough for them. You didn’t save them. We drove Max away and he said he loved us exactly as we were! Even now, look at you - writhing in the grass. We have to go back to Anti. Go crawling back and beg he forgives us. If we’re not his attack dog, we’re nothing.”

Anonymous asked: No more, Anti. They won't take this from you anymore. You're right, not a shred of pity left for you. You've abused and used them for years, this isn't betrayal, this is comeuppance. Well deserved, at that.

“I won’t take any more from you,” breathes Blue, trying to hold himself together, digging his fingers into the earth even as the foot crushes against his windpipe. He feels his power moving in his fingers, soothing at the steady earth, where trees and flowers grow, warm and loving. “I am Blue, the witch, the one who takes care of them. I’m not scared of you, Anti. They’re right - this is comeuppance.”

“How noble,” whispers the cold version of himself. Its hair is grown out long and silky, surrounding the eyes like emeralds that glitter at him from a ghostly face. Its ears and throat and fingers are hung with jewelry and it is dressed in a clean blouse and jeans, a fine black boot pressed to Blue’s throat. Its whole body seems to glow, somehow. It is so beautiful it makes his heart throb and his throat tighten painfully. “Now, after you have lost everything and have no way of saving them, you are ready to scream against him. Stop fighting. You lost, Marvin.”

“I’m not - I’m not - ”

“You’re disgusting,” sneers the alternate, drawing its foot away as though repulsed even to touch him. “What an ugly, scarred-up, hollow little bitch you look like. Masculine and emasculated at the same time. You think you’re powerful just because you got your magic back? It was never enough to save us from him, Marvin. We will never be enough. All we can do is care for them when they’re in pain, nursing them through these last few years of their life before Anti gets sick of all of us. Don’t you see? It’s already too late. And now that you’ve chosen to fight back instead of taking care of them like you were told to do - ”

Blue is hoisted up by the throat, choking. He lets out a scream of pain, not for the hand on his neck, but for this - the sight of his family writhing and crying out in the grass, begging someone to make this stop.

“This is all your fault,” whispers his shadow.

Anonymous asked: You think you're going out with a bang when you're going out with an overdrawn tantrum. Enough. You cut corners, so now you get to cut your losses. It's your fault that the loss is literally everything you've built so shoddily.

For a moment, Anti is there, is himself, is visible to you.

He is in the middle of them, something black dripping from his eyes. His face is scrunched up in pain, his form flickering so weakly its hard to distinguish him from the background of the forest. He gazes around himself, panting. One moment he is not-Blue, not-Red, not-Dapper, not-Trick. He leans over himself and spits black gunk into the grass.

“Anti,” comes that same weak voice as he heard before, small and soft.

“Jack,” answers his voice from meters away, glitching and shattered.

“You’re killing yourself. You have to stop. Anti, Anti.”

Trick is in the grass nearby, lying on his side. Nearby, a shadow hovers over him, crying in silence over a dead cat in its arms. The smell of booze sweats from its skin and it shivers in the cold, bandages wrapped around its head and wrists.

“I want this to stop,” whispers the corruption, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “Let’s just go back to how we were. We just want to feel loved again. Don’t care what I have to do or who I have to be. We can’t do anything. We’re not the protagonist. We can’t even stop him.”

“Anti,” cries Trick, head pounding. He tries to drag himself to his hands and knees, but the dark image of himself kicks him back to the ground. He hears a faint squeak and shields the little body in his pocket as best he can, struggling to focus, struggling to do anything, just like always. “Please.”

Anti’s eyes flutter shut. He dissipates again, power over-exerted in the corrupted forms he’s manifesting, no longer able to control his own tangibility.

Anonymous asked: There is no shame in how long it took you to realize Jackie. Abusers are good at disguising things, especially if they have the power to give you amnesia and change your brain. You have nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, especially not being neurodivergent or being afraid Heroes can be afraid too sometimes. Your brothers loved you as the old Jackie, and they love you now! You are their hero, and everything you've ever done has been to keep them safe. Don't lie down in fear Jackieboy!

Ro closes his eyes, trying to listen to you over the turmoil in his own brain.

“He made me forget,” he agrees. “He - he made me feel fond of him. I tried so hard to love him.”

“And still weren’t enough,” answers the broken version of himself.

“Well, maybe he was the problem!” cries Ro, letting Blue’s fiery warmth soothe against his palms. “Blue loves me even when I breakdown. Max thought I was someone worth spending months searching for. And my brothers forgave me for the things I did because I - I tried to get better. Not like him! I’m not!”

“You still failed them!” shouts his other self, gripping his shoulders. “You’re nobody’s hero! Just a burden to everyone around you! You were supposed to protect them, but you just watched! You let this happen!”

“I have a chance to save them now,” gasps Ro. “Don’t I have to try?”

aether-mae asked: Hey Marv, something I’ve learned recently is that hating yourself or feeling uncomfortable in your body is something that is confined to the moment, and can ease or change with time. Right now you feel this way but slowly with time and patience you can find the things that bring you one step away from those feelings. Think less about your ideal ‘fixed’ self and look more towards how you can make urself comfy in the moment, one step at a time

“There’s no comfort to be had from this,” snarls the Anti-Blue, eyes full of the same derision he’s seen in the mirror for days. “It’s your own fucking skin. No escape. No relief. Or Anti’s skin, more like it. You will never, never be rid of the feeling of him making your flesh his own. Just a fucking puppet.”

“I hate you!” screams Blue, striking his hand against the earth, but the cry, no matter how fierce, only seems to make that dark version of himself more tangible, its form straightening up and becoming less translucent while Blue sinks towards the ground, holding his head.

“You may as well give up.”

“I didn’t always hate myself like this,” sobs Blue. “I want to go back to that. Like they said. I want some comfort.”

“You will never get it.”

Anonymous asked: Don't fall back into his lies JJ! You are already free! Fight it, fight him as hard as he's forced you to fight others! Show him what 'carver' means, Jameson!

“How are we going to fight?” asks the other version, anguished. “Even if we could get away, what then? What will we do? We can’t touch others without being triggered. We’re scared of both open spaces and being locked away. We can talk to hardly anyone and none of our brothers even remember who we are! All we’ve been for years is Anti’s pet in the attic! We’re evil and we deserve to be locked away.”

“I’ve done bad things,” Dapper manages, his hands fumbling and tired. “But I… I don’t want to give up. I do want to fight.”

“As if. You don’t have the strength.”

Anonymous asked: You are not disgusting, Blue, you are not an object either. Don't let this bastard objectify and make you sick any longer. You are more than just caring for them, you are fire as well as flowers! You can be whoever you want as soon as you get away from him. You will be worthy of love and happiness no matter who you are, no matter if it's Blue or Marvin or anyone you wish! You are beauty and danger together as one! Show this bastard who's boss, wonderful magician.

“I’m not disgusting,” whispers Blue, trying to pound it into his head. “I’m not, I’m - I’m not. That’s a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” snarls the other self.

“No, it is,” gasps Blue, determined now. “I know it because that’s the same sort of bullshit Anti would always tell my brothers. That they’re broken, somehow, because they’re different and because they’ve been through shit that hurt them. Well, I - I don’t believe it about them. I won’t believe it about me. I won’t.”

He pulls at his hair, eyes gritted shut. He can’t make himself stop hating the way he looks and feels right now, but he can’t give up either. They need him!

Anonymous asked: You are enough Jackie! Being autistic doesn't make you less than, don't let that ableist bastard warp your thoughts! You're more than enough to protect your brothers, everything you've ever done for them has been an effort to protect and take care of them! You've beat him to ashes before and you're strong enough to do it again, you brave, tremendous hero!

Ro hears Blue’s words faintly from a few meters away. Isn’t this what Blue has told him before? That he’s not less because he’s different or because he breaks down sometimes? If Blue won’t believe it about himself, well - Ro has to try not to believe it about himself either.

“Cause we fight side-by-side!” he cries, striking the earth, and flame bursts against the grass. “I was manipulated for a long time, but I remember what Dap said. I needed time, but I never stopped trying to protect them. And I won’t fucking stop now!”

“No, just surrender!” screams the Anti-Red.

“Why? Huh? Why, cause you don’t think I’m worth it? Cause you don’t think I can handle it?”

“Because we’re afraid!” cries the shadow, grabbing his shoulders. “We’re afraid, I’m afraid!”

Red feels his heart pounding so hard he’s scared he might die. It’s true. He is. Jackie would never be this afraid…

“We’re not Jackie,” sobs the shadow. “We’re just… just… the brokenness that remains.”

Anonymous asked: You are strong enough, Jameson. You are powerful, and wonderful. You can heal if you give yourself time being free! You need to show yourself kindness and fight the words of this asshat. Anyone can heal and work through their triggers with time and therapy, but you can never start healing if you don't get away from him. Remember, you are a strong, capable, powerful man who deserves freedom and happiness.

“I deserve a chance to heal,” his hands whisper.

His eyes are closed. He’s bent over himself as though kneeling.

“I deserve a chance to be free. To be happy. The chance that Anti took from me…”

In his pocket, pictures of times when he was happy, if only for a moment. In his pocket, a torn prayer card. In his pocket, tickets to go back home.

“I’ve come so far,” he signs against his chest, bowed and exhausted. “I’m so tired.”

“If we were healthy, maybe then we could fight,” signs the Carver, grabbing his hair to force him to look at his hands. “But Anti’s ruined us permanently. We’re just ash now, Dapper.”

“Ash to ash,” signs Dapper weakly. “Dust to dust.”

“Don’t parrot Christianity at me like God gives a fuck.”

“I think everybody’s just ash sometimes,” says Dapper, almost dazed. “I… I think we’re all sinners. I’ve done bad things, but I deserve a chance to give back some goodness to the world. I want to be nice. I want to make other people happy. I want a chance to grow old. I have to fight for it.”

But, oh, he’s so tired. Carver’s hands rest on his back. Dapper sinks against the earth, unable to get up.

“You always know what you have to do,” signs Carver, derision in white eyes. “But you never have the strength.”

“No,” protests Dapper softly. “No.”

Anonymous asked: You can find comfort Blue! But comfort starts with learning to love yourself. You need to fight this self hatred, Anti wants you to hate yourself. The biggest spit in his face you can do would be to say "fuck it, I love myself!". You are powerful and magical, The Magnificent. Find freedom first, then we can work up to comfort. Right now, your family needs you to fight this! It wasn't your fault, not in the slightest, but right now you have a chance to fix it, get your family back!

“I can find comfort, I can find comfort.”

Azul is chanting it to himself, trying to get up off the ground.

“I can, I can. I can help them still. I can avenge them and protect them and love them, even through everything that follows. It hurts, I - I’m trying to keep fighting, but I - ”

He glimpses his own body. His filthy hands and his scars. His shirt too big on him and his hairy legs.

He’s on his knees, overwhelmed. Eyes full of tears, he looks over and sees Ro looking back, their misery reflected in each other’s faces.

Anonymous asked: Boys, this is a difficult battle, but remember you're not fighting it alone. All your brothers are here with you, see? You know each other, way better than some glitch bitch does. Draw from that!

Trick is holding Dok’s little body in his hands.

He’s shaking in the grass, consumed by his own thoughts and intrusive desires, desires that never seem to go away no matter how hard he fights. His corrupted self sits beside him, crying and crying, no longer able to keep up the fight.

Dok moves against his palm.

Soft and warm. Soothing. His tiny nails scrape against his fingers.

Trick sucks in a deep, desperate breath, heaving for air. His own fingers stop scratching so hard at his wrists, no longer trying to get the blood out.

And the fat, fuzzy little body of that rat, sick and tortured and exhausted - that rat, his brother, staggers its teetering way out of his pocket and comes crawling all the way up to sit between his neck and his shoulder, and comfort him.

“My brother,” croaks Trick.

Fuck, a rat. He’s a goddamn rat and he’s still comforting him through his pain.

That’s how much he loves him.

Trick cups his warm body against his neck, tears dripping down his face. Dok’s nose pokes lovingly at his cheek. He is already ready to fall asleep again, his big dark eyes sliding shut.

“It’s better to die than live,” cries Trick’s darkness.

Trick looks up at it. He sees his own face, his own faults, his own regrets, his own pain.

“Hey,” he whispers, dragging himself up. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” cries the other version of himself. “The cameras are wrong! We’re alone. Who would want to fight for us? Nobody will ever love us.”

Trick stares down at his hands. There is a burn scar in his palm. He set a fire to keep his brother warm. Dok crawls into Trick’s hood, curling up against his neck, and Trick can feel him there, beside him, just like through every dark night that never seemed like it would end.

He looks up at the other version of himself, sobbing and scarred.

“We’re already loved,” he says. “And we always have been.”

He sits up. He reaches out.

And in that moment, Chase hugs Trick to his chest.

Anonymous asked: Blue, Ro, Dapper, you don't have to suffer alone! You're both worthy of love, respect and comfort, right now, regardless of what those shadows say. If you can't love yourselves right now, that's okay, you can get there later if you must, but right now, you can love each other. Would you ever want anything the shadows say to you being said to your brothers? Why would these poisoned words would only be true for you?

“Dap deserves everything,” Ro agrees in a croak.

“I don’t want to see Blue in pain anymore,” signs Dapper weakly.

“I need to get to Ro. I want him to feel okay.” Blue staggers to his feet, shoving at the shadow when it grabs him, baring its teeth as it pins him back on his knees. As he fights, he sees the others.

Dapper is tussling with Carver. Ro and his shadow watch each other warily, both self-soothing with the same motions. And Trick?

Trick -

Chase.

Chase is on his feet. The corrupted being is no longer beside him.

He looks back at Blue and reaches out for him.

aether-mae asked: I wanted to let u know, bud (any bud who needs to hear) that once anti is gone and you’re away from him things won’t instantly fix. They won’t fix a little and they certainly won’t fix a lot. Taking away the pressure doesn’t heal the wounds, only time and patience can do that. You need to be patient with ur selves, however long that will take and how ever it may happen, let it happen and don’t force healing

Blue reaches shakily out to touch the shoulder of this other version of him.

No. Not another version.

This is a part of him.

Chase takes his hand, trying to smile at him despite everything that’s happening. His perfect little brother. In so much pain of his own, and he chose to come over and help him. That’s how much he loves him.

Isn’t that worth something?

The shadowy being is disappearing from beneath Chase’s hands, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It won’t really be gone,” says Chase. “These parts of ourselves still exist inside of us. Maybe they always will. But Blue, we will deal with them together. That’s the only way we can. We can’t fight them alone, but we are not alone.”

Blue touches his cheek.

Cups his little brother’s face, eyes full of tears.

“And we… we never will be again?” whispers Blue.

“Never,” swears Chase, just as soft. “You will always have my love.”

They move together the way that trees which grow side by side wrap together.

“I love you,” whispers Chase. “So much.”

“I love you too, Amata,” answers Marvin the Magnificent, drawing back to kiss his cheek. “Go help Ro, okay? I’ll get Dapper. It’s going to be okay. Not today, maybe, and not even tomorrow. But someday.”

Anonymous asked: Wrong, wrong wrong, and wrong again. You are Jameson motherfucking Jackson! You are the philosophizer, the violin player, the man braving our hallucinations in a safe laundry room, you are the most powerful magician in the world, a strong and capable adult man, and most importantly you are A FUCKING FREE MAN! Fight it, you know who you are, even through his breaking of your identity and his claws at your mind. JAMESON JACKSON, RISE UP AGAINST YOUR TORMENTOR!

Dapper can’t see past the blood. Can’t smell anything but copper. It’s in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat. His face is wet - with tears, with the lifeblood, he doesn’t know. With both?

He can’t breathe.

He feels sick.

His heart is this fading, flickering thing in his chest, pounding so hard and so weak at the same time. He pukes into the grass, but Carver is still signing at him, still dragging him by the throat and head, still pouring venom into his head and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

It never stops. It never stops. It never stops.

“Give up,” signs Carver. “Just lie down and die already. It’s what you’ve wanted for years now, isn’t it?”

“No,” signs Dapper shakily, trying to keep from crumpling into the grass. “No. I want to go home with my family and be happy and safe. I want to fight.”

“But you’re not strong enough.”

“You bet your ass he’s strong enough!” screams a voice of rage, like a clap of thunder from the sky, and vines burst from the earth and begin winding around Carver’s tortured body. “That’s my little brother and he’s my fucking hero!”

Dapper sobs aloud, reaching blindly for help. Warm arms encase him in a hug, in a shield, in a promise, and he feels their bodies rock in time, soothing, soothing.

“This is my little survivor!” cries Blue, kissing his face once, twice, all but ignoring the struggling Carver. “This is my fighter, my time traveler, my friend! Clever, powerful, kind, sly as a fox. My perfect darling. I’m here. I love you.”

“Don’t, no, please,” protests Dapper, and Marvin pulls back in surprise. “No, I don’t want you to touch me or kiss me. I’m so filthy. No one should ever touch me again.”

Prepared to draw back at a request for space, the explanation only makes Blue’s eyes harden with determination. He lunges forward again and wraps his brother in his arms so tight it makes Dapper cough, kissing his filthy, bloodied face and the side of his head over and over again.

“My darling, my love,” whispers Blue. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing dirty about you. Oh, Dap, don’t you know you deserve the whole world? You, little brother, have spent your life surviving Anti. In all his hatred, in all his cruelty, in all his lies and manipulation. You survived. You even fought, goddamn! This is the man who slapped him! This is the man who pulled so hard against those strings! And here you are now, my brother, still striving to get up from the ground. Sick and exhausted and still trying.”

He cups Dapper’s face and presses their foreheads together, letting his little brother ugly-cry in front of him and slump against his shoulder, truly worn, down to the heart of him.

“I will help you through everything that comes after this,” Marvin vows, rocking him against his chest. “Don’t be afraid of what we’ll have to deal with. We will deal with it together.”

“Please,” prays Dapper, nodding his head against him. “Yes, please, that has been my wish for so long, though there were times I did not even recognize the desire inside myself. Marvin, Marvin. Don’t let go.”

“Here I am, my heart. Here I am.”

Carver is slumped back against the grass, staring up at the sky with despair in his white eyes. Blue looks over at him and feels the urge to snuff this deranged version of his little brother out - but it is Jameson who stops him.

With the last of his strength, JJ gets to his knees and crawls over to where the vines bind that broken, hurting child tied up in string and coated in bloodshed. Tears well in JJ’s eyes and fall down on Carver, clearing, for a moment, the trails of blood away.

“We’re not going to be a prisoner anymore,” he says, reaching out for Blue’s hand. He presses the witch’s fingers to the vines and the string.

Blue understands his request without words. Glancing once more at JJ, he turns to the strings and let the vines grow careful thorns, tearing through the white lines which cut into his flesh.

The strings fall away.

Carver’s eyes clear. For a moment, they are blue instead of white, and he is looking up at the sun.

He disappears from view, fading into wisps of smoke.

Anonymous asked: Jackie was afraid sometimes too! Stop putting the past you on some pedestal, Ro, Jackie. Listen to me, you are the same person as the past you, you just have a little more hardship you've seen. And that only makes your stronger! Heros are allowed to be afraid, Jackie! Your fear doesn't make you weak, it pushes you to fight harder!!

“I can fight harder,” pants Ro, squaring up with this dark version of himself, this useless, pathetic version of himself. He hates it!

“I can fight harder,” he repeats, louder. “I can fight harder. I can fight harder! I can fight harder!”

He throws himself at his shadow with a howl, grabbing its shoulders and shoving it to the ground. He knows how to fight! The other him fights right back, yes, snarling and scratching at him, but Ro is past caring. Blood seeps out of his cheek from a long scratch along his face and when it drives its knee into his stomach, he stops breathing for a good thirty seconds, but never once does he stop fighting.

“I’m going to be a hero again! I can fight harder! I can fight til it fucking kills me if it keeps them safe! I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Red!” someone is screaming, grabbing at his arms. “Ro, stop, this isn’t helping!”

“I’ll destroy it! I’ll kill it like a bug! I can fight harder, longer, dirtier, I don’t care!”

He drives his thumbs into the double’s eyes just like Anti’s taught him to, feeling the juice squelch beneath his fingers.

“Stop! Ro, stop!”

Chase’s hands wrap around his own, tearing him away from the other being, which is too beat to rise again, groaning and sobbing with pain. Chase tears Ro back even as he screams and thrashes, trying to get up to attack it again.

“Lemme go! I’m going to keep you safe! I gotta make it up to you! I can fight! Don’t get rid of me! I’m useful, I’ll fight for you, I’ll protect you, let me show you!”

“Ro… Ro… stop, bud, just - shit, man… I’m here, okay?”

Ro is sobbing, striking the ground.

“Look at me,” he cries. “I can’t be what anyone needs me to be. I’m not warm or comforting like the rest of you. I’m not a medic or a magician or a problem-fixer. I’m just a dick.”

“Reddy, you just get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“It’s not that!” Ro howls, shaking his head against Chase’s chest. “I get these horrible thoughts. When I’m angry, I want to hurt people. I have hurt people. Not just my enemies, but the people I love too. I’ve done horrible things… to you, to Dapper, to anyone Anti sicked me on. You five deserve to be free and happy. I’m just a mean person with a horrible fucking temper. And yet I still spent so long cowering from Anti when I should have been angry for you. I forgot my own fiance… I’m a monster. Just like Anti.”

“That’s not true,” whispers Chase. “No, hey, don’t go protesting right away. It’s not true. Red… we’ve all done bad things. For different reasons - anything from mind control to having a bad day. It doesn’t make you a monster. Shit, Red, look at all of us. Look at all this baggage we’re all carrying. This darkness… it’s a part of all of us, Red.”

“What if mine’s worse than yours?” sniffles Ro, wiping at his face. “What if I’m genuinely a bad person?”

Chase is draping his weight over his shoulders, holding him tight.

“Ro. Bad people don’t change when they hurt someone else. Good people do. When they do bad things, they do everything they can to make it right. They try not to let it happen again. They apologize.”

“Then I’m sorry,” begins Ro. “For - ”

“Bro,” laughs Chase, hugging him tighter. “We already did that, remember? The only person who hasn’t forgiven you… is you, Red.”

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Ro, you don't need to be Jackie! You're enough, and worthy and deserving of love as Ro, as who you are right here and now. You don't need to be Jackie to be a hero, or help your brothers. You've already done so much good, Ro, and you're not a failure or a burden. It's okay to be afraid, this is really, really scary. They say courage isn't the absence of fear, but acting regardless. You can still fight afraid, but please remember you don't need to fight alone.

“Can I tell you something?” whispers Chase, cuddled up close to him. “Something I never even told Dok?”

Henrik pokes his little head out of Chase’s hoodie.

“Yeah, bud, what?” asks Ro. “Anything.”

Chase knocks their heads together, swaying gently against his back. “You were always kind of my hero.”

Ro starts. “What? You hated me! We fought all the time and I was awful to you.”

“You kept me and Dok fed,” says Chase. “Gave us blankets and medical supplies even when it meant you didn’t have enough for yourself. Took fucking beatings for us, Ro. Even when you thought I didn’t like you, you still laid yourself down for me and my twin all the fucking time.”

Ro is quiet beneath his hands, staring at his double, now panting against the ground. “I didn’t know you knew that I would… maybe give you more than I gave myself. Sometimes.”

“You starved for days sometimes for us,” says Chase, feeling his voice tremble a little. “We never told you no because you were in charge of us and you always told us to do what we were told so Anti wouldn’t be mad. But we knew, Ro. And when Blue came to stay with us and you started to get some joy back… I just felt sorry I hadn’t been the one to make you smile like that to begin with.”

Jackie chuckles wetly, swiping at his eyes. “You two were my only happiness when I couldn’t see Dapper. I didn’t think you’d ever like me, so I stayed away. But when I got a chance to see you happy or hear you laughing, I would hold on to it for days. It was what I lived for… the only thing I lived for. Protecting you. Making sure you ate. Making sure you stayed together. My twins in their nest in the corner, guarding me through the night.”

He threads his hand through Chase’s hair. A soft nose touches his hand and he laughs, reaching back to steal Henrik out of Chase’s hood. Body beginning to relax, Jackie closes his eyes and nuzzles his head against Henrik’s, stroking his round grey and white body with one hand.

“My healer and my guardian,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Well, I’ll tell you one more secret,” says Chase, sitting down beside him. “Dok and I talked it over, and we’ve come to an official consensus - we love you too.”

Ro closes his eyes, hugging both of them against his heart.

“And we want to make you happy too.”

They stare at that fading shadow on the ground for a long time. It won’t drain away completely.

“I’m still afraid,” whispers Ro. “That’s why it won’t go.”

“I’m afraid too,” says Chase. “Scared out of my mind. So is Dapper and Blue, and maybe even Dok, but he’s just a sleepy little guy right now. But Ro, I think they’re right. I think Jackie was scared too. And he was still my hero.”

“You didn’t know Jackie,” laughs Ro.

But Chase doesn’t laugh. His face is serious.

“No,” he says. “But I see him in you. And that, Jackie - that has always been true. My big brother. Being scared together - that’s what families do.”

Ro rises slightly, getting to his knees and looking down at the other Red. He thought he saw weakness in him, weakness and anger and a threat. Now, all he sees is fear. His own fear.

He doesn’t want to hate himself for it anymore.

Jackie watches the other being fade away.

nikkilbook asked: Oh, Jackie. How many times are we gonna do this? In Norway, when we first met Red, the first thing I realized? Was that Red did what he did to draw the fire. You kept your brothers quiet and in line, so that if anything bad happened, you were the odd one out. You drew Anti’s fire. Maybe you don’t have any of what makes your brothers special. What you do have is love. Even if it comes through out of focus, you love, Jackieboy. You love with a love that always tells the truth. Lies do not become you. You do not become lies.

And all this talk of “you’ll fight til it kills you”? Frick that noise. You’d crash like a falling star if one of your brothers gave their lives—what makes you think they’d mourn you any less if you were gone? What makes you worth less? What makes you any less important or cherished or loved? I’ll say what I’ve said to you in a different life—you’re a trauma victim, not a bread loaf.

Stand up, Jackieboy. Be afraid, be overwhelmed, be uncertain of what to do with your own thoughts—but stand up, just one more time.

“You draw the fire for everyone,” says Chase, cupping Ro’s warm, gloved hand, where a small blue flame flickers. “Sometimes literally.”

Jackie laughs softly. He turns at the sound of crunching grass and sees Blue and Dapper walking towards him - or, more accurately, Blue walking towards him with his little brother in his arms. Immediately concerned, Jackie reaches out for him, and a moment later, Blue settles JJ into his arms.

“What’s going on?” he asks, brushing Dapper’s hair from his face. “He’s still sick?”

“He hasn’t had any good rest,” says Blue softly. “And yes, I think still a little sick. He’s not feeling up to walking. Maybe as he calms down he’ll feel a little better, but right now I think he’s just overwhelmed physically and emotionally. He’s not a healthy guy, really.”

Jackie holds JJ’s head against his heart. “We have to get him somewhere he can rest.”

“We have to all get somewhere to rest,” says Blue. “They’re right about you… always worried about everyone else. You try to tell me that’s a mean person.”

Jackie smiles gently, turning away with a slight tint of pink in his face.

“We’re not fighting til death today if we can help it,” says Blue, kneeling down beside him and pulling him into a hug. Close to his ear, he murmurs, “don’t you know it would kill me to watch you die for me?”

Jackie just hugs him back, closing his eyes. Chase is pressed against them a moment later, squishing all three of them in close around JJ.

Dok peeks out of Chase’s hood, poking at Blue’s face.

“And how’s my poor Deutsch?” asks Blue, immediately starting to baby over him again, patting and stroking him. “Shit, Chase, how long will he be like this?”

“I don’t know, it was his magic necklace.”

“Well, at least it makes it easier to move him around. He and Dap are going to need a lot of recovery time… all of us, really.”

“Don’t go just yet,” mumbles Ro, pulling Blue and Chase back into the hug and making them laugh.

“Is this… done, then?” asks Chase. “Did we scare Anti off? Because - ”

A gunshot. Chase hears one of his brothers scream. Jackie’s on his feet, Dapper in his arms. Everyone’s moving. Everything’s loud. Chase’s head spins. Someone drags him standing upright and they’re sprinting towards the trees for cover, shouting and calling for each other.

Red and Blue shove their younger brothers behind the fallen body of a great tree, tucking them into the side.

“Stay here!” shouts Jackie, touching Chase’s face and placing the slingshot and fighting staff down beside him. “Protect them. I love you.”

“I love you,” agrees Blue, leaning in to kiss Chase’s cheek before summoning his power and turning away. “We’ll handle this.”

“Guys,” cries Chase, his heart shaking. “No, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

They’re already racing off towards the figure in the yard.

“Oh, holy shit,” breathes Chase, his hands taking up the tremble as it spreads. “I tried to warn him… Anti…”

Anti can no longer be mistaken for a human being.

His body seems to drip coding and black gunk, making the air around him distorted and wavering as the air above hot pavement in the summer. Most of his body is consumed in glitching. What can be seen is no longer opaque, perhaps not even tangible. His eyes glare straight ahead, blank and unseeing, his mouth flat and unfeeling. His whole body glitches and for a moment, he can be seen screaming. In his hand, Dok’s gun.

“I’m here, guys, I’m here,” breathes Chase to JJ and Henrik, shakily loading a stone into the slingshot. “Please… please don’t let them get hurt.”

Anti feels his thoughts from meters away, eyes sliding shut.

“I should have killed you all the day I found you,” he whispers, in a voice layered and faltering, and he drops the gun aside, and draws out a knife instead.

He is the movement of the fire, the leap and bound of it, the blaze. He has strength again and courage, too, in the face of all his own fear. Blue is beside him. This is all that matters.

They fight.

There is no way to ward off something that moves as fast as Anti does in most circumstances, but now Jackie burns with heat and fire and Anti stumbles as he transports, sometimes forced to fall to his side for a moment of rest. Blue always presses these advantages. Anti screams as brambles wind around his neck, cutting deep as they can go, and struggles to get back to his feet, tearing at the thorns.

“Choke on them,” shouts Blue, leaping at him and pinning him down. Anti draws his legs back and kicks Blue hard in the chest, throwing him off and glitching away again. He makes a swipe at Jackie from behind and suffers a burn even when Jackie dodges away, his older brother following up with a swing of a fiery fist at his head. Anti stumbles away, recovering with a flip of his knife that sends it spinning towards Jackie. It’s Jackie’s turn to fall to the ground, throwing himself away hard enough to fall.

“Where’s all that power now?” hollers Blue, jumping right over Jackie to leap at Anti again, plants tearing from the ground, catching fire and throwing dirt into the air. “Where’s the snide comments and the mockery? The death threats and the flashy tricks? Where’s the dog, Anti? Where’s the wolf bite, huh?”

Anti turns his head and coughs, pixels and gunk flooding down his lips. He glitches back, panting, as Jackie gets to his feet.

“You were jokes when you were created!” shrieks Anti. “At least Jack gave a fuck about me being frightening and strong! You two are pathetic. A onesie and a Game Grumps cape - he never even tried.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we, unlike you, have the presence of mind to realize Jack is in the past,” answers Jackie, his flame turn brighter as the heat increases. “This is now, and you can’t stop us.”

For a second, Anti’s head snaps towards the trees to his right, his flashing eyes going wide and his mouth parting.

“Dark? Is that you?” He takes a shaky step forward, head whirling. “You came to get me?”

There’s no one in the trees but the others. If Dark is there, hidden from all sight but that of another monster, they do not act.

“Just surrender, Anti,” says Jackie.

“No,” snaps Blue. “Let him keep fighting til he destroys himself all over again.”

He races forward, palms full of aconite.

And Jackie -

Jackie falls back.

He remembers what Jack told him.

He turns and picks up a camcorder dropped in all the commotion. He makes sure you can see.

Anonymous asked: get 'em guys!! your audience is here with you, we are here with you.

“Are we really going to hurt him?” Jackie pants, finding himself back-to-back with Blue as they circle, warding off blows from Anti. “It’s like he’s losing it. He’s weak.”

“Yeah, we’re going to fucking hurt him,” spits Blue. “Remember everything he’s done to us, Ro.”

“I don’t want revenge, I just want my family to be safe from him. We - where’d he go?”

There’s a moment of silence as they stare around them, waiting for Anti to leap out of the flame-licked trees. Then Ro hears Trickshot screaming from a few meters away.

“Oh, that’s fucking it,” he roars, tearing through the foliage towards them. He tackles Anti the moment he sees him trying to bring his blade down on his little brothers, slamming the glitch into the ground. Anti tries to transport away, but Jackie’s hands are digging into simulated flesh and Anti doesn’t seem to have the strength to tear off.

“Stop it!” he screams, finally throwing Jackie aside and leaving a dark gash across his stomach. Jackie grunts in pain, gripping at the hot wound as his blood comes forth. He gets back up to his feet and starts after Anti again, grabbing him with hands full of fire. Anti shrieks from the pain, his form melting like plastic where he’s touched.

“You’re hurting me, Red, you’re hurting me!” Anti wails, tearing at his hands. “Stop, stop!”

He transforms weakly, making himself look like Dapper, complete with soft curls falling into his face and sad blue eyes. Jackie falters and Anti swipes again, tearing a second line into his chest. The stone of a slingshot whips through the air and strikes Anti’s head so hard Jackie sees the blood burst into the air for a moment as Anti crashes to the ground, gasping and clutching at his skull.

He tries to get up. His eyes roll. He crawls away on his back, panting roughly and trying to see as his vision blurs and his head throbs with pain. He blinks blearily at the log of the fallen tree and sees Trick staring back at him, face ashen, the slingshot in his hands.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, he won't stop. Even now, at his weakest, he's taking advantage of your emotions and the love you have for each other. Killing for vengeance is one thing, (and we could talk morality all day and still not come to a proper conclusion on mercy vs consequence but I digress) but killing out of self defense might be a necessity if all of this is to truly stop for good.

Anti pulls out a knife and throws, but his aim is shot and his hand is unsteady. The blade goes flying past Jackie and clatters to the ground.

“You’re really done for, huh?” asks Jackie softly, staring at him.

Anti drags himself to his knees, reaching for another knife. He’s shape-shifting wildly - losing control, Jackie can see - and he looks like a different version of Jack or of them with every moment that passes. The rapid shifting only seems to make him feel more ill. He struggles to get up, but then dandelions and creepvine are exploding from the earth, wrapping him up so tight Jackie hears him begin to wheeze, splitting the wound on his throat and crawling inside. Jackie closes his eyes, nauseated. It’s not a sensory issue this time - Anti just sounds like one of his brothers, choking and crying in pain.

“Fuck, fuck,” whispers Jackie. Blue comes to stand beside him, staring down at Anti.

Anti lets out a fragile scream, and then another, fighting clumsily against the plants that pin him down, trying so hard to glitch that Jackie is scared he will burst into pixels and fall apart completely. His energy is drained and his face has gone shock-white, but still he writhes, looking up at the pair of them with something like terror in his eyes. For a moment, he is a snake, a dog, a bird, a person again. He keens in pain, blood slicking his face from the wound Trick put in his skull.

“This is horrible,” cries Trick, getting to his feet and coming to stand beside his brothers, putting hands on both their shoulders. “Please, make it stop.”

Something flickers behind Anti. Blue grabs Trick, ready to shield him from one last battle as something appears on the ground in front of them, but nothing attacks.

“Jack, Jack,” cries a weak, warbling, glitch-broken voice. A shadowy version of Anti sits behind the imprisoned one of the ground, his hands reaching out. “Sean, help me, I’m sorry, don’t go.”

His throat is wrapped up in bandages. He’s clutching a pumpkin in his lap, a knife sticking out the side, and as they watch, his form begins to sprout feathers, clawing their way out of his skin. The other Anti cries out in pain, pulling on his soft green hair.

On the ground, Anti has gone frighteningly still, his eyes dropping as the blood lists out of him. His fingers twitch around his last blade.

“He’s passing out,” mumbles Trick.

“He didn’t mean to manifest that,” says Blue. “He just doesn’t have control over his magic anymore. Look at him. It’s all his fear and insecurity brought to the surface at last. Not that he was ever very good at hiding it.”

“Jack?” The other Anti is staring up at Trick. He coughs and there’s blood on his throat and fear in his eyes. “Why won’t you help me? Please, please. I’m scared. Don’t let me get stuck again! I don’t want to be an animal! I can’t move!”

Feathers tear his face apart and he howls, scraping at his skin. Trick’s chest heaves and he moves forward, but Blue grabs him and holds him away.

“I’m sorry, Tricky,” he says quietly, keeping him back. “You know we gotta do this. Ro?”

Jackie stares down at hands full of fire. He looks back at both Anti’s. His chest shakes.

Clapping draws their attention and all three of them turn to see JJ shaking his head and signing at them.

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” he begs. “Let him go with Dark. He promised Red this would be the last time he tried to make us his servants.”

“He will never stop following us!” shouts Blue. “He will never stop trying to hurt us! You know that!”

“I can’t watch this,” weeps Dapper. “My brother.”

They have been together since the day he was born.

Anonymous asked: We hear you JJ, but Marvin's right. If you let Anti go, he'll be back with a vengeance as soon as he heals - if not to enslave you all again, then to kill you all one by one. There's no way he'd let this go. This is painful and traumatic, and you have the right to feel like you do, but Anti is not your brother. Your brothers are beside you, protecting you, loving you. That writhing creature before you is not your brother. It is a monster who has only ever tried to break you down.

Dapper covers his eyes, pressing his head against his knees. He’s too sick to deal with this right now, unmedicated and running a fever.

“They’re right,” says Blue softly, reaching out to take Jackie’s hand. “Ro. Come on, okay? He’s in pain anyway. He’s ruined himself. He won’t recover from this, not really. End him.”

Jackie steps close to Anti.

His monster is lying on the ground, still. One green eye slides open and stares up at him. His mouth moves like he might speak, but nothing comes out.

“Anti?” asks Jackie.

Anti’s throat bobs. He closes his eyes. Jackie’s palms fill with fire.

And extinguish again.

“I can’t do it,” he says, backing away. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m big brother. But I can’t do it.”

He turns away and goes to Dapper’s side. They wrap around each other and breathe.

“Blue?” asks Trick anxiously.

Blue is staring down at Anti, chest heaving, face stony.

“Why do none of you want to do it?” he asks. “Don’t you know I’m right?”

Chase blinks down at Anti, a little sick to his stomach.

“I think you are right,” he answers hollowly.

“Great, then go for it,” says Blue, turning to him. “Look, Dok’s right there with you. If he were human, he’d be telling you the exact same thing I am.”

It puts a little fire in Trick’s blood. He coughs like he can expel the sickness from his stomach and reaches down to take the knife from Anti’s hand.

And suddenly, he wants to do it. He wants to. Oh, fuck. So bad it hurts.

He remembers everything since the first time he was reset, remembers torture and barbed words, remembers getting slapped for kissing a girl, being trapped for his suicide attempt, being forced to pull triggers on people he didn’t want to kill. He remembers, most of all, every fucking time he saw Dok cut, bruised, beaten, crying, hurt - all because of Anti.

“All because of you,” hisses Chase, tears pouring down his face. He flips that knife in his hand and grips it tight. “You, goddamn it.”

“Jack,” asks the shadow Anti, its arms wrapped around itself. “Jack, please.”

He thinks it’s him. His creator.

Chase sobs and drops the knife, turning bitterly away, hands clenched into fists. Blue stares at his brothers, face cold. But he doesn’t move.

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Dapper, you've known Anti as long as you've been alive. Do you really think he'll keep his word? You know how long and intense his obsession with Jack has been, do you truly believe he'll be able to let you all go and live without him after all this time? Also, would any of you ever be able to feel safe, knowing he could find you and try to capture or hurt you again?

Trick circles back to Blue, touching his shoulder. “Let’s just call Dark to come get him, Blue. We can’t do it. I know he’s hurt us, but he… he was one of us for a long time. Or we thought he was. We all tried to love him. Some of us… some of us still do.”

“That’s not true,” says Blue flatly. “We didn’t all try to love him.”

Chase squeezes his shoulder, face softening with sympathy. “Blue, it’s okay to admit. We did it because we’re loving people. That’s not wrong. You weren’t wrong. But look… you can’t do it, right?”

Blue doesn’t move.

“None of us can,” sighs Chase, scraping his fingers through his hair. “We… we’ll have to figure it out from here, buddy. And the cameras, I - I’m sorry to you guys too. I know you’re probably seeing clearer than we are right now, but none of us can do it. I definitely can’t.”

Blue is still.

Chase sighs again and lets him go, turning back to the others.

“Maybe you can’t,” says Marvin, and he grabs that knife off the ground, and he stabs Anti, once, twice, thrice, even as his brothers let out screams of alarm, who cares, it’s all in the background, they don’t try to stop him despite their weak little cries, so all that matters is this, is the faint way that Anti’s last sobbing scream shudders from his throat, in the hot spluttering flood of something not-quite blood, is the writhing beneath his fingers, and he stabs, and he stabs, until he has gotten past the chest, yes, dug it open and gotten past the ribs, until his hands are full of blood and he finds, between his fingers, a simulated mass of muscle meant to be something almost like a heart.

Can you tear your eyes away? Some of you are watching. I know that for a fact because, in that moment, Anti’s life passes out of him, and his glazed green eyes stare up at the merciless sun, and he is dead without a final word to mark his passing.

Marvin can hear himself laughing aloud.

“I fucking told you,” he spits, crushing blood and muscle between his hands. “I promised you from the beginning, you goddamn parasite - I will kill you for what you’ve done to my family.”

No answer. No answer from anyone. Overhead, the fluttering of birds.

unpredictably-ghostly asked: Is this Anti's end? We are ready and watching. You deserve to be free, and we will be here to support you, whatever happens.

Free. Yes. Free. Marvin’s laughing, clutching his shoulders. No more. No more. Free.

“You are never going to get under my skin again!” he screams, drawing back that blade again. “You are never going to torture my friends and then leave them with me to care for while they cry for mercy! You are never going to hit us, you are never going to possess us, you are never going to hurt my family again! You - ”

Warm arms wrap around him, pinning him as much as hugging him, and someone wrestles the blade from his hand before he can stab anything else. He lets out a scream without even knowing why, so loud it sends deer dancing away for miles, and lets his body slump back against the one beside him.

“My twin, my twin,” Ro is whispering, rocking them in time, pressed close together. “It’s over, okay? We’re okay. Look at us, Blue. We’re all okay. Or - or alive, okay? We’re all alive. I’m here. Blue. I’m here.”

Blue closes his eyes, light-headed.

“I don’t regret it!” he cries out, because it’s important to say.

“I’m here,” Jackie repeats softly, again and again, until Blue is breathing clearly again. “Just rest. I’m here.”

Anonymous asked: It's over?

Trick and Dapper stand together a few feet from their siblings, staring. Trick feels numb. He reaches for his hood and finds Dok fast asleep despite all the commotion, exhausted from all that’s happened. Trick doesn’t know if he’s okay. He rubs his thumb over his twin’s back and some of his soft grey fur falls away, leaving a patch behind.

“I think I need to get him back to the house before he transforms,” mumbles Chase.

It’s true, but it doesn’t really address the fact that Dapper is standing beside him on shaking legs, sobbing so hard he makes no sound at all.

Jackie turns back to them, looking eerily calm, though his eyes have a sort of desperate shock which manifests in a slight tremble in his hands.

“Get them both back to the house,” he says flatly, face pale. “Blue, come on, you go with.”

He pulls his twin to his feet, holding his hands. “I need you to look after them,” he says,squeezing his hands gently. “Focus on that right now, okay?”

“What - what do I do?” coughs Blue, wiping at his teary face.

“You know how to take care of them. It’ll be okay. Get everyone cleaned up and fed and bandaged. Try to find Dap’s medicine and help Trick take care of Schneep. Then you go through the house and you get absolutely everything that you think we can pawn or sell. There’s enough in this house to keep us going for a while. Pack bags with clothes and all their things and all the food that can travel. Put out some food and water in case Noodle comes back. Lock all the doors and stay out of the forest. It’s going to be okay, alright? Can you do all that?”

“Yes, Roser.” Marv tries to catch his breath again. Tries to be strong for the others. “What will you do?”

Jackie’s eyes flicker to the body on the ground.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” asks Marvin weakly. “You’ll have to…”

“I’ll start a pyre,” says Jackie softly. “Just go, okay? You shouldn’t all be here for this.”

Blue sniffles and nods, glancing back at the others. He knows he has to get them back to the house. Has to look after them. Anti may have been the one who told him it was his place to care for everyone else, but right now, it’s what he wants to do for them. His family.

“Be careful,” whispers Blue, leaving him with a squeeze of the hands. “Come back as soon as it’s done.”

Jackie nods and watches as his siblings walk away. He sees Dapper turn his gaze back, his eyes red with crying.

Jackie doesn’t move for a long time.

The ground is dark with ash. He never let the fire blaze out of control, but he’s burned the earth and the trees for meters around his feet, leaving everything warm and silent. Soon it will be cold and silent.

The body will be too. In fact, leaning down, Jackie finds that Anti’s skin is already chill as frog skin to the touch. Jackie wonders if he was ever warm to the touch at all. He seems to remember his hands being cold every time he struck him.

“I meant it.”

His voice is the only sound in the clearing.

“I would have loved you with all that I am.”

Anti’s still face does not answer. In death, he looks very small. He’s beautiful in a way that hurts Jackie down to the heart of him, beautiful like all his siblings are beautiful.

Jackie scoops that body up, and there, in the woods, he lets Anti’s body burn.

“Over,” he reads your question softly, staring as the pyre burns. “Over, I guess… I guess this is what over is.”

The fire crackles. The wind breathes.

Over.

Anonymous asked: Dapper, honey, I know this is hard, but you have to let them do this. Anti will never leave you alone. He has to die or you can never be free. Find acceptance in this fact: you will never be free from him until he has died. All the happiness you deserve will never come to you. You must let him go, let go of the attachment, and see, as you always have, his true nature. You know his anger better than anyone. He will never leave you free and happy. You're just a prisoner to him.

“Is this freedom?” cry his white hands.

“Shh, baby, shh.”

He’s sitting in the bathtub in the master bedroom, still crying his heart out. Blue is cleaning him with a washcloth, stroking clean, warm water across his face and lathing the blood from his hands.

“You killed him,” sobs Dapper. “He was already beaten, Blue. He promised Red that would be the last time.”

“He doesn’t keep his promises, angel,” sighs Blue. “Come on, Dap, I’m so tired… just let me get everyone cleaned up, okay? I thought you were fighting with us. You poor thing, you’re so hot. Do you know where Anti put your medicine? We can’t find it anywhere.”

“I was with you - I am with you. But that was - I didn’t want - and now I - I - ”

“Dap, Dap,” whispers Blue, cupping his chin. “You’ve got to just try and rest for now.”

Dapper hugs himself, red eyes staring straight ahead as he lets Blue clean him. He covers his eyes as he cleans his hair. He takes his time despite his exhaustion, getting every inch of filth and blood out of his baby brother’s skin and soothing at the heat in his head. Dapper closes his eyes.

“Okay, come on,” murmurs Blue when fifteen minutes have gone by. “Let’s get you out.”

Wordlessly, Dapper lets himself be pulled from the bath. Blue towels him down with the fluffiest towel he can find hanging up and wraps him in a fuzzy green bathrobe stolen off the hook on the door. Dapper shivers and hugs himself, sniffling.

Blue takes his hand and kisses the side of his head. “I’m going to try and find some food,” he says. “And then we’ll get you all tucked up in bed so you can rest.”

“Do I have to stay up here?”

“No, honeybee. You’ll come stay with us. We’ll all be together now. Okay?”

Dapper stares at the floor.

“Okay,” he signs finally.

“I’ll be back in a few,” says Blue gently.

He leaves him alone.

Dapper sinks to the floor of the bathroom, water dripping off of him, and he doesn’t speak for a long time.

Free.

Is this free?

He had thought it would feel better.

He drags himself back to the bedroom and he crashes onto the bed, sobbing into the pillows. Anti does not come and lie beside him.

Anonymous asked: Trick, how are you? Is Henrik human again? This can't be easy, so I hope you can support each other through whatever happens next.

“Hey,” Chase whispers, picking up the closest camera and pressing it into his brother’s hands. “Look, the cameras are here. You love the cameras. Do you want to talk to them?”

Only soft, shallow breathing answers. The hands he places you in do not wrap around the body of the camera.

“Dok, look at me, look at me,” pleads Chase. You see his side moving as he leans forward, murmuring reassurances. “You’re okay now, Deutsch. I’m going to look after you. Don’t be scared.”

“Trick?”

He turns around and his movement knocks you to the ground. You clatter to the ground and there is Henrik.

“He’s not doing well?” asks Blue, his voice starting to shake.

He isn’t doing well, no. He’s human, at least, but about as white as the rat was, with blue circles under his eyes and a terribly blank look in his face. He’s just staring, straight ahead. Trick strokes his hair, but Dok doesn’t respond.

“He - he gets like this sometimes,” croaks Chase. “He’ll snap out of it.”

“Is this because we turned him into a rat?”

“No, he was all silent and frozen beforehand too. Dok, Dok, come on, you’re scaring Blue.”

Blue doesn’t even deny it. He hurries forward to stand over him where he’s lying in bed, pulling his blankets away.

“Oh, no,” he whispers. “He’s… this was torture, Trick, this was… this… intentional and - these will all scar and he must be in so much pain, oh, we - we need to go to the hospital! We’ll walk again, can you carry him? Come on, we - ”

“No,” cries Chase, bending over his brother’s body. “No, I’m his nurse. I’ll handle it, okay?”

“Let me help you. He needs to get cleaned up.”

“You need to go look after Dapper and please, Blue, make something to eat. We need food and water more than anything. I promise, I can look after him. I’ve… treated worse.”

Blue touches his shoulder, his fingers shaking.

“Just go get me all the first aid stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” whispers Blue. “Okay. He… he’ll survive?”

“Just go get me all the first aid stuff.”

Anonymous asked: Chase! How's you and Henrik doing? Has he turned back from the mouse form now?

“Yeah, yeah, we’re… good. We’re okay. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. He gets like this sometimes. Don’t you, buddy? Yeah. The cameras have seen you like this before. They know. You’re okay. Just take your time. I’ll look after you.”

Henrik is wounded and weak.

“I’ll look after you. I will. I’ll be okay tonight so you can get through this. We’re going to be okay.”

As Chase adjusts that unmoving body and begins to help put him back together, you can see the cost of their freedom littered across his skin. Chase does not cry, though his mouth shakes. He stitches his brother together. Soothes bruise cream over black and blue injuries. Brings him painkillers and antibiotics and helps him swallow them with cool water. Cleans him from head to toe with a washcloth and redresses him in a clean grey t-shirt and soft pj pants.

And even an hour and a half later, when there’s nothing left to be done, Chase is still right there, lying beside him, hugging him against his body and speaking to him.

Chase always bore a resemblance to Jack, but so did all of the others. If you want to know why Anti always saw more of their creator in him, it was this one ability of Chase’s: the ability to speak comfort for hours on end. The words don’t have to mean anything. He’s there.

“And I won’t go,” he whispers, watching Henrik drift off to sleep beside him. “I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Anonymous asked: It's not over. Anti may be over, but you're all still here. Together, breathing, living. What comes next may not be easy and processing everything is going to take an ungodly amount of time. The future will be scary but it's already brightening up and eventually, I believe you'll all be shining again. I hope you know that too.

Blue stares out the kitchen window as he waits for apple crisp to bake in the oven, his eyes watery and exhausted. In the other room, he can hear Trick soothing his brother, and he lets everyone’s words of comfort wash over him and hold him steady. Hope and comfort and love and bright futures. He did what he had to do. His eyes well up and the tears run over. He curses softly and brushes them away, mouth trembling. When he can see again, Jackie is walking across the lawn towards the house, leaving dark trees behind.

Marvin gives a dry sob. He tears open the back door and he runs out to meet his twin. Jackie scoops him up and lifts him off the ground. In the grass, beneath the sun, Jackie holds him and does not let go.

“I love you,” cries Marvin.

“I love you too,” answers Jackie, so fiercely his voice could turn tides in the other direction. “And we will survive this - together.”

Marvin’s arms wrap tight around him. They are pressed in close to each other, breathing in sync, in harmony, together.

They do not let each other go for a long time.

Anonymous asked: Marvin, you did what you set out to do. I'm proud of you. You're not out of the woods just yet and God, none of us could have predicted what's become of you and your brothers since that first day but... we're on the other side. A little worse for wear all around, but strong nonetheless. I really don't know what I can say, it's hard to pinpoint where you are in your head sometimes but I hope you know that walking by your side was worth it. And whatever comes next, we'll remain here as long as you need us.

“I don’t know where I am in my head,” laughs Blue frailly. “I… I don’t know what to do with myself. But thank you. Yeah, I… I just… I just want us to move on. I don’t know what to do.”

“How about for now,” murmurs Jackie. “We just go get some food and have a nap.”

Blue laughs again, soft and broken. He hugs his brother one more time.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

And that’s what they do.

They bring a camera along and they get the apple crisp out of the oven, adding stale chips and canned green beans for their lunch. They fill up cups of water and go back to their room, where they find Trick and Dok dozing on the bed.

Blue goes to bring Dapper downstairs too, to get him fed and look after him.

“I just want to be alone right now,” Dapper tells him.

Marvin blinks, touching his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks carefully. “Do you feel - ”

“Don’t worry,” Dapper signs back, face grey with fatigue. “I’m okay. I just really want to be alone right now.”

Marvin sets a plate and some water beside his bed, feeling a flutter of unease. “You’re sure?”

“Leave me with a camera,” recommends Dapper. “Then they can tell you if I’m in trouble. But yes, Blue, I’m sure. Please, I… I just want to… just to be alone.”

“We’re right downstairs if you need us.”

“I know.”

He leans down to kiss him again, but Dapper pushes him away and hides under the blankets of the bed. Blue draws back, worried. He gets his bear out of his backpack and sets it down on the pillow beside him, and then he goes back downstairs.

He finds Trick and Red cuddled up close, sharing green beans and talking quietly, warm under the blankets of the bed. Blue lets out a low, fluttering sigh. Food and togetherness and a feeling of safety at long last… it’s what this was all for.

He closes his eyes. For a moment, he just breathes.

The other side, at long last.

“Thank you,” he whispers to you.

Then he goes and joins his brother, and warm arms wrap around him, and he thinks, just maybe, that things will be okay.

Anonymous asked: (Oh god, oh no. Please... please tell me noodle is going to be okay. I'm going to be wrecked if anything happens to this baby)

That’s when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s almost comical how fast Chase, Jackie, and Marvin all shoot up in bed. Henrik’s first expression in several hours is vaguely judgemental.

“Who is it?” Jackie asks you, voice soft and dangerous.

Outside the front door, a familiar man in a grey hood, shifting nervously in his unlaced running shoes. He is carrying a box.

Jackie slides towards the door, picking up his fighting staff. When he sees Shep, his posture relaxes, but not entirely. Slowly, he opens the door, holding his weapon beside him.

“Uh,” says Shep, trying to smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” answers Jackie cautiously, lifting an eyebrow.

“Um, I kind of expected Anti to answer. Wasn’t sure if I should come at all. Hope you guys are getting things figured out. But, uh, I just wanted to apologize for what happened. The viewers asked me for a favor, so, uh… here.”

He hands the box to Jackie. Jackie pushes aside the top and -

“Noodle!”

It’s Chase, sprinting towards them from all the way on the other end of the hall.

“My cat! My cat!”

He goes crashing into Jackie and steals the box from him in one swoop, pulling his kitten out and hugging him tight against his chest, tears running down his cheeks. Noodle beeps and meows, taking a moment to adjust before tilting his head up and beginning to lick Chase’s beard like nothing has changed in the whole world.

“Thank you!” cries Chase, covering his cat in kisses, so overwhelmed he thinks he might just keel right over. “Thank you so much! My cat, my cat. Oh, Noodle, I missed you so much…”

He sees Marvin smiling nearby. Jackie speaks with Shep, thanking him and telling him about their plans. Noodle meows and snuggles up close to him, warming him, comforting him. Chase cries into his fur.

Maybe things will turn out okay after all.

Anonymous asked: Death never feels like the correct way to end things. When there's hope and love and trust and promise of change in the world, death just seems too final a consequence. But Anti was a denier of all those good things, and sought to replace them with spite and animosity and hopelessness. I know none of these words will help you all feel better but... I understand the sense of loss all the same, justified or not. Mourn how you need to mourn, feel how you need to feel. And hold tight to each other.

Dapper sits upstairs, alone.

Fuck, the room is quiet. The room is so quiet. Not that it was ever very loud up here, but damn.

“It wasn’t the correct way to end things,” he tells you. “He could have… he could have… I could have…”

But the truth is, he knows you’re right, and he knows Blue’s right, and he knows, he knows, he knows.

He buries his face in his hands, shuddering.

You watch him get to his feet and head into the bathroom. The thick smell of the lotions and bath salts fill his nose until nothing else is distinguishable. He sits down against the side of the tub and closes his eyes.

He doesn’t have the strength. He doesn’t have any strength at all.

But he needs to do one more thing.

A silver light flickers in his eyes.

The Northern lights waft through the sky like the body of a slow-moving dragon, vivid and ethereal. Their cold, swirling colors drift over the side of the mountain and illuminate the ocean in blue and green and pink. He knows because he can see for miles from the window above his bed. The trees, stretching out around him, the birds flickering through the sky, the faraway ocean, moving forever without him - yes, he remembers.

A young man in a big yellow jumper stares out at the Norway sky. His eyes burn with the colors of aurora borealis.

“What are you looking at like that?” asks a soft, familiar voice.

Dapper turns and finds Anti lying beside him, grinning up at him. He smiles back and Anti reaches out to grab him, holding his waist and yanking him back down onto the bed. Dapper laughs, falling onto the mattress beside him, and when Anti pulls him to his chest, all Dapper does is wrap his arms around him and hold him in return.

“Tomorrow’s going to be good,” says Anti, rubbing his back in slow circles, looking up at those lights through their window. “I’m a fucking genius. Finally. Finally I did it.”

“What, Anti?”

“What? Don’t play dumb with me. Finding Marvin.”

He has soft hair, dyed dark, and clear green eyes. Warm at his side and glowing in the light, Anti is relaxed and beautiful, soft to the touch and at ease with the world.

“I’m heading out to go get him soon as my intel finishes downloading,” says Anti. “Sneak up on him at night and have him back by morning. I’m so sick of Red moping around. He’ll finally have someone to cheer him up again. Fuck, and the pair of them will be so badass. We’ll be able to get whatever we want. I’ll have him look after all of you, actually, or that’s what I was thinking. Would you like that? Someone checking in on you sometimes? Someone other than me, I guess.”

Dapper stares up at him. Memorizing the lines of his face. The way he looked when he wasn’t scared or angry or lost in his misery. These moments - these moments where Anti seemed to love him - this was what he always held on to. It was the only way he survived.

“Dapper?”

“Yes,” he signs distantly. “Yes, I would like that.”

Anti nods decisively, settling down again, looking up at the stars. There’s a smile on his face. He rubs warm circles against Dapper’s spine. Downstairs, through the floorboards, he can hear Trick and Dok and Red talking - about nothing, about everything.

“Yeah,” says Anti, letting out a low breath. “Tomorrow, I’ll have Marvin. And then everything will finally feel right. And nothing will ever be able to hurt us again. Tomorrow, everything changes.”

Dapper is there. Against his side. Breathing in time with him. His brother.

“There’s his face,” smiles Anti as his security feed footage finishes downloading on the computer beside him, his eyes changing to blue as he sorts through it. “I’m so fucking good at this. Yes! Okay, I’m heading out. Be ready to reverse if something goes wrong. It won’t, though. It’ll go perfectly. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Dapper reaches out for him, but Anti is already out of bed, changing his form and packing his things. He’ll take Red and he’ll be gone.

He’ll be gone.

“Okay,” says Anti, hoisting up his backpack and turning back to him, running his hands through Dapper’s curls. “I’ll be back soon, little brother.”

“I love you,” he signs.

In just a moment, he’ll be gone.

“Do you have to go?”

“I have to go. Little dork. Bye.”

Anti leaves Dapper behind, heading down the stairs. But right before he goes, there’s a moment where he pauses and looks back.

“I love you too,” he signs. “I’ll be home soon.”

It is only a memory. Nothing more.

He’s gone.

End Chapter Four - the Witch’s Promise

#chapter four

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slasherkisss · 4 years

Note

I got a prompt for you friend. “Collar” thats all im giving ya. Have a field day with it-

[I WAS TIED ON DOING THIS FOR MICHAEL OR ASA BUT YOU KNOW WHAT MY OBSESSION WITH THE COLLECTOR WON LETS GO]

COLLAR - THE COLLECTOR/READER

[CW; Breath play, choking, biting, pet play, afab!reader but i tried to keep the pronouns mostly gender neutral]

You heard the door of your room open and your entire body tensed up. Though you couldn’t see through the blindfold placed securely around your eyes you could smell him. The scent of formaldehyde and blood lingering on polished still and nitrile as the gust of wind from the opening wood sent a waft of the outside’s dangerous smells into your small, stagnant room. All you could do was whimper beneath the ball-gag placed securely between your lips, drool slithering out from the side as you shifted your naked form uncomfortably on the bed.

He was here for you again.

You had lost count of the days that he had kept you in this room now. An apparent fascination with you combined with your initial reaction to submit and please him in whatever he wanted you to do had lead you to the current situation of being here. Though the plush king size bed with its silken sheets of an undetermined color (probably black. you knew that he liked black) was extremely comfortable, it did nothing for the pain of you bound together wrists as the ropes bit into your flesh.

He had relented on your legs, getting you a set of comfortable padded, leather cuffs with a chain hold in the center. It was for your collar, the chain of the material clearly made for a dog looping between them and keeping your neck hunched at a rate that made your back ache and your body whine with protest no matter how much you tried to sit up as you struggled weakly.

You knew struggling wouldn’t do any good, though. But he seemed to like it.

The Collector was a large man. You couldn’t remember much of his appearance through his terrifying mask and deep, black eyes, but you could feel him every time he came to you like this. Hands, sometimes gloved and sometimes bare, reached out to stroke your hair, letting his fingertips linger on your cheek.

Today his fingers trailed to the ball gag in your lips, tapping the ball before reaching around to undo its clasp. You gasped, spit falling as your jaw settled into a more comfortable position. The moment of reprieve was short, however, as his fingers reached out to touch your lips, soon pushing passed them with determination.

You gagged slightly on the three appendages unceremoniously placed against your tongue, knowing the silent instruction of lathering the bare fingertips in as much spit as you could muster through your dry, dehydrated mouth. There was something nice about feeling him shivery. Feeling him react to your movements as you did was almost rewarding. As though you craved his approval. Craved his acceptance.

Maybe you did.

His fingers were pulled from you before you felt it. His hands reach down for the chain to your collar and you shivered in anticipation without meaning to. The Pavlovian response had been ingrained into your mind as the tug on the chain tightened the leather around your neck, cutting your air off ever so slightly and making you gasp, arching into the movement with a whimper. You heard him chuckle.

When he pulled the collar, it meant he was in a good mood. It meant that you were going to be treated nicely tonight.

It was better than the bad nights, when he would be so frustrated that he would push you onto the bed and slice your skin with knives, making sure you counted each and every movement of the blade on your body. He cut your tongue many times before, your appendage sticking out and shivering s you tasted your own blood between your lips.

Instead the collar was tugged and, like the obedient dog you were, you moved with it. You crawled to him as best as you could with your hands bound, your sounds soft and weak gasps dying on your lips as he caressed your skin. You leaned into his touch without thinking about it, the role natural to you now as you had learned to live with it. As you accepted it in a way that seemed to make him proud. He never said anything, nor did he suggest anything, but you knew. You always seemed to know.

You were nothing but his dog. His pretty little doll with a beautiful collar around your neck kept in your box for him to use. You didn’t understand, at first, why it turned you on but now? It was always better not to question.

Just for him to take the lead.

He tugged hard, bringing your face forward so that his lips could crash down against your own. You felt the edges of his mask cut into your face, but it didn’t stop you from moaning and whimpering like you knew he enjoyed. The growl that broke in his own throat was a fierce one, demanding subordination before foreplay tonight, and you obeyed by opening your mouth willingly so that his tongue could explore your cavern with greedy want.

He tugged the collar to one side and your head followed, tilting it so that he could pull his lips from yours, giving them one last territorial bite hard enough to draw a small tinge of blood, before finding your neck. There his teeth dug into your flesh, finding purchase and making you cry out as blood welled in the cuts, only to have him lap it up and place softer and more tender kisses in their wake.

The Collector pulled you on top of him now and you could feel the outline of his dick, hard and throbbing between his legs, against your aching core. You ground down on him in desperation, a craving for friction he would not offer. You were met with a sharp, humming tut between his lips and another tug on the collar that tightened its circumference, cutting off your air and making you gasp against parted lips. He held it there as you stilled, watching with fascinated eyes as your body spasmed through the sudden cut off of oxygen, before relenting just as you were about to pass out. When the air returned you gasped, falling forward against him and all but pawing with needy desire towards him.

“Please,” You whispered out with a weak, begging echo to your soar throat, “Please, please, please-!”

You knew he liked it when you begged. Whether it was better when it was terror or arousal, you still couldn’t tell. Either way your answer was a feral growl and a nearly inhuman clicking in the back of his throat before you were tugged up by the collar and thrown backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress and your knuckles digging into your spine where they were tied. You arched your back to avoid the pain, whimpering as the collar tugged again, signaling you to raise your hips as his hand slapped at the bare skin against your thighs. You gasped, feeling the sting and growing redness before arching with loyalty to him, feeling just the slightest brush of his body on your aching, wound up center.

One hand explored your body while the other kept a firm hold on your collar, keeping you in check like the pretty little dog you were. He pinched nipples and twirled them expertly between his fingertips, making you keen as his hand lightly traveled from your stomach to your nether regions, fingertips stroking your folds with dexterous fingers. You heard him chuckle at how wet you were for him already, his fingertips curling within you and thrusting in a way that made you writhe under him.

“Please!” You sobbed this plea out, a last desperate cry for what you wanted the most yet he still took his time, watching your reactions and giving your collar small warning tugs before cutting your airway off completely again. You thrashed as you lost breath both from the collar and from the way his fingers curled just right inside of you, stretching you and preparing you for the treat you knew was going to come. Bending you to his whim like he was so proud to train you to do.

Perhaps that was why he was so proud of you. It was more of a pride on himself. You were proof that he was scary enough to break someone. To destroy them and bend them into something that would only love him. Did you only love him because he made you, you wondered? Molded you into the mess of a thing you were now, with your blood and arousal dripping all over your beautiful satin sheets as you begged for the cock of a man who had killed hundreds?

You weren’t allowed to think on it anymore as you felt him, the girthy head of his throbbing cock pressing against you and then sliding into you with practiced ease. The stretch was an addiction, hot and full inside of you and you cried out with delight, excited ‘thank-you’s falling against your mouth as he set a brutal place with immediate, pistoling movements of his strong hips. One hand held your waist and the other continued to pull at the collar as the soft noises of his grunts and moans only stimulated you more and more.

You lost yourself in the pleasure, the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix with every well time thrust making your brain turn to puddy as your insides churned around him. As you clenched tight on his waist and breathily moaned nonsensical words. You would have loved to moan his name one day, hearing syllables fall from your lips so eager to please and request mercy from a man who was a God to you. You hungered for his approval as he held you by your waist and pulled you closer, making the depth of his thrusts even more intense.

Yet all you could do was blubber as tears fell through your mask, staining the inside of the fabric as you curled your toes and begged to cum.

“Please! Can I please? I’ll be good I’ve been so good-so good! Sir, please let me I want to-hh-ah~.”

Your please seemed to work tonight. Two quick, sharp tugs at the collar telling you all you need to know about what he wanted from you.

Cum.

You did so, clenching around his dick and arching your back so that you could feel all of him as you soaked him and the sheets below you, whimpering and gasping out nothing as the breath was stolen from your aching windpipe. He found delight in hearing the start of your screams only to cut them off with a sharp tug, suffocating you in your own euphoria but you were too delighted with your orgasm to care, even as he fucked you through it with an unrelenting pace before finally stilling inside of you.

Your insides felt warm and gooey as his cum sunk into you. As it dribbled from between your thighs and you heard the shuddering breath of The Collector leave him from above you. The two of you stilled like that for a long moment, the sound of nothing but white noise filling your ears as you caught your breath, the collar’s tightness relenting enough for you to do so.

When he finally pulled out of you, you felt his fingertips touching your lips again, admiring the swollen and parted gasps that echoed from it. Loving the way your tears streaked down your face as you wiggled to find a comfortable position. Another tug and you stilled, understanding the message.

---

Asa admired the spent being below him. The way the sweat on their body mixed with the scabbing blood from bites and kisses that he had drawn forth with sadistic ease. The black and red leather of the collar looked beautiful when accompanied by the hickies nestling around it. The silver chain he held firmly in his hands glittered in the low light he kept in the room of his best little pet.

He rubbed his thumb one last time over their mouth, pushing down the bottom lip to see how their teeth looked for a moment. The gum was dry. They needed water soon.

He gripped the ball gag placed lazily on the side of the table and secured it again. He loved the feel of their mouth as it parted with practiced ease, accepting of the routine that would come after a training session such as this one. Oh, how easy they were to train. How quick to obey with the proper encouragement and sharp asphyxiations. Asa took another moment to admire his work across their skin before touching one last time at their thighs, feeling them tense as he smeared some of the mixing fluids across them before standing up.

They didn’t ask if they would be allowed to clean up. They knew he would return with a warm rag and do it for them. Then again, Asa mused, he could leave and simply not come back. They would wait patiently, uncomplaining as the cum dried across their body and their form was raked with shivers and thirst. They would die like that, waiting patiently like the dog they were until they faded into nothingness.

Oh, but they were such a good pet weren’t they? Asa could never hurt his favorite like that.

Perhaps a new collar would be nice, though.

#anonymous #ask #Asa emory #asa emory x reader #asa emory imagine #the collector #the collector x reader #the collector imagine #the collection #slasher imagine

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chucklegigglechortlesnort · 4 years

Text

Not Quite Unrequited

{Hanahaki AU} {Sero Hanta}

You were completely aware of Sero’s condition, however, try as you might, you were never able to figure out who was the cause of it.

It came as a shock to you, when you found out about his condition in the first place.

It was a typical weeknight, the two of you sitting in his dorm studying - you on the hammock and him on the bed - when all of a sudden he started to cough. At first, you thought that he got a popcorn kernel stuck in his throat, but when the coughs started to sound violent and he rushed to the bathroom, you realized something was seriously wrong.

When you managed to stumble your way out of the hammock and over to the restroom, all you could see was a flourish of soft pink rose petals decorating the floor and your best friend hunched over the garbage, struggling to breathe through the plants obstructing his windpipe.

Unsure of just what, exactly, you should do in the situation, you swiftly turned to make your way out of the bathroom to find help, only stopping when Sero managed to utter the word ‘wait’ followed by another flurry of coughs and petals.

The look in his eyes pleaded for you to stay, pleaded you not to tell a soul. And despite your better judgment, you did just that - staying right beside him, with what you hoped was a comforting hand on his back for the rest of the fit. It dissipated a short time after, but you were left with the knowledge that this must’ve been a common occurrence for him to be able to have handled it so calmly.

Since then, you’ve tried to convince him to talk to someone, get prescribed special medicine that helped soften the petals, or to just get the surgery to have them removed permanently. Much to your dismay, he refused every single one of your suggestions, saying that he didn’t need to talk to anyone because he had you, that he didn't want to rely on medicines with countless side effects that could hinder his ability to perform, and lastly that the recovery time for such an insignificant surgery would take away from training time and set him back.

It hurt you, knowing that you couldn’t do anything to help him, that he was dealing with feelings that you couldn’t even comprehend, though knowing this you doubted your pain could hold a candle to his.

Lately, it had been bothering you more than usual.

He was losing sleep, that much you could tell by the bags under his eyes and the way he was constantly dozing off in class. He struggled to hold a conversation, often losing focus and sometimes even falling asleep.

It was one of those typical nights, where you sat comfortably on the hammock and Sero across from you on his bed as the two of you went back and forth with review questions for the upcoming test, a bowl of popcorn and an answer key somewhere in the space between you. However, your study partner was being less than diligent, to say the least. It wasn’t the first time tonight that he had dozed off during your study session, but it would certainly be the last.

You almost didn’t want to wake him, he looked so peaceful - well as peaceful as one could look while sleeping in an upright position - but if you let him stay like that it would compile neck problems on top of all the things he had to worry about.

“Sero?”

The only response you got was a light snore.

“Sero.”

“Hm!”

You sigh when Sero snaps up, dazed and confused while trying to blink away the bleariness in his eyes.

“I think we should call it a night.” You conclude, flipping your binder closed and collecting the answer key from where it lay in front of you.

“What, why?”

“You can’t keep your eyes open for more than a few minutes and your attention span is even worse. I think you should try and get some rest.”

Sero frowned as he watched you collect your things and rise to leave. It wasn’t just the fact that you were leaving, something seemed to be bothering you by the look on your face and he didn’t want you to go before he got it out of you.

“Night, see you in the morning.” You called over your shoulder, glancing back just in time to watch as Sero’s hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait. There’s something bothering you, isn’t there?”

You sigh. You feel like you’ve been doing that a lot lately. Turning to face him, you can no longer mask your worry behind an indifferent expression. You part your lips, mulling over your words.

However, your train of thought comes to a screeching halt when you see Sero’s face morph with discomfort as his free hand reached up to clutch at his chest.

“Dammit.”

He quickly rushed past you to the bathroom and the realization set in. You feel the panic rise up inside you only to force it back down. You’re about to follow after him when you hear the first fit of coughs and you’re stopped in your tracks. They sounded different from when you had first heard them all that time ago.

They sounded worse. Much worse.

When you tried to move again, your legs felt as if they were made of lead, slowly dragging along the ground toward the bathroom. Toward Sero. The room seemed to elongate with every step, but it didn’t matter, you needed to make sure he was going to be okay.

When you reached the bathroom, the sight before you rendered you motionless.

Petals were strewn across the floor, like before, but this time they were accompanied by full flowers, stem, leaves and all. In the middle of it was Sero, hunched over drool and streaks of red running down his chin while tears cascaded down his cheeks. The same red smeared on his chin was dotted on the pink rose petals as well as the spiky stems. You felt the color drain from your face as the realization hit you.

His blood. It was his blood.

“Oh my god.”

You were aware that it had gotten worse but... you could’ve never imagined this.

Sero’s eyes cut to where you stood in the doorway, your expression nothing short of horrified. He once again feels the stabbing pain in his chest as he heaves out another fit of coughs, blood speckling out as he feels a particularly thick stem force it’s way up his esophagus.

You notice quickly that this one is different than the others spread about the room. This one’s longer, the stem thicker, and the thorns sharper. You have to cover your mouth and force the urge to sob back down and before you’re even aware of what you’re doing, you’re right beside him, carding your shaky hands through his hair and gently pulling it back so it no longer sticks to his face.

At the moment, you weren’t sure if you were helping or hurting, but the desperation yanking on your heartstrings was threatening to rip you to shreds if you continued to stand there and do nothing.

With a final heave as well as a small cluster of petals, the entire flower dislodged itself from Sero’s throat. Once you were certain that it was over, you let his hair fall from in between your fingers and sagged down beside him.

Sero slowly leaned away from the garbage, his entire body fatigued from the ordeal. His breathing is ragged and his throat raw, he focused on taking slow even breaths, as to not agitate his throat further.

Your head falls limply on his shoulder, the stinging behind your eyes suddenly becoming too difficult to suppress any longer. Silent tears drip down your cheeks, plopping onto the petals below you.

“You’re so stupid.”

Shocked by your choice of words, Sero turns his head in your direction to see your head resting on his shoulder, your own shoulders noticeably trembling.

“___-“

“Has it ever occurred to you, that you could die from this someday? That you could be one damn rose petal away from ending not only your career but your life?” Bracing yourself, you lift your head from his shoulder and stare straight into his eyes.

“Say what you want, Hanta, but you can’t live like this for the rest of your life - however long that may be, at the rate you’re going!”

Sero opens his mouth to respond, but you quickly cut him off.

“I know it’s selfish of me to say this, especially when you’re going through what you're going through, but... do you- do you even realize how much it hurts to see you like this? To know that you’re going through this and I can’t- I can’t do a single damn thing to help you?”

Your hands had found their way to his shoulders and you were kneeling in front of him now, instead of beside him, fingers digging in so hard there would be bruises there the next day. You were a teary, snotty mess at this point, your face was blotchy and red, your voice thick with emotion, and he was so blurred that you couldn’t even see his stupid, wonderful face anymore, but you held firm and stared him down through your tears.

“Please, just do something because it hurts too much to know that someone I love has to live through this.”

Silence hung in the air as Sero stared at you, his expression unreadable through your blurred vision. The tears slowly came to a stop as you fell forward, gently wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck.

“Please, Hanta.”

Your voice is so quiet, but somehow it’s enough to snap him out of the trance he was in, the echo of one word bouncing around in his brain.

‘Someone I love’ you had said.

Could it be that maybe...?

No, there was no way. Not a chance. You loved him, but not in that way.

But, what if? What if he took a chance? What was the worst that could happen? He would continue to live through this, but at least he would have closure.

Maybe he would even take your advice.

But he couldn’t think about that now.

Sero’s heart pounded in his chest, as he silently, slowly, wrapped his arms around your waist and brought your bodies together, resting his chin on your shoulder.

He was so close that you could feel each breath by your ear and a small shiver ran down your spine at the sensation. Anticipation bubbled up inside you, but you weren’t sure as to why.

“I...”

Sero feels his throat tighten and his mouth go dry. He was absolutely terrified. Terrified of you confirming what he already knew, terrified that he would end up ruining a friendship that he valued with everything he had. But he wanted - needed to tell you. Not only because he needed closure, but because you deserved to know.

“...I’m in love with you.”

He feels your entire body stiffen in his hold and immediately fears the worst.

What he doesn’t expect, is for you to start crying all over again. Your tears drip from your eyes and onto his neck, where your face was buried.

“_-____?”

Sero hastily removes his arms from around your waist to pry your arms off him. He gently guides you away from him so that he can see your face.

“So you’re telling me that I’m the reason that you- that it’s my fault you-!”

The more you try to force the words out, the heavier the tears flow and any sounds that make their way out of your mouth are embarrassing gibberish.

“H-hey, hey, hey,” Sero reaches up to cup your face and brushes away your tears, momentarily forgetting himself. “None of this is your fault, okay? My emotions aren’t your responsibility.”

“B-but-“

“‘But’ nothing, now just try to focus on breathing.”

Giving him one last look of wariness, you close your eyes hesitantly, focusing on taking oxygen in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Sero watches as your brow slowly becomes unfurrowed, noting that your shoulders are still tense. He slowly glides his hands down from your face to rest on your shoulders, just above your bicep. Shaky breaths escape from your swollen lips

Once he sees you relax completely, he lets his hands fall from you altogether.

Silence falls over you, and for a while, neither speaks.

Your eyes open just slightly, sore and dry from tears shed. You see Sero’s larger hands resting right next to yours, the white cotton of his loose pajama pants, and the soft pink of the petals scattered about the floor.

“So, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Your lips press together as you struggle to collect your thoughts. You didn’t want to outright repeat what he had told you - in all honesty, you didn’t think you could handle that right now. You were so overwhelmed at the moment that you could barely piece together proper sentences.

“What you said- that you, well-”

“That I’m in love with you? Yes, I was telling the truth.”

Your face flushed as his words echoed in your brain

Sero was... in love with you?

Since when?

For how long?

Thoughts and questions began racing through your head so fast you became dizzy. You leaned forward, planting your head on Sero’s shoulder for some much-needed balance. You had never thought of him that way, he had been in your life for so long as a friend that it was just what you were used to. But when you did think about it, maybe being more than friends was just the next step in your relationship. Images of you holding hands, going on dates, and kissing flashed through your mind... and it felt right.

“Okay.”

Yes, it was pathetic, but it was all you could bring yourself to say at the moment.

“Okay? Does that mean... you feel the same?”

“... I’m not really sure, but... I want to give it a try.” You take in a deep breath and raise your head to look Sero square in the eye. “Besides, who would make a better boyfriend than your best friend, right?”

A dry chuckle escapes Sero as he pulls you against him once more, resting his chin on top of your head.

“My thoughts exactly.”

................................................................................................

OK I KNOW WHAT I SAID ABOUT BEING BURNT OUT WITH BNHA BUT THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR LITERAL YEARS AND IM PRETTY PROUD OF IT SO HERE YOU GO

#bnha #bnha scenarios #sero #sero hanta #sero hanta x reader #sero x reader #bnha imagine #bnha imagines #mha #mha scenarios #angst #fluff #should i contunue?#bnha x reader #mha x reader

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nurseofren · 4 years

Text

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 12

Read on AO3

Read chapter eleven (NSFW)

Title: Conflicted

Words: 3800

Summary: Sometimes getting answers only leads to more confusion.

ST Rambles: Okay FIRST - please go back and read the kiss with Nicki Minaj's "The Night is Still Young" playing. I don't know why, but it just works and it's what fueled this chapter.

Here's what could have been. I hurt myself in not letting it end with this, but I thought it was too much too fast.

And this was probably very jarring and not what you might have expected after last chapter, but I promise it was necessary. When I read, I love chapters that focus on developing relationships and not necessarily directly relate to the plot. They serve a very important purpose to me.

Tell me what you think, fight for what you believe in, and give yourself some grace. This world is crazy, and we're all taking it a day at a time.

(Masterlist)

The glass was cold against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine while you looked out into space. One of the dwindling perks of being Kylo Ren’s appointed medic was the expanse of glass offering an impossible view of the galaxy, and you didn’t know if you’d ever get to enjoy it again after leaving tomorrow night, so you deemed it obligatory to take it all in while you were still here – career and otherwise.

A star flew past, disappearing in the distance. After you’d showered and disposed of your decimated uniform that night, Talia caught you before you could sneak away in silence. It was unnecessary, but she apologized for filing the report. It was an act of camaraderie – your pact of secrecy – even if it fell to pieces before it ever got a chance to fully form. Remembering the genuine concern in her eyes – red rimmed with tears – before you left the med bay made your heart fall. The only thing that made your temporary dismissal – courtesy of Kylo Ren – endurable was the fact that you hadn’t roped anyone into your downfall. It would’ve killed you to know that your own malpractice had caused anyone else suffering.

The continuous strip of lighting atop the room indicated it was near midnight. Ever since you’d come back to the quarters it had been impossible to sleep, your mind not staying quiet long enough to allow any rest. A second couldn’t pass without an anxious thought passing through, making your heart drop and your head dizzy.

At the forefront of these thoughts was your impending return to Starkiller, or at least what was waiting for you when you got back. It had been nearly two months since you’d left Robbie in that bar – blacked out and alone – and the idea of confronting him upon your return pitted your stomach with black dread. The thought of seeing him again, knowing that he’d groped at you and stolen your sense of comfort and security, trickled icy adrenaline into your veins. The probability of him being there when the Command Shuttle landed was extremely high, and it made you sick imagining stepping off the ship and being greeted by the one person you wished to avoid above all.

Robbie hadn’t physically hurt you, no, but what made your skin crawl when thinking back to that uncomfortable night was how opposite he was from what you’d thought. When you’d met him and when he’d comforted you, he seemed like a good guy, someone you could see making you happy. When he took off that uniform, though, he was a stranger, a blight in your memory. His ability to exist so separately within himself seemed like it should be impossible – like there wasn’t a real person behind that mask before you gave it a name.

At least Kylo Ren had the decency to stay relatively consistent in his identity. As much as you wanted there to be someone behind that mask – someone you once swore was beyond it – his recent act of punishment enlightened you to the truth: Kylo Ren did not care about anyone but himself, and to think differently was to be a fool. It felt like a dream – all those times you thought you’d seen a person within him, someone you felt real – however reluctant – feelings for, but after numerous attempts at trying to convince yourself you’d imagined it all, you accepted the fact that there was too much tangible evidence for you to have conjured it all up.

There was of course the letter with his handwriting etched into the envelope; the deep indented ink was still stowed away in your nightstand, greeting you every night when going to stow your watch away. The existence of that person – fleeting as he may be – was further confirmed with the pair of socks you’d obtained from his uniform; they were currently shoved into the back of your drawer, hidden away in an effort to keep you from accidentally slipping them on when you wanted to remember how you’d come to own them. There was one thing, though, that proved beyond any doubt in your mind that this person was real: the lingering memory of his touch.

No matter what he’d done to you in that assessment room – no matter the way you dizzied at the site of water running red at your feet, no matter the way your face stung just at the memory of his hand cracking across your cheek, no matter the bruises currently settling into your throat – you could not deny how your skin flourished for the feel of his own. Regardless of your last interaction with him, the thought of his nearness still warranted the flush of your cheeks and a glittering of your spine.

But that had to be the end all be all of it; you could only yearn for his touch, needing to completely forget about the elusive person you could prove the existence of, but was permanently and infuriatingly out of reach. It was a losing game to hold out for the transitory lapses in Kylo Ren’s guard, something he’d been fortifying for years before you’d met him. And, although you wanted to be the one person who could break down those inveterate barriers, you could recognize the inevitable waste of time it would be to try.

“You’re conflicted,” Kylo Ren said, his hidden voice eliciting no more than a slight skip in your heart.

Not turning away from the stars, you sighed against the glass, a small mist of fog spreading under your breath. “I can’t imagine why,” there was little care in your voice; you’d grown tired of reacting in any way towards him, only fueling his intentions when you had.

His footsteps, softer without his boots, shuffled closer, stopping before entering your periphery. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, more a request than a command.

What was his game here? An incredulous huff left your nose, fogging the glass again. “You don’t need me to tell you anything, I remember the headache from the last time you went digging through my head.”

A patrolling TIE-fighter came and left the view before you. “Would you prefer that over telling me yourself?” A slight edge rose in his tone, betraying the restraint in his words.

Why was he acting like this? Had he forgotten three days ago? Did he not hear the damage he’d done to your larynx? “Of course I wouldn’t prefer that, but what choice do I have?”

Taking one last look at the star-speckled abyss, catching sight of two concurrent shooting stars, you turned to him. He was in his underclothes, long sleeves and long pants to compensate for the constant winter of the quarters. His hair looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower – which was probable based on his nonsensical schedule. It was a rarity for him to be in the quarters at the same time as you, an even rarer occurrence for him to acknowledge your presence when he was.

His expression offered more life than yours did, his face flecked with the cast of stars in the darkened room. His hands weren’t balled into fists, hanging in a relaxed – if not, cautious – position at his sides. He looked completely… normal. For once. Without the exclusion of a shirt or the inclusion of his usual over-the-top uniform, it was as if he were completely human, neither an angel nor a demon standing in front of you.

“That’s what you’ve failed to understand this entire time,” his unmasked eyes were trained on the stars as he spoke, his voice contemplative. “you do have choices. You just keep making the wrong ones.” With this, his stare came over to yours, meeting your eyes in the barely lit room.

There was one particular choice he was alluding to, and there was no point trying to convince him to see your side. Crossing your arms, your back fell against the window. “I’m not apologizing for saving that man’s life. I did what I had to, and if that costs me my career, then so be it.”

It was still difficult to accept your own words. Half of the reason you kept saying them was to convince yourself they were true, but they haunted you more than you wanted to admit, keeping you from sleep, adding to that pitting dread day by day. Saying them, putting up a brave front, was easier than acknowledging the uncertainty they incited.

“I’m not asking you to apologize,” he absently traced a finger along the piano’s frame beside him. “Just as you said, you were following an oath you made when you entered into the First Order. You were doing what you thought was right.” The light cast over his face rippled as his brow twitched up.

As confused as his present demeanor was making you, the rampant honesty was too much to shy away from. “If you don’t think I did anything wrong, then why –,”

“I didn’t say you didn’t do anything wrong. I said you did what you thought was right. I’m not ignorant to the fact that your actions saved him,” his hand smoothed over the maroon finish, the reflected galaxy gliding over his skin while he did. “I was impressed that you thought so fast on your feet – your passion for healing and helping isn’t lost on me.”

In an effort to find the words to articulate the blatant confusion he was causing you, your mouth formed the start of many words, all falling to cessation before escaping. His casualness only intensified your need for an explanation. “But – if you – why did you dowse me in blood and crack my windpipe in half?”

The blunt summary of the punishment prompted him to face you, his eyes more pointed than before. “The two events are unrelated,” he said, taking a step forward, a crease forming over his brow. “I couldn’t care less that you took the blood, that doesn’t affect me; that blood is replaced as it expires.”

It was a feat ignoring the mounting fire forming within your chest, threatening to dowse your tone in poison. With a steadying breath, you spoke. “How are they – what do you mean they don’t correlate? I stole the blood, I got caught, you found out, you got mad. Is that not what happened?”

“You left out one key part,” his eyes pinned you in place. “The one thing you’ve refused to do. Something that would have prevented the majority of your suffering – you don’t respect me.”

He took another step towards you, leaving just a few feet of distance. Off the piano’s glossy finish, another star glided through space, falling out of view behind his staggering frame. Testing his patience, the truth formed ready at your lips. “I was forced into this. You forced me to follow you across the galaxy like some trained pet, and you want me to respect you just because you tell me? Because you expect it?”

A sharp exhale, one that had been building for some time, left his nose, his fingers ringing each other below his waist – his temper was wearing thin. “I didn’t have to keep Hux from scheduling your execution.” He took one step closer, leaving only inches between you, the heat of his dwindling temper whispering over your frozen skin.

It was like talking to a wall trying to get your point across. “I didn’t ask you to,” you said. “That’s what I’m saying – I never wanted this. I never asked to be here, but you refuse to appoint someone else. Why? What makes me so fascinating, Commander? Why don’t you just fire me? It would be better for everyone.”

These words were much easier to accept – you so obviously didn’t belong with the other appointed care providers, and you knew your skills were barely up to par with them either. Him choosing you out of the blue made no sense; you were good at your job, but the Elite wanted someone who could be perfect, someone they could bend to their will. It was the smart decision to let you go, even if the thought tore through your insides.

The muscle under his eye twitched, his face leaning down to yours, his breath warming over your nose. His eyes burned with that same raw emotion from before, again proving the existence of that unattainable person behind them. “I –,” he started, pausing before he continued. “You -,” he attempted again, words seemingly evading him.

He was so close, the stars reflecting into his wide pupils. When had he ever been at a loss for words? “I what?” Looking between his lips – the dim light of the galaxy contouring them in its abstractness – and his eyes, you yearned for that impossible more you knew to be just out of reach; its presence growing more visible behind his auburn as the seconds passed, taunting you with its closeness. “Why can’t you just say it and get -”

“I trust – you.” His sentence was broken and fragmented, his breath to match as the admission winded him; the three syllables came at all differing volumes, the first booming, his volume faltering as the following two met it. His tone was indicative of an obvious discomfort in his acknowledgment of their veracity, like he had adopted your practice of saying them until he believed them. With his words came his hands, placed at either side of your head, tightened into pale fists.

Unbidden and without thinking, the first thought that came to mind left your mouth in an incredulous breath. “Why?”

The thoughtlessness of the question made you recoil into yourself, leaving you to observe the steady expression Kylo Ren was regarding you with, an unreadable scrutiny fogging his eyes. The seconds he held you there felt like hours, his eyes never leaving yours, his brow narrowing ever so slightly as he looked through you. With a quiet huff of breath, he pushed off the wall and turned away. “Nothing you aren’t already aware of.” He said, sitting to face you on the piano bench.

Out of his proximity, you could breathe, trying hard not to clue him in on the fact you’d lost the ability to begin with. Studying you, he began again. “Like you mentioned before, when I was – how did you put it – digging around in your head,” he stared back out into space, “I saw you that first night you were assigned to me.”

Taking a step forward, you waited intently for him to continue, not wanting to interrupt his admission. His throat bobbed while he gathered his thoughts, his stare still trained on the glass, stars streaking across his black clothing like water droplets. “When you figured out you were late for the Command Shuttle, and while RB-6745 was trying to console you,” his nose twitched at the acknowledgement of the stormtrooper, “you were worried.” He looked over to you, holding you in his stare, searching for something you weren’t aware of.

When you didn’t speak up, keeping his gaze in the dark silence, he continued. “Not about yourself or getting in trouble,” his attention fell back behind you before he went on. “You were only focused on the scenario that you wouldn’t be there in the case that I would… require your assistance.” He swallowed, looking back to you, carrying new weight behind his eyes.

He had no reason to be telling you all of this, but the fact that he was taunted that connection once more, like he was real, like that unattainable person was present for the time being. Another star fell, racing across the piano behind his shoulders.

Suddenly, you understood his earlier loss for words – they were important words. They were true words. And just as you didn’t know how to accept that you were on the precipice of losing your career, he didn’t know how to accept the fact that you cared for him. The night was filled with hard truths that neither of you wanted to acknowledge, knowing that as soon as you did they would lead to an unknown neither of you were prepared to understand.

In an attempt to express your words fully, you reached out to his shoulder, squeezing it in your grip, feeling his muscles flex beneath your hand. His eyes hadn’t left yours on your way over to him, and you kept them in yours, a silent vow of thanks. “That’s my job, Commander.” Chewing your cheek for a minute, considering your next move, you sat next to him on the bench, feeling him stiffen and then relax after a few seconds.

Staring out into the galaxy, his warmth on your skin - it felt right. The connection you felt could only be compared to friendship in this moment, no feelings of romance adulterating the trust that had been vocalized. It was similar to the moment of camaraderie you shared with Talia – but this was deeper, not only a promise of protection, but one of respect.

“Why did you tell me this? Any of it?” Keeping your focus on the galaxy, your periphery watched for any reaction to the question.

Two stars flashed across the glass expanse, lighting the room for half a second before he replied. “You’re worried about your career,” he took a deep breath, “and you’re accepting defeat.” He looked over to you, your eyes still trained on the stars. “You think you aren’t worthy of the position. You are,” he said. “You deserve to be here.”

Wrapped in enveloping darkness, his face was only half lit from the stars when you turned to him, pouring your eyes into his. The last thing you expected from Kylo Ren was a compliment, but for him – the root of your doubt – to confide in you that he believed your position was deserved? It was nearly inconceivable. It gave you the validation you had been starved for, doubting your place since you’d gotten the assignment. Unknowingly, he had gifted you the affirmation you didn’t realize you had needed, one that brought you to accept your purpose in the position, rekindling a flame you’d been neglecting since the beginning.

Peppering over his face – lips, nose, eyes – you frantically searched for any indication of the usual hidden intentions he kept. There was nothing. No narrowed eyes, no malevolence quirking his lips, no tightened jaw quivering with restraint – nothing. It frenzied you, the fact his words were stripped of innuendo, their meaning completely unadulterated and true. In a moment of deep appreciation, you took his face in your hands, stopping momentarily to trace his cheekbones with your thumbs. Having already searched his eyes for fallacy, you didn’t have to keep looking into them, but you did, admiring the stars showering through his pupils. Eventually, pulling him towards you, your lips pressed into his with a newfound fervor, sparks flooding down to your fingers and toes as something new bloomed in the night.

He met you there, his own hands locking you to him, their size dwarfing your skull. His tongue slid onto yours, deepening the kiss, losing yourselves in the connection, seemingly joining the stars beyond. The intensity charging between you rivaled the sun, your mouths colliding into each other, a fusion of two atoms of opposite charges, making the other whole. With his hands gripping into your hair, a small moan – inspired by shock and need – faltered into Kylo’s mouth, its hesitant resonance lost under the harsh breath leaving his nose. At this, his hands fell down to your hips and tugged you closer to him, wanting you nearer, guiding you with their strength.

The overwhelming connection was suffocating, flooding your lungs with hunger and urgency, petrifying your chest with the realization of the power building within you to clutch that person within him, to pull him into permanency. And it scared you, knowing that if you went further – if you were to pursue this rush of intimacy molding your mouth to his – you would not be able to come back from it; if you were to let yourself fall into this more, there was a promise of no return, leaving you to burn for a man who you knew could never feel the same – could never burn the same – as you did for him.

In this storm of revelation, you forced yourself to break away from him, resting your forehead to his, eyes shut and hiding from the intensity residing in his, knowing it would evaporate your resolve. “Can we just – can we just sit here for a minute,” you breathed, your lips buzzing from the broken connection.

For a moment, he only held you there, his thumbs digging into your hips, his breath mingling with yours. Without a word, and with an inhale laced in finality, his touch left you – his warmth following suit – and he stood, peering into the celestial shower beyond the glass.

In the absence of his touch, you were collateral damage; standing apart from you, even just a few feet, Kylo Ren had not only nullified that terrifying promise, but he had proved you right: the person residing behind his burning auburn eyes would only ever be ephemeral in their existence. The night had brought another hard truth upon you, the stars seeming to stop racing altogether as it did.

“The Command Shuttle will depart at twenty-two hundred tomorrow night,” he said, his voice now infuriatingly vacant. “It would be wise to get some rest, officer.”

While he walked ahead towards the stars, his hands balled into fists at his sides, straining with white as he peered out into space. Watching them flex and relax for a minute enlightened you to your statuesque posture, not yet having left the broken moment in time. With a swallow, you pushed off from the bench and started back to your room. As you did, though, you remembered what had earlier brought you to seek solace in the stars, the storm of returning to Starkiller and facing Robbie emptying the air from your lungs.

“The day after we landed,” Kylo said, his voice echoing through the shadowed room, your stride halting as it did, “I instructed Captain Phasma to demote him.”

If his intentions were to soothe the sudden anxiety he’d sensed in you, he’d failed completely – the information only frayed your nerves that much more, allowing one last torturous glimpse at that elusive notion of more you knew was too temporary to trust. As you stood there, once more flayed by Kylo Ren, hot tears threatened to spill over.

“Goodnight, Commander Ren.” The words left your mouth with a falter, your heart ripping from your chest, every hard truth the night revealed weighing it down until it left you completely.

Crawling into bed, limbs limp with emotional exhaustion, your chest bled for what it had earlier ran from – that promise of no return was now a mirage of the past, never to be offered again.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction #st kyp

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daddychims · 5 years

Text

OURS

Genre: Mafia!AU , Smut , polyamory

Pairings: BTS (OT7) X Reader

Word count: 8K

She belonged to them , she knew it very well but a moment of temptation and she decided to challange their ownership over her. But the seven guys dont hesitate to remind her of her place ... of the reality. They own her ... that is her place ... that is her fate ...

"The day you stood in the entrance of this room , I warned you …" Yoongi's dangrous voice rang in her ear "Once you become involved In this , you'll always be ours …" he hesitated and the girl's wanton cry echoed in the room "Always ours …“

Warning: This story contains sensitive themes such as dubious consent, manhandling, mafia, excessive aggression, punishment, polyamory, smut, unprotected sex, daddy kink, degradation, praise kink Etc. Basically Pure Filth and a PWP.

If you’re uncomfortable with any of these themes please refrain from reading further.

She could feel it , the dark pairs of eyes dancing on her figure just Like the way her body swayed along with the beat. She smirked as the rush of adrenaline surged through her veins along with the drop of the beat , while the stranger’s hands wrapped around her waist. She tilted her head back to get a sight of the guy she was offering herself to. she might have been the lone rabbit looking for a predator dancing on her own in this infamous place but she still had standards on who she chose to feast tonight.

She bit her lips , her eyes glazing at the sight of the breathtaking stranger. Sharp jawlines followed by a thick layer of muscles that presented a protruded vein presumably due to lust if she put it into context. Perfect, she thought to herself , pushing her body even further to his well toned body to get a better feel of his host for the feast she planned for her night.

The guy took the sign and wrapped his arms even further , dipping his lips into her neck as he started to have his way down the side of her jaw to her neck

“Why is a beautiful lady like yourself on her own tonight!? Wouldn’t that be too much of a waste!” He whispered , his tone lustfully low

“I prefer to let the life decide my fate some nights.” She whispered seductively turning her head to meet his gaze “It hasn’t disappointed me tonight”

The guys smirked , his head falling back before bringing his determined gaze on her “Should I take control of your fate and take you somewhere even better then!?”

She licked her lips , feeling her core muscles clenching at the seductive words, he was the perfect one for the night, she thought.

“If you’re so good at controlling , why are you asking me!?” She challenged and the guy’s gaze turned darker

“You asked for it babe” he said as he tightened his grasp around her waist and pulled her towards the exit of the club.

She bit her lips, excitement pooling in between her legs , the smell of tobacco and alcohol almost turning unbearable as she knew she has somewhere even better to be in a few minutes-

“Aahhh …” she gasped , her head turning involuntarily towards the opposite direction and her breath caged in her chest upon the sight

“Going anywhere babe!?” He asked with a dark smirk that looked anything but welcoming to her eyes

She tried to struggled in his hold , turning her firmly stilled neck to release herself and her newly found friend only looked back when he felt a tug on his arm as he tried to pull her further behind himself.

Her trembling gaze travelled from the familiar condescending gaze that were placed on her to the guy that still had her wrist in his hold , hoping he would somehow surprise her with a different reaction than other guys at the sight of the familiar frightening guy. But his widened eyes and the layer of sweat on his forehead didn’t surprise her at all.

“Kim Seokjin” the guy called almost in a gasp , immediately releasing the strong hold on her wrist “are you his!?”

“I’m not-Nghh” she tried to protest but the guy’s hold on her neck smoothly moved on her windpipe , cutting the air to her throat

“I heard your brother wanted a deal with Namjoon” The guy said as his hand danced on her neck , while his gaze was fixed on the terrified guy “Will you tell him the news yourself or should I do it for you!?”

“I’m S..Sorry , I didn’t know she’s yours. I swear I thought she was on her own.” The guy stuttered , his eyes glazing in fear

“Haven't you learnt in school to not touch something you don’t know who owns!? If you’re in this industry , you should know that much” Seokjin said stepping closer to the guy

“It was my fault” She voiced out , trying her best to not sound as weak as she felt

“I’ll get to you later , stay quiet for now” he snarled with a sarcastic smile before bringing his gaze to the guy “Get lost and consider that deal gone.” His lips curved into a dark smirk as he continued “Maybe next time you’ll remember not to touch something you don’t know awho owns”

She stared at him , her heart stinging at the word. Thing, that’s exactly what she meant in their world, an object they loved to place ownership over. After all they lived for this , owning things , naming them the way they wanted and play them the way they desired.

"I'm Sorry" the trembling guy bowed 90 degrees, his head almost touching his knees before quickly disappearing from her sights.

She sighed watching her almost knight in the shining armour drifting away with longing eyes , when the pressure on her neck brought her attention back to the problem she almost forgot about. She gasped when his breath tingled on the skin of her neck , indicating he's too close for her to even consider an escape plan

"Now you baby…" his words tickled the small hairs behind her ear "Its your turn isnt it?"

She didn’t even bother to look at him , her eyes slowly tracing down to her shoes as her head slightly tilted as a reflex to the air that he was breathing on to her neck "Your Daddies will be thrilled to know what you've been doing out of their watch."

She gulped , digging her nails onto the side of her thigh , almost scarring the soft flesh remembering the dress she was wearing was dangerously too short that allowed the access she had to her own body which was not gonna be helpful in the courtroom she will soon be judged on.

She gasped when she felt her body moving in the opposite direction forcefully , feeling her previously dislocated shoulder popping out of the socket again so she apprehensively held onto her arm , hoping this tug on her arm would soon end. The guy ahead of her however knew no mercy , as he pulled her up the stairs that lead to the VIP area of the club where private rooms were leased to those that wanted to do more than just what was offered on the dance floor and the bar across it.

She gasped as the familiar room came to her view , not so foreign memories starting to flutter through her mind. Her body started to shake involuntarily , her instinctive reflex was to freeze on the spot and pull herself to the opposite direction of where she was being taken to. Her eyes travelled to the guy that stopped along with her and looked back at her with annoyed gaze

"Oh Come one …" he hissed furrowing his eyebrows "For Fuck's sake , Its not time for a push and pull game Baby"

She shook her head , foolishly pouring all her fear In her eyes , silently begging him for mercy despite knowing the guy she's having her chances at was probably one of the most cruel men known to human being.

"Baby …" he whispered stepping closer to her , hugging his strong fingers laced around his favourite spot on her neck , stroking the soft flesh of her windpipe where he could easily take control of her vitals "You already fucked up , do yourself a favour and behave so I can actually put out some arguments in there for you"

Her eyelashes batted at him innocently , her eyes glazing with tears as she gulped on the thick saliva that pooled in her mouth "I'm not coming with you." she firmly voiced out , watching the mocking smirk flying through her opponent's lips

"Did I ever give you a choice?" He asked pausing for a second as the smirk changed its place to an angry gaze "Baby, get in the room before I get angrier. I might look like I'm the most gentle of all but you tried me enough tonight and I don’t want you to see what I haven't shown you yet" He growled before turning around and opening the door and throwing her inside before stepping in behind her.

She stumbled on her feet , almost falling in the middle of the private room , the six pairs of eyes travelling to her in union as she tried to keep herself stead before making eyes contact with the first person that came to her sight.

"Look who's here" the guy with sleepy eyes said , the corner of his lips curving up into a crooked smile fondly as eyed her

She gulped , her knees almost giving way at the sight of those dark orbs eyeing her lovingly. She missed him , even if she hated to admit it , she missed him so much for the very short time she was away from him.

"Guess where I found her" Seokjin sneered taking a seat beside Namjoon while the girl quickly curved into a small spot , lowering her gaze to the floor "Our baby has grown up so much, she's now grinding on some random guy's dick in Our club"

She brought her head up , looking at the guy with hatred in her eyes and he scoffed before glaring away from her.

"Oh really?" Yoongi's low voice echoed in her ear , and she immediately drifted her longing gaze to watch his fond eyes turn into a dangerous glare as guilt washed through her body "Is that true baby?"

She looked away , digging her nail in her thighs again habitually as she stayed silent in response , knowing too well someone else will answer the interrogation for her

"And that’s not any guy , he was one of the guys from EXO. The one that hangs out with Jimin sometimes." Jin raised an eyebrow with a condescending gaze "I'm sure baby knows they're our rivals doesn’t she?"

"Hyung … are you talking about Jongin? " Jimin stepped in the exchange of conversation "Our baby must have had an eye on him sine the last time he came to visit me " he suggested his dangerously innocent eyes that were a complete paradox to his inner abilities trying to catch her attention "Is that it baby?"

"No" she replied unconsciously , biting her lips as she realized she's broke her own promise to herself to stay quiet all through this interrogation. She knew very well by experience , every words she'd say in front of the seven men would be used against her.

"Dirty slut" Taehyung hissed eyeing her with a condescending look, she hated the most. After all Taehyung was the one that was against her from the very beginning "I told you all she'd be a fucking thirsty whore if we don’t feed her for a day"

"Taehyung" Namjoon snarled at the guy and he went silent , his obedient gaze lowering at the elder's warning "I think she deserves an explanation" he suggested in his usual calm tone

Her scared gaze danced on the guy's face, for some reason she wanted to run to his embrace and hug him tight , asking him to protect her but she knew very well she lost that right the moment she tried to disobey them. At least the guy's soft but disappointed gaze was telling her clearly that she had no protection in him for now.

"I left a letter" she started , not baring to look any of the guys in the eye "Did you-"

"Yes we did" Hoseok replied nodding his head calmly before exchanging a look with the guy beside him

"I want you to know that I don’t want to be involved In this anymore" she heard Jungkook mimicking the words from her heartfelt letter in a mocking tone before bursting out laughing along with the two other youngest beside him "Oh Gosh , she's so fucking cute" he decalred jokingly receiving a slight smile from his hyungs

She watched in disbelief , not expecting the reaction she received from her statement. She poured all her emotions , anger and frustration in that letter and here she was being mocked for the supposedly resignation letter she almost died to write.

"Is that your explanation?" Namjoon asked , his gaze somehow looking even more intimidating and disappointed to her "The letter?" he questioned

She batted her eyelashes , trying to wipe the tears that were threatening to flee her eyes before she nodded. Her stomach dropped almost immediately as Namjoon sighed and looked away from her.

"I told you" Taehyung voiced out eyeing his four hyungs who were all looking baffled and frustrated , all 4 of them growling in union at the younger guy's words while Jimin slapped his shoulder and glared him to stay quiet to prevent further anger from the elders.

"I don’t wanna do this anymore" she tried to hold her vocal cords together, her voice rising significantly higher than it usually was with the group of guys "I don’t wanna be yours anymore" she added the latter as if it was any help to her initial argument

"Oh Gosh" Hoseok sighed sparing a look at Yoongi beside him before giving the girl a pitiful look "Go easy on her Hyung" he whispered

"Jungkook …" Yoongi called for the younger's name while his furious eyes were fixed on the girl

"Yes Hyung?" the mentioned guy immediately jumped onto his two feet , nodding his head as Hoseok pointed to the girl

Jungkook walked closer to her , while she stepped back slightly scared of the way he was looking at her. He easily grasped her arm in his strong hold and pushed her on the elder's body. She gasped , her face painfully hitting the stone firm chest of the guy she was thrown at before bringing her face out and looking at him.

"We spent two years teaching you , nurturing you for you to just stab us in the back little girl?" he asked , his tone lowering an octave with each word

She looked at him , a pearl of tear rolling down the corner of her eyes as guilt rushed through her body. Her heart clenched at the nickname he used which she's never heard before from Yoongi's lips. She was always his baby for the past two years, just like he said the baby he nurtured every single day. And a mistake , only one big mistake was enough to push her down the ladder of hierarchy to that condescending name some of the others called her before in her life , the little girl.

"I don’t wanna be an object , just a little toy for all of you to play with" she protested , the belittling title pushing her sanity off the edge "I don’t wanna be your little girl anymore" she panted

Yoongi's dark and disappointed eyes danced on her figure , his expression hardening in pain like a parent who was deeply disappointed by his child. Her disobedience , the disrespect was too far for his patience.

His hand travelled up onto the strands of her hair , tugging painfully on her scalp as she winced from the sudden pain "Is that why you decided to whore around in our club Little girl?"

She sobbed at the sound of the newly established nickname she hated to hear from his lips the most.

"And that’s not with just any guy, but one of the guys from EXO … knowing very well how your Daddies feel about the rival group?" he asked as his hands traced their way down the small piece of fabric she could barely call a dress that hugged her body tightly, enhancing her every curve. His finger found their way under the hem of the dress resting on her ass and pulled it up onto her waist.

She heard a mixture of gasps from behind her as her exposed ass came into view

"Hyung … she's not wearing any panties" Jimin growled , feeling his member tenting up against his tight pants

"Oh naughty little girl …" he whispered as a sudden impact came into contact with her asscheek immediately , making her wince in pain and pleasure at the same time "You've been really naughty tonight haven't you?" his anger and lust filled eyes flicked between her two orbs as he muttered "Namjoon … what should we do with her?"

"I think …" Namjoon said , his voice even lower than when he was questioning her "We should teach her lessons all over again , she probably forgot who owns her little princess parts"

"You're right" she shrieked in pain as another smack came into contact with the sensitive flesh "What do you think Seokjin Hyung?" Yoongi nodded , his gaze stilled fixed on her

"Being the one watching her grind on that guy's dick so hungrily , I think our little girl needs to be filled by all of us tonight. Maybe then she can control herself from whoring around so much" he growled , his hand already playing with his bulge that was painfully tugging on his pants

"So she's been really hungry huh?" Yoongi nodded another whip of his hand landing on her ass and this time just a muffled sob left her lips , the burning sensation on her flesh and the anticipation of all the dirty things the two other men were suggestion pooling on her core "Hoseok … what do you think we should do with this hungry little whore?"

She winced at the new name he called her, feeling hurt and aroused at the same time. She never believed hearing such filthy words from those lips would turn her on so much.

"With hungry sluts like her …" Hoseok smirked eyeing the girl closely "I usually fill their mouth up and choke them on my cock until they cant breath"

Yoongi's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he stroked the sensitive flesh of her ass he abused a few seconds ago before tracing his fingers down to her dripping core , touching her arousal through the exposed skin.

"Our little whore is enjoying all the filthy things her Daddies are suggesting" he said watching the crimson blush heating on her cheeks as she lowered her head in his chest "I guess we should teach our baby a good lesson tonight huh?"

She gasped as Yoongi held onto the sides of the hem of her dress, ripping it apart from her body in a smooth and fast motion. The fabric left her body as she felt another hand creeping on her back , and before she knew she was turned around on Yoongi's lap. Her eyes widened as she came eye to eye with Hoseok's gaze who was looking at her with teasing eyes, a painful gasp leaving the lips of the five other guys that were sitting around the lustful scene.

She bit her lips , shutting her eyes closed as she felt her whole naked body in display of the six guys that were watching if the guy she was easily being manipulated in his arms not counted. It wasn’t her first time but it didn’t somehow lessen how shy and aroused she felt. After all the day she accepted to be their little baby she loved the idea of being the centre of attention of seven guys.

"Fuck … Hyung she's so wet" Hoseok growled , eyeing the pool of her juices running on her thighs

"Our little whore loves attention, Hoseok" Yoongi growled against her ear, as he shifted her on his lips , her back resting on his chest. He grabbed onto her two thighs and parted them , the display of her dripping cunt receiving a sea of lustful growls in the room "Don’t you little girl?"

"Well , since she loves it so much. Why don’t we give it to her?" Hoseok suggested , pulling his zipper down and taking his hard member out and stroking it in anticipation

"We will Hoseok …" Yoongi said and her eyes fluttered open in surprise , eyeing the guy who was holding her in his arms almost believing his soft tone "Except there are rules"

She sighed , immediately knowing the meaning behind those words. She was there for a long , torturous and painfully slow run.

"We will give our little girl the attention she needs" he nodded eyeing the guys who were all slowly playing with their hard on as if they were preparing for their turns "Except she doesn’t get to cum"

"Fuck- Nghhh .." she gasped as a slap cut her word short on her sensitive clit where it costed her a lot more fluid of arousal running down her thighs

"Language little girl" Yoongi hissed before eyeing the guy who was stroking himself in his palm "that’s your punishment for tonight"

"Cruel" Taehyung pointed out with a satisfied tone "Fucking cruel" he said as he palmed himself over his jeans

She looked at Yoongi , pouring all her pleas in her eyes as she muttered "Please Daddy … I'm sorr- Aaahhh …"

"Too late for that little girl" he growled , slightly more furious at her apology "Hoseok, Fuck her"

The guy didn’t want to be asked twice, he grabbed the girl's thighs , pulling her slightly lower against himself before thrusting his already dripping with precum member. She winced at the sudden impact of his hip against hers , squirming in Yoongi's lap but her dripping wet core was more than prepared to accept the insanely moving hip of the guy above her.

She mewled in pleasure as the guy who was still holding her in his arms starting groping her breast , pinching her nipples sensually.

"Do you like that little girl? Do you like it when Hoseok fucks you so hard you cant even breath?" He whispered the filthy words against her earlobe. The only sound she could muster up were the lewd sounds of pleasure that left her lips with each thrust that Hoseok made it to her deepest spots.

Hoseok was rough , perhaps one of the roughest in the group of guys. His girth accompanied by the gifted sway of his hip was a recipe to every girl's pleasure and she couldn’t deny that the guy knew how to make her scream in pleasure. He was ruthless in the way he pushed his hip bone against her bony frameworks , almost moving her a millimetre higher with each thrust if she wasn’t being held by the guy under her. The hot sessions she always had with him all ended in her possibly losing her voice while having sore muscles for a while.

She shrieked as an impact came into contact with her sensitive clit , another one followed not too long after when Yoongi's furious voice buzzed in her ears "I asked a question. Didn’t I teach you to answer me when I ask you something?"

"Y… Yes …" she stuttered , using her hazy memories to reminisces the question he asked earlier "AAAhhhh"

Another whip of his palm planted on her clit while he pinched her nipple between his index and middle finger "Yes what?" he barked

"Yes D..Daddy" she voiced out , hoping she'd got it right this time

"That’s better" Yoongi said , his fingers dancing on her clit and flicking the sensitive nub "You didn’t forget our deal have you?"

"N…No Daddy" she replied , not really believing her voice herself knowing very well his fingers were not helping her with the deal he placed upon her by the way they were swirling on her clit.

"Good girl" he whispered , the flicking of his finger moving faster on her clit "Jimin" he called and the guy who was stroking himself while watching the sinful sin replied through hooded eyes

"Yes Hyung?"

"Get your ass here" he ordered and the guy soon made his way to them "Our naughty girl is gonna give you a head while Hoseok fucks her"

Water pooled between her lips at the sight of the guy who was getting closer to her. His hard cock standing proudly against his stomach , precum dripping down the shaft and the tip angry red. Jimin grabbed her wrist and brought her hand closer to himself

"Is that right baby?" he purred as the girl wrapped her palms habitually around his shaft "Are you gonna suck daddy off?"

"Yes … " she gasped bringing her head closer to him and engulfing him , encouraged by the sound of her old nickname. This was what she was to them , their baby , their obedient baby and she loved to be called like this. She moaned around the guy , sending him off to a heavenly start as he thrusted his hip further inside her.

"Fuck Baby girl … that feels so fucking good" Jimin groaned grabbing onto her head and holding onto her to easily fuck her mouth.

She slacked her jaw, easing her throat around him as she felt his attempt to fuck himself further in her mouth. She was confident she can take the guy fully based on her experience before. This was not the case however with some of the other guys in the room.

Her eyes travelled to Hoseok whose moaning was rising In tone , his member erratically growing inside her indicating he's close so she clenched around him in the hope that giving him what he desires would earn her some brownie points.

"Fuck … I'm gonna … I'm gonna cum" Hoseok announced holding onto her hip as his thrust paced before finally exploding inside her "Fuck … FUCK …" he cried his last few thrusts , painting her inside with his cum before finally ceasing and pulling out of her with a pop.

She groaned in the sudden emptiness feeling the cum of the panting man above her gushing out of her , Jimin's hard member still thrusting against her throat. Hoseok fixed his pants before walking away and throwing himself on one of the couches while Yoongi smeared the guy's cum on her core

"One down baby girl , but you still have a long way " Yoongi whispered against her ear and she whined around Jimin. The vibrations made him throw his head back , cussing from the sensation

"Fuck … Your lips feel so good baby … I'm gonna cum …"

Her gaze lightened at the praise words and she reached up for his balls , massaging them in an attempt to please him even more.

"Hyung … Hyung I'm gonna cum in her mouth … I'm so close …" Jimin voiced out , sounding almost whiny as if he was asking for the elder's permission

"Why don’t you fill our little whore's mouth like she wanted to?" Yoongi ordered watching the girl in his hold squirming in his lap "She was so hungry she even tried to feed herself off another guy's dick" he hissed , receiving a apologetic wince from the girl "You should feed her well so she doesn’t forget who owns her little mouth next time"

"Yes Hyung …" Jimin nodded in anticipation as he held onto the girl's hair roughly , holding her head still "I'll fuck her mouth until its full of my cum …" he brought his hooded gaze to the girl "Do you want that baby? Do you want Daddy to fill you up like the good little cum whore you are?"

She nodded , tears filling up her eyes at the result of her gag reflex she was trying to suppress. The encouraging gesture was enough to send the guy off the edge , he stilled her head as he thrusted his release into her wet muscles , filling her mouth up as he promised.

He winced as he pulled out his hard member out of her mouth , the droplets of cum dripping down the corner of her lips and he groaned at the sight of the fucked out girl.

"Hyung , I wish you could see her. She's looking so fucking sexy , all fucked out with her cum filled mouth."

She mewled , clenching around nothing but air , turned on by the description the guy offered. Her eyes travelled to the guy who was still holding her tightly in his arms , hoping her effort with the two guys would have made him a bit more happier with her but her hopes shattered seeing his stone cold eyes

"That’s what she should look like Jimin" he said in a soft quiet tone that ran a shiver down her spine "Perhaps we should make her roam around the club looking like this so everyone knows she belongs to her Daddies"

She winced as a familiar sting came back on her clit and she whined , nuzzling in the guy's chest in protest "Isnt that right little girl?"

"Daddy … please …" she finally broke her silence , trying her chance again "I'm sorry …"

She sighed as she watched his expression hardening at her attempt again "Namjoon" he growled and the guy was on his feet , with his pants pooling around his ankle the next second "Our filthy slut still doesn’t get it. Why don’t you show her?"

"Yes Hyung" the guy responded with a low tone , his formal tone contradicting his hard dick that was standing parallel to his abdomen as he positioned himself against her …

"The day you stood in the entrance of this room , I warned you …" Yoongi's dangrous voice rang in her ear as she felt the guy standing against her body , teasing her entrance "Once you become involved In this , you'll always be ours …" he hesitated and the girl's wanton cry echoed in the room "Always ours …“

Namjoon was big as he’s always been, making her wonder how she’s been taking him for the past two years. He had his specific way of fucking her , usually having her spooned on her side on the bed while fucking her from behind. This position she was now in though, was making him reach the deep spots he’s never reached before in their usual position.

Yoomgi held onto her thighs , keeping her leg spread for the guy that thrusted in and out of her in a fairly rapid and uniform motion. A layer of sweat covered the guy’s forehead watching Hoseok’s transparent remains leave her entrance as he thrusted more and more inside her. He groaned as he felt her clenching around him and he immediately slowed down

“Nghh … Our little girl is playing dirty isn't she!?” He whispered in his deep voice , glancing at Yoongi before slowing down his thrust to lazy thrusts

“Daddy … Please … Faster … Please don’t stop” she begged bucking her hip up but she was pulled back in place by Yoongi’s strong arms groping her ass.

“Little naughty girl … “ he barked against her skin before bringing his dominant gaze to Namjoon “Go faster Namjoon” he ordered

The girl’s eyes lightened in hope as the guy above him pounded in his previous pace in and out of her when the guy’s voice against her skin brought her to the reality

“You’re not allowed to cum , did you forget!?” He said as his fingers danced on her tummy , keeping her still to give Namjoon a better anchor

“Please Daddy … I need to cu-“

“Taehyung” he called cutting her sentence off and the guy shifted on the couch

“Yes Hyung!?” He asked with a teasing smirk as he made eye contact with the girl.

Its been two years and she still felt like she didn’t have her way into the silver haired guy's heart. Taehyung was the only one opposing her being added to their circle and he never missed any chances to remind everyone how much of a bad choice she was. Despite the fact that she felt hated to the guts by the guy she often found herself on her hands and knees by midnight while he somehow seduced her into the position and fucked her senselessly into the sheets.

“She’s talking too much , why don’t you give our little girl something better to do with her mouth” Yoongi ordered and the guy walked slowly to the girl , offering her a mocking stare

“I’d love to do that Hyung” he nodded , rubbing his precum around the tip of his monstrous dick which was questionably one of the biggest she’s seen before. All the confidence she had about pleasing Jimin disappeared in a few seconds as Taehyung's large member came into her sight “since you’re such a talkative little slut tonight , I want you to beg for my cock” he cooed the filthy words in his deep voice

She stayed silent , gulping as her mouth watered at the sight of his dick , still conflicted if she wants to deep throat him or not when a smack landed on her stomach.

“Taehyung asked something” Yoongi whispered reminding her

“Daddy … Please let me suck your cock” she whispered the dirty words while fixing her eyes on the silver haired guy “Please …“ she added hoping she would get some success but he was tougher than that

“You want daddy to fill your mouth!?” He asked bringing his tip closer to her and her eyes lightened into smile thinking he’d give it to her but he slapped her cheek instead “Do you think you deserve that you little dirty slut!? Hmm!?��

She bit her lips as she received another slap across her cheek , mewling at how Namjoon reached her sweet spot , her mind drifting in lust “Please Daddy … “ she begged

“If you wanted it so bad , why did you grind on that bastard’s dick!? Huh!?” He growled , grabbing onto her hair and making her look up at him

She just looked at him in silence , tear pooling on her lids when Yoongi’s voice reached her ear

“Kim Taehyung …” Yoongi snarled reaching for his wrist to slap it off “I know how to discipline her , you do what I tell you”

Taehyung gritted his teeth , hating the way the older man stopped his power play over the girl. He always thought Yoongi was too soft on her , hence the mess she created that day and all the other mistakes she’s done before. He scoffed in anger before grabbing her cheek and pushing his cock inside her lips

“Right! I’ll just need to fill your slutty lips with my cock” he pushed his whole length against her throat , the girl helplessly gagging on his cock “Look at you little girl , You can barely take my whole cock”

She glared at him , feeling challenged by his belittling words indicating she’s not doing well at pleasing him. She slacked her jaw around him , easing her mouth around his large girth just like the way she did with Jimin but somehow she only ever could fit half of him inside her mouth.

"Awww look at this little girl trying to prove daddy wrong" Taehyung scoffed grasping her head "Don’t try too hard babe , you'll hurt yourself"

She glared at him , bobbing her head around him in an attempt to make up for the lack of length he couldn’t fit in and a smile glazed in her eyes as his head fell back in pleasure , groaning as his grasp around her hair tightened.

"Fuck … you little slut … you're so good with your mouth …" he sneered making her clench around Namjoon even more , dripping wet at the compliments

"Fuck …" Namjoon hissed holding onto one of her knees and pushing it further up to get a better angle inside her "You're so fucking tight even after just fucking Hoseok"

She moaned around Taehyung , the sounds vibrating and sensualising the already establish pleasure she was giving to Taehyung. With a few more thrusts inside her , both guys released their juices in her , one In her dripping cunt while the other filling up her mouth , groaning loudly from the intense pleasure.

Her throbbing core was left empty once more , the cum dripping down onto the floor as Namjoon pulled out while she swallowed the streams of cum Taehyung gifted her mouth. The younger guy sighed in pleasure as he finally pulled out and stroked her cheeks in daze , taking her off guard by his sudden affectionate move. She gulped as her eyes met the guy's hooded gaze

"You're amazing baby" he purred as if he was spelled to a different person only coming to his senses when Yoongi cleared his throat

She watched with longing eyes for more of his affectionate touch on her cheeks , where he suddenly pulled back and started fixing his pants like Namjoon did a few seconds earlier and made his way to where he was sitting before his turn.

She sighed bringing her gaze to the guy who was stroking her tummy softly , a tear rolling down the corner of her eyes as she desperately clenched around the wetness of the two guy's cum inside her. Her clit was swollen and pulsing for touch and Yoongi knew very well hence the movement of his fingers stayed right above her hip bone on the area on her abdomen.

She parted her lips to beg again but she realized all her attempts at begging forgiveness was turned into even harsher punishment by him previously so another painful sigh left her lips as she nuzzled in his chest like a lost cat in the rain.

"Hyung …" Jungkook voiced out in a deep voice , his face scrunched in pain and she immediately brought her gaze to him "Can I …" he asked , a rosy blush creeping on his cheek

She almost smiled fondly over the shy guy , he was always like that. Although a dominant beast when he was with her alone , he was always shy and obedient with the elders , always waiting for permission before making a move or attempting a touch on her.

"Can you hear that little girl …" Yoongi whispered against her neck "Jungkook is asking for his turn" he said shifting her up to sit higher on his lap , the rush of cum dripping down her core and she mewled due to gravity as she tried to keep her jelly like legs still.

"Hyung …" Yoongi's eyes travelled to Jin and muttered "Where do you wanna take her?"

Jin's eyes travelled to the girl , gentle orbs observing the trembling girl on Yoongi's lap "her mouth. That all she gets from me today"

Her eyes watered , looking at the handsome guy with need in her eyes but he didn’t flinch a bit at her pleading eyes. He stroked himself as he walked closer to her and muttered

"Be thankful I'm still filling your slutty mouth after what I saw down there" he stated with a scarily calm tone and her eyes lowered

"I'm sorry Daddy" she muttered as she reached for his cock but he grasped her wrist firmly In his and pressed tightly around it making her wince.

"Oh no little girl , It takes a lot more than that for me" he said with a cold tone "Why don’t you tell your Daddies how you're gonna behave from now on?"

Jin was always like that , calm and gentle but somehow unforgiving to her. He knew exactly how to discipline her and how to get her in lines with his standards. He was one of the most affectionate yet , hardest to please amongst the guys and that made him even more special in the girl's heart, her earnest wishes being to make him happy with her.

"I'll behave well Daddy … I promise …" she said , her trembling eyes travelling between his two cold eyes

"Wil you be a naughty little slut , playing with other guys , other than Daddies?" he asked drifting closer to her

"I wont Daddy … I promise …" she batted her eyelids pleading "Please … let me touch you …"

He bit his lips , his already heating lust for the girl he's been trying to keep together falling out of his control as he nodded "Suck me little girl " he groaned and the girl smiled before reaching and stroking his tip before enveloping her lips around him "Suck like the obedient slut you are" he said , his tone still firm and unbothered by the girl's warm lips around him.

"Jungkook" Yoongi watched as the girl sucked the older male above them attentively "Come here"

The younger guy walked closer to them in an insanely fast pace and Yoongi grabbed her other wrist bringing it up to reach for Jungkook's painful erection and he winced from the contact of the girl's cold hands with his heated cock.

"Give Jungkook a bit of a hand will you little girl?" he whispered against her ear

She nodded while still having Jin's length deep in her mouth , while she skilfully pumped the younger guy's cock in her other hand. Her legs tried to clench closer together , to create some friction , anything to help with the painful knot in her stomach but Yoongi kept her thighs spread.

"Behave little girl , Behave" he barked and she whined nodding her head as she continued her work , to please the two guys.

The seconds passed , and the sinful action of her hand and her lips on the two guys soon brought their much waited highs closer to them. Yoongi's hands travelled to her inner thighs , parting the lips of her pussy while one finger entered her and the other toyed with her swollen clit. She moaned around Jin and he groaned holding onto her head

"Fuck … " he cussed looking down at the girl whose eyes was fixed on his "I'm gonna fill up your pretty lips baby "

She nodded persistently , bobbing her head to encourage what he offered her.

"You want that?" he groaned with a fond smile as he grabbed her cheek and snapped his hip against her lips "You wanna taste Daddy?" he received a keen nod again exchanging a haughty look with Yoongi "Yoongi Ah … our little girl is so thirsty for his Daddies. Maybe that’s why she's been misbehaving recently"

Yoongi's nose digged into the flesh of her neck as he whispered "Is that why little girl?" he added another finger inside her pussy while flicking his thumb on her throbbing nub "Were you thirsty for Daddy? Were you that desperate for attention little girl?"

She mewled , nodding automatically with everything Yoongi said while tears of pleasure and pain of suppressing her much waited release rolled down the corner of her eyes.

"Don’t worry baby , I'll feed you well" Jin thrusted , his hip stuttering as he followed tracked his way to his release "I'll fill your little mouth so well you'll be full for days"

She moaned as Jin exploded between her lips , his hot cum filling her wet muscles and she gulped attentively every drop as if it was a mission. She carefully milked the guy before gasping for air as he pulled away and stroked her hair

"Good little girl" he purred and she flashed a shy smile to the older guy

"Thank you Daddy" she panted, loving the familiar gentle and loving way he looked at her.

Her eyes snapped back to the guy who she still was pumping unconsciously , biting her lips as she muttered "Can I?" she batted her eyelashes at Jungkook and he groaned

"Y..Yesss …" he uttered in impatience and she leaned in wrapping her lip around him "Fuck … I'm not gonna last long baby" he warned and she only took it as an indication that she's doing her job well , bobbing her head on his length.

Jungkook groaned , wrapping both his hands at the back of her head as he stilled in her and released his juices. She tasted his cum , the bitter taste slightly more familiar as she loved to work Jungkook up before their sessions by giving him a good blowjob every time.

"Ughh Fuck …" Jungkook moaned pulling out with a audible pop and she licked her lips clean from the mixture of Jin and Jungkook's cum.

All six men were now seated around her , while she was sitting on Yoongi's lap , feeling his palpable bulge pressing against her ass as he worked his fingers in her core. She was surprised she hasn’t give into the pleasure yet , but one thing for sure , her ab muscles were as sore as her jaw.

She gasped in the sudden emptiness she felt as Yoongi's hands left her core, leaving her clenching around nothing but air for the nth time that night. She looked back at him with lost eyes , meeting his till cold gaze as he brought his fingers up to her lips. She instinctively parted her lips sucking his finger clean , looking for any acknowledgement in the man's eyes for all that she's done the whole night.

But Yoongi knew that longing look too well to give her what she wanted , specially not after she decided to disappoint and disobey him like this.

"We're done for the night …" he declared , his tone cold and harsh

"No Daddy- Aahhh …" she winced as a slap landed on the side of her thighs

"I hope that was enough to remind you who you belong to for now Little girl" Yoongi continued sternly

She sighed , hope faltering away from her eyelids hearing that the guy kept the nickname she hated the most till the end for her. She clutched onto the black shirt that was tightly hugging his broad chest

"Daddy Please … I'll behave … Please …" she pressed desperate kisses across his neck "At least let me please you Daddy … Please …"

His fingers travelled to the strands of her hair , grasping them tightly and pulling her off him "Jimin" he called for the younger guy as he watched the girl sobbing quietly against him

"Yes Hyung?"

"Take our little girl home" he muttered and her sobs turned more erratic "She's grounded for the week"

He breath hitched in her throat , fear creeping under her skin. She's been grounded before , in the past two year , very rarely , only enough to count with one of her hands. Its been mostly for a day or two so she would have time to reflect and learn but a week … she was already feeling a panic rushing in her veins.

"No Yoongi Please- Aaahhh " she called the name immediately receiving a harsh tug on her scalp

"I'm not Yoongi for you little girl …" he shouted and all six guys gasped as they shifted on their seat uncomfortably "Its Daddy for you" he said In a firm but rageful tone

If she was slightly hopeful that he might soften on her mistake , that slip of her tongue and calling him inappropriately was enough to tick the last box on her strikes. She was officially on his blacklist now.

"You're going with the maknaes … Daddy has some business with the friend you found earlier that needs to finish with others"

"No … please … Daddy … I'm sorry please don’t lock me up … I swear I'll do better" she begged holding onto the collar of his shirt helplessly

Jungkook took his coat off covering the girl's naked body with it before hugging her off and placing her over his muscular shoulder. She struggled , wailing and crying over his shoulder like a little kid While Taehyung and Jimin followed him through the back door of their room to their car.

"Hyung … for a week?" Hoseok enquired looking at the older male who reached for the glass of whisky on the table and gulped down the whole content in a shot "She cant take it … She hates being alone the most. "

"Jung Hoseok" his furious eyes wandered on the younger who gulped upon hearing his name "Since when do you doubt my decisions?"

"I'm sorry Hyung" he quickly said lowering his gaze

"Hyung , did you search their location up?" Yoongi asked , his tired gaze travelling to the older male

"I did … the informants told me that they’re at the Mesh Bar" Seokjin nodded resting his back on the couch as he was scrolling through his phone

"What do you wanna do with him Hyung?" Namjoon asked , his voice still unsure "I mean I know we've been topping them but they're still fucking EXO … we cant just step over one of their members and expect nothing"

"I just need to have a quick talk with that guy … Just enough to make sure he goes around and talks about it." Yoongi replied his eyes fixed at the wall across him

"You want to publicly mark her as ours Hyung?" Hoseok asked , voice slightly anxious and excited

" This happened because we kept her on the low , nothing good is coming out of hiding her anyways. She might try this again and the only way to stop it is to officially mark her as an ownership of BTS" Yoongi stated and the younger guys nodded

"Min Yoongi , You know this will put her in danger right?" Seokjin enquired with furrowed eyebrows

"She is a bigger danger than us for herself Hyung" Yoongi said , his voice sounding slightly anxious and tired despite his usual authoritative and strong aura.

A silence filled the room , the 4 guys all drifting to their own minds as they started contemplating the decision their leader taken for the girl's future.

Hey everyone!!

Hope you enjoyed this one shot I may or may have not write in two days haha!!

Please comment , reblog or submit any asks if you’re curious about anything!!

Love Ya’ll

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water-hates-learning · 4 years

Text

nobody knew (and nobody knows)

Crossover with The Magnus Archives podcast because this idea has been bothering me for a while now so I finally just wrote it. Whatever. Not my best work.

Mild spoilers for the end of S1 of The Magnus Archives. Takes place after episodes 39/40 of the podcast. Also contains headcanons, lots of swearing, and the implication that the main EW boys don’t follow the standard laws of time and space. Post The End EW time.

In other words, this is bullshit.

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

"Case number zero-one-one—"

“Six-six-six.”

“Mr. Ritehill, please.”

“Whatever.”

“Statement of Thomas Ritehill, regarding an…unusual trip taken by himself and his companions in January 2007. Statement—”

“And the shit in 2014.”

“[sigh] Regarding the trip in January 2007 as well as the disturbances on 31st December, 2014. Statement taken direct from subject, 14th November 2016. Interview conducted by Johnathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Before you begin—why are you just now giving a statement?”

“’Cause a bunch of shit went down and somebody needs to hear about it. M’friends don’t wanna talk about it. And if I have to sit on this bullshit by myself anymore I’ll explode.”

“Right. Erm. Statement begins.”

“…now?”

“Yes, now.”

“[mumbling]…can’ believe you’re using a damn tape recorder…what year is this…[sounds of container being unscrewed]”

“Mr. Ritehill—”

“Call me Tom, god. And let a man have his damn vodka. Holy shitake on a sled, lemme just. Fuck. Okay. So, back in 2007, the four of us were bored, right, and Tord—this is when that commie fuck still lived with us—Tord—”

“Full names, please.”

“Christ, okay. Tord Lesion said we should go to Hell. So we did. Just the tourist route, ya know, got to see our personal hells and shit. Won’t bore you with the details. So yeah, me, Tord Lesion, Edd Golding, and Matt Harvice took an elevator to Hell, had a good time, got some souvenirs, and came back. Whatever.

’Cept when we were leaving the…the devil holding the door for the exit said they’d see me in six months. And it was like, haha, mate, yeah, sure, whatever, funny joke. I didn’t mention it to the guys and I didn’t think about it again. Couple months later, Edd’s digging a hole in the back garden and comes up with this door all covered in symbols ‘n stuff. And we’re all a buncha dumbasses so we go down it. Deal with some Indiana Jones traps, beat off a killer mummy, find a mysterious treasure box—you know the drill. So Tord opens the box and then…I dunno. Everything went dark.

If you ask any of the other three, they’d probably just tell you that I was unconscious. They said there was nothin’ in the treasure chest but I’m pretty sure the jackasses kept it for themselves and didn’t tell me. Probably for the best; I just woulda spent it on alcohol.

Anyway, from my perspective, we fell down a hole. When Tord opened the box, the floor dropped out from underneath us and we fell into darkness. I couldn’t see or hear the others, I was just falling in darkness. Or maybe floating. I dunno. Kinda…felt like forever and no time at all. I know that doesn’t make sense but you lot probably hear shit like that all the time. So I’m floating there and it’s dark, pitch black, but I can still see my hands in front of my face, like there’s a light shining only on me but there isn’t a light. Kinda like how someone looks when they stand in front of a black backdrop; the background’s all dark but they’re, like, normally lit or whatever.

And I wasn’t really scared ‘cause it’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me. I was just kind of waiting for something to happen. Because something always happens.

Didn’t have to wait long.

I felt something slide its hands around my neck from behind, felt its fingers on my windpipe, its thumbs at the base of my skull. I kind of expected it to be cold, like icy or something. But they were hot, like someone with a fever, uncomfortable. Made my skin prickle. It said…something. Couldn’t tell you what it was now, only have the vaguest sensation of—of a voice, talking to me, right in my ear, hot breath on my skin. I kept thinking I could see it moving out of the corner of my eye but if I tried to turn my head to look, it would start squeezing my neck until it had cut off my air supply.

Sometimes I think I can remember that it had promised me things. Sometimes I think it might have said something about a fight or a war or something. A lot of the time I pretend the whole thing was because I was blackout drunk. But I know that last bit’s not true because I hadn’t been drinking that night. And I wasn’t too worried because, I mean, weird stuff happens to the four of us all the time, stuff that no one even remembers. We’ve been through…three? Zombie apocalypses now? Hell, Matt’s led one of them. All of us have died and come back to life. And—and the thing is, right, the thing is that no one else remembers it. I’m pretty sure there’s stuff that’s happened that we don’t even remember. Tord said somethin’ once about crossing time lines or some shit but I dunno about any of the string theory, philosophical bullshit.

All I know for sure is, that night, in the black that wasn’t dark, with this thing’s hands around my neck, a demon crawled inside me.

A demon crawled inside me and it lives there and it’s so. Fuckin’ angry. Or maybe I’m angry. I don’t know for sure anymore, it’s been too long.

But—[container unscrews, long pause]—mm, anyway. The thing with its hands on my throat somehow—it somehow pries my mouth open. Gets its fingers between my teeth and wrenches my jaw apart so hard it aches. And then there’s this…this purple thing. It looks darker than the black but it’s purple and maybe that’s just because it’s beyond human comprehension or some shit. Hell if I know. It got closer and closer and for the first time in there I was scared. I was fucking scared and I thought—I don’t know what I thought, all I remember for sure is this—this blinding panic. This kind of raw, mind-numbing terror that made my heart beat so hard it hurt and it was hard to breathe and all I could hear was this rushing sound in my ears as this—this cloudy purple thing got closer and closer. I tried to get away but I couldn’t move, I could only sit there and watch.

And it—it…it just…”

“Mr. Ri—sorry. Tom. Do you need a break? We can take a moment to—”

“No. If I don’t…if I don’t say it now—if I leave this room—I’m not comin’ back. And I gotta get this out. [a deep breath, let out slowly] Just…remembering it now…it still scares the shit outta me.

So this cloud thing…it…crawls inside my mouth. And I can feel it. It tastes like…like how ash smells? Or maybe like someone filled my mouth with ash. And embers. Because it was hot and it didn’t exactly burn, it was just—like that moment when you drink some coffee and it’s still hot but not so hot you burn your tongue but still hot enough you gotta sip it. You know what I mean?

And I can feel it s-sort of wr-wriggling…wriggling and squirming to get inside me and I’m t-trying to push it out with my tongue or—or close my mouth or something. Anything to keep this thing out. B-but it keeps flopping around and pushing itself inside my and I’m—I’m ch-choking on it, gagging, and I think I was crying and trying to scream and this thing—[gagging sound]”

“Tom—”

“N-no, no, stop, shut up, let me just—finish. Okay? Don’t! Don’t fuckin’ touch me! I’m fine! Just let me give my damn statement and get out of this place. It smells like death in here.”

“I…I apologize. Please continue.”

“It went down my throat. I could feel it sliding down my throat, feel it under the fingers of that thing that still held my mouth open. It was lighter than candyfloss but I felt it like I’d swallowed a chunk of bread without chewing it enough. It was gross and it was horrible and it was terrifying and I don’t think I’d wish it on anyone. Even that bastard Tord.

And then it was just…done. The hands were gone, the cloud thing was gone, and I was laying on the couch in our sitting room, gasping at the ceiling. Edd was the only one in there, watching the telly. Said he was too tired to carry to my room and then laughed at me for passing out. Maybe I shoulda said something then, should have told him what had just happened, what I’d seen. But I didn’t. Instead I ran to the bathroom and threw up. And it just never came up again, never had a reason to say anything. I kept getting distracted by things.

I didn’t know what had happened until the end of December, in 2014.

You remember that year? It was really wet. Kept raining but we hardly got any snow. Freezing cold but just…no snow, not really, nothing that really stuck.

Anyway, Edd had been on the roof fixing the satellite dish during a rainstorm. He ended up having another dick measuring contest with one of our neighbors, Eduardo. Um, I dunno his last name, actually. Var…something. Var…there was an “L” in there somewhere. Sorry. Can’t remember. Eduardo had this, like, “alien” satellite or something and I guess it was radioactive or whatever. Anyway, he and Edd both ended up with superpowers for 24 hours and I can see by the look on your face that you think I’m takin’ the piss and I swear to fuck I am not. You can look up the incident report yourself, probably. But I bet the coppers only wrote something about property damage due to gang violence or some bullshit. Might be pictures our there somewhere but I dunno how to find them. I’m afraid I’d see myself if I did.

So Eduardo punched me, like, three blocks. Should have killed me. Instead it just…it felt like something clicked into place. And I remembered that demon that had shoved its way down my throat. It was like it had been waiting for this.

It hurt, that first time.

When your body’s stretching and your muscles are tearing and your skin is warping and your bones are snapping and cracking and breaking into new shapes. It hurts like a son of a bitch. I wanted to die. But mostly I was just angry. I was so fucking angry.

Don’t remember much while I was…changed. Flashes of stuff; tearing through building, smashing cars, attacking Eduardo and Edd. I think I might have ate someone. I try not to think about it.

Eduardo hit me with something, some kind of energy beam, I dunno. Sent me flying and ripped that smoke right out of me. I remember it flying away, remember the feeling of it ripping out of my throat and tearing off into the night.

But whatever it had done was kind of…stuck to me, I guess. I can still turn into a monster. Almost did when Tord showed his damn commie face again and blew our house up. You can look that up too. 27 Durden Lane. Nothing but a crater now.

[a pause, sounds of container unscrewing, another pause, the thud of a fist hitting the table]

And the only fuckin’ reason I’m telling you people this is because—fuck it, you probably already think I’m insane—there’s some kind of big…bad thing on the way. Fuck if I know. Just. I just…feel it. Can smell it. Or something. Taste it like some dry fuckin’ rum in the back of my mouth. Maybe the world’s ending for real this time. Maybe everyone will actually remember it. I don’t know.

But this place fucking stinks like a bunch of rotten bodies, like that musty attic stench with dead bugs everywhere. And you don’t believe a damn word I’m saying because you think I’m just a drunk. Ha. I can’t even get drunk anymore.

Whatever. Believe what you want. We went to Hell and I’ve got demon powers. The end.”

“…right. Um. Is the whole…demon powers the reason why your eyes are like…that?”

“What? No. This is just ‘cause my mum’s a bowling ball. They’re hollow. See?”

“O-oh my god. State—statement ends.”

[click]

“I will admit I am…extremely skeptical of Mister—of Tom’s statement. It sound positively ludicrous, the delusions of a schizophrenic at their worst, I’d even hazard. I’d disregard his statement entirely if not for the visceral reactions he showed to some of his own words—though that only proves that he believes they’re true.

But his eyes…Christ, I’ve never seen anything like that. He could obviously see but they were just. Black pits in his head. Gone. He stuck his fingers in them. Not the worst thing I’ve seen, all things considered, but one of the most…disturbing? Uncomfortable, may be the better word.

Tim was able to find a police report on the incident at 27 Durden Lane on 13th March, 2016. It was written off as an accident but with some additional digging he managed to find…more. The rubble and blast patterns look more like they were caused by external explosions. Tim says it looks like a bomb went off. Or several bombs. The neighbor’s house—the residence of one Eduardo Varela, Markus Barnes, and Jonathan Rees—also sustained serious damage. Jonathan Rees reportedly died at the scene due to serious injury.

Martin managed to dig up a few photos from the incident in 2014. Most of them aren’t the best quality and it’s hard to tell what’s happening except for bright flashes of green. But one very clearly depicts a monstrous shape, as big as a building it looks like, with horns on its head. It’s hard to tell in the photograph but it appears to be purple. There was a reported explosion in a local park around the date Tom Ritehill claims he transformed into a monster, and there is a crater there from the police report. But that’s all the evidence we can find to support his…stories.

We tried to get into contact with Eddward Golding and Matthew Harvice but neither of them were very forthcoming. Edd Golding declined to comment altogether and Matt Harvice was…he was difficult to talk to. It was as if he kept losing his train of thought. I doubt he would make for a reliable source.

There was also an attempt to contact the individual Tord Lesion but none of the information we were able to find was up to date. The only thing Tim managed to scrounge up was an old wanted poster, several months out of date, with Tord Lesion’s image on it. He appears to be in a military style uniform with a shotgun. If Tom Ritehill’s claims that Tord is starting a personal army are to be believed, then I suppose this would be a reason to trust his word. Maybe.

[sigh] I suppose we could investigate these claims more in the future. Though I am very much inclined to ignore them.

End recording.”

[click]

“Supplemental.

It just occurred to me that it’s been very nearly four months since the incident with Jane Prentiss. This place has been scrubbed within an inch of its life, nearly burned with chemicals, steamed so badly that it made my eyes water with the lingering chemical smell when I finally came back from leave. It’s been so thoroughly cleaned that a blind dog trying to sniff his way out would have run into the walls.

And yet…and yet Thomas claimed he could…he could smell the death. He said…dead bugs. Specifically dead bugs. And decay. And I can’t…stop thinking about those tunnels…and what could still be down there.

…end supplemental.”

[end of tape]

#8ball fics #i don't feel very confident about this writing to the point where i almost didn't post this

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indomitablemegnolia · 4 years

Text

Had a night terror.... I wrote it out... and how I wish it was ended.

Flashes of fear, oxygen trapped, unable to leave my lungs, I am unable to draw any more air in; panic mingled with pains brutal edges, a horrible malice cut through my consciousness. Disorganized and frantic, I can't move; I panic more looking for danger, knowing it's there; figments, fragments of past terror. I can even smell the rank body odor feeling it singe my nostrils; my arms penned to my sides. I can't run, I can't scream, my heart breaks again and again, the cold broken shards dig into my numbed flesh.

I am trapped inside my own body, the pain of the struggle with my own paralysis tearing my muscles from bone; my brain is fractured, panic, the will to run, but my legs cast in stone, running isn't a possibility; my eyes cloud over, as if a giant dark figure had come and sat on my chest. Horror compounded with the terror, it was real there was a man holding me down; I couldn’t scream. I am going to die; air still trapped. Uselessly, I try to reason with terror, recounting, my broken thoughts; what man, where; that man, pinning ne down wrapping a scarf around ny neck, pulling; my mind, my thoughts a disaster, a train wreck; broken mangled memories, scarf now tighter around my neck; I am left, left to bleed on the asphalt, a victim. Tears running down around my temples, coursing like a river. Stop.

I pull myself back; focus, fear is the mind killer, stop; I press my my lungs to expelled the air trapped my eyes beginning to flash at the edges, lack of oxygen does that, as it coursed out it accumulated into a sob. My lithe words have abandoned me, what, what, all I am left with, left alone in an emotional mine field. Victim, damn dumb, stupid victim; there is no shadow; I close my eyes for a long moment opening them, no there wasn’t; there is no man, no scarf; you stupid girl. My mind so disassociated, I still can’t even work up an unpanicked breath,I am panicked I sob; my breath passing fast over my lips.

A nightmare; yes nightmare, that’s right, it was a nightmare that woke me, but truly more than a nightmare, less than a dream, more a reality revisited. I come fully awake with an iron clad knot deep in my belly; the cold hits, my skin raw, slapped, shivering and anxiety coiling like thousands of snakes under my skin; I am frightened to the core. Air and screams trapped, captured; in my throat; my throat was raw sore, strangled screams damaging my windpipe as I choked on them. I breathe in through my nose for a twenty count; out for ten, my lips pursed. A cold eerie silence is what greets me on the other side of that total wakeful barrier.

Petrified I lie still, as flat as I can, willing the tremors and shakes to abate; slow my arm moves, it feels hundreds of pounds, swiping the cold sweat from my brow, but I can never wash it from my soul. The trick of the subconscious, when defenses are down, allowing all those fears, losses, grotesque experiences surface, those visitations from the past sneak back up to the top of my brain, I suffer the scourge yet again. Caustic emotions are only thing simmering on the top of my soul, as I surface completely from a night terror. Sometimes triggered by the date, an action or phrase but always it affects.

I leaver up, taking an eternity to make it to my elbows; Once sitting up I swing my legs over the edge of the bed holding my head in my hands, still trying to stop the shivers that rack my body; counting breaths, counting heartbeats; ten, three, fourteen, six; go placidly amid the noise inside your skull; AH! Jesus, shit, shit, shit, shit; god I wish I had a cigarette; oh, for that matter I wish I smoked; a maniacal laugh escapes; no I am still not in hell, no one laughs in hell, right?

I push myself up to a standing position, it takes me long minutes, moments in a floating limbo to find my legs; they were shaky, wobbly, I used the wall to balance myself, I walk in a slow shuffle, my feet never leaving the surface of the floor. Just sliding along, like a ghost of gumby, a little Imhotep two-step, mummy shamble; I snicker; oh, sweet lord, again this isn't hell, no one laughs in hell; pathetic, I know, but it is as sure as I can muster with my blood pressure still high; I start out my door, the cold tile another reminder I am alive; I jumped at the shadow of a branch moving on the window, nearly dropping to my knees; I fought so hard in the land of nod, that I'm exhausted, soul tired, muscles screaming and nearly flaccid; I felt as if I climbed 9000 stairs.

Jesus, making my way down the 6 feet if the hall to the bathroom was glacial. I don’t even bother to turn on the light I just lean heavily against the sink, run cold, cold water from the tap and splash my face. The dark circles of unshed tears under my eyes encompass my face. I try to wash these memories away, but since they are scars on the very core of my soul they just taunt me as they loudly remind me, Fate lends her voice to the chorus, “I am there, an there is nothing that can protect you; it was me that fed you to those men, it was Life that never came to rescue, even your Terminus was no release. You are mine to bat around, to toy with, nothing will ever protect you; I wait stealthy still waiting for any break in your armour. I am right there beneath the water’s surface, tentacles waiting to wrap around your ankles to drag you under the surface again and starve you of your oxygen, taking solace, any happiness you may ever have.”

I close my eyes, splashing that cold water on my face, drenching my hair, my shirt; I let my soul scream, trying to cover the taunting, a long loud piercing scream, the kind that will echo through the universe reverberating off of every harmonic alcove without ever leaving my mouth. I open my eyes, I flinch, I almost run, but then I recognize that it was Life... hmm or Terminus, whatever, as if I needed him, now, there he is, himself, called by the keening need in my soul to not be alone, not right now, not this moment. I sag against the sink grateful that the universe sent me what I needed.

He looks me over; a small ghost of a smile haunted his lips when he took in my oversized Rancid t-shirt and tall striped socks. I practically felt his gaze caress the small bit of bare skin from mid-thigh to knee, the feeling comforting rather than leering. I look at him behind me in the mirror, his face at first smiling, rumpled slightly in confusion as he surveyed my face in the mirror, the dark circles and lipid eyes not escaping his intense scrutiny. His gaze kept traveling until they locked on mine. His piercing gaze delving deep in my soul, my memory, finding without too much bother because it was still skimming across the surface of my mind, what it was that was tormenting me so. He saw what I saw, his face contorted as he knew what I felt, the full night terror, the suffocating, the paralysis; he saw my panic attack, the figure, the taunt, the absolute terror.

Then he saw what fed the night terror, my attack; I was not meaning to be that open with him; I knew it was Terminus. He saw my shame. He saw the head trauma, the multiple violations, the twisted arm, broken finger, my screams silenced by the seat of my car as they pressed my face harder and harder into the rough fabric. It always amazed me that he could read my life like cliff notes just staring into my soul, but after all he was Terminus. I watched his face, shame engulfing me as he saw everything. He watched them rob me, rape me. His face reddened, his eyes sparked with an angry red fire in those beautiful green pools. That classically granite jaw hardened into a perfect symmetric block. His nostrils flared as his anger rose. I had never seen him angry. He was always sweet, cocky, taunting, and assured, but this, this was megaton level angry. He was barley containing it, the kind of anger that could level cities in seconds. He saw them strangle me, my scarf wound tightly around my neck, then leave me for dead. He looked away, literally turning his head away.

I looked down into the sink, splashing my face again. I felt his hand on my shoulder, he caressed my shoulder softly; he dried my face. Then his hand hooked behind my knees, arm around my shoulder. He lifted me easy, walking me back to my bed; laying me softly in place, wrapping the covers around me

I watched his every movement, avoiding his face, enjoying the attention; he moved soft, his body stiff, arms returning straight at his sides, his long wide knuckled fingers balled in fists, the fury reverberating from him was palpable. Finally I was brave enough to look into his beautiful face shaking as he slowly let a breath out between his tight lips, he sucked in a deep cleansing breath through his nose. I hung my head, shaking his head as I closed my eyes, I must have sniffled. I opened my eyes looking back at him; sure he will never come back again. He gave me a side long glance, but what I saw stilled my breath. His anger grew in intensity now instead of fire I saw rock hard, crystalized anger. His eyes, instead of the warm sea glass as usual, were glittering vacant angry sapphires, dark and dangerous. His brows a straight dark line across his forehead with one small crease midway between them. His eyes wide, still searching mine, exactly for what I don’t exactly know, those beautiful crinkles I so adored erased. His lips drawn taught not a hint of a smile near them. His glorious jawline solid, slightly cocked. I wanted to look away drop my eyes to my hands on the edge of the pillow, but I refused to flinch.

I gathered my courage and looked straight into his eyes, his soul, I stopped breathing. What I saw there wasn’t directed at me, he was righteously indignant for me. I saw an arch angel staring back at me, and then he was gone. A kind of shameful grief filled me that I hadn’t ever known, I was sure that it was the last time I would see Life, himself. Lord In heaven I would miss him. I crawled back to bed and passed a long dreamless night.

@writernotwaiting @keeper0fthestars @pedeka @iamhisgloriouspurpose @anastasiaoftheironwood @sweetfairy1 .

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the-angst-witch · 5 years

Text

Forest, Fog, and Fear - Hellscape Pt 1

Eyrie took a deep breath as she slipped out the back door of Hallow House, and adjusted the duffle slung over her shoulder, the edges of the books and cameras piled into it jabbing at her thighs with every step. Eyrie shot a worried look at the setting sun, as she fumbled her phone out to try and text an uber. She split her focus between the device and the stairs she was descending trying not to trip.

Her mind was racing, and she felt like her heartbeat had to be audible for miles. Lottie’s journal was in her desk, why would it be there, why would Gran do that why—she shook her head sharply. Ever since she’d found that room she’d suspected—but. This? This was beyond that. She’d found a journal with Lottie’s handwriting in it, it was the same as all the others she’d found in the hidden room off the solarium. All the others, of all the missing people, going back years, and years, and years. All the same thin leather-bound notebook that Esther gave to every guest Hallow House had ever had. And every single one ended the same way, with the lure of the forest, with the promise of safety, of warmth and home, and sometimes in the very worst ones, with the faces of someone loved and lost.

Eyrie felt tears pricking at her eyes, she blinked hard trying to keep it together. Until now she’d been able to come up with excuses, reasons Gran might not have known about that room in the Solarium. Excuses as to why, if Eyrie really believed those reason’s she hadn’t told her Gran it was there.

She cursed under her breath as the Uber app refused to load. “Come on, c-come on, come on” she chanted.

There was a gust of chilly wind, and she shivered hugging the strap of her duffel to her chest.

“Eyrie!” a familiar voice called.

Her breath caught ragged in her throat as she whipped around.

Lottie smiled at her, wide and happy, she let out a soft giggle as she tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “I missed you yesterday!”

She gaped at her lost, the words stuck clogged in her throat.

Lottie took a step closer and Eyrie stumbled back a step. Hurt flashed across her face “You’re not…afraid of me, are you?”

Eyrie froze, unable to speak for a moment “I-I- you’re not—yourself,” was what came out.

Lottie laughed again “What are you talking about? Of course, I am! I’m more myself than I’ve ever been!”

Eyrie just mutely shook her head, phone all but forgotten in her hand. “I—I—.”

Frustration flashed across her face. “Come on. It’s me. It’s been me all these nights begging you to listen. To trust me. You trust me don’t you?”

She felt a tear drip down her face, and she wiped it away quickly. Eyrie didn’t want to cry right then, she wanted so desperately to be strong.

Lottie stepped in closer and she stood fast refusing to cower away from this—this person with her best friend’s face, even if she couldn’t stop the tears. “Eyrie please! It’s been weeks and you keep avoiding me. You know you can trust me. You can!” her wide dark eyes were alit with fervor “Please, please trust me with this. It’s so much better in the forest. I am so happy here. You can be too. We can be happy. Trust me. Please.” She held out her hand to me “Come with me.”

Part of Eyrie wanted to take her hand, the part that had always trusted Lottie, that said this is our favorite person in the world, of course we trust her. Of course, we’ll go wherever she does. But the weight of the duffle bag digging into her shoulder and the sharp edges of a journal digging through the side of the bag and into her thigh centered her. This wasn’t Lottie. At least not entirely, not wholly, not only, something in that forest had taken Lottie. It had changed her; it had stolen her away. Eyrie took a shallow but steadying breath and she forced herself to look Lottie in the eye. “N-no! I can’t, I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry. I can’t.” Something like pain flickered across Lottie’s face, and it sent pangs through her chest. But I’ll save you I thought, I’ll figure it out I promise. I will.

Lottie stepped closer, and she looked so sad, her face crumpled and she had that twist to her lips that meant she was holding back tears, it was that awful bone deep sad that only seemed to come out when she was standing in front of her brothers grave.

Eyrie couldn’t bring herself to back away. Lottie rested her hands on her shoulders “I’m sorry too.” Her grip tightened. “But I have to make you understand.” She pushed sharply. Shoving Eyrie to the ground.

She let out a gasp as she landed hard, her left wrist tweaking painfully as she unsuccessfully tried to catch herself, her head thumped hard against the ground. Stars erupted behind her eyelids. She winced pulling her hand out from under her back. Eyrie opened her eyes to see thick cloying fog that hadn’t been there before. She blinked her grey eyes owlishly in confusion, bringing her good hand to her head, “W-what?” she managed to gasp out. The duffle bag is gone she noticed.

Then Lottie was there, kneeling over her, a look almost like concern marring her pretty features. She started to scramble back “Lottie-I—” Her hand slammed down over Eyrie’s mouth, fingernails digging harshly into her face, she screamed as best she could, trying to claw at Lottie’s wrist, to get some leverage to pull away.

It was as useless as fighting against stone, Eyrie reached for the power constantly thrumming through her veins. That twisting whirl of power, of magic, that lived in her heart and exploded through every limb with every beat of her heart. But—oh God, Oh God, no, nonono! It was gone. GONE. She couldn’t find it; it was gone gonegonegone. It hurt in a visceral aching way she’d never had to comprehend before. A piece of her was missing, like it had been ripped away. Like something clawed had reached inside and scraped something out of her core. White-hot panic flooded her brain, she screamed thrashing like a wild animal, the tears pricking at my eyes started to spill down my cheeks, Lottie just shushed her gently, vaguely absent eyes scanning over her face. She finally let go, and Eyrie scrambled away from her shooting to her feet, hugging herself as tightly as she could trying to hold herself together around the hollow void in her center.

“Wh-what—how?” Eyrie gasped, stumbling away from Lottie deeper into the fog, she kept pace with her moving forward a step for every move she made back.

She smiled a bit sheepishly “Well, I couldn’t convince you out there,” with a shrug she quickened her pace “So I took you here.”

“Wh-where are we?”

Her smile widened into a grin “A place where I make the rules!” She twirled a finger through the fog, tapping it thoughtfully to the corner of her lips. “And I say, that you don’t get to use your little superpower here.”

Eyrie tried to stifle a sob “I—it hurts.”

Lottie nodded, her brows creasing in a sad frown “I know it does, but you need to understand Eyrie. It’ll all be so much better once you give in to the forest. All the hurt and pain, the pressure, the loneliness” She looked so earnest that it hurt, she swept her hands through the air delicately “It all just fades away. Doesn’t that sound good? Don’t you want that?”

“N-No-I—just—” She couldn’t finish. Suddenly a searing, stabbing, pain erupted in Eyrie’s throat like she’d swallowed a fist full of razor blades and broken glass, she could feel blood bubbling up her throat, and dripping back down her windpipe. A fresh wave of panic overtook her as she realized that she was going to drown in her own blood if she didn’t do something. Eyrie doubled over, coughing and hacking, warm blood spilling over her lips and disappearing into the icy fog twining its way around her ankles. Her throat felt raw and ruined as she finally sucked in a breath, and the frigid air burned but it was something. Eyrie scrubbed at her face coating her sleeve in blood and tears.

She felt a hand on her arm, and flinched away losing her balance, but the hand merely tightened its grip and hauled her back upright. Eyrie looked up into Lottie’s concerned face, she sighed and cupped her face gently with her other hand, swiping her thumb along Eyrie’s cheek smearing a bit of blood that had been missed. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you before asking any questions. I also made it so you can’t tell any lies here, to me, or to yourself” She paused, tapping her thumb against her cheek “Well, at least not without consequences you can’t.”

(To Be Continued)

#whump #lady whump #fear #betrayal #The Forest #Pt 1 #Eyrie #Lottie #Forest of Puppets #Coughing up blood #blood #crying

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thewildheroine · 6 years

Text

Fly Away |Twenty-Six|

Warnings: Injury

Word Count: 3.9K

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: I only have like... ten more followers until I hit 500 and I don’t know how? Thank you for liking and enjoying me!!! I love all of you guys and if you want me to do anything just let me know!🖤🖤🖤

|Masterlist|

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I wake to pain, like the past five mornings. Peter’s arms wrap themselves around my waist, his fingers still drawing lines along my hip bone. His short nails lightly scrape my skin as they move upwards. My gaze lingers on his messy hair before looking up at the ceiling. There are little holes drilled by water in the plaster. It must be old because it hasn’t rained in days. Nor has it snowed. The sun and moon haven’t gone round and round, chasing each other in the sky like they should. When I look out the window, all I see is a sky of kaleidoscopic light and color crashing into each other. No more moons or suns, no more snow or rain, no more gleaming blue skies or even people walking down the sidewalk. Only neons that could burn a person’s retina if they look too long.

I slide out of bed carefully as to not wake up Peter. He groans behind me before going to find something else to curl his arms around. Grinning, I pull on the tearing sweater I left on the nightstand the night before along with the sling I choose to ignore most days and step out of our room.

While it may be dark there is still enough light coming from outside to allow me to amble down the long hall. I do my best to ignore the neon pink and green orbs that drift across the wall next to me. They curve around the corners, stalking me. Without realizing it I’ve stopped. The neon reflections fall across my placid expression, hovering a moment before carrying on, heading the instructions of whatever has created them.

Down the hall, I can hear footsteps. Too far apart and quiet to be Peter’s. I mentally prepare myself for a conversation with Strange. All week most of our conversations have been simple niceties. "Hey" exchanged between us every time we see each other in the hall, him requesting that I take my medicine, me resigning into myself and swallowing them. There may be the occasional, "how are you feeling". Sometimes a little sprinkle of an idea for saving our friends. Never anything more.

After I finally realized what I heard in his voice that day I’ve had no desire to talk to him. Pride, adoration, kindness. Real, true, sincere feelings that I very vaguely remember hearing about six years ago during the most intensive part of my training. It’s how my dad should’ve been every day.

“You should be sleeping,” Strange informs like it’s a fact I haven’t already realized. That's the tone I prefer most of all. Blatant and to the point like a doctor“What woke you up?” This time I hear it in his voice. The distant memory.

I snicker. “A nightmare,” I mumble, my eyes still focusing on the distorted celestial bodies. How much longer, I think to myself, before that’s Earth?

“Have you been getting a lot of those lately?” he wonders. My jaw clenches, frustration boiling within me all the sudden like a dangerous parasite we may have discussed in class months ago. I shake my head to try and dispel it, but the emotion still lingers.

“What does it matter?” I reply. “So what if I am? Are you going to heat up some milk and read a children’s book like Maxims Primer to me?” When I take a glance at Stephan he seems more taken aback by the comment than annoyed. He stares at me for a moment and then out of the window.

“Last time I checked,” he remarks, “Maxim's Primer is not a kid’s book.”

“It was for me,” I tell him, my lips pressed into a tight lie. “So was Astronomia Nova, Key of Solomon, Codex Imperium…. Almost anything you thought was a difficult read when you got to Kamir Taj.” Strange chuckles to himself, somehow finding more humor in my comment rather than insult. He gives me another sidelong glance.

“Do you get off on acting facetiously when it comes to your own problems?” he asks. I shrug back and stare out at the bright sky. A little horror spreads through me as I watch a giant sphere smash into what little remains of the Earth already, leaving a dark stain in its wake. The world shakes a little and I place my sore hand against the window sill to balance myself.

“I do when there are bigger things than my mental stability at stake,” I answer once the Earth stops its weeping.

“Look, I’m only worried the nightmares have to do with the time stone. That's all.” Although it’s a valid reason I still find myself rolling my eyes at his claim.

“You don’t need to worry. It’s not your place to worry.”

“Actually,” Stephen begins, his voice turning stern, “it is my place as your mentor and the person who has promised to protect you.”

“And you’ve done such a good job at that,” I spew my words at him while turning towards Strange, aggression etched into the movement. Now I find that he is completely expressionless; whatever he may be feeling hidden far, far away in his mind so that I can’t see it while he eyes something outside. “Strange, back off. I don’t need your pestering and I don’t need you acting like my-”

Before, I can finish something rolls up my throat. At first, I only gag on the peculiar thing, the taste of metallic mixed with something unknown coiling through my taste buds. When I look up Strange is staring out the window sill, not realizing quite yet what’s happening. I lurch forward abruptly, the thing desperate to leave.

Then the air starts leaving my lungs and I go to grab my throat. Next to me, Stephen is saying something but everything becomes a blur. Black spots start to collect over my vision, threatening me with unconsciousness that could lead to something even worse.

But before that can happen I choke up what was clogging my windpipe and spit it into my hand. I feel the weightlessness of the object as I catch my breath. My mind then focuses on the little pool of hot, wet stuff lying in the center of my palm, waiting for me to realize what it is.

Through the haze I see the bright red smoke spilling past my fingers. It seemingly appears to be coming from the dark circle of crimson I caught.

“Strange?” I ask almost silently. My breath turns to mist in the randomly freezing air. When I look up I find that I’m not even in the Sanctum Sanctorum anymore. I’ve been cast onto the cold New York streets. I glance around, fear and curiosity working harmoniously inside of my mind.

All the lights, whether they’re in buildings or lining the streets, have changed to an eerie shade of purple that leaves a stain in my eyelids. Above sphere’s swarm what remains of the Earth like hungry maggots. In the distances I can see one neon pink orb smash into a series of buildings, sending dust and debris flying. I expect there to be at least one scream of terror. One final act of fear before the end comes. There is no cry though and if anyone could’ve been in those buildings they’re already gone by now, laying among the rubble and acting as a martyr to one of the few people left to care.

I gulp down the guilt that collects in my throat like a thick stone I can barely breathe through and look down the opposite end of the street. Empty plastic bags drift around on an invisible breeze. Puddles sit in potholes waiting, the sun never shining down to take them away. Buildings lining the street having symbols of the dark dimension written all over them in angry red paint. Dried droplets drip down the rough bricks, every crevice catching more of the neon stuff to make the symbol seem even more monstrous.

Every nerve in my body stings as I stumble forward, eyeing signs along the way. A conspicuous humming murmurs in my mind and I somehow manage to capture the emotion that thrives within it. Horror. It shakes through my core as I pass by the front door of what I assume is a theater because of the different deteriorating show posters plastered to it.

Out of instinct, I let two blue shields appear in my hands in case I’m in more danger than one would expect. My magic clings to me helplessly. I pray that it's just nervous for some non-existent reason but as I turn into what I know as Time Square, I realize that there is an explanation for the anxiety both me and my abilities feel.

The clump in my throat grows again as I gape at the area in front of me. Above is a halo of fiercely glowing planets I hadn’t noticed before circling the entire area and acting as sentries to whatever may lay below. Like everywhere else, the lights around me have turned purple. The ones here are far more terrifying though because of the threatening size of each glowing sign. They gaze down at me like wide, gaping eyes. Something growls inside of me again, only this time I realize that it isn’t my magic, but the stone trying to tell me to run away. Although I hear the warning, something draws me closer and closer.

My insides ache as I approach the bright purple steps at the end of Times Square. Giant signs have toppled over and onto the pavement below, digging into the cement and ripping it to shreds. Their wires revealed and somehow still sparking with electricity. I plod over a path painted in bright blue that the Dark Dimension must've chipped and clawed at during its take over. The gates that once kept people away from the bright, destination-less steps have been blown to the sides as if in preparation for my arrival.

I cross the metal grates that power the entire square and mount the first step. Then the second and the third and so on. The time stone writhes inside of my body, tirelessly trying to tell me to get away while I can. But I hear a call. A low purr that drags me up these tainted steps so that I can reach the top. The time stone keeps trying though. It grabs at my legs and tries to hold them down, pushes at my chest to keep me back, digs sharp knives into my abdomen to slow the steps I make. My magic slams it into submission though and while it still bites and claws for release I’m able to take control.

“Welcome,” a voice says. It’s rough and despicably low. A voice that I’ve heard in my nightmares a million times before. Never like this though. Never so real.

All of the sudden a flume of smoke bursts past my face. I’m forced to shield my eyes from the stinging substances that surrounds me. The time stone has recoiled inside of me knowingly, and now I finally have a true opportunity to fear for what is coming.

As the black smoke begins thinning I open my eyes. The very little material that made it past my lips is coughed up from my lungs hoarsely, stinging the raw skin on it’s way out. My sling strains against my shoulder while I raise my head to look at whatever summoned the smoke.

Automatically, I’m met with a bright purple eye five times large than my body that reflects the light all around New York and possibly the world. If I didn’t know any better I would say I was looking into a whole other galaxy or a glowing nebula. But I do know better.

“I’ve waited so long to meet my prophet,” Dormammu, informs, his voice vibrating the whole earth. I wish I could hiss back at him. Never in my whole life have I wanted to fight as much as I do now, yet not been able to. This is the face of my maker. A face that is a constant state of rippling with dark, tar-like water. The edges of what I think is his body, fade into smoke and fire, making it hard for me to tell where he begins and ends. Engraved into the lines of his body is molten lava that spurts and roars viciously.

He shrinks down to a much more comprehensible size and what I believe is a smile spreads across his face. I fear that it may be from realizing I can’t manage a single word to voice back to him.

“So powerful,” he remarks lowly, still big enough to intimidate me with his size but small enough that I can see that his body does not expanse this whole dimension. He looks down at me, clearly amused as he takes a seat on a small building lobby. Dormammu leans back, the skyscraper behind him aching sadly against his weight.

“So I’ve heard,” I finally utter, much to my relief. Unlike usual, I don’t have the same bite in my voice I use on people like Dormammu. It’s weak and small. A voice I had to memorize from a young age when addressing my father.

“I can only imagine the power you would’ve had by now,” he hisses, “if that sorry excuse for a sorcerer hadn’t taken you up as an apprentice.” I scowl now, insulted by his blatancy.

“You mean the sorcerer who trapped you in a time loop… in your own realm?” I wonder, gaining back a little sarcasm with each word. Suddenly, a rush of smoke blows right past my body. I flinch at the act, my arms going up to protect my face again. When I peek past my fingers I see the enlarged face of Dormammu glaring right into me, beating through every wall I have mercilessly until I feel like a crumpled heap on the bright steps.

“And where is your sorcerer now!” he shouts, anger and disbelief etched into every syllable. Once the smoke disappears from sight I step towards the ledge though, making sure my face in only a mere foot from his.

While the same question has crossed my mind a million times over these last five days I am sure of who my loyalty lies with. Besides, I know the answer. Strange trapped Dormammu in a time loop and made a bargain. The deal was that Dormammu leaves Earth and Strange leaves the Dark Dimension, taking time with him. The dark entity in front of me came back anyways though, and this time, with an intricate and unstoppable plan that has been in the works probably longer than I’ve been alive.

“Not only is Doctor Strange a better sorcerer and mentor,” I snap back, “but a better soul than you’ll ever be.” Much to my surprise satisfaction lights up Dormammu’s features and he shrinks downwards again, seeming smug like it was always his intention to make me argue with him. I wait patiently for him to speak, half expecting my demise or a severely long speech.

“Your father and I had a proposition,” he comments abruptly. “You, Y/N, are the only person who can fulfill it now.” I stare at him for a long minute, my mind pulsing from memory to memory, recalling all mentions of special deals. My mind comes to a few ancient conversations, murmurings of “having to keep my end”, but the most memorable is the most recent and disgusting.

“And there’s still a deal he must fulfill with me.”

“What did you do? What the hell kind of deal did you make?”

“The happy kind.”

“What,” I mumble, “is the deal?” Dormammu smiles and leans forward, his distorted arms resting on his knees.

“He asked that I give him his family for the rest of eternity. A good, safe, peaceful eternity,” he answers. The color drains from my face as I imagine an entire eternity living with that man with no hope of escape. I find myself needing to grab onto the metal railing so I don’t fall over. My vision has turned red from anger and the blurring smoke suddenly drifting from my hands.

“And his end of the bargain?” My end of the bargain.

“He will do my bidding until the time comes in which there is nothing more to ask,” he steps down from his seat which has been turned into a burning mound. With him rises a cloud of pitch black smoke that makes my stomach turn over. “As for you,” he continues, “you will hand over the time stone and your magic to me, so that I may put it to proper use.”

I finally understand why the time stone didn’t want to come here. It knew that Dormammu wanted it. Wanted my magic and I didn’t listen. I step backward, my hand following the railing so I don’t trip. My heart palpitates in my chest. My palms sweat. My magic clings to my soul in a desperate attempt to keep away from the demon in front of us.

“No,” I tell him. “I will never give it up. Not for him. Not for that monster.” While saying it I remember how I would've so willingly given up my magic for the man I used to call father six years ago. I remember how much I wanted to please him. To sense the same pride in his tone that I hear in Stephan’s. Now I’m confident, certain that I would let him die before giving up the most important part of me.

Dormammu tilts his head to the side. “Then for your mother?” he wonders. My heart skips a beat as I look up at him curiously. Every thought in my mind disagrees with Dormammu's statement, but I see the sincerity in his purple eyes and I can’t help but believe him.

But would I give everything up for a mother I never met? Could I ever be so selfish as to let everyone die and give up my one chance to save the Earth for a woman who died before we could even say hello? Before I could look into her eyes and see what good derived from there? Do I want that chance?

“My answer,” I say, certainty filling my voice as I dismount the final step, “is still no.” Dormammu’s grin still remains though.

“Then I will have to change that answer then,” I furrow my brows and frown, “won’t I?”

Although I already have an idea of what he is saying I still ask, “What the hell is that supposed to mean.” The giant vortex of smoke swirls above me, sucking in stray ash and debris. All the sudden a bolt of lightning slams into the spot on the stairs where I was standing only minutes ago.

“I will be seeing you soon,” he tells me before evaporating into thin air.

“Wait!” I shout back. “What are going to do?” The question never reaches him though, and if it does it is forgotten as the cloud of black smoke drops on me.

I scream as it circles me. Little pieces of metal strike my skin. A piece of debri slams right into my collarbone, tearing a choked cry from my lips. Before I know tears are leaking from my ash filled eyes as I try my best to escape the tornado. The air is sucked up though and I fall to my knees weakly, already remembering the red mound that was in my hand earlier that predicted what was to come from this. I can imagine it. Ash, wood, and metal coating my throat as I try to claw it all out and breath before it's too late and all that will fill my throat is my own blood.

I gasp for something to calm my spasming lungs but all I come up with is more smoke. I cough and cry as unconsciousness sweeps me up and drops me hard on warm, wooden floors. Air finally enters my body. I heave on the ground, ignoring the sting in my shoulder as it presses into the firm, coaxing ground. My fingers curl into the thick strings sticking out of the carpet. From the little bits of images, I make out I can tell that I’m back in the sanctuary of the Sanctum Sanctorum.

I sigh, somewhat relieved, and stand up. As I’m walking towards the hallway where I was last with Strange I realize that I must not have been gone long if the majority of the lights are still off and no one is searching for me yet. I turn the corner and see my mentor still standing by the window. A glimmering red drifts across his face before fading into the darkness.

Stephen randomly turns towards me and I’m thankful for the lack of light above that keeps my wet cheeks from showing. His glare is harsh and from here I can tell that he is radiating far more annoyance than usual.

“Really, Y/N?” he lectures. “Doing a matter transfer during the middle of a conversation?” I say nothing. Strange rolls his eyes and begins stomping towards the end of the hall, not intending to stop and talk to me more. “What? You’re not gonna snap right back? You had plenty to say-” Once he is about a yard his sentence trails off. I can see his eyes tracing the tiny cuts and patches of ash and the tears on my cheeks that have mixed with both.

“I met him,” I announce in an unnaturally calm voice. “I met Dormammu.” Right away Stephen grabs my uninjured shoulder and pulls me into the light with him. He sits me on the sofa and looks over my cuts again, this time taking ten extra seconds for each little bloody mark.

“Is that why you-” I nod before he even finishes. Stephen shakes his head in dismay. “I should’ve realized. You would never leave without finishing an argument,” he remarks, intending for the last statement to exit a joke rather than judgment against himself. I shake my head, knowing full well that I should dispute it. That I should tell him that it’s not his fault. No one but Dormammu and my father is to blame for this. I’m just too tired to say it all. Instead, I try telling him by putting a hand on his scarred one. He looks up at me while I shake my head.

“I know what he wants,” I mumble sleepily. Stephen listens to me attentively, preparing himself for anything right now. “Why he created me.” Down the hall I can hear the floorboards creak under what must be Peter’s weight.

“What is it Y/N?” Stephen draws his attention back to him. My eyes remain on the hallway entrance for a second more and then I look at Strange, looking far more broken down than I would hope.

“Me, my magic, the stone. He wants to take everything.” I answer. A shadow crosses Stephen’s face. “Dormammu sowed the seed and now,” I take a pause, knowing that has just entered the sitting room, “he’s finally ready to reap the harvest.”

____________

A/N: Oof. Sorry this took so long.🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Comment below or send me an ask if you would like to be tagged.🖤🖤🖤

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rrrawrf-writes · 6 years

Note

For the prompt: Unbind me + actual, sci-fi/fantasy binds

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LOOOONG i had trouble writing it and i am not sure why? i know why it’s because i can’t do soft fluffy stuff it took literal months and i apologize, i have had the worst writer’s block. also i uh i guess i kinda wandered away from the initial prompt? but here we are, i’m actually fairly happy with this nonsense.

nanoni belongs to @lisauras and these nerds asked me to tag them because they like me or something??? @gingerly-writing @haphazardlyparked @kclenhartnovels @lux-scriptum @knightedwriter

Mal does not like mages.

Sheisha’s an exception, of course, and, sometimes, so is Keo, when he’s being quiet and useful. But otherwise, mages are a nuisance at best, and a travesty at worse.

This one is somewhere in between, but he continues to slip closer and closer to the travesty side of things. Mal crosses his fingers behind his head, the pastel blue bands wrapped around his wrists tugging at the peripheries of his vision. Black veins wrap through the magical constraints - Keo would call it a sign of haihaiā magic. Unholy, unhealthy, forbidden, and perfect for a double-dealing haole bastard.

More of the bands encircle his ankles, and there is one more around his neck that, unlike the other four, Mal could actually feel, like an itch that won’t go away. That means - something. He isn’t sure what. Mal is so completely devoid of magic that he can’t really feel the slight fizz or whatever that most everyone else does. He’s fine with that.

No bars or doors stop him from getting off his cot and wandering around the building, but Mal doesn’t bother. Redding’s spell stops him at the threshold of any exit and window, and prevents Mal from getting within arm’s reach of the man. This is unfortunate, because Maluko’oi longs to stab him through the neck.

He hears Redding’s shuffling limp stop at the doorless entry to the small room Mal had claimed the night before. Instead of acknowledging the mage, Mal closes his eyes.

“Get up,” Redding demands, his voice gruff. Mal ignores him, until Redding sighs, adds, “Your wife is here.”

Mal’s reluctance evaporates. He swings his bare feet over the side of the cot to stand. Redding has to crane his neck to squint up the near foot of height difference.

“She brought your daughter, as well,” Redding says. Mal is careful to keep his expression blank. “Perhaps not the wisest choice she could have made.”

He looks expectantly at Mal, but eventually Mal’s bland stare disappoints the mage. Redding huffs, then jerks his head to the side. As the older man scratches his short, salt-and-pepper beard, Mal follows.

Redding has designated an old warehouse on the very edge of a near-dead town to meet with Nanoni. It had probably stored farming or construction equipment, once upon a time, but now it’s dusty and empty, though a corner of the top floor shows evidence of Redding having camped out for a few days. The cot, for example, that he, surprisingly, hadn’t forced Mal to give up the night before, once the islander’s resigned himself to being held for ransom.

At the very least, Redding doesn’t talk overmuch. Mal doubts he could handle it if the bastard is smug and gloating. He stands silently in the middle of the open bottom floor, and Mal stays as close as the spell allows him. He crosses his arms over his chest while they wait, rocking back on his heels.

For once, Nanoni is on time. Mal doesn’t doubt that she and Sheisha have already scouted out the warehouse, but he’s glad she isn’t going to play games.

His wife is rattled. It’s difficult to tell for anyone who doesn’t know her well, but Mal can see it in the way Nanoni stalks across the warehouse floor. Her lips are pressed into a small, tight smile, but while Nanoni at least makes an effort to hide her anger, Sheisha does not. Shorter than her mother by a good six inches, Sheisha otherwise looks like the spitting image of Nanoni, kicking the warehouse door shut behind her so that the slam of it echoes through the room. Mal’s lips twitch towards a smile when Redding flinches. Regardless, Mal holds one hand to the side in a calming motion - this isn’t how Sheisha should behave during business exchanges.

Sheisha scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Darling, are you all right?” Nanoni asks, her glance skipping right over Redding as if he doesn’t exist. Maluko’oi gives one single nod and the slightest hint of a smile in return, and watches her relax by a millimeter.

Redding taps his cane against the floor. “That’s close enough,” he says mildly, and Nanoni stops a few yards away, shifting her weight onto her right foot. Sheisha stays so close behind her mother that she nearly bumps into her.

Nanoni flicks a finger at the blue bands Mal wore. “What are those?” she asks, her voice taut. Redding doesn’t look away from the cloth-wrapped bundle Sheisha carries. It looks like they’ve taken one of the hotel blankets to make an impromptu wrapping for the vase.

“Merely restraints,” Redding says, waving a dismissive hand. “I didn’t fancy getting murdered in my sleep. Put the urn down, please.”

Nanoni tilts her head towards Sheisha, but the teenage girl hesitates. “Aren’t we going to make him let Dad go, first?” she hisses at her mother, speaking Kamean. Nanoni keeps her eyes on Mal.

“Sweetheart,” she says, “just play along for now. We’ll sort things out in a moment.”

Growling in frustration, Sheisha stomps forward until Redding motions for her to stop, midway between him and Nanoni. Sheisha opens her arms, dropping bundle to the ground with a muffled clang.

This time, both Maluko’oi and Redding wince.

“If you’ve broken it, you stupid girl,” Redding snaps, showing the first sign of frustration Mal has ever seen in him. Both Maluko’oi and Nanoni whip their heads around to glare at him, Nanoni’s hand disappearing behind her back. Redding narrows his eyes and wisely swallows whatever he had been about to say.

“Relax,” Sheisha says in a flat voice. “It’s copper.”

It’s also completely useless, but none of them were going to tell Redding that. Whatever curse the urn once held, it faded years ago. Even legendary magic doesn’t last forever.

Redding takes a quiet breath that Mal barely hears, and then forces a smile on his face. He shuffles forward as Sheisha backs away, her arms crossing over her chest with her fingers digging into her skin. She chews on the end of her long black braid, a habit her parents had tried - and failed - to break for years.

The three Neokois stand there in silence as Redding, with obvious difficulty, kneels to inspect the vase, partially unwrapping it. After a moment, he grunts and stands, hefting the bundle under his free arm.

“Redding,” Nanoni snaps. He makes it to the exit before turning to give them a thin smile, and then taps his cane against the ground. The bands around Maluko’oi’s neck, arms, and ankles disappear, and Nanoni’s composure finally cracks.

She rushes towards him, just shy of running; Mal’s quick to meet her, one hand circling around her back, and the other getting lost in her hair before his mouth is on hers.

It’s the easiest way for him to let her know he’s all right.

Sheisha pauses just to the side, as eager as her parents, but hesitant to interrupt. Nanoni breaks away, then nuzzles into his collarbone. Her hands curl into fists against his chest.

“I’ll tear him apart,” she promised, her voice low. Mal grins into her hair, but then he shakes his head.

“No need,” he murmurs. They can worry about Redding later; Maluko’oi just wants to see the back of him, for now. He shoots the limping mage a look over Nanoni’s head, and Redding coughs, straightening as he uses his cane to shove open the door.

“I’d say enjoy what short time you have left,” Redding says blithely, angling the top of his cane in Maluko’oi’s direction. The knob of black glass on top of it flashes blue. “But I don’t think you will.”

Nanoni pulls away slightly, frowning. Mal lifts a hand to his neck. It itches.

“What was that?” Sheisha demands, whipping around so quickly her braid bats against Mal’s side. Nanoni sucks in a sudden breath, and Mal looks down to find his hand wrapped around her throat.

“Mal,” she starts, but then his foot snakes behind her ankle, and Maluko’oi slams his wife to the ground.

He stares at her for one horrified second. The black-veined bonds are back around his wrists, and Mal opens his mouth to tell Nanoni he’s sorry, he hadn’t meant to - hadn’t even realized he’d done that until they’re both on the ground, his knee on her torso, thumbs pressing against her windpipe.

But instead of saying anything, Mal chokes.

“Dad!” Sheisha’s voice is a startled yelp. He catches her moving towards him from the corner of his vision, and his hands let go of Nanoni. Instead, as Sheisha closes in, they latch onto her, and he flips his daughter over his shoulders.

It’s enough of a distraction for Nanoni to eel her way out from under Mal. Sheisha hits the ground with a grunt, and Mal straightens up, bouncing his weight to the balls of his feet.

What is he doing?

“Maluko'oi!” Nanoni snaps angrily, one hand going to her throat as she scrambles to her feet. He tries again to speak, to tell her that he hadn’t meant to, that this wasn’t him - but the band around his neck tightens and burns.

“You islanders make your men so obedient,” Redding says dryly. “Not an ounce of willpower. This was far too easy.”

“Kanapapiki!” Sheisha shouts. She rolls to her feet and rushes for the door. Mal, without thinking about it, without even wanting nothing but to crush Redding’s skull against the pavement, takes three long steps and catches Sheisha around the middle.

“Mal!” Nanoni shouts. “Stop it!”

He can’t stop himself. Something has - has split Mal away from part of himself, separating his mind from any control of his body. He kicks Sheisha’s feet out from under her, and as she drops, turns to meet his wife. From the corner of his eye, he sees Redding leave the building. Thick bars of blue magic appear across the door, locking them in.

Nanoni swings a fist at him. Mal blocks it with ease, shifting his weight forward to strike back. It isn’t someone controlling him, he realizes, as Nanoni skips away from his sudden barrage. These are all his moves, his reflexes and anticipations. He knows how Nanoni fights, and so he knows exactly how to block her, exactly how she’ll strike next.

And he knows when she’s distracting him.

He catches Nanoni’s fist and uses it to push her away, turning as he does so. Sheisha’s rushing him from behind, and she bounces one foot up into a high kick that Mal blocks with his shoulder, bracing against her painful impact. She rebounds off him with a force that will bruise Mal for days, but instead of pursuing, he returns his attention to Nanoni.

He’s too slow. Her elbow cracks into his jaw and he stumbles back. Mal - or whatever it is controlling him - remembers Sheisha behind him, and swings around to lash out. She slides easily under his guard, thumping his ribs before she flashes to her mother’s side. Mal stumbles one step, but his fists lift even as his hopes rise.

Maluko’oi’s sparred with Sheisha and Nanoni millions of times. He’s trained Sheisha; even as he knows all their tricks, they know all of his. And they beat him nine times out of ten. Both of them together could easily take him down.

He tries not to think how most of the time they spar, he holds back.

Nanoni makes it easy for him not to think. She swings a fist towards his stomach, and as he blocks it, strikes him again across the face, a blow that rings in his ears. Sheisha hangs back, and Mal clenches his teeth, wondering why.

“Snap out of it, Mal!” Nanoni skips away from him as he retaliates. He reaches for her, and she slides around him, kicking the back of his leg. Mal drops to one knee, but instead of following up, both Nanoni and Sheisha back away.

They could take him.

“Dad, please - you have to stop,” Sheisha begs, as he advances on them again.

Why did they hold back?

His daughter slips under his swing; Nanoni comes in to run interference, and Mal winces internally as he hits her on the ribs. Sheisha darts in, tripping him up.

They have weapons, Mal thinks with a snarl, feeling a slow anger welling up. They have weapons, they need to use them. He wants to yell, to curse, to tell them that he’s sorry, he’s so, so sorry, why did they hold back -

Sheisha isn’t fast enough.

He slams a fist into the side of her head, and she crumples. Maluko’oi freezes in shock, eyes wide. For one split second, he snaps back into himself.

Sheisha isn’t moving.

Mal stares down at her, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

“Sheisha!”

Nanoni stares at her daughter’s still form, and then turns her glare on Mal. Knives appear in her hands and Mal, hating himself more and more with every passing second, can only think, Finally.

“That is our daughter!” Nanoni yells, furious and enraged. Mal shifts back as she runs towards him. He snarls silently in frustration as, once again, his body moves without thought. For the first time, though, Nanoni has him retreating; he has nothing to keep her knives from slicing into his skin.

He moves back with the grace a lifetime of dancing lends him, but not quickly enough to prevent a handful of shallow cuts on his arms, as Maluko’oi blocks Nanoni from gutting him like a fish. She’s furious, and the longer they fight, with Nanoni trying to duck under her husband’s guard, the sloppier her attacks become, until Mal grabs her wrist.

The follow-through action is to give her arm a cruel twist, force her to drop the knife and break her wrist. His breath catches - he won’t do it, he can’t, this is his wife -

He hesitates halfway through, just before Nanoni’s arm would snap, his grip on her arm tight as they stare at each other. Then Nanoni stabs him in the ribs.

Mal sucks in a sharp breath, but instead of letting go, backing away, he pushes forward. The pain in his side flares as Mal bulls Nanoni to the ground. He traps both her hands above her head, straddling her waist with his knees. Pinning both her wrists down with one hand, Mal reaches to his side, and pulls Nanoni’s knife from his ribs.

Pain swamps his mind. Under any other circumstances, even Maluko’oi would have been laid low by such a dumb stunt. Pele, how long will it take him to bleed out -

When his vision clears, Mal realizes he’s pressing the knife up against Nanoni’s throat. All the pain disappears, overwhelmed by a sheer, panicked abhorrence.

The part of him that’s been split and shoved aside screams and struggles for control, as futile as grabbing at sunlight on the waves. Nanoni bucks beneath him, and the knife slides against her skin, leaving behind a thin red cut along the side of her neck.

NO.

Maluko’oi freezes. He can’t make himself let go of Nanoni, let her up - but he forces his hand to stop, the knife’s edge resting against her skin. Nanoni stills, staring wide-eyed up at him.

A tear drops onto the bloodied steel of the knife, leaving behind a track against the red. Mal’s hand shakes, trying so hard to finish the job - but he refuses. The band around his neck burns, constricts until he can barely breathe. Through a haze of pain and tears, Mal sees his wife smile.

There’s a sting in the side of his neck.

Mal blinks and looks away from Nanoni, to see Sheisha plunge another handful of paper-thin needles into his arm.

They’re coated in enough sedative to drop an elephant; maybe even enough to drop Mal. He knows this, because he’s the one who prepares the sedative for her. His arm goes numb, his hold slackening on the knife and Nanoni’s wrists. She twists her hands free, grabs his shirt, and rolls them both over. He’s out before his head hits the ground.

Maluko’oi wakes up to a dim room, staring at the ceiling. His neck burns and his head pounds; he closes his eyes again. Aches and pains litter his body, but not even the stab wound in his ribs is bad enough for him to worry over right now. It will heal.

But what he’s done to his family -

He puts a hand over his face, gritting his teeth against a ragged breath and holding it in until he can trust himself not to sob. Someone shifts to his right, reaches out to touch his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“Maluko’oi,” Nanoni says quietly. “Darling, you slept for far too long, I was so worried.”

When he doesn’t answer, Nanoni takes his wrist and gently tugs his hand away from his eyes. Mal knows he’s acting like a child, but he turns his head the other way, terrified that he isn’t strong enough to keep Redding’s filthy spell from controlling him again if he looks at Nanoni.

Her voice is a little sharper this time. “Mal, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen you cry before, love, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He attacked his wife. Mal attacked his wife, and his daughter, and he would have killed them. Nanoni’s hand slips into his own, and when he moves to sit up - his right arm and hand still feel a little lifeless - she’s there with an arm to brace his back.

He fumbles the blanket back with his numb, unfeeling hand, and slips the other out of Nanoni’s grip. Before she can protest, Mal slides out of the bed and straight to his knees onto the floor.

“Oh, Mal, what are you doing,” Nanoni sighs with impatience. “You should stay in bed -”

Mal hates talking, even more than he hates mages. His tongue is not silver; instead, it is a leaden weight inside his mouth, one that takes effort to move. But he can’t stay silent on this matter - and yet, his mind is completely blank. He clenches his fists on top of his knees, trying to force himself to speak.

All he says is the rote, “Nanoni, I am sorry. Please forgive me.”

Mal winces at how pathetic, how utterly inadequate the words are. He should be begging, but his mouth closes instead, and Mal stares at Nanoni’s feet, his mind completely blank of words, but his insides twisting with so much guilt and sorrow and fury at himself that he wants to heave.

Nanoni sighs, and then moves to her knees as well. Mal starts to look away, but she catches his face before he can, tips his gaze up from pointing at the floor. He freezes in panic when he sees her, his breath catching.

Nothing happens. Mal remains where he is, his hands gripping his knees so tightly that both ache, but his body is his own, and stays where it is. Nanoni brushes a hand over his tear-stained cheek, then wraps it gently around the back of his neck. Maluko’oi closes the distance, pressing his forehead and nose against hers and closing his eyes.

They breathe in each other’s air, and Maluko’oi feels himself relax. He can never tell if the overwhelming love he feels, mere seconds into their hongi, is his or Nanoni’s or both, but it soothes him for a moment, forms the base for what’s to come next.

Anger, sharp and hot, for what Redding had done to them, and guilt, for having to hurt each other. Mal puts a steadying hand on Nanoni’s waist, feels her take a shuddering breath, and knows that he’s not in much better shape. But there is no healing without pain, and so Mal lets himself feel it from Nanoni’s point of view, tears rolling down his cheeks.

And then he’s hit with a wave of comfort and forgiveness, so hard that he has to bite his tongue to stifle a sob. Mal’s first reflex is almost to break away - he hardly deserves this, he hurt her - but Nanoni’s hand on the back of his neck holds him in place, and then he realizes that these are Nanoni’s reactions as much as his.

An extended hongi is exhausting, but they ride it out together, and at the end of it, Mal feels - well, not good, but better. The pain is there, but dulled with understanding. Nanoni does not hate him.

She does not hate him.

They’re both crying when they break the hongi. Nanoni shifts angles and kisses him, deeply, before she pulls away.

“Oh, ipo, of course I forgive you,” she tells him, cupping his cheek in one hand. “How could you ever think otherwise?”

Mal gives her a slight grin, and then leans forward, kissing the tears off her cheeks until she lets out a surprised laugh.

“Get off the floor, Mal, I don’t know the last time it’s been vacuumed,” she tells him, taking him by the elbows. He obeys, and lets out a surprised hiss as the knife wound in his side stretches. Mal shakes his head at the sharp look she gives him, but he does not stop her as she lifts his shirt.

A neat patch of bandaging covers the wound. “We had a doctor put in stitches,” Nanoni says, pushing Mal gently back onto the bed. At his questioning look, she adds, “We’re still in town.”

A chair is next to the bed, and when Nanoni sits, she sits so close their knees are in between each other’s. Mal takes in the decades-old wallpaper and the tacky hotel furniture as she goes on, his hands in hers.

“Sheisha is fine,” she adds, addressing his concerns before he could give voice. “She’s sleeping in the other room. We called Keo and had him put you under a sleep spell, and then I went after Redding.”

Nanoni heaves a sigh. “He’s going to Ember Island, Mal. The royal investigators arrested him on the spot. I wanted to kill him - I would have, but…”

Her voice trails off, and Mal waits patiently for her to look up from tracing lines in his palm. “She has a concussion - oh, love, it isn’t a very bad one,” Nanoni adds, looking up as Mal winces. He looks down again. “She’ll be just fine with a little bit of rest. I left her with Keo, to watch over you, but then - but then she caught up.”

Pursing her lips, Nanoni stares off at some point in the wall over Mal’s shoulder. “She wouldn’t have stopped me. She would have done it herself, I think, but - well, that isn’t her place, is it?”

It isn’t Nanoni’s, either. Mal’s killed before, and he’s sure he will again; it isn’t a burden he wishes for either of them to carry.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, and brings her hand up to his lips. Nanoni smiles a weary smile.

“We can always get someone inside the prison to finish him off,” she decides, and Mal smiles against her knuckles. “Let me see the back of your neck, that spell of his left some nasty burns.”

Obediently, he leans forward, resting his head against Nanoni’s chest. The burns can’t be that nasty, if he hardly feels them; there’s a bit of renewed pain as Nanoni’s fingers skim over the reddened skin, but Mal can ignore that. It will heal.

He tries, again, for words. “Nanoni…”

“Darling, you don’t need to say anything. I know.”

“You don’t.” Maluko’oi catches her hand as it slips through his hair while he leans back. Nanoni did not bruise easily, and yet there they are, small dark fingerprints against her brown skin where he’d nearly snapped her arm in half. Tears prickle at his eyes again, and he curses himself softly. He’s acting like a child, crying at the slightest instigation. “You don’t, because I don’t say anything.”

Nanoni takes in a breath to speak, and then stops, gives him a patient look. Mal presses a kiss into the palm of her hand, trying to put his thoughts into an order that will come out as words. It takes far, far too long. Nanoni waits, patient for him when she isn’t for anyone else.

“You are,” he says slowly, looking down at their intertwined hands, “heart of my heart. I would have never - never hurt you.”

Except he did. He did, and it doesn’t matter that Redding had spelled him. Maluko’oi hadn’t been strong enough to stop himself.

“I just need you to know that,” he struggles to say, “there is nothing in me that - that has ever wanted to do you harm. To you, or Sheisha.”

“Mal, honey, I know,” Nanoni says, her words just as quiet and somber. “I never doubted otherwise.”

He lifts his gaze, but Mal’s eyes snag instead on a thin red line along the side of Nanoni’s neck, cleaned up and already starting to heal. Mal reaches up and skims his fingertips over it.

Nanoni sucks in a sharp breath, her hands in Mal’s lap squeezing into fists. He snatches his hand back like he’s been burned - or like he’s burned his wife - and looks away again, closing his eyes against a flood of tears.

“Mal -”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fighting every impulse to run. Nanoni wraps her hands around each of his wrists, and he resists a little - only a little - as she tugs at them.

“Maluko’oi, look at me,” Nanoni says sternly. He obeys, out of habit, because he will do anything and everything she ever asks of him, even when his stomach churns, even when this is somehow the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Nanoni takes each of his hands and places them on either side of her neck. He stiffens, even though there is no reason to fear himself losing control again.

“Heart of my heart,” Nanoni tells him, “I trust you. I always will, and nothing you could do will ever change that. “

She drops her hands and Mal just cradles her face for a moment. Nanoni gives out a small laugh.

“After such a pretty apology, I don’t know how to say sorry for being the one to do any permanent harm.” Her hand slips up under his shirt, skimming over the gauze taped to his ribs. Mal scoffs quietly.

“You didn’t have a choice, I was trying to kill you,” he reminds her. And it’s hardly permanent, anyway.

“No, you were trying to stop it,” Nanoni says instantly. “I could see it, love, anyone could.”

She leans in to give him another kiss. Mal moves his hands down to her waist, and Nanoni murmurs, “But if you ever hurt our daughter again, I’ll shoot you.”

Mal laughs, startled and pleased, and leans back onto the bed, tugging Nanoni with him.

“I wouldn’t want anything else,” he tells her.

#iwrite #ythea #mal #nanoni #sheisha

31 notes · View notes

mazecraft · 6 years

Text

Rachel in the Dark Room Ep 5

Warning:

Spoilers for Life is Strange and Life is Strange: Before the Storm.

Trigger Warning:

This fanfic will have disturbing images, including scenes of kidnapping, date rape, drug use, violence, sexual content and adult language. Recommended for mature audiences and viewer discretion is advised.

Rachel remembered reading about sleep paralysis but she couldn’t recall if it had ever happened to her before. She felt awake, but she didn’t feel her body at all. She thought she must be asleep, but she was trapped unmoving in the darkness of a dreamless sleep. There were sounds that she could make out nearby though. A sort of whooshing roar that alternated pitch and tempo. After a while, it became quieter and then stopped altogether. Car doors were opening and closing. Muffled voices were approaching. Near to Rachel’s head, the sound of a trunk opened.

Something moved across her face like silk flowing continuously. It took her a moment to realize it must have been a breeze. She wished she could breathe in that air, but it just flowed across her face and was gone. She tried to sit up, but nothing happened. It wasn’t like the dark room, where she could feel some part of her body struggling to comply. There was no response at all. Rachel focused her will with every fiber of her being on trying to move her arm, or stretch her leg, but not even so much as a finger twitched in response. She fought down the temptation to panic and focused instead on trying to open her eyes, but she couldn’t even feel them, much less tell if they were moving under her eyelids or not. She felt awake, but maybe her body wasn’t. She focused on trying to wake her body up, to even feel it at all. The only thing that stood between her and fear was her determination to keep trying.

“Hurry up,” said a man’s voice harshly. Shuffling feet on the ground was followed by a sharp inhalation of breath. More movement, then coughing and retching as someone violently vomited. “Oh Christ. You are pathetic, you know that?” Rachel knew that voice. It was Mark Jefferson. Her photography teacher, one-time seducer, and eternal tormentor. She would never call him ‘Mark’ again, even if it was only in her head. Motherfucker.

“I can’t do this!” It was Nathan’s voice. “Goddamn, it fucking stinks. I can’t breathe. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” He disseminated into alternating cries of “I can’t do this” and “fuck” as he paced around.

“You wanted to be my protégé didn’t you?” Jefferson sneered. “What did you think, that everything would be sterilized and monochrome dreams like your beautiful photographs? This is what death looks like Nathan. Look at her! It takes work to make this beautiful!” Quick shuffling of feet and a thud as the voices got closer.

“Stop!” Nathan cried, his voice very near.

“You want to be an artist you’ve got to be willing to get your hands dirty Nathan! There put your face in it and take a big whiff. This is part of the process! Art requires sacrifices. And remember, we wouldn’t be here…yet…if you hadn’t fucked up.”

“Please don’t make me do this…”

“Quit stalling! We’re wasting time here. I still have one more surprise for you. One last shot of you and your beloved together. But if you keep stalling she’ll be too stiff to pose.”

“Can I frame it myself?” Nathan asked.

“Shh. Shh. Shh. Enough! Now be a good boy and pick her up. Just think of it as your wedding night and you are carrying your bride to bed.” Jefferson chuckled.

∞

Rachel stood on the edge of the junkyard watching Nathan and Jefferson make their way through the junk cars, old appliances and useless household trash. Nathan was laden with a heavy burden that he was trying to balance on his shoulder. But it was too heavy for his small frame and he stumbled and dropped it several times. Rachel found herself flinching involuntarily as she watched. As they got closer she could see that his burden was almost as long as Nathan was tall, but her eyes kept sliding around the object. Every time she looked at it all she saw was a blur that made her eyes water.

“Why do you hide the truth from yourself?” said the Doe. She looked around to see her companion was still there. She could hear Jefferson berating and mocking Nathan as they came around the tail end of the wreckage of the old school bus. Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath and forced herself to see her own body being hoisted clumsily and dropped on the ground in the corner of the junkyard underneath the old dilapidated hotel sign.

“See, Nathan,” Jefferson said. “A little hard work builds character!” He tossed a small shovel he had been carrying and pointed to the ground next to Rachel’s discarded body. “Right here will do.”

Rachel looked at her body while Nathan was digging and Jefferson was fiddling around with a camera he had pulled out of his bag. Her usually dark red hair was badly in need of washing and looked almost strawberry blonde. It was more ragged than she ever let it get when she could take care of it properly. She was still wearing her black t-shirt and denim jeans she remembered putting on a century ago. Had they always been that loose on her or had she lost weight? Her dragon tattoo on her leg looked vibrant against her pasty skin. She didn’t move toward the body. But one moment she was on the raised tree line above where her body was to be buried and the next she was kneeling before it.

Her skin which had once been tan enough to stand out in the central Oregon coast, looked ghastly white and almost translucent. Her eyeliner was smudged into dark circles around her eyes which no one had bothered to wipe off. Thin remnants of her “Autumn Cherry” lipstick still showed in the cracks of her severely chapped lips. A viscous white foam had seeped from between her lips and dried. Her arms were draped unceremoniously in front of her body, her star tattoo on her wrist facing up. Her fingernails were dirty under flaked off polish.

This was the closest Rachel had ever been to a dead body. And it was her body. It was her body. “This…this…” Rachel felt her spirit oscillating back and forth toward her body like when someone bounces a ball close to the ground. “This was my body. I didn’t know,” she said absently. “I am sorry.” She realized she was stroking her body’s hair and caressing her cheek. “I am so sorry…” her voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. One of her tears dropped and landed on her body’s collar bone settling into the hollow of her windpipe.

Suddenly her body exhaled heavily and shuddered, and Rachel felt herself inexplicably calm. Jefferson startled with a quick turn of his head but Nathan about jumped out of his skin dropping the shovel and yelping as he fell backward and scrambled away from it. Jefferson laughed and told Nathan it was normal, that it sometimes happens. Rachel found herself standing by the front of the bus watching as Nathan pulled her body into the shallow grave he had dug for her. Jefferson had set up a tripod and camera and allowed Nathan to compose the shot of her laying in the ground.

But she was surprised when Jefferson pulled out a small handheld case behind Nathan’s back and approached him from behind with a syringe. Nathan was so preoccupied with the camera he never saw it coming. Rachel’s eye twitched at a memory she wasn’t willing to allow to surface just yet. Nathan stumbled and Jefferson pulled him back so that he wouldn’t fall on the equipment and lowered him to the ground.

“I promised you a memento, didn’t I.” Jefferson said quietly without a hint of amusement in his voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll frame it exactly as befits your talents.”

Nathan wasn’t completely unconscious. His eyes rolled wildly as Jefferson picked him up and dragged him over to Rachel’s grave. He positioned Nathan awkwardly across the hole in the ground and laid Rachel so that the back of her head was resting on his lower abdomen, and her arm draped along his leg. Jefferson chuckled to himself at the awkward posing. They looked like two stiff barbie dolls some child had discarded on the ground. Jefferson took a few different shots, working silently. Finally, he packed up the camera gear and took it back to the car. He returned for Nathan, easily hoisting him onto his shoulder and carrying him away. On his return trip he brought a blue tarp and wrapped Rachel’s body tightly with practiced precise movements and dropped her back into the hole. He stared at the open grave expressionless for a few long silent moments, and then used the shovel to fill in the hole and pack the ground with clods of grass he had pulled off the hill. He whistled a tune to himself as he walked back to the car with the shovel. The last light of dusk seemed to dissipate as the retreating car drove away, leaving the junkyard dark and silent.

∞

Rachel was in the corner of the Dark Room with her hands and feet bound in duct tape. She thrashed wildly as the raven flew at her face and tangled its talons in her hair. She screamed as it dipped its beak into the spot on her neck where a needle had been stuck into her, over and over again.

Be still, girl.

Rachel’s eyes went wide with shock. In spite of the pain, she felt a poisonous miasma that had been subduing her mind and dulling her spirit lifting away from her. She knew this wasn’t her body, but the raven was ripping from her neck the taint of the GHB from her consciousness. It was as if the chemical and physical restraints she had spent the last hours of her life in had been dampening her vitality and power. The raven ripped a sinewy blood laden piece of flesh away from Rachel and she screamed again in spite of herself as the room began to spin wildly all around her. The black shadows swirled until they mixed with the overly bright white surfaces of the room and spun faster and faster. The floor seemed to drop out from beneath her. The raven was flying in the opposite direction of the swirling room and Rachel seemed to be caught in its wake, floating in the middle of the maelstrom. The duct tape tore and Rachel stretched her aching arms and legs feeling vitality radiating from her outstretched fingers above her head down to her toes that pointed toward the ground.

I’ve done what I can, the raven said in Rachel’s mind.

∞

Rachel’s eyes wouldn’t focus right. Whatever she looked at directly was clear, but everything in her peripheral vision was blurry, making her feel nauseous. Up ahead there was a golden light in the darkness. She could make out the shadows of trees around her as she got closer, and the rough shapes of ferns. The air smelled strongly of pine and the mustiness of moss. As she neared what she thought must be a campfire, she began to make out the silhouettes of three women seated in a circle around it.

One was old, with black messy hair tumbling down her shoulders and partly obscuring her face. Her sharp large nose protruded from the hair covering her cheeks, and the light reflected in her eyes like two yellow stars. She wore a cloak of bird feathers that glistened silvery one moment, and black as pitch the next. The second woman was neither old nor young, but in her prime. Her soft leather dress was embroidered with strange glyphs around the hem, cuffs, and collar. They seemed familiar to Rachel but she couldn’t remember where she would have seen them. Her hair was a rich brown color, like fertile earth. Her smooth sun-tanned face and full lips radiated gentleness which was confirmed in eyes that were completely black, ringed in dark brown under large lashes.

But when she saw the third woman, Rachel’s heart caught in her throat. Her pale skin and short bright blue hair almost made her cry out Chloe’s name. But then she noticed even sitting this woman was shorter than Chloe. She might have even been shorter than Rachel. Also, her hair was a ‘pixie cut,’ more precise and close cropped than Chloe’s ‘A cut.’ Plus, the blue of her hair was bright, like a neon, and as Rachel walked around their circle she could see that her eyes were as blue as her hair and had no pupils or irises.

Finally, she was able to shift her gaze away from the strange women and see the source of the light. She had expected to see a fire, but instead she saw a large hourglass filled with sand glowing with a warm golden light. Upon the top of the hourglass was embossed a spiral that seemed to be spinning whenever she wasn’t looking directly at it. The three of them were looking at each other in turns as if involved in a conversation that Rachel couldn’t hear. For some reason, Rachel had the impression that there was a great deal of hesitation or trepidation between them over the object in front of them. The older dark-haired woman suddenly turned her head away from the others and looked right at Rachel standing beside a tree.

“Why are you here? We did not summon you to this place. You have no business here skulking about like a raccoon!” Her voice was thin and coarse. The woman’s eyes glittered like harsh yellow sapphires behind her dark hair that covered her face like a veil.

Rachel walked out into the light toward them. So much of what was happening to her didn’t make sense. Her mind had been so clouded and lost in strange dreams and memories all mixed up together that she wasn’t sure what was real anymore. “Who…who are you?” She addressed all of them. She felt like she knew already, but she also felt like she was losing her mind.

The dark-haired woman cackled. “Dense as the stones of the earth and with half the sense. You have no right to be here. Leave!” The space between her and the women seemed to stretch in front of her. The shadows of the trees began twisting and morphing into a spiral. Rachel felt as if she were falling forward even as she was pulled away from them. She felt herself thinning, being erased, washed out of existence. In a flash of panic and determination she forced herself to remain whole, imagining herself as solid and unmoving. The swirling reality around her reversed direction and the trees and the shadows resumed their proper places. The sickening sensation that she had felt moments before when everything was twisting was gone. and she was standing back before the three women, feeling only slightly nauseous.

The black-haired woman turned to look at her again sharply, her pinpoint yellow eyes burning in her stoic face. The brown-haired woman laughed in a rich beautiful voice, putting a hand on the old woman’s forearm. Rachel wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a calming gesture or not, but she found herself hoping it was. “Clearly the child is here. So, her right to be here is without question. You may come closer, Rachel.” The way the woman said her name filled Rachel with peace and confidence. She suddenly felt like she had known these women all her life and was back among dear friends.

“I still want to know why the brat comes without being summoned,” the old woman said irritably.

“I summoned her.” The youngest finally spoke in a quiet voice that seemed to come from all around them at once, her voice resonating tightly like a chorus in a tin can, making Rachel want to wiggle a pinkie finger in her ear.

“Fool,” said the old woman. “I know this one’s heart and she is volatile. It is dangerous for her to be here.”

“Things can’t stay as they are. We have been quiet for too long. If we do not take action soon, then far worse will surely come,” the younger one said quietly.

Never in Rachel’s life had she remembered feeling this sense of comfortable belonging while completely confused at the same time. She knew she was at a total loss for words. Yet she abandoned the struggle when she realized it was perfectly ok not to say anything. The brown-haired woman smiled knowingly at her and gestured for her to sit beside her. Rachel sat down, crossing her legs under her. She didn’t mind being barefoot, but her wrists and ankles seemed naked for some reason. She thought she must look ridiculous next to them in her jean shorts and black t-shirt. She pointed to the women in turn calling them by name. “You’re the Raven that has haunted me so often. And you, you are the Doe that gave me a moment of peace. And you, Butterfly, I still don’t understand what you are, but you always remind me of Chloe.”

“You name us true, child,” said Raven. “We are the remaining sisters of a dying family. I am sorcery. My sister Doe is a matron of kindness. And finally, our sister Butterfly is maiden of transformation.”

“We are of this land and bound to it as you are also bound to it,” said Doe. “But unlike you we are bound by duty, not tragedy. This land is sacred to us. We are watchers, guides, and guardians. But our power is fading in this place as the world marches on without us. For all the change the sleepwalkers have wrought in the shallow world of day, the power of the ancient ones has grown stagnant.”

“Like all living things, transformation is vital to survival,” said Butterfly. “We have changed many times over the course of the ages through the imagination of Dreamers of immense Power. But there are few left in this place that can withstand the burden of such power, and so we are dying.”

“I don’t really get what any of this means. But I feel like I know all of you,” Rachel said. “Its like you’ve been with me my whole life just out of the corner of my eye. When I look at you, it reminds me of how I used to feel when I would stare out at the stars.”

“We are always around potential Dreamers but most are still sleepwalking, blinded by what is in front of them,” said Butterfly.

“Chloe said she doesn’t remember her dreams anymore. Is that what you guys are talking about.”

“Chloe Price was one whose grief was too strong. It has clouded her mind,” said Doe sadly.

“Never mind that one for now,” said Raven sharply. “It is your own predicament that should concern you. Your attention is trapped here by the unrest of your body. Until it has fully decayed, you will remain here reliving the moments that left the most significant imprint on your soul. It would be easier for you if you weren’t so arrogant.”

Rachel stood up to face the old woman that looked up at her through her black hair. “Oh fuck off! You’re calling me arrogant? You’ve been hella fucking arrogant since I first saw you, looking at me like I am nothing and mocking me in my pain!” Raven had the decency to look down. Wait…was she suppressing a grin? Rachel addressed all of them. “I may have made a lot of shitty choices but do I really have to be punished with them for all eternity? What is this, some kind of purgatory?”

Butterfly stood up and moved toward Rachel on light and graceful feet. She really was shorter than Rachel by almost half a head. The teal-blue color that completely filled her eyes was beautiful but also unnerving. Rachel noticed for the first time that Butterfly was wearing a simple blue dress of crinkled cotton with small white flowers on it that came down to mid-thigh with black leggings and bare feet. It was surprisingly normal compared to what the others were wearing. Rachel thought distractedly the whole outfit was something she would have worn going to a party in the summer.

“This is neither punishment, nor hell,” Butterfly said in her strange resonant voice. “This is gravity. Inertia. Momentum. Much of what happens to us is merely the logical result of our actions. Or inaction,” she finished with a pointed look at the other two.

“You said I am bound here by tragedy. Are you also saying that what happened to me was my fault? Did I bring this on myself?” Rachel gazed at the ground trying to remember, out of all her mistakes, which was the one that brought her here.

Doe stood up and walked over to her, stroking her hair back out of her face and laying a warm hand on her brow. “No one deserves what happened to you no matter what they may have done. You have been too hard on yourself as it is without taking the blame for that as well. You were young, and though wise in your years, still had much to learn about life.” She moved her hand down the side of Rachel’s face and gently lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. “What we mean is that events flow like water through time, and once that water is flowing in a particular direction, it will continue to do so unless something redirects it. There is no blame in it. Just cause and effect.”

Doe’s words were soothing and mesmerizing, but Rachel still felt troubled. The other women resumed their places around the hourglass and she had the impression they were silently communing again. She turned away from them and stared off into the forest. Her shadow stretched into the darkness in front of her and she stared at it bitterly. Once events are set in motion…

“Where is Chloe now?” Rachel asked turning back to them. “Is she ok?”

The three looked at each other confused as they often did when she asked questions. “Which now?” asked Doe finally. “Time works differently in this place then the world that you once walked.”

“Show her,” said Butterfly. “Show her all of it.”

“That’s madness!” said Raven. “You can’t be serious…”

“No,” Doe said thoughtfully. “It would be needlessly cruel.”

“She deserves to see the truth!” said Butterfly stubbornly. “And not just about her Lothir.” Butterfly looked over at Doe. “Haven’t you always said that a lie is more cruel than a carefully worded truth?” Rachel was getting more and more anxious with every word, balling her hands into fists and tensing her shoulders and legs.

Raven stared at all of them expressionless, her beady yellow eyes glittering menacingly behind her hair. Doe finally sighed and agreed. She pointed to the ground next to her and asked Rachel to sit again. With Rachel sitting beside her she reached up and touched her forehead and began drawing a spiral out from the center of that first touch. Rachel didn’t just see. She saw and felt everything. At first, she heard herself gasp in shock, but before long she began to scream in anger, frustration, and grief.

∞

(to be continued...)

Mazecrafted ©

#life is strange #life is strange before the storm #rachel amber #chloe price #Mark Jefferson #Mark jeffershit #nathan prescott #mysticism #dreams #death

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