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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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seven

Rich and powerful men can marry seven different women in a wild attempt to produce the perfect heir. Todoroki Enji is one of these powerful men, and you’re his seventh bride.

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pairing: todoroki enji (endeavor) x fem!reader

warnings: edo period!endeavor (king henry viii inspo), forced marriage, alcohol consumption, 18+, smut, non-con, dub-con, size difference, breeding kink, rough-sex, pain, degradation, & mind break

word count: 5,750

a/n: fuck that family who started the fire in socal. my campus is literally raining ashes up in oregon. im so tired. two exams monday. im going to be going on meds for anxiety and adhd soon, so thats new. uh,,, this is like LOL its a bit bad,,, but I really, really lust over asshole enji who only wants to breed bitches and thats it. this is for the bnharem fantasy au collab, i wan’t that creative sorry see ya later skaters.

PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS. PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS. PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE WARNINGS.

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One.

Fate: Spared.

Two.

Fate: Executed.

Three.

Fate: Died during childbirth.

Four.

Fate: Spared.

Five.

Fate: Executed.

Six.

Fate: Executed.

Seven.

Fate: Unknown.

Silks and expensive cloth held a scent that was irreplicable.

The smooth smell of the layers upon layers of fabric wrapped around your body did nothing to quench the building layer of ice in your stomach.

You were scared.

Rightfully so.

Six women came before you, and if you wanted to live, you would have to do better than them.

Marrying the Todoroki Clan head was something that most women could only dream of accomplishing in this day and age. The Todoroki’s, after all, are strong, rich, powerful, undefeated. They held the real power in this age, more influential and notable than the emperor that repeatedly begged the family for support, be it in power, strength, or money.

But, it was also known knowledge that the man who sat at the head of the clan, who held the power of the Todoroki name and future, was a man not to be trifled with.

Todoroki Enji was an endeavor of a man.

There had always been whispers about the head of the family, how he stood eight feet tall, and how his body was not lean like most warriors, but thick and savagely sturdy. His hair was red, blessed by the sun some claimed, or cursed by the devil others alleged. His temper and barbaric nature on the battlefield were, of course, rumored by the people on your lands, who had been indebted by the Todoroki Clan because of their protection and profits.

Todoroki Enji was not a man to be trifled with.

Especially not if the rumors were true.

He was painted as a demon by everyone. Still, Enji was no demon, he was human, and if he was to allow the Todoroki Clan's legacy to continue, he needed an heir… but since he was human, he was aging.

Six women.

You knew that it was six women because you had been alive to experience five of them.

You remember the newly married couple being paraded through the streets.

Todoroki Enji remained hidden within his vehicle's confines while his new wife, doe-eyed, smiling, effervescent, would greet the gathered crowds. You often wondered what they thought when you would conjure in respect for the man who ensured your childhood and adolescence were not corrupted by thieves and horror.

You wondered what she thought when promising the village elders that she would produce a strong, male heir. You raised an eyebrow at the thought that maybe, just maybe they believed that they would be different -- be able to birth a strong, capable male heir.

Six wives.

Twenty children.

Two weak, sickly boys.

A whole clan of girls.

Were they idiotic, blind, or batshit insane to ever believe that they would be different?

You undoubtedly didn’t know.

Three of the six had been executed.

Three of six had been proud to state they would produce a strong male Todoroki heir, noting that his two sons -- Touya and Natsuo -- would be removed from the family as soon as their strong son was born.

One of those three birthed a weak, sickly baby boy. She passed in childbirth and took him with her one day after.

Another of those three birthed four girls, two sets of twins because, of course, they were given two chances. She was executed on treason.

The final of those three had simply pissed him off; rumor had it. Her pussy was too tight, unwilling to sheath the thick massive cock that belonged to him… no point in breaking something that wouldn’t bend when there was more pussy out there (you remember she had been ugly too).

But what you didn’t expect was for his clan members to come through your village's streets with an announcement in hand.

Of the six women before you, three had held significant political power -- the three that survived.

Of the remaining three, there was a poet, the other a woman soldier of his, and the last being a clan member.

You had never known what the decision process was, not even a little bit, so when men dressed in dark robes with the Todoroki sigil and katana’s strapped to their sides infiltrated your village, you were on edge.

“All women who are fertile and beautiful, line up, and no, we don’t care if you’re married,” was the short, almost taunting order, and you had never felt sicker.

You were among the seventy females in your village that matched the requirement they demanded.

Your sight was almost glued to the floor as they walked through you all, your fists grabbing your light blue kimono as the men groped the women in line, teasing the breasts of the pregnant women, rutting their poorly concealed cocks through the valley of asses, shoving between some girls thighs with loopy, proud smiles on their faces, beating any man who attempted to protect any one of their honors.

But you were towards the end of the line, standing where they decided to save for last, and you were helpless to it all. You watched knowing that of the sixty-something women ahead of you, none of them remained.

The whimpers, cries, and whines grew louder by your ear, your spine rigid and sore with its tightness as the girl beside you dropped to the floor in her fear. You couldn’t bother looking at her as the parting of their robes seemed to be akin to gunpowder going off in your ears. The horrified squeal on her tongue being silenced when a cock slammed through her lips, the tears pouring down her face useless, if anything, only encouraging their roughhousing.

Your lip curled at the sound of her pathetic whining, the incessant need of her to tell them that she was not okay with this was nails on an iron plate. It annoyed you, it pissed you off.

“Look at this one,” the snickering laughter of a man breathed by your ear, instantly stilling and freezing the anger that was once radiating like fire from your chest. “She doesn’t look ashamed… she looks like she’s jealous. Maybe these common bitches do have someone good enough for Boss.”

Spluttering gasps and hiccuping cries came from the ground, and you couldn’t even bother glancing at the woman you had known all your life laying on the floor, kimono ripped open, and white, sticky cum dripping from her mouth.

“Well, there’s nothing like taking her out for a test run,” came a sleazy smile, and when two hands gripped at your clothed breasts, you didn’t so much as raise a brow at their perverted actions.

You had won in the end against them. Each perverted, twisted intention they placed against you, dirt crusted fingernails digging into your arms, purpling, throbbing cocks pressed into your backside… it hadn’t mattered.

You didn’t budge.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t make a noise.

A simple smirk remaining on their faces at your inevitable victory against the other women in your village -- against the crying, cum stuffed women who stared at your victorious and stubborn form without a clue on how you managed.

And where did that land you?

In a room with only one window too high up for an average person to reach, white silks and fabrics adorning your body, and ceremonial ornaments in your hair.

Six women came before you, but today, you would become the seventh.

With you, there would be seven women to have wed Todoroki Enji, but you weren’t scared because you feared the fate of the six before you. No, you were much better than them; you already knew that for a fact.

The anxiety that coursed through your veins created that ice pit in your stomach came from one place and one place only.

Your cunt already sobbed at the thought of even attempting at taking his thick, veiny cock you knew was the size of your thigh later tonight.

A virgin like you had no chance of survival.

The doors to your room soon slammed open, and your back stiffened at the sight of a familiar face of an escort you had. His eyes didn’t meet yours; they were focused at the wall, his face tense and tight.

“It’s best we leave now, y/l/n, Todoroki-sama doesn’t like waiting.”

The weight of the white silk on your body felt like a brick when you stood up from your position, and you wondered if the sweat from your pits and palms would damage the kimono -- if it was noticeable. But you had a duty, and as number seven, you had no motive to be executed before even getting the chance to prove yourself.

You knew how wishes worked; the secret was in being silent about your desire… never reveal what your wish was, or the world wouldn’t grant it.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself every time you heard the all too familiar words of: “I’ll produce a fine Todoroki heir,” through the lips of the dead and the divorced. They had spoken it to the universe, acknowledged what they needed, and the cruel world failed them each and every time.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, so consumed by the idea of what would happen tonight, you hardly realized that with the heaving puffing breathes you took to keep up with the man’s ridiculous strides, that you had made it to the shrine that you had been brought to wed.

But you couldn’t even take in the beauty of the shrine to your left because you were more interested in who was standing in the pathway towards the shrine.

Todoroki Enji.

He stood on the stone-paved path, his bulky, beefy arms folded across his chest, the fabric of his kimono taut and tight against his flexed muscle, and a sour frown on his face. It was as the rumors had spoken, you realized when you stopped mere strides away from your future husband, he was a man that looked both godly and cursed.

Bright red hair glistened like copper pans under the sunlight, waving and flickering like a raging fire with every small burst of wind. He stood at almost eight feet high, maybe eight feet, you had no idea. All you knew is that as your feet stumbled when getting near to this man, you were dwarfed, feeling like a child next to their father as you gazed up at his unmoving, scarred face. His eyes didn’t look down at you, but even you could see the clear, sharp blue in them, and for the first time, you questioned reality.

Was this man truly human? Was he genuinely Japanese?

Seeing him before you made your knees buckle in fear, arousal, and anticipation.

You wanted to see what had made the sixth scream to stop.

You wanted to see just what he was hiding behind the ridiculously tight fitted kimono, but your thoughts were yanked away when his hand -- no doubt bigger than your head -- pressed to space between your shoulder blades and pushed you.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” he merely growled, his eyes burning at something a million miles away, and with a small, pitiful whimper, you allowed him to lead the way.

The wedding ceremony was… odd, to say the least.

While you had never been married, you had attended a few weddings within your lifetime already, and never once had it felt so disturbing dead and raw as it had today. This Shinto ceremony, typically doused with symbolism and motifs for the greatest possible outcome for the union between you and Todoroki Enji, was stripped from the shrine walls, leaving the walls barren and cold as both he and the priest proceeded through the ceremony at breakneck speed.

It wasn’t something Enji wanted; you realized that clearly the moment he refused to meet your gaze; his blue eyes remaining on the priest.

Everything the both of you performed together was done haphazardly, the lack of symbols you had always wished to see in your wedding ceremony forgotten, undoubtedly seen as a farce by a man like Todoroki Enji, but still, your heart ached.

You hadn’t noticed when the ceremony had ended; Enji never once allowing you to move, or do anything for that matter, by yourself. There was no use in fighting against a man who’s entire hand fit around your forearm, his thumb even resting against his fingernail -- oh yes, this man was huge.

There was no telling when he paraded you through the streets of his territory, allowing you to numbly speak to the village elders, to allow your parents to press their sweaty palms to your cheeks because god, please, please survive this, their touch practically sobbed. You smiled at them, eyes numb with the reality of what this was going to be for you, but the cheerful tone on your tongue remained optimistic and bright with every passing word.

The scornful thoughts of the sixth woman being too weak to handle Enji had dissipated, and you wondered just what the other five did to survive what you knew was a massive fucking cock hidden beneath the shrowds of his black kimono.

You would survive, you would survive, you would survive.

But far before you were ready to, you arrived back at the Todoroki front, the wooden estate standing sturdy and strong, the air of power and aura almost tangible. The samurai and clansmen who had undoubtedly awaited for you and your now-husband (that was still odd to think about) to return. Pairs of warm, weathered hands helped you from the carriage, and without so much of a whisper of thanks, they escorted you away, heads bowed at the mercy of their leader.

Once more, you were abandoned in your room.

The window no longer allowed the streaming setting sunlight in, your room was in the eastern part of the estate, and with the nighttime coming, the setting sun was merely a memory to you.

And in that room, the tiny, unspacious room that seemed much more for a prisoner than the seventh wife of Todoroki Enji, you tried not to cry.

The door slamming open hours after you had fallen asleep had taken you by surprise.

Enji had left you to your own entertainment, and long after you were served dinner, and informed that no, Todoroki-sama would not be visiting you right now because he was busy, you had sat on the bed in your silks and robes, numbly looking at the star-filled sky. Sleep was the only thing you could do, and with the last servant visit being past midnight, you took to sleep.

Except that you forgot a sparing, important detail.

This was Todoroki Enji’s world, and you were merely his legal fuckhole.

The heavy footsteps of Enji entering the room echoed in your ear, and the door closed behind him, solidifying the end of the beginning of what you once knew.

“Seven,” he growled into the night, and your spine snapped straight.

He loomed above you, the tatami mat suddenly feeling like a brick wall against your side, and you swallowed pathetically at the way his deep, raspy voice sent shivers down your spine.

This had been the first time you had heard him speak, all other forms of communication between him and the priest and he and his clan members had been nonverbal, solely told through those piercing blue eyes that only let you dream of what he sounded like -- of what he was demanding. But you lay confused, your eyebrows scrunched at just why he had called out the number seven?

Seven what?

You twisted where you lay, your eyes meeting his own, and despite the lack of light in the room, you could see the cold, distant glint in his eyes.

“Oh good,” he mocked, his voice low and dangerous, eyes squinted in his apparent lack of approval. “You can hear.”

“S-Seven what?” you stammer, your elbow pressing into the mat, pushing you up so that you could look at your husband, uncertainty and discomfort scorching every nerve in your body.

You didn’t know what to do.

Then, it hit you. The bitter, numbing smell of alcohol coated in a fine layer around his skin, the small puffs of angry air from his mouth letting you know that your husband was inebriated, and your throat clenched when he began to dismantle his kimono.

“T-This isn’t a good idea!” you stammer, the white silk robes you were still dressed in because they refused to allow you a set of sleeping clothes because the marriage needed to be consummated, felt stiff and not protective enough. “You won’t produce a proper heir if you’re intoxicated.”

Enji raised an eyebrow at you, and your thudding heart failed to cease as his robes hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Whiskey dick wasn’t something foreign to you; the countless men you had sucked off in your time, the numerous sex stories you had been shared with always had some instance of a man getting drunk and being able to get their cock hard, but this…?

If this was Enji’s whiskey dick, you weren’t sure what to expect of his sober cock.

His cock was already hard, the veins in his cock large, plentiful, and bulging in many areas. It was thick, without a doubt thick enough where it would take both your hands to circle around his cock, and it was long, the swollen weeping tip leaking against his abdomen. His cock was magnificent yet deadly, and your pussy spasmed in fear of having that monster all twelve plus inches shoved into your virgin cunt.

“The fuck are you doing, seven?” Enji snarled, his powerful naked legs moving toward you, his feet pressing into the mat, and his hand reaching out to you. “I didn’t marry you for you to just stare at my fucking cock like some piss-shit baby.”

There was no time to panic, protest, or even prepare yourself for the sudden sharp, dull ache in your jaw when he pressed his monster cock past your chapped, chewed lips.

Immediately, it was overwhelming.

The engorging cock had barely passed your lips, but you were already gagging against the unwelcomed size, the horrid ache sending spilling tears down your cheeks, doing nothing but annoying the man before you. His hands gripped your hair, his eyes not even bothering to look at you as he fucked your mouth.

“Stop fucking resisting,” Enji snarled, his hips coming to meet your mouth in a vicious, unpleasant snap, the head of his cock pressing down your clenched throat, and so much of his cock still remaining far from your mouth. “Take my cock like the fucking whore I know you are, seven.”

You gasp for air, but with his cock ramming further and further down your throat, the scalding heat emitting from his skin burning your throat, making you gag and choke around him in your fear. You couldn’t breathe, you realized in a panic, and your eyes widened in fear, drool and spit spilling down your chin pathetically as Enji hums contently.

“Don’t feel so scared, seven,” Enji cruelly smirked up at the ceiling, his hips lazily, sloppily, yet powerfully delivering his cock into your bulging throat. “I heard what you did to my men, how you let them fuck you however they saw fit, how you scoffed and scowled at the other pathetic weak bitches who couldn’t handle a little groping… I thought you would like this? What is it? Never had a real fucking cock before? A little whore like yourself only gotten shitty little cocks?”

Wordlessly, you begged to be shown mercy, your vision blackening as he choked out all forms of oxygen, his war weathered body unbothered by your clawing fingers on his thighs. No, you were too weak for it to hurt him.

His hands left your hair, and you collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, choking, and coughing for oxygen that only burned all through your system, sitting unpleasantly in your lungs while tears and saliva mixed on your throat.

“Where the fuck are do you think you’re going, seven?” Enji barked, his body suddenly looming over yours, and you felt trapped, unable to move as the mountain of a man trapped you between his sturdy arms and legs. His cock, warm and sticky with your spit and his precum, sat heavily on your stomach, the size difference between the two of you even more pronounced when the tip of his cock rested at the bottom of your ribcage. “All you did was lube up my cock for your stupid, tight pussy. Don’t think I was satisfied with that childish blowjob -- next time, if you want to cry, make sure it’s loud enough that I feel it against my cock.”

You pathetically moan at his words, the tears still falling from your eyes because your throat and jaw hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

“Please,” you gasped as his cinder hot hands pressed to your breasts against your kimono, he quickly enveloped your tender flesh in his hands despite the fabric. “Please, no more.”

“I don’t remember this marriage being about you,” he mocked, and with no more of a glinting snarl of his mouth, he tore the kimono straight off your body. The horrified scream that left your lips was silenced by the echoing slap across your face.

Pain blistered at the side of your face, and the resulting tears couldn’t be felt against your numbed skin as Enji continued his conquest, his fingers pulling and ripping any and all fabric pressed against your body.

“Get away!” you weakly whimpered, body trembling and twisting as you attempted to escape the man looming above you, finally ridding you of all dresses, hands pressing to the back of your thighs to push you into a position that he liked. “Leave me alone, leave me alone…”

There was no fire in your words, nothing but the aching fear and undeniable terror.

But the words did nothing to Enji, who continued to move you so that your tight, virgin cunt lined up with his throbbing, red cockhead. Even like this, your face was pressed into his chest. His body unworldly larger than yours, incredibly goliath compared to you.

“You know, seven, if you keep trying to escape me and you keep trying to save yourself, then why are you so fucking wet with everything I’ve done?” he growls down at you, his piercing blue eyes staring straight through you, the tears falling down your face doing nothing but encouraging him because he was right… your cunt, just like his cock, was wet, dripping with the undeniable pleasure of this all. There was a fire, a shameful fire, in your pussy, throbbing in time with the stinging pulse in your face that begged for Enji’s cock despite it all. “You fucking tiny little slut… I can feel just how my actions -- how my words -- affect you, getting you off like a bitch in heat! Your efforts to hide it are pathetic, fucking useless.”

Pain.

If you thought you knew what pain was before right now, you had to be wrong.

Enji’s girth was overwhelming, nearly splitting your shuddering tight walls while he buried his cock entirely within you. Nausea builds in the back of your throat, a soundless shriek breaking past your bleeding lips, your hips bucking in their relentless attempt to adjust to the way that he was splitting your walls in two, and your face flushed in pain and lust press into his chest, the only part of him you could touch.

Fuck, fuck, “fuck!” you cried, fat and painful tears pushing past your eyes, dripping down the apples of your cheeks while Enji sighed at the feeling of your hot cunt against his cock, blood seeping out of your pussy in such a pretty way he couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ve got a really tight cunt,” he observes, his hips slamming against you without warning, his mind only caring about him, setting off another round of painful screams while he situates within you. “Mhm, this is nice. A tight, young pussy always means a good womb, you’ll give me the heir I need… I’ll make sure to fuck you full of my cum.”

His hips then begin to thrust upward into you, the tip of his cock unable to reach the beginnings of your walls that he seemed to attempt to get to with each powerful blow. But it was his girth that had your body tensed, back arched in pain, eyes clenched in nothing but pain.

Pain.

“Hey.” SLAP. Your head snapped to the side, a burning, stinging pain on your cheek, alerting you that your eyes were closed. Your piqued breathing spluttered and so spaced between it was as if you were having some sort of asthma attack. Enji looked down at you, blue eyes burning demonly down at you (you wondered if this was the same look those who survived to see him on the battlefield claimed he had), his lips curled into an unapproving snarl while his hands pushed at the bottom of your knees. You pressed further into the tatami, the angle of penetration only furthering with your desperate screams to be gentler. “Shut the hell up, you’re annoying me with all this fucking screaming. Don’t waste my time.”

You whimper loudly, the feeling of his forcibly moving hips not becoming any easier on you, no longer a wave of intensive horrifying pain, but still a throbbing pain than had your fingernails cutting into his skin. “You have to be gentler! Be gentler, please be gentler! You’re so much bigger than me!!! My pussy can’t… my pussy can’t handle this!”

The fabric of the kimono under your body seared with heat when Enji shoved you further onto the mat, your legs twitching almost pathetically around his waist while your sight nearly blackened with his next action. He slammed your knees into the mat, increasing the angle of his penetration by a tenfold, sending you into another round of howling pain and pleasure as his cock slammed into your cervix -- bruising and scalding your puffy, sensitive walls with every powerful thrust. With his drilling hips and snarling speed, your screams and shouts of pain and pleasure and fear were cut off by an enormous fist around your neck, and his voice echoed from above you.

“Didn’t your dad teach you fucking whore to be quiet, seven?” Enji hisses, his thick hand clenching around your neck. Oxygen refused to flow to your lung, you went light-headed and limp, choking noises emitting from you while he continued to slam his cock in you, your clenching and splitting walls unable to keep up with the speed of the esteemed nobleman of Japan. “You’re my breeding whore, do you understand? You have no value to me except to be breed, to be full of my cum, to carry my child. You are nothing more than an object. Do. You. understand?”

Your head throbbed, the blood forcibly kept in your head, and the lack of oxygen made your world spin.

“Y-Yes!” you choke on your tongue.

“Repeat it!”

“I’m your breeding whore! Fill me with your cum, I wanna… fuck, I w-wanna carry your children! I’m your object, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!”

“There we go,” Enji sighs contently, his broad chest pressing your thighs further into the bed, cutting off what limited oxygen you had left, and increasing the jabbing pleasure within you by a tenfold.

“Shit, such a filthy fucking cunt you have,” he groans, your walls spasming against him with his wild, obscene thrusts. He moves his hands further up your legs so that they press against your knees, your legs then wrap around his body, shaking as he makes no effort to slow in his advances, your finger drawing blood from where they raked down his back because he was burning an outline of your body into the mat. Your strangled scream goes unnoticed by Enji, a desperate plea for him to be softer.

But he wasn’t someone who cared.

You were only here to be bred, to give him a son, the strongest son the entire country of Japan -- nay, the world -- has ever seen.

Pathetically, your hips attempt to rise up to meet him, a prayer that it would ease this brutal force he was using. It was too much -- his cock easily overpowering your throbbing cunt.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping pussy created loud wet noises that made you cry in embarrassment. Your face felt like it was seconds from popping out, Enji’s weight crushing you on top of the abhorrent position he was fucking you in, but he found it as an excuse to speed up. His rugged grunts are warnings in your ears as his cock finally hits your cervix with consistency that makes you wail. The stretch he gave you was boggling, and you were progressively less cognitive aware as he drilled in harder. His slams were so hard that the sound of his thighs hitting your ass let out a continuous and loud slap.

His fingers gouge into your skin, and you cry his name like a hopeful prayer as he is fueled by your appraisal, your breath hot and sticky between the valley of his chest. Your tongue pressing against his skin akin to some infant looking to suck their mothers tit.

The force in which Enji slammed his hips to meet yours. Above your ear, the growling pants that mocked you for enjoying this demeaned you for thinking you were anything more than his breeding whore sent a liquid fire that could never match the heat of a conflagration to your core. When your head smashed against the mat because you could no longer keep your head up.

“That’s fucking right,” he laughs, drool pouring past your lips with your mindless babble, your eyes fluttering closed. Pleasure drowned in pain sobs expelled from your lips, invigorating something powerful within the entire family who watches on with impatient stares at the sight of your squeezing cunt around Eniji’s cock. “Take my fucking cock, bitch, don’t fucking pass out yet, we’re far from over.”

Enji was raw power, destruction, and strength. He pistoled into your sobbing core with the intent of getting his sperm into your cunt, to get his sperm that would get him a son into you, other than that, he was uncaring, unmotivated by your pathetic whining and crying. Your thrashing and wailing do not stop Enji, nor do they lessen the pace and the force he’s settled in as the floor begins to creak with every powerful thrust.

“I needa — holy shit, r-right there! M-More, more, more, more--”

“What? Do you need to come already, seven?” Enji mocks you pushing up off you so his back is curved, and your body so small underneath him. “Do you really think I’ll let you cum before me?”

Your eyes can no longer stay open as the only noises leaving your mouth are whines and begs for more. You forcibly clench around him to stir a reaction from him, but all he does is snarl quietly as he continues his rutting force. The pounding is rhythmic. His balls bruising your ass where he hits you. The feeling of Enji’s cock entering and leaving you draws your eyes to the back of your head as you pathetically whimper his name, his thighs hitting your ass at bruising force, only adding to your pleasure.

Each powerful snap of his hips sending your back arching to the heavens, the balls of your feet digging bruisingly into his back. In and out he goes, your cunt nothing more than a cocksleeve for him, and your wanton screams and mewls taking him further and further.

Enji all but laughs into your ear, his hand moving from pressing onto the tatami mat and pushing into your opened mouth, pressing onto your tongue. “Suck my fingers like a good whore, show me that you’re not gonna disappoint me. Suck my fingers.” you sob in the thought, not because you’re fearful of disappointing the man, but because the feeling of his fingers in your mouth makes your cunt throb ludicrously, your tongue desperately wrapping around the appendages, pushing through the space of his fingers. “I’m going to fill you up so good, breeding whore. You’ll be leaking my cum for days. I’m going to make sure you carry the Todoroki gene, and I hope that it’s my son you carry.”

The words incite clenching heat in your core, your lips unable to form anything but a weak, pitiful moan because the thought of being filled to the max with Todoroki cum makes your mind spin. More, you want to milk them all dry. You want nothing more than that. With a ragged breath, a consecutive full thrust that sends his cock slamming against your cervix, Enji cums fully within you. His load is long and heavy, your belly feeling like it’s bulging when he finally emerges from your cunt. His once hard cock limping in his hands while you lay there defeated, his and your intermixed cum spilling from your pulsing cunt.

Your mouth opened, sobbing at his absence, a need for him to return despite your core's undeniable tremor and ache. He’s off your body as well, and oxygen floods your lungs in dizzying and shallow pants, your vision fuzzies out, and you stare almost brokenly at the window painted with the rising morning sun.

Your room was in the east wing, after all.

You didn’t even protest when he pressed a smooth wooden plug into your cunt to “ensure you were bred to succession.”

He would soon leave your room, stumbling out with a drunken hiccup, leaving you to lay on a once white kimono… a once white kimono drenched in cum, blood, sweat, and tears.

You wouldn’t know until two weeks later, but Todoroki Enji had succeeded in breeding you, and you would eventually lay in a birthing room with blood and sweat and tears soaking your skin as a silent baby boy was placed in your arms.

“And what will his name be?” the midwife asked, her eyes wide with joy for you and Enji.

“...Shouto.”

#endeavor x reader #todoroki enji x reader #endeavor smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

"You didn't deserve that... You deserve so much better." for buckytony pls 🤓

thank you for sending one! it got kind of out of hand lol so here's 2.2k of breaking up and making up. hope you like it!

Tony loses track of what the fight is about fairly quickly. He knows it started with what seemed like playful bickering, the kind their relationship was practically built on, but somewhere along the way the jabs turned much more pointed. Barbed wire wrapped around them, until each one was like a knife wound.

The first real cut came from him, he knows. Bucky's witty comment hit a little too close to one of his hundred insecurities, and reflex made him return it with too much sharpness. He can't blame Bucky for reacting, but they're both to blame for letting it get this out of hand. That’s not something that matters in the moment, though.

In the moment, all that matters is the careless insults and merciless words they lob back and forth. They chip away at each other and their relationship until it’s crumbling around them, but even that doesn’t matter. It becomes secondary to getting in the last word and one-upmanship, like it’s a competition for who can hurt who the most that they both desperately want to win, consequences be damned.

“You know this is why people keep leaving you,” Bucky says. “At some point it should be pretty damn obvious that it's you, not them.”

Tony laughs bitterly because the only other choice is crying. “Cause you're a real fucking prize, right? Bet people are just lining up to date a guy they're barely allowed to touch. And God forbid you ever try to do something nice for him, because it'll never actually be right.”

“Better than a guy with daddy issues so severe it'll take him two years to even tell you he loves you. Don't bother saying it in the meantime to him either, because he'll run off to hide for a week after each time.”

“Well, you know what, I'll make it easy for you, then,” Tony says, backing away to grab his jacket. “You don't have to worry about me and all my issues anymore.”

He forcefully shoves his arms into the sleeves and grabs his keys from the hook by the door. Bucky watches with a clenched jaw and doesn't try to stop him, not even when he pauses to give him the chance.

“What are you waiting for? Go ahead and run off. Prove my point.”

Tony shakes his head, an ache already forming in his chest that he ignores. “I’m not proving your point, because this isn’t running. This is breaking up with you because you’re a fucking asshole.”

He lets the door slam shut behind him and speedwalks down the hall, repeatedly pushing the elevator button. It doesn’t come quickly enough, and he flings open the door to the stairwell to rush down them. His vision blurs dangerously, and he can hardly see where he’s going, but he doesn’t slow down. The tears come freely with no around to see, until he’s out on the sidewalk and violently swipes them away with the back of his hand. He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s walking, only on getting as far away as possible.

Where he ends up shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. It’s muscle memory to come here at this point, a walk so familiar he could do it in his sleep and still manage to avoid all the cracks and uneven parts on the sidewalk on the way.

He stands outside of Shield’s Bar, neon lights coloring his face blue and pink, and he contemplates going in. It’s a Thursday, which means Clint is working the bar until midnight. Natasha will be waiting tables, and Steve will come in to replace her at ten.

All Bucky’s friends. He won’t get any of them in the breakup.

Steve will be the first to turn his back on him with his unwavering loyalty to his best friend. Clint will follow next because he hates tension and it’s the easier side to take. Natasha will be last, and she’ll claim that she loves them both and choosing sides is childish and ridiculous. But she’ll go, too, eventually. When none of her other friends will be in the same room as him, and all of their usual hangout spots become off limits. It’ll grow awkward and uncomfortable until promises to meet up turn into vague excuses and texts spaced months apart.

But where does he have to go if it isn’t here?

Rhodey’s on base in California, and Pepper moved back to New York the second her business degree was done. Staying in Boston was never the plan, not until Bucky and his found family welcomed him into their lives and made it feel like home. Where is there to go if home isn’t an option anymore?

He stands there long enough that people start to whisper as they pass by. They must think he’s lost his mind, staring blankly at a brick wall and hardly blinking, but he doesn’t hear what they say. Doesn’t hear anything but his own thoughts running in circles, going from anger to regret to shame and back again.

He wonders if Bucky’s right. If he truly is the reason it never works out. He knows he’s too insecure and emotionally unavailable. He demands too much and gives too little in return and doesn’t know how to communicate.

He used to watch his parents fight, orbiting around each other with avoidance and unspoken words until the dams broke and silence turned to screams, and he would swear that he would be better. If he was lucky enough to be in love with someone and have them love him in return, he would understand just how rare and beautiful that is and never take it for granted.

Easier said than done. Harder to face the fact that sometimes his words sound exactly like his father’s once did and sometimes he feels like his mother when he quietly lets himself be walked on and overlooked. The worst of both of them is tangled up inside of him, and it always kills whatever he touches.

Natasha finds him there eventually. She opens the door roughly, with intention that falters momentarily before she asks, “Do you plan on coming in at some point or are you staying out here all night?”

“I should probably go,” he says, quietly enough that it’s nearly lost to the wind.

Natasha watches him for a long moment, then steps out of the doorway to take his hand. She leads him over to an empty booth and slides into the opposite side.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

She shrugs, “Steve will be here in a few minutes. No one’s going to die if they have to wait for their beer.”

Silence stretches on, and he stares down at his hands on the table. It’s warmer inside the bar, and he doesn’t realize that the cold has turned his fingers numb until they begin to unthaw.

“People coming in here were talking about some guy loitering outside. Some were saying he looked sad, some said lost. A few less optimistic people voted for strung out on drugs, but I think it’s safe to rule that one out now. Same with lost, seeing as you’ve been here a thousand times. That leaves sad, which means you had a fight with Bucky, and you didn’t come in, which means you think it’s your fault. Am I right so far?”

Tony nods, hanging his head low, and she continues to ask, “Do you want to talk about it or drink about it?”

“We broke up,” Tony mumbles. “I did it.”

She takes a long breath, and her hand is warm when it slips back into his. “Are you planning on fixing it?”

“Not sure it’s fixable. I said some things, he said some things. Can’t really take any of it back now.”

“People say things they don’t mean all the time. Doesn’t make it unforgivable.”

He shrugs like his heart isn’t broken. “Maybe it’s better off this way.”

Natasha sighs, “Tony.”

“What?”

“Go home.”

“Pretty sure I don’t have one of those anymore.”

“Of course you do,” she says softly. “I promise you that he wants you to come back.”

Tony shakes his head. “You weren’t there, Nat. You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened to know that he wants you to come home. If he feels even half as terrible as you look, he wants you. Just because you broke up doesn’t mean it’s over. It’s only over if you don’t go back.”

Tony bites his lip to keep it from quivering, and he asks, “What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Well, it can’t exactly make things worse, can it?”

He huffs a humorless laugh, “I guess not.”

Natasha slides out of the booth, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go home before he comes out looking for you, and text me in the morning to tell me I was right.”

She walks away, greeting Steve as he comes in, and Tony lingers there for another minute before getting up. He waves to them both on his way out and tries not to think about what she’ll tell Steve about his reason for being there.

The walk back to his and Bucky’s apartment seems quicker than the walk away from it, and Tony resents it for not giving him more time.

He takes the stairs again and hesitates outside the door, what ifs overwhelming his mind. What if he walks in and all of his things are packed up for him? What if Bucky isn’t even there or all of his belongings are gone instead? What if he can’t fix it and this is where it really ends? He doesn’t know if he could recover from that.

Turning the key in the lock, he opens the door slowly and holds his breath in trepidation.

Nothing looks different. No packed boxes, no smashed picture frames, no sign that anything ever went wrong.

Bucky is on the couch, curled into the corner with his legs held tight to his chest, and he doesn’t seem to notice that he isn’t alone anymore. It’s painfully quiet, and the single light that was on before isn’t enough now that it's grown darker outside, but he hasn’t turned any others on.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says into the silence. It’s as good a place as any to start. “You didn't deserve that. Any of it. The whole stupid thing. You deserve so much better. I should be better at this, but I’ve done a real shit job of it lately, I think. Maybe not even lately. Maybe I’ve been a terrible boyfriend the whole time, and in that case you should probably tell me to go and not come back, but I’d like to think there were at least moments where I was sort of okay, and I’d like to try to be more than just okay if you’ll let me.”

Bucky stares at him, lips parted and red-rimmed eyes unblinking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tony freezes, unsure of how to answer that, and Bucky unfolds himself to walk over and stand in front of him.

“You broke up with me,” Bucky says.

“Yes, but I -”

“No,” he interrupts. “You broke up with me.”

Tony frowns in confusion and slowly says again, “Yes.”

“That means I do the grovelling here, because I fucked it up. I beg for the second chance, because I crossed the line so far that you left. And I did it on purpose, too, because I had a shit day so I pushed until you pushed back,” Bucky explains. “And apparently I did such a good job being horrible to you that you think it’s your fault.”

Tony tries to process that, but it’s taking some time to work through. A complete turn around on his thoughts that almost makes him dizzy.

“Why did you have a shit day? What happened?”

“Is that really what you’re focusing on in all of that?” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief and runs a hand through his hair. “God, it’s you that deserves better. That’s what I’m telling you here. You were right to leave, and I should be the one telling you I’m sorry.”

“You had a bad day and took it out on me. How many times have I done the same to you? You never once left.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Tony agrees. He reaches for one of Bucky’s hands, because he needs the contact and has a feeling that Bucky does too. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not worth working on. I meant what I said about wanting to be better for you.”

Bucky nods, looking down at their joined hands. “I want to be better for you, too. How do we do that?”

“A lot of talking about our feelings, probably.”

Bucky pulls a face. “God, that sounds terrible.”

Tony laughs, taking his other hand to pull him in closer, “Yeah, it does, but we’ll get better at it eventually.”

“Can we start tomorrow?” Bucky asks. He leans down to rest his forehead against Tony’s. “I’d really like to just hold you tonight.”

“Yeah, baby,” Tony murmurs. “Hold me tonight. It’ll be better in the morning.”

#buckytony #winteriron #my fic #my writing #prompts #prompt fill #warmachinesocks

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moonlightchildz · 3 years

Text

Knocking on heaven’s door

warning: spoilers for season one of aot!!!

credit: tiktok - @ bogm.cax

so this is my take in season 1, after mikasa finds out eren is dead. i saw this beautiful edit of it and was deeply inspired and this is what flowed out. now to endure more pain for season 4 :(

also listen to can’t handle change - roar (slowed)

the day death catches up to eren jaeger, is the day mikasa ackerman starts knocking on heaven’s door.

At first, she doesn’t realize this feeling at first. This gnawing feeling of hysteria and desperation slipping off her fingertips. All she knows is that eren, her eren, is no longer breathing anymore. Time seems to have slowed down to the point where she could only watch Armin deliver the blowing news. She counted just how many times he tried to form a coherent sentence as his eyes welled up in tears. His sobs were heart wrenching to watch but to feel?

She couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Eren...is gone.

Those cerulean eyes that she loves so dearly won’t be brimming with such defiance and fervor to keep on fighting no matter what anymore. Correction, loved. She doesn’t feel it as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, or even as her burning throat clogs up to the point she keeps swallowing back her pleads of ignoring the truth.

she doesn’t dare to acknowledge it, not even when her chest heaves drastically and she’s gasping to breathe. not even as her trembling fingers struggle to grasp her sword, or as her knees buckle beneath her to the point she can no longer stand still. her shaking hands tug at her hair as words, cries, or something trapped inside of her tries to desperately rip out of her.

all she can think is just how much it hurts to breathe at the moment. her mind is telling her to slow down, but her heart is racing against time, trying to beat past it so she won’t have to deal with a world without eren jaeger. but it hurts so fucking much. It hurts to still be alive and be incapable of rewinding time to just hear his voice one last time. To say everything she had kept inside her silenced body. To reach out to his fingers and grasp his hand, and never let go.

to demonstrate just how much love she was capable of giving to the boy with the world within his eyes. the boy who saved her when she lifelessly stared at death with no hope to her name. he had given her the will to fight so now what can she do? what’s there to do? carla first, and now eren too. a small whimper emits from her quivering lips, her chest tightening as she recalls what carla had asked her to do. to protect eren no matter what and look at where she is now.

she’s alive physically, that she can say with utmost confidence. the numbing in her brain says otherwise though. it’s already starting to shut her down and she’s thinking why? just why?

“WHY?” she roars out in desperation, slamming her fist into the brick wall. tears are clogging her throat and she swears she can’t feel her hand slam full fist repeatedly against the wall. as if she’s trying to convince herself if she’s human right now. blood splatters on her clothes and she curls her fingers into her palm, digging her nails until she’s blinking rapidly.

She has charged to her death. Sending everyone to their pending doom and now she’s cornered, lost, and not able to comprehend just how everything had turned to shit in an instant. There’s blood in her hands and she’s lifelessly staring at what’s in front of her, thinking about a few moments ago. After all, she was just listening to sasha enthusiastically blabber on about sharing the meat she had stolen with everyone, claiming that they’ll be more once they step foot outside the walls. Spirits had been lifted automatically and it was all smiles and laughter.

And then, and then, they dared turn right into death’s door. she swore it was just her imagination, but the moment eren charged forward she knew it wasn’t. she watched as eren threw himself forward, leaving everyone in mere horror and shock as they faced what seemed to be the colossal titan. her heart had lurched forward, clawing at her, as it mocked them right in their own home again.

she didn’t even have time to process it all as her dark gaze spots the titan heading her way now. great, is this is where I die now? watching the enemy advance it’s way towards me and I just stare at it?

she’s all burnt out.

is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Devoting and losing yourself entirely for the purpose of love? Of giving yourself fully to someone who took everything in its wake and is now dead? a sob emits from her quivering lips. all she can remember is the way eren so gently had wrapped the red scarf around her neck. those ocean blue eyes had promised to keep her safe, to keep coming back to wrap the scarf around her neck as many times because he would fight until the ends of the earth.

If she had known she would be last seeing his smile, she would have done everything in her to prevent just that. she would have stood in front of him and armin, to devote herself to the people she loved the most in the world. because those two souls had kept her steady from floating away into the depths of hell that were awaiting for her. she remembers their faces, how these two would animatedly talk to each other for hours and she would be content in just listening to them.

in those moments she had felt so alive.

“if we don’t fight, we can’t win, mikasa.”

but despite as her gaze landed at death itself, the love within her that he had ingrained into her managed to be restored enough to wince once she clenched her remaining sword. blood dripped on the ground, following her as she straightened her back. all she could see was eren telling her to stop being a pussy and to do something about it. even if she died, she would not stand to go without fighting for the people that she has lost and will keep losing.

her duty as a soldier, as a friend, and as family was to restore their memories before she soon joined them.

Fight.

fight, mikasa.

FIGHT.

Give it your all and it will be enough.

And as she launched forward, roaring in defiance, something from behind her sends her flying from the impact. The concrete she lands on causes her to sprawl uncomfortably, her head banging against it to the point she seems to be imagining the following events.

“fuck,” she groaned out, trying to blink away the dark spots that had clouded her vision. her steady hands were trying to find her sword, or anything really at this point. she grasps it, starts getting on her knees with all her might, and then life itself blooms within her.

A large foot slams against the concrete, splitting it in half as she watches in astoundment. Her wide eyes glimmer as her quivering lips remain opened. Is that...a titan? There’s a loud roar echoing of it and she can feel the intense pain and vile hatred radiating from it as it pounds on to the incoming titan that was about to end her life right there. Glowing electric green eyes stare her down and all she can do is stare back with a dumbstruck expression.

why...why wasn’t it going towards her? and why did it ignore her? but more importantly just why in the fuck was it fighting back? She watched as it angrily stomped on their face over and over and over again, blood splattering everywhere. It’s running towards another one and she swears she doesn’t feel a pair of hands grab her, shaking her out of her trance. why was it pulling her towards that thing? why couldn’t she keep her eyes off it? The resilience within her flares up like a flame, spreading throughout her body and engulfing her to the point she feels fire within her fingertips.

she’s burning once again.

The next form of events blur by but she’s fighting now. She’s fighting for her freedom, for her life, for everyone, and for the boy she will have to bid goodbye to once this was all over. However, she wonders if she could just follow alongside. If her time could come and she’d be happy to let go and stop breathing. her heart and mind are set in dying. she knew this life was not promised. that it wasn’t going to be always and forever, but beside him? life had felt eternal, endless, and full of promise.

However she’s keen on watching the abnormal titan fight against each titan coming their way. She’s acting on impulse at some point, trying to prove to herself that she wasn’t going crazy because she felt as if there was someone controlling that thing. there’s no way the hatred it spilled of it could be mindless.

And then, and then, she notices something strange. there’s something ripping out of the back of its nape. is that a figure? her body reacts before her mind can recollect her thoughts because she knows that silhouette anywhere. her finger could trace every inch and curve without a doubt and she’d pinpoint those eyes anywhere. those ocean blue eyes that open briefly, but that is more than enough for her to act on her own will.

she’s there in time to catch him in her arms as he is being ejected from the nape of the titan that she watched save her from death. she’s there to wrap her arms around him, and feel his heart beat against his chest. and then she feels the tears spill down her cheeks, her blurry eyesight hindering the military armed men who are all pointing their weapons at the two, no three of them. tears are covering eren’s face but they’re not his and armin is there to prove that she’s not dreaming anything.

in that moment mikasa notices two things. one, is that not everything is as it seems and two, even if they were all born to die these two heartbeats, these two souls, would become one to fight and bite back against knocking on heaven’s door now. she figured she was meant to die, but not by the hands of her own people. no, she was going to die when she decides that herself. when she believes it’s suitable enough to leave this world with her memories of eren jaeger, armin alert, and mikasa ackerman.

but as her and armin acknowledge each other with eren in her arms, she knows it’s not time yet.

That’s how it had started and that’s how it would end.

#aot #eren headcanons #eren x mikasa #attack on titan #aot final season #aot anime #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #angst #aot angst #aot headcanons #aot imagines #eren mikasa armin #snk #snk fandom #snk manga #snk fanfiction #mikasa headcanons

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kaitycole · 4 years

Text

Barely Breathing

Summary: Liam continues to process and learn more about his mother, Eleanor

Word Count: 2521

Pairings: Drake x Riley, Constantine x Eleanor

Warnings: N/A

Part 10 of WP. To catch up read here.

Tag List: @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @bobasheebaby @bascmve01 @burnsoslow @the-everlasting-dream @ao719 @sirbeepsalot @janezillow @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5 @choices97 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite@lodberg @edgiestwinter @marshmallowsandfire @hopefulmoonobject

**I don’t own the characters, just borrowing them**

“No.” Liam’s voice doesn’t raise above a whisper. He shakes his head repeatedly as if what he’s just read will change.

Panic fills his lungs with each breath as his chest tightens up. He presses his palms firmly into his desk as he stands up and walks over to his bookshelf. An entire shelf was dedicated to his mother; her favorite books, books she had read to him, framed photographs, her journals. His fingers gently grazed the spines of the books before he picked each one off the shelf one by one and threw them as hard as he could across the room.

He knew it would only be moments before guards burst into the room to check on him, he was surprised they weren’t already there. Book by book slammed against the walls of the office before he turned his attention to the photographs. Without hesitation, they too were smashed into the walls; glass shattering on impact and scattering across the wooden floor.

He wanted no reminders of his mother in the palace and soon stormed out and practically ran to the grand hall. Several guards tail him, but he just waves them off. He is on a mission now. Each step causes him to walk pass an oil painting of a previous ruler of Cordonia; each king and queen hung on this wall. Finally, he stopped in front of his mother’s: Queen Eleanor Rys. The commoner queen from Auvernese. Kindhearted Eleanor.

For months after her death, Liam could be found at this portrait. Sometimes he could be found sitting there reading one of the books she’d read him, but more times than not, he’d be found asleep, having cried himself to sleep.

But today, today he stands in front of this portrait and feels anger. He wraps his fingers around the frame and tries to rip it off the wall. For several minutes, Liam pulls and tugs at the painting trying to remove it from the wall.

“If she didn’t want to be Queen, Cordonia doesn’t need a reminder of her.”

“Your Majesty?” A guard slowly approaches the king.

“Have this taken down.” He walks pass him, “NOW!”

“Liam, honey.” Her voice is full of sleep which causes him to turn his neck in her direction. He looks down at his watch: 3:45 am and then back at Olivia, who is pulling the belt of her robe tighter.

He doesn’t answer her, he doesn’t know what to say to her. He doesn’t even think his voice would work if he tried; his throat burns from screaming at the night sky.

She takes a seat next to him on the bench near the garden that saw his wrath earlier that day. It’s not until he turns to look at her, just inches apart, that she can truly see his face. He’s paler than usual, black circles line his red, puffy eyes and he looks exhausted.

Something is said, but it’s too low for her to hear and when he repeats it, she watches the man she loves, completely shatter.

“She’s gone, Liv.” He starts crying, “She died three years ago.” He sinks to his knees in front of her, placing his head on her lap before letting, all the pain he’s ever felt, out.

----

Liam grips tightly to the side of his mother’s dress as they walk through the palace courtyard. It was one of the last days of autumn, the coldness slowly creeping into the air which meant the days of Liam and Momma adventures were winding down.

He looks up at her and smiles, he loves his momma. She’s was his favorite person and tied for his best friend with Drake. Lately she seems to be busier than usual, but Liam didn’t mind because she always made it up to him. She even snuck Leo and him into a restaurant so the three of them could enjoy a nice meal without the press a few days ago. And now they were going somewhere special on the palace grounds.

Eleanor looks at Liam who is beaming with happiness and her heart melts. Before she thought maybe he was missing out on having younger siblings since her and Constantine didn’t have any after him, but seeing him like this, he seemed perfectly content. Maybe Drake was what she hadn’t been able to give him, either way, she was happy that he had someone to lean on when she couldn’t be there.

“What’s this, momma!” Liam runs over to the brick structure before leaning over the side.

“Liam!” Eleanor sprints over there and pulls him back. Her heart beating out of her chest.

“Momma, did I do a bad thing?”

She looks down at him, his bottom lip poked out and trembling as tears pool in his bright blue eyes, “No, sweet boy. You just have to be more careful. You could’ve fell in.”

“I’m sorry Momma!” He throws his arms around her and she pulls him close to her.

“I know, baby.” She kisses the top of his head, “Wanna see what it is now?”

He nods, but keeps his head buried in her chest. She holds him for a little longer before they both stand up.

“This is a wishing well. You come here, make a wish and drop in a coin.”

“Does the wish come true?”

“Legend has it that they do.” She smiles at him as he looks at her with wide eyes.

“Momma, do you have a coin I could borrow?”

Smiling, she pulls two out of her coin purse and places one in his hand, “One for you and one for me.”

“You go first Momma. I want to make sure I do it right.”

Eleanor chuckles before closing her eyes for a moment and then flicks the coin off her thumb and they both watch as it falls down the well.

“You didn’t say your wish, Momma!” Liam whines.

“If you say them aloud, they don’t come true, silly.”

Liam straightens up his posture and holds the coin firm in his hand. He racks his brain, trying to come up with a wish. He could wish that Drake and him would be friends forever. Or that his dad would start treating Olivia better. Then it finally dawned on him what he should wish for and then he gently tosses the coin into the well.

“You want to tell me your wish?” Eleanor teases.

“No, Momma! I want it to come true!” He stomps his foot down, determined for it to come true.

“Okay, okay, sweet boy.” She reaches for his hand, “Let’s head back to the palace.”

* *

The sun shines on his face, the warmth wakes him up as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. His head is heavy and throat sore from his meltdown last night. He rolls over, finally opening his eyes to see red.

“Liv?” Liam is completely confused.

She slowly wakes up, having fallen asleep kneeling by the side of Liam’s bed. Olivia tries to stand up but the stiffness in her knees cause her to stumble; Liam lunges forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her on the bed.

“What were you doing on the floor?”

“I planned on leaving once you fell asleep, but I must’ve been more exhausted than I thought.” She runs her hands through her hair, trying to tame it.

“Uhh,” Liam rubs the back of his neck, “There’s another half of the bed.”

Her face turns red, partially from his comment and the fact that his shirtless. And while she’s seen him shirtless before, she feels more vulnerable in this moment; plus, she knows now is not the time for such thoughts.

“I didn’t want to cause any rumors or cast shade on your reputation.”

“My reputation? How would my reputation look if people found out you slept on my floor?” He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I…Well…I’m sorry.” She drops her head down, completely embarrassed, “Sometimes it gets hard to friends with the king.”

Liam’s face drops, growing up titles didn’t hold much value to them, a title was a title in the eyes of a child. Maxwell, Bertrand, Leo, Madeleine, and Olivia all had titles and they just really shrugged at them. Well maybe not Madeleine. Even the fact Drake and Savannah didn’t have one, never mattered when they were children.

“Oh. I guess I never realized how much my title changed and how that changed our dynamic.” When Liam assumed the role of Crown Prince and then King, he took it in stride. He had never taken the time to think how his personal relationship had been changed.

“No, it’s just…” she sighs, “It’s hard sometimes to walk the line of Liam and the king. With just Liam, staying the night wouldn’t be an issue, we’ve been friends since childhood. But as the king, an unwed king, it’s a huge issue and inappropriate.”

“I’m sorry I put you in a compromised situation, Liv.” He begins to kick himself all over again when his father’s words ring in his mind: Kings don’t express emotions. Kings stay firm and strong. Him telling Olivia he didn’t want to be alone was him allowing his emotions to be in control of him once again.

“Don’t be,” She smiles at him, “Last night you didn’t need to be a king, you needed to be a human. A grieving son mourning the loss of your mother. I understood that.”

He presses his lips to her temple, a gesture he’s done several times before, “Liv, I don’t think I’d be able to function without you.”

She watches him walk to his bathroom suite before she turns her attention to her thoughts. Ever since Liam told her that the deaths of Eleanor and Jackson were faked, she felt she was holding her breath. She wanted to be there for Liam, to stay clear headed, but then last night happened and she learned Eleanor had actually passed.

However, Olivia wasn’t exactly sure what to think, while she didn’t think lowly of Queen Eleanor, she also didn’t hold her in such high regard as Liam did. Most of her childhood, Olivia was made to feel unwanted, like damaged goods and a stain of the fabric of nobility, but Eleanor never treated her that way. She took her in and tried as hard as she could to hold her close to her side, but Constantine would only allow a Nevrakis so close to the throne.

Part of her was almost happy that there was news Eleanor could be alive, she had lost one mother, losing Eleanor hurt just as badly. Though now, that hope was gone and if it crushed her as badly as it had, she couldn’t fathom what Liam felt.

* *

“That’ll be all, Bastien.” Liam nods as Bastien bows and exits his office. It has been a little over two weeks since Liam had finished reading the files; since the night that Olivia had stayed with him through the night.

He thought maybe there was something between them, that their long-lasting childhood friendship would blossom into romance. A Nevrakis as the queen, Liam chuckled at the idea of his father rolling over in his grave. But once the initial haze of events blew over, he realizes that Olivia someone who should stay in his inner circle, not directly by his side. It was his need to cling to something constant, something that reminded him that his childhood wasn’t just a bunch of lies.

Before returning to Lythikos, Olivia expressed her concern and hesitation on him going to Montana to talk to Jackson. She made several points on how she didn’t think he would find the answers he was searching for, that what Jackson told him might not bring him the peace he wanted and that it could even backfire. While he wanted to side with her, to see where her concerns laid, he knew that he had to go. If anything, he needed to put a person to what he’s discovered instead of a fuzzy memory from years ago.

* *

The next week is a long and tiresome game of phone tag between Liam and Drake; between Liam being on a business trip and Drake spending more time at the Walker Ranch, they missed each other’s calls frequently.

It isn’t until Liam has gotten back to the palace that he finally answers the phone when Drake calls.

“I was beginning to think you ghosted me.”

Liam laughs, “I’ll schedule diplomatic matters around your calls from here on out then.”

“How did the trip go?”

He rolls his eyes, “The country’s business part went fine, I gained enough support to pass the bill. It went downhill when my personal business was then discussed.”

“Uh oh. This sounds bad.”

“I was presented suitors. My father was unwed for way longer than three years when my mother…” He stops, he’s not sure what to say. When his mother died? When she ran off?

Drake catches on, “It was like ten years or so wasn’t it? Until he married Regina?”

“Exactly. Three isn’t that long.” Liam shakes his head, annoyed.

“But he did have two heirs,” Drake pauses, “Just saying.”

Liam sighs, “Maybe I’ll just name your child as my heir, get them off my back.”

Drake freezes, “What!? You can’t do that. That’s insane!” He continues rambling until Liam’s laughter causes him to stop.

“I’m kidding, that wouldn’t make any sense. Then what would happen to my first born?” Liam is still laughing, “Plus you hate nobility, there’s no way you’d allow it.”

“And the court says I’m the bad influence.”

“Anyway, the reason I’ve been calling isn’t just to give you a heart attack. I want to come to Montana.”

Drake slowly processes Liam’s words. They had the space to accommodate him staying for a few days and Riley would love to see Liam again, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the two worlds to collide. He and his dad had just started talking more often and he wasn’t sure he was ready to open that part of his world up to Liam.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I just want to hear Jackson’s side. I have questions too. I have things I want to lay to rest with this whole situation.”

“Yeah, I understand. Does next week work? Just so I have time to tell Dad and Riley.”

“Of course. Just let me know and I’ll have Bastien take care of the arrangements.”

* *

“Everything is in order, sir. Whenever you’re ready, we can leave.”

“Maybe I should stay here.” He lets out a sigh, “I mean what can Jackson really tell me, he’s not my mother.”

“No, but he was a part of her life and does have insight that could help.”

“What if…what if her life was better? Better without me?”

“Sir, I watched Queen Eleanor with you, there’s no world where her life was better without you. Don’t forget that you were everything to her.”

“That used to be easy to remember, nowadays, not so much.”

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dylanxsong · 3 years

Text

the looking glass | dark mirror: self para

The city seemed to have descended into chaos when the inhabitant’s doppelgängers started appearing. No one knew where they had come from, only that they were almost the diametric opposites of their original persons. Dylan would have thought that he would be used to whatever Covaire could throw at him given how he has lived in the city his entire life, but this was a new one -- a very new one.

On the day Dylan met his doppelgänger, he had been heading back to the Chateau. His client, a werewolf, had been kindly walking him back amidst the chaos when the man was suddenly pounced on by a vampire who looked just like him and Dylan watched in abject fascination and horror as they tore each other apart right in front of him.

The fighting got vicious and as the scent of their combined blood filled the air, there was something inside Dylan that told him to back away and he listened to those instincts and ducked into a nearby alley to seek cover. It was not long after that he felt someone lunge at him to pin him face-first against the grimy brick wall. What felt like long sharp nails closed around Dylan’s head to dig painfully into his scalp as a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

“As I expected, Dylan. It’s just like you to hide like a pathetic coward. You’ve always wanted to die, haven’t you? Well, you’re in luck, because that’s what I’m here for,” the voice breathed in amusement and that hand pulled the prisoner’s head away from the wall and slammed it against the hard surface with enough strength to daze him. Dylan yelled out in pain, his leg kicking backwards in an attempt to land one on his attacker, someone who seemed to know him as he repeatedly smashed his head into the wall with clear intent. A small voice in the prisoner’s mind was telling him that this was it given what Covaire was going through and he needed to fight his doppelgänger and live.

Dylan’s continued struggling and kicking finally paid off when his shoe came in hard contact with the other person’s shin and his attacker hissed and let him go, allowing the prisoner to stumble to the side. His hand came up to his bleeding head as he looked up at his mirror self. The other Dylan would have looked exactly like him had he not been dressed to the nines and carried himself in a way that spoke of a self-assurance that Dylan himself did not possess. He was also a vampire.

Dylan mumbled something under his breath to his lookalike as he shook his head of the dizziness he was feeling and he watched as his vampiric self straightened up to turn a withering glare in his direction. “Speak up, Dylan. You have your words for a reason,” he said almost as if he were bored. It was really strange seeing someone with his face carry himself in such a manner.

“’...a pathetic coward...” Dylan said again as he lowered his hand from his forehead. He seemed mostly clear of that feeling of dizziness and he could feel the wolf inside him raring to attack.

“Louder, Dylan,” his lookalike taunted as he started circling him like a predator, which only caused Dylan’s anxiety and anger to grow.

“I said I’m not a pathetic coward,” the prisoner growled, his lip curling as he felt his hands turn themselves into sharp claws.

“I guess there was some effort there,” his vampiric doppelgänger laughed and turned his nose up at him as if he were looking at a small child. “But no. You’ll always be a pathetic coward. Trust me. I would know.”

Another low growl sounded in Dylan’s throat as his face twisted itself into something else, an expression he rarely would have allowed himself given his station in the city. The wolf lunged at the other man, no finesse in his movements as he moved on pure instinct, claws outstretched as he jumped on his lookalike. The vampire had anticipated it and stepped to the side and struck, making quick work of subduing Dylan by shoving him down onto the ground, a pristine black boot pressing down against his throat.

“Like I said. Pathetic,” he said and applied more pressure to cause Dylan’s vision to blur. “This was too easy.”

No. He was not going to go down like this!

The wolf struggled, his clawed hands trying to shove the offending foot off, but with each breath he tried to take, the more difficult it became and everything eventually turned black.

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

When Dylan blinked his eyes open after God only knew how much time had passed, he found himself standing in that same alley. The smell of blood was strong in his senses and aches and what felt like a broken but swiftly healing wrist started to make themselves known in his body. It felt like he had been put through the wringer a few times. The wolf blinked and took in a few breaths to calm himself as his fingers attempted to curl into fists. It was then that Dylan realised he was holding something wet and sticky in his hand and he brought it up to his face.

“What the fuck?!” the wolf shouted as he dropped it and jumped back as a bloodied heart fell to the ground and rolled to a stop.

Dylan’s head whipped around to look for the vampire lookalike he now remembered had been attacking him and he found the other Dylan lying further down the alley. There was no mistaking where the heart had come from.

He had killed a man.

He had killed himself.

There was something strangely ironic about it given Dylan’s state of mind just a few months ago.

The wolf was frozen to the spot, torn between running out of the alley and going to inspect his doppelgänger’s dead body. His morbid curiosity won out and Dylan found himself standing over the vampire whose chest bore a fist-shaped hole right over where his heart would have been. It was pretty fucked up looking down at a dead version of himself knowing that he had caused it, but Dylan would think on the psychological ramifications of this later. He knelt down next to his dead lookalike and reached out to use his fingers to close those eyes that had been staring out into nothing. He needed some form of dignity at least, Dylan thought as he stripped the body of its miraculously still-clean jacket to replace his own bloodied prisoner garb and tried to clean himself up as much as possible before leaving.

Outside on the street lay the dead body of the werewolf client from earlier and the only thought that ran through Dylan’s mind was that he was going to get in trouble if someone found a prisoner wandering the city streets alone. He immediately turned and started running in the direction of the Chateau.

When he reached his prison home, the guards took one look at him with raised eyebrows and Dylan explained that his client liked things a bit rough and gave him some new clothes as a reward. It was pretty easy to convince them of his lie and they let him back into his cell. He gratefully entered his small safe space and shrugged off the jacket which he tossed into a corner before huddling himself onto his small uncomfortable cot. He was shaking with what he could only describe as adrenaline as he replayed the encounter in the alleyway over and over in his mind.

It was going to be a long night...

#event;; dark mirror #;;self para #( this became really long but i did it x_X )#( thank you so much for your patience admins T_T )#ccitysolo

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helaintoloki · 4 years

Text

You

pairing: Arthur Fleck x reader, some Joker x reader

warnings: dark themes, kidnapping, some violence, angst

notes: the part two you guys asked for :)

part one

Kidnapping you had not been easy for Arthur. It wasn’t the execution of the plan itself, but the guilt of ripping you away from all that you loved that ate at his conscience. He had to tell himself repeatedly that it was for your own good, that this had to be done in order for you both to take the next step in your imaginary relationship.

He followed you home as usual, hoodie pulled up over his face and eyes casted downward to avoid the suspicious gazes of passing pedestrians. For once he was grateful for Gotham’s citizens lack of action in grave situations.

Arthur corners you, pace quickening as he follows you through the alleyway; it was the shortcut you always took when your feet were aching and your body was tired and you couldn’t wait a second longer to get home.

An arm wraps around your waist and a hand slaps itself harshly over your mouth. You kick and you struggle and you try to scream, but then you’re being slammed against the brick wall and suddenly everything is black.

~~~

You wake up on a concrete floor in a dark room, cold and exhausted and dizzy. Your body is stiff, your head aches, and you can’t remember what you last did or where you are now.

“Hello?” You call, and your voice is music to Arthur’s ears. His heart is pounding in his chest, fingers twitching at his side as he holds back from pouncing on you then and there. He doesn’t want to scare you, not yet at least. Joker will scare you even if he doesn’t mean to because everyone knows who he is and what he’s done. You know. He knew because he had watched you watch the news from your bedroom, the horrified look on your face clear as you watched the footage of Murray Franklin’s execution by his hand. You look so pretty when you cry.

You try to stand, but the drugs are still in your system and the room is spinning too fast for your liking. He watches you collapse like a wounded animal and his heart aches for you. Poor baby. They’ll wear off soon, my love. Don’t you worry.

“Help!” You cry out. You’re afraid now, you think something is wrong.

“You’re safe,” he says, stepping away from the shadows. You don’t know that it’s Arthur. You’re too paralyzed with fear to realize it’s Arthur because all you see is Joker, and now you really are afraid.

“Please, let me go,” you immediately begin to plead, tears welling in your eyes. “I-I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I want you, sweetheart,” Joker coos gently, kneeling before you and cupping your trembling face in his hands. “I did this for you, for us. So we can be together.”

“I don’t know you,” you insist, “you must have me mistaken for someone else.”

“I know you, y/n,” he comforts, and all color drains from your face. He knows your name, and he knows you. This isn’t a mistake. You begin to sob.

“Don’t hurt me,” you weep, and Arthur is offended that you think him capable of such a thing. Him? Hurt you? That’s impossible.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Arthur explains quickly, tone impatient and hurt. “I just... I just couldn’t wait any longer.” He pauses then, smiles. “They say love makes you crazy.”

You curl yourself up back against the corner of the wall, tears falling freely. You’re so pretty when you cry. You don’t fight or scream because you know you’ll only be wasting important energy. You’re smart and calculating, already trying to form some sort of plan for escape. You poor thing, he thinks. If only you knew. There is no escaping love, and there is no escaping Arthur Joker.

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #joker #joker x reader #arthur fleck imagine #joker imagine #joker 2019 #angst #joaquin phoenix

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statticscribbles · 3 years

Text

Relocation

Summary: Sweet Pea,/Archie- Family Bonding Request: Sweet Pea and Archie become step brothers and learn to work out their differences as well as getting along with and defending each other against enemies. Tw: underage drinking

To Fred Andrews credit he doesn’t panic when FP and Jughead show up at one am rambling about Hiram’s plan to buy out the Southside. He waits, until they’d been fed, and are sleeping to call Mary at three thirty and panic to her. She assures him that it’ll sort itself out and that he should focus on not altering Hiram or anyone outside of the Serpent’s about what is happening. It takes her three hours to find a flight. It takes Sheriff Keller an hour to bring the Serpent kids in.

Toni’s let go within the first ten minutes, it takes them half an hour to release Fangs. Sweet Pea’s told he’ll be spending his night there. Sheriff Keller watches as Archie and Fred hang around slightly too long. “You two need to clear out and; hey Mary, just telling Fred and Archie that y’all need to clear out so;“ “I’m Sweet Pea’s lawyer.” Sheriff Keller sighs and shakes his head. “Alright, follow me.” “I know you don’t want to do this Tom.” He nods shrugging. “It’s what I was told to do, the mayor, and Hiram-“ “I know. It’s not your fault.” ———————————————————————–

Archie’s not upset with his dad; he doesn’t care that much, Sweet Pea had slept over more days that he wasn’t and Fred has casually mentioned that since Sweet Pea was emancipated it really didn’t need to be anything official: of course Mary refused anything else when Sweet Pea mentioned it while she was visiting. “Come on it’ll be funny, you know those cute little family photos.” She tries to angle it like that and Sweet pea shrugs Archie however seems upset on his behalf. “That you do for kids when they get adopted?” “You’re seventeen, we’re doing it.” Sweet Pea doesn’t say anything against it; sitting holding the chalkboard sign Mary had written for him. Archie can’t help but laugh and it quickly turns to annoyance when she makes Archie join him. “Look at it this way, we could have gotten matching outfits.” Fred chimes in and they both look horrified.

———————————————————————————– Sweet Pea glares from over the beer he’d pulled from the fridge. “Here.” He shoves an open one into Archie’s hands before he can say anything. “Now you’re an accomplice. Can’t rat me out.” “I don’t give a shit about rattin’ you out, you know that right? All that does is put more stress on dad which I’d like to avoid.” “Well if you weren’t such a stuck up Northsider then-“

“I’m not. You’d know that if you actually hung out with me, or listened to Jughead.” Archie snaps. Sweet Pea doesn’t say anything taking anther drink from his beer. “I don’t like this anymore than you do-“ “So go back to the Southside, you know no one will give a shit. Go back to your trailer where you can exist however you want and not have to deal with me pissing you off for being a Northsider.” “I can’t.” “Yes you can; it’ll be-“

“Sheriff Keller said if he saw me back on the Southside he’d lock me up, considered it trespassing or some bullshit; so I’m stuck, on the Northside.” Archie stays quiet swallowing. “Yeah, so believe me; if I could I’d go back in a heartbeat; but I’d rather not get thrown in Hiram’s prison.” Archie nods. “Sorry; I didn’t realize-“ “No you didn’t ask. If you actually asked I would have said something.” “Would you? Really? I don’t exactly pin you as the most talkative of the group; you’re the big brooding silent type.” “And you’re the dumbass jock; see we can play the cliché game all you want; doesn’t change where we are now.” Sweet Pea finishes his beer nodding to Archie as he passes him to go to the garage. “Sweet Pea; listen, just; you can talk to me if you need.” Archie smiles and Sweet Pea smirks back. “I know; I just did.”

Things seem easier after that, despite both of them getting chewed out by Fred, Mary assuring them she’s just happy they drank at home instead of out where someone could have seen. They eat dinner together and seem content to argue mindlessly about movies and video games. Archie scream as Sweet Pea for eating pineapple on his pizza and Sweet Pea screams back how Archie wouldn’t know a good comic book if it was printed on his face. Overall they seem to reach a content middle; they wait at least a week before telling everyone outside of the Serpent that Sweet Pea moved. Betty pretends to be shocked, both Jughead and her window had given her a clear picture of where Sweet Pea was living. Veronica, Kevin and Cheryl have no reaction beyond a nod; even reggie doesn’t bother with saying anything. ——————————————————————————————

It’s been a week, nobody says anything to either Archie or Sweet Pea, assuming they ignore each other in order to avoid fighting and dragging any drama back home. Archie can tell that everyone is waiting for it to blow up; for one of them to snap at the other and for the precarious truce they formed from Sweet Pea living with Archie to dissolve. It takes two days an a misplaced English essay for them to blow up. It’s not anything noticeable; they both stay silent as usually, but during lunch they hiss and glare at each other anytime that they would usually converse. The Ghoulies that hover on the fringes almost audibly purr as Sweet Pea storms off. They wait for a moment, no one following him; letting him cool off, letting them attack.

Sweet Pea decides it’s just easier to leave, to avoid getting into a fight that’ll drag out all the way back to the house and risk Fred getting involved and giving him the eyebrow’s of dissappointment. He steps away from the lunch table nodding, Archie nods back he knows he’s not actually upset at him; as he walks away. Archie nudges Jughead when he sees a few other figure’s retreating the direction Sweet Pea went. “Ghouls.” He hisses under his breath and Archie stands, running over. “Can Y’all fuckin’ not.” Archie hisses, Sweet Pea looking up from where he leers over a ghoul, fist crashing into his cheek repeatedly.

“Sweet Pea get the fuck off him; that’s not fair and you know it.” Archie shoves him with his foot and the ghoul under him wiggles his fist free slamming it into Sweet Pea’s eye. “Fucking Christ.” Archie hisses hauling the ghoul up and slamming him into the wall. He can see the other ones retreating and he rolls his eyes, turning back to hit the one he’s hold cringing when he ducks slightly, Archie’s hand scraping against the brick. ———————————————————————

“It was my fault. I should’ve have been so bothered about it.” Sweet Pea shrugs at Archie’s grab for the blame. Fred just sighs, handing a bag of frozen corn to Sweet Pea to cover his swollen eye. He holds his hand out ad Archie places his bloodied knuckles onto the table. He pulls out disinfectant and bandages. “We were being stupid.” “I know. You don’t need to tell me that.It’s good you two aren’t at each other’s throats but if you two are supposed to be family now you at least need to act a bit more like it. The silent treatment doesn’t really work.” “Yeah, we’ll work on it.”

“Good, Sweet Pea like I’ve said before you’re welcome to the guest room, instead of the couch or the garage. You know that right?” Sweet Pea nods. “You should take it, might be easier to be a family if you’re in the house.” Archie volunteers; Fred doesn’t say anything but they can both see some of the tension in his shoulders is gone. “Thanks Dad.” Sweet Pea means it as a joke, not something to be taken seriously. He’s about to apologise to Fred, with how he seems to be frozen. “No problem son.” He shrugs turning away from the towards the fridge. Neither Archie or Sweet Pea comment on the mistiness in his eyes.

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#Archie x sweet pea #swarchie #sweet pea x archie #archie andrews x sweet pea #sweet pea x archie andrews #riverdale #riverdale reader insert #riverdale request #stattic

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Zombie.”

The story is staring o heat up a little bit, and soon you will all understand what I have been leading up to. Hopefully it will be fun and you will all enjoy what you are about to see.

GORE WARNING

The outer Messier 32 deep space relay station hung suspended in the night sky overlooking the not-so-distant spiral vortex of it’s larger companion galaxy Messier 31, more commonly known as the Andromeda galaxy. As close as it was, it absolutely dominated the night sky seeming close enough that you could reach out a hand and touch its sweeping spiral arms, when in reality, it was thousands of light-years away.

The relay station itself was a small affair compared to your average UNSC or even GA transport vessel, about the size of a small range asteroid, designed and staffed by members of most of the major GA species, Rundi, Tesraki, and Vrul being the major players. The relay station was primarily there to intercept inter-warp communications between Andromeda and the Milky Way galaxy. Though there were more major communications hubs on the moons of the Rundi home world, transmissions tended to get jumbled, and remote relay stations had become a necessity to drown out some of the major noise and spearhead some of the less urgent transmissions.

Their engineering specialist, a Vrul with a sandy grey skin and red-orange eyes turned from where he floated by his console towards one of his Tesraki underlings, “We didn’t schedule any maintenance for the auxiliary docking bays did we?”

The Tesraki turned in his chair batlike ears twitching, “No, we finished that maintenance two cycles ago, why?”

“Strange.” The Vrul muttered turning back to his console, “The power to that sector just went off….. Perhaps we made a mistake with the wiring, have someone from maintenance head down there and take a look at the main breaker system.”

Across the room, the Rundi relay director frowned and then turned to look at them, “Did any of you get a proximity alert on decks 6-7?”

“No, sir ... wait , aren't those the decks for the auxiliary docking bays?”

The Vrul nodded his large insectoid head prismatic eyes flashing in the dim spilling in from the uncovered observation window, “Yes….. perhaps the power shorted to the proximity sensors on the outer hull, why?”

THe Rundi turned back to his station, “I am getting some strange interference signals from a point on our outer hull, can’t tell what it is. Could just be a magnetic field artifact.” He turned back to the controls engaging the intercom as he sent someone down to check.

***

Down on the seventh deck, the tesraki and Vrul engineering contractors stepped their way from the automated lift and out onto the silent, dark floors. Like the rest of the ship, the lights were supposed to be automated, but the entire deck was silent and filled with shadow. This may not have been a problem for the vrul, who could see somewhat onto the infrared spectrum, but for the Tesraki it was a little more difficult. The Vrul engineer waited in impatient silence as the Tesraki, reached into his tool belt and removed a brightly glowing white stone.

The vrul and the tesraki didn’t particularly enjoy each other’s company. One of them was here for the science and the other was here for the paycheck, neither of them saw much of a value in the other’s lifestyle, but they kept it civil as the tesraki engaged the comm attached to one of his large- batlike ears, “This is engineering.”

“Go on engineering what do you see?”

“Not much of anything to be honest, but the lights are out….. I’m thinking an issue with the electrical.”

It the Vrul had the ability to roll his eyes, he probably would have, but he settled for floating further onto the deck and into the darkness. The Tesraki followed after casting his light upwards towards the ceiling trying to find any exposed wiring, sparks or any other indication where the problem might be located.

The Vrul hummed transmitting a shortwave radio signal directly to the comms system as only a vrul could, “I don’t see any hot spots on the walls, and the issue doesn’t seem to be localized. With all the lights out on this level, I am willing to bet that the problem lies with the main breaker system, there can be no other explanation.”

At his back, the tesraki suddenly spun to his right staring down one of the dark maintenance tunnels where the red light of the emergency auxiliaries hung overhead. It may as well have been completely black to him, as the tesraki aren’t capable of processing red light as humans understand it.

The vrul glowered over at him, “What now.”

The tesraki frowned, “No….. I just….. I thought I heard something.” one of his large ears twitched. Of course the Vrul wouldn’t have heard anything, it was a creature between natural and unnatural hearing SOME radio signals and SOME normal sound, but not particularly well onto either. The Tesraki however, had impeccable hearing rivaled only by the humans which they beat by a hair's breadth in testing conditions.

They continued onward when no other sounds were forthcoming heading their way towards the main breaker system. ON their way there, the Tesraki stopped a few times listening to the sounds of the ship. He heard nothing…..

If he were a human he might have been able to feel the impending weight of dread slowly casting itself downwards over them like a blanket of snow on a silent snowy night. However, he was only a tesraki, and the Vrul was hopeless in intuitive situations.

They had just cut around the corner into the main auxiliary bay when the vrul stopped floating to a halt at the entrance to the bay looking down at the floor with his glittering prismatic eyes.

Busy listening to the darkness, the Tesraki almost plowed into his companion hissing in annoyance as he staggered out of the way, “What.”

The Brul didn’t answer staring down at the floor with wide eyes, and the fading yellow prints of heat on the floor slowly losing their brightness and fading against the cold metal.

The fear hit him like a ton of bricks just then, and he turned, “We need to go.”

The tesraki looked at him confused, “What do you mean?”

“I mean we NEED TO GO!” The little creature roared, pushing against the much taller, heavier tesraki, and doing nothing. He froze just then eyes riveted on the hallway behind his companion, and the row of fiery white hotspots that cut horizontally across the hallway before disappearing into one of the side tunnels.

He could see the prints more clearly now. They were large, and patterned on that of a bipedal creature….. It wasn’t big enough to be a drev, but it was just big enough for…… by the heart of the motherworld please no….

“Human.” The vrul whispered

“A human?” The tesraki wondered, “What about humans, you aren’t making any sense.”

And that’s when the sound came from behind, the sudden slap, slap, slap rushing up from the darkness. The two of them turned, just in time to see the dark face looming from the shadows.

The eyes against the dark skin were white, stark white and wild glittering with a thin layer of gelatinous slime. It’s white teeth were barred.

All teeth and eyes it rushed at them from the darkness feet bare against the floor, chest bare. The tesraki screamed, The vrul let off a high trill, and then the world was turned upside down, screams echoed up the corridors along with the long, maniacal laughter

“Engineering, engineering, come in…. engineering …..”

The testraki reached for his radio earpiece having crawled away from the initial attack on his hands and knees. Something wet slicked the fur on the side of his face. He grasped at the headset as the laughter grew.

He turned to bring the headset to his ear….. And knew he shouldn't have. The human stood before them holding the vrul engineer in his hands lit from one side by sharp oblique lighting form the fallen white stone which had been knocked to the ground in the initial strike.

Even as he watched the human slowly curled his fingers into clawed talons and stabbed them towards the Vrul’s flotation sack. Nails pierced flesh, and then the human pulled….. Completely ripping the sack from Vrul’s dangling body. Copper bile spilled onto the floor coating the humans hands. The Tesraki screamed into the com trying to scramble away.

The human adjusted his grip. The smile that cut across his face was so wide it looked as if it was about to split skin curling up to take over both cheeks. It grabbed one of the Vrul’s legs, and then clamped a hand around its neck.

It pulled, pulled so hard that blood began seeping from under its nails. The veins in it's arms bulged, as did it’s eyes.

The room was filled with a horrible ripping sound more green gore.

The tesraki howled in panic over the line not caring who heard just hoping someone did.

He tried to run, scrambling away blindly into the dark. Something slapped to the floor behind him and then the footsteps chasing.

He was body-slammed hard to the ground, rolled onto his back. The human sat atop him grinning that horrible grin, a dark crack ran through one of the human’s teeth. Blood welled for his gums, from his fingers. The hand turned to claws and descended downwards.

***

Screaming, “Messer 31 relay, messier 31 relay, come in over….. Please someone please someone help us.”

SLAM

The door shuttered inwards over and over and over again with the weight of the human’s body as it repeatedly slammed itself into the door, over and over and over again. They could see it on the cameras bleeding from its fingers and it’s hands. One of its fingers appeared to be bent, blood dribbled from its mouth.

SLAM

But still it kept going lights flickered, a trail of bodies blanketed the ground before the door. The surviving support crew huddled in the room staring at the door with abject terror. The human took a step back, paused and then jammed it’s fingers into the door and began to pull. The arms strained the muscles bulged.

The human screamed.

There was no way he could get through that door had a maximum of nearly 1,000 pounds.

The door jarred open an inch.

***

“Messier 32 this is Commander Vir, of the U.S.S Harbinger sending tactical units to your position boarding now.”

The human reinforcements thundered down the hallway regaled in full tactical gear flanked by two drev soldiers, one bright blue the other a deep bloody red. They could hear the noise before they could see anything, the deep animal screaming of something completely inhuman. The marines fanned out as much as they could in the hallway crouching low.

They could be seen on the cameras just coming around the last corner as the creature pushed the door oven further joins snapping and popping.

The whites of his eyes glittered through the open door. Then a dull thud. The door slammed shut as the human suddenly let go.

In front of them, the manic figure staggered and turned dark skin coated with splatters of red, green, and black. Blood trickled from his teeth from his skin from his eyes. It yanked the dart from it’s shoulder, and rushed them.

Three of the marines were picked up bodily, and thrown before anyone had time to react. Commander Vir jumped in front of the creature bringing up his weapon to block his body from the human’s gnashing teeth, and was forced to the ground by a horribly terrible force…. He was so strong.

Cannon ran forward, grabbing the human about the waist and locking him into a bear hug with his two pairs of strong arms.

With a scream and one massive push, he broke the drew's unbreakable bear hug.

It took three darts to take it down…… the dosage recommended for horses.

***

“You get it quarantined?”

“Yes sir?”

“Blood tested.”

An exasperated sigh, “Yes sir.”

“You should probably test the rest of the crew as well.”

Krill turned to look at the commander with a raised eyebrow, “It isn’t a “zombie”, commander, I assure you.”

Commander Vir glanced at the camera and into the viewing room where the ruined body was strapped down eyes wild and rolling kept down only by the nerve block they had placed on its spine.

“Looks like a zombie to me.”

The Vrul turned to the his scans and shook his head, “Well it isn’t, its completely human. But I think I have found the cause of your problem.” He glanced over at the second, dark haired, human doctor sitting across from him peering through the eyelet of a microscope, “Dr. Katie.”

She glanced up from her microscope and smiled, “He’s right commander, it isn’t a virus or a bacteria, but our scans did pick up something interesting, evidence of extensive and intentional leasoning in the brain.”

“What do you mean?”

Krill looked up, “Scarring on the brain specifically in the amygdala, nerve tracts between the frontal cortex and the amygdala, the hippocampus, and peripheral pain tracts leading from the spine.”

Doctor Katie glanced at the monitor, “He doesn’t feel pain…. He doesn’t feel fear…. He doesn't feel compassion.”

Commander Vir blinked and glanced at sunny who returned his dark expression, “What exactly does this mean?”

“Well, looking at the security feeds you can get an idea of what it means.” Krill stood and began pacing back and forth across the floor, one of his many human-isms that he barely seemed to notice anymore, “The human body is estimated to utilize only 30-60% of the muscle fiber at one time, even well trained athletes reach the high end of this spectrum. The brain of you humans acts as a gating mechanism sending pain signals and telling the muscles to stop when something SEEMS to heavy when in fact you can lift much more under dire circumstances.”

Commander Vir nodded, “like with adrenaline, when you don’t feel pain anymore, and people like lift cars and shit.”

“Not how I would have phrased it, but yes. Humans have been known to lift up to 1,000 + pounds in this state. For instance, when he ripped the Vrul’s leg off.” Commander Vir winced, but Krill went on, “It would have taken almost 600 pounds of pressure to do that, and about 1000 to push open that door. However, these mechanisms are gated for a reason, at your full strength it is quite possible to rip muscle from bone….. In his case he cracked 12 of his teeth, broke five of his fingers, dislocated an elbow, ripped multiple tendons, and caused irreparable damage to his skeletal-muscular and tendon systems. “

Sunny leaned in, “And he felt none of that?”

Krill shook his head, “Not a bit.”

The group of them turned back to the containment unit.

“What does this mean?” Commander vir wondered allowed.

Krill followed his gaze, “It means….. Someone is experimenting….. And I would wager to say their experiment was successful.”

“What did they succeed at?”

“If I have to wager a guess….. Super soldiers.”

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are weird #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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theresnosuchthingasmonsters · 4 years

Text

(((Combo Prompt!)))

(((“Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say I love you,” with Martin and Ainsley, sent in by Anonymous.)))

(((“If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!” with Martin and Nicholas, sent in by Anonymous (Modified) )))

-----

An echoing, electronic buzz unlocked the door to The Surgeon’s cell. But Martin Whitly remained lying on his back, glaring at the ceiling above his cot with mild irritation in his eyes, irked that he’d been disturbed from his nap.

Mr. David poked his head into the cell, announcing, “Call for you.” He held the hallway phone in one hand, the pig-tail cord extended to its maximum reach.

“Is it another set-up?” Martin grumbled with a dash of spite. “Like last time, when I quote ‘tried to escape?’” What bullshit. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been hauled off to Riker’s. That was what Endicott was going for, he just knew it.

“It’s your daughter.”

Martin glanced over, hesitated only a second longer, then heaved himself to his feet and padded to the entryway. Mr. David moved back toward the phone’s base on the wall, giving the cord some mercy.

“I expect you’re going to piledrive me the second I step foot outside this door,” Martin mumbled with sarcasm, glancing outside the cell to ensure that no other untrustworthy guards were lying in wait for an ambush. The crotchety inmate was still bruised from yesterday’s ‘misunderstanding.’ He continued griping, “Or try to kill me when I turn my back.”

Mr. David gave him a deadpan look. Evidently, the guard did not think that the nefarious incidents which occurred during his absence were funny. Toting a grumpy, miserable look, Dr. Whitly ventured into the hall and finished his jokes with a bitter, “No? Good. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mr. David muttered. Dr. Whitly came to stand beside the guard and lifted his cuffed hands to accept the handset from him. Mr. David remained close by, and although he’d repeatedly assured his patient that everything was going to be fine, the guard did glance at the red door down the hall.

Things were tense lately, to say the least. There was no telling what surprises would pop up next. Mr. David didn’t know exactly what The Surgeon had done, but he had apparently pissed off some pretty powerful people.

Martin held the phone to his ear and forced a cheerful tone through his voice box. “Hello sweetheart!” No one would have been able to guess that mere seconds ago, he was as cranky as a drenched cat. “How is my girl? Any news on--?”

Ainsley wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. “Dad, shut up,” she urgently hissed.

Martin shut up. Before he could ask what was wrong (because something was clearly wrong,) Ainsley rushed through what she needed to say. “Look, I don’t have much time, but I-- I wanted to say, I love you.”

Dr. Whitly didn’t know which part of that sentence caused him more confusion and surprise. His expression shifted indecisively between a smile and a concerned grimace. “W-- Ah, Ains... what d’you mean you... ‘don’t have much time?’” he laughed nervously.

She didn’t answer him, but he could hear her breath. “Ains?” he repeated expectantly, listening as hard as he could to try to translate her subtle sounds. His half-smile abandoned his facade, which was no longer a facade, but a genuine look of worry. He could hear her suffering through a silent sob. Crying.

“I love you,” her voice croaked. “I love you, dad.”

That didn’t matter to him at that moment. His daughter was wasting her breath, and wasting whatever amount of time she claimed she had. Martin wanted to know what was going on. “Ainsley, what’s wrong?” he demanded. Alarm congregated on the cusp of his stern voice, as if his words were preparing for an attack. But he employed what was left of his calm, patient reserves.

She didn’t answer.

Martin stared at the wall in front of him, his eyes searching through the detail of the painted bricks as if they displayed a map of encrypted answers. Mr. David warily watched his patient, and they both held their breath.

Dr. Whitly heard a muffled rattle on the opposite end of the line as the other phone was roughly handled. Ainsley cried out in the distance that had been placed between her and their call. “Ainsley?” he raised his voice so she could hear him, wherever she was.

Again, she didn’t answer him. But someone else did. “Hello, Martin.”

It was Endicott.

Endicott was what was wrong.

“Nicholas,” Dr. Whitly hissed, his fury boiling in an instant. “You leave her the fuck alone!”

“Sorry, I can’t quite hear you over the sound of your daughter screaming.”

Ainsley screamed.

Martin had heard too many screams in his lifetime not to know the difference between them. It was a language that only those familiar with them could translate, like how only a parent was able to immediately identify the cause of the various cries of their own infant. Hunger, fear, emotional anguish, or physical pain. Ainsley’s scream was born from a prolonged, invasive, searing kind of pain --the purpose of which was clearly to rip the sound out of her. Thanks to all of his experience, Martin could easily imagine the many inflictions that could elicit such a scream from his daughter.

Martin’s own scream was born from pure rage. “NICHOLAS!” he roared, his blood vessels swelling with heat and strength as an angered adrenaline surged through him. The phone felt like a pistol being pressed to his head, but he leaned into it, yearning to get to the other side of that weapon and turn it on his assaulter.

Endicott chuckled. “But don’t worry, she’s not going to be ‘alone,’” he promised with an audible grin. “Your son’s gonna join her soon.”

Fire burned in Martin’s eyes. It was nearly tangible enough to char the wall in front of him, yet he was frozen in place and struggled to breathe.

Mr. David stepped closer and raised a hand to take the phone. “Martin--”

The Surgeon took a large step away and bore his teeth, displaying a deep, silent snarl like that of a feral beast. He held up a finger of his free hand, which was chained beside the other. It was a reaction that warned, ‘do not fuck with me right now.’ Mr. David didn’t need to be told twice, and he heeded the warning. The guard gave the man his space, then moved to grab the wheeled cart with the other phone on it. He used it to dial the NYPD.

“Nicholas, if you harm them--” Martin seethed, returning his acidic attention to the wall.

“Already did,” Endicott interrupted, enjoying this.

“--You are going to swallow a KNIFE, I swear to God--” Wrath poured from Martin’s cavernous lungs, which in that moment were endlessly deep and entirely filled with hatred. “--I’m gonna shove a blade so deep down your throat--!”

“I warned you, Martin. You didn’t listen,” Endicott’s honey smooth voice smiled. “You brought this on them.”

“I--!” Martin’s rage shattered. He was unable to argue against or deny that. He flipped a switch, transitioning from detestation to desperation. “I lied, Nick, I lied.” There must have been a short in the circuitry of that switch, because his anger resurfaced in bursts. “I LIED, Goddamn it, I don’t know anything! Sophie didn’t tell me ANYTHING!”

“Too late, Martin. You can’t beg your way out of this, though I do love hearing it.”

The Surgeon’s fire extinguished. His passionate wrath could not stop Nicholas, no matter how fiercely it burned.

Behind him, he heard Mr. David talking to the NYPD on the other phone, explaining that they’d received a threatening call at Claremont and ordering the police to find Ainsley, now. It was no use. The police weren’t going to stop Nicholas either. There was nothing Martin could do to regain control of the situation. Nothing could wake him from this nightmare.

He’d never felt so helpless.

Endicott continued to taunt him. “I hope you love hearing them scream as much as I love hearing you begging for th--HHGK-!”

The Surgeon stared at the wall, wide eyed as he listened to Nicholas’ choked cry. It was a cry that he recognized all too well. Thanks to all of his experience, Martin could easily imagine the many inflictions that could elicit such sounds from his enemy. Endicott’s garbled sounds were those of a dying man.

A rattle accompanied the constricted sounds as the phone was dropped. Martin waited, studying the brick in front of him with bated disbelief.

Finally, he heard, “Dad?”

In the form of a relieved gasp, he answered, “Ains?”

“Hey,” she greeted plainly. Her voice was slightly trembling, but also calm, and emotionless. Numb. Her shock conflicted with her adrenaline.

He knew the feeling. “Hey,” he echoed.

They breathed together for a moment, each processing what had happened. After a long exhale, Martin hesitantly smiled. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah,” she answered hollowly. “I got him.”

Martin closed his eyes and grinned before hissing a violent, “Good.”

“Thanks for distracting him,” she huffed with faint humor. Dr. Whitly could hear her smile.

That was the true reason why she’d called him. The Surgeon’s grin spread. He couldn’t be more proud of her, even if her plan had given him a heart attack. “Anything for my girl,” he joked. But it wasn’t really a joke. He was still beaming when he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she answered in the same emotionless tone. “Better than him.”

Martin chuckled.

It was then that he heard a door slam in the environment of Ainsley’s call. Malcolm’s distant, muffled voice cried, “Oh my God, Ains, what happened!?”

“Gotta go.” Ainsley hung up.

Martin removed the phone from his head and fondly smirked at it.

“The police are on their way,” Mr. David informed him, also ending up his own call to the cops.

Martin turned over his shoulder and delivered a pleasant smile to the guard. There was no need for him to be concerned any longer. “Oh, it’s fine now. She took care of it.” His happy expression remained on his face as he tenderly placed the handset back on the switchhook on the wall. “Everything’s alright.”

Mr. David cautiously stared at his patient as he walked back into his cell, knowing that everything was not alright. It was far from alright by any ordinary, sane standards. But in Martin’s mind, everything was bliss. The Surgeon settled himself on his cot and grinned at the ceiling above it.

He closed his eyes and imagined.

---------

Hope you enjoyed it, Anon(s)! Want me to write a short scene? Send me a prompt with a pair of characters! Check out my #starter and #prompt tags for more ideas and responses!

#martin whitly #dr. martin whitly #ainsley whitly #prodigal son #prodigal son fanfic #fanfic #martin #ainsley #my writing #mine #starters #starter #prompt #prompts #ficlet #Mr. David #murder

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big-chaengus · 4 years

Note

Hybrids!Yeojin and Olivia Hye getting left alone together play-fighting roughly while Haseul and Sooyoung are gone. When Haseul and Sooyoung get back, they find a Yeojin crying with scratch marks on her face and a Hyejoo trying to calm her down with tear tracks on her face

on this particular day, the unnies of the house decided it was a family bonding day. that usually meant going out and doing some fun activity while hyejoo sits off to the side and grumbles about having to go out. however, today sooyoung decided that she wouldn’t force hyejoo to come since she had been so good lately, making an effort to be at least a little nicer to yeojin. of course this meant that yeojin wanted to stay home with her new best friend. the two were allowed to stay home alone if they promised to behave. (they promised but crossed their fingers behind their backs)

as soon as everyone was out of the house, there was a war cry from yeojin as she came tearing through the door of hyejoo’s room that she shared with yerim and chaewon. hyejoo was of course ready for her new friend, wearing the darth vader helmet that sooyoung got for her. yeojin tackled hyejoo to the best of her ability while being significantly smaller and weaker - that is to say that hyejoo barely moved and yeojin slammed into what was basically a brick wall. this was no problem for these two, they were quite used to playing rough. don’t tell sooyoung, but hyejoo mostly just uses this helmet to defend against yeojin trying to bite her nose.

“i’m going to surprise you one of these days, you big oaf!” backing away from her wolfy friend, yeojin gave her the ‘i’m watching you’ signal. hyejoo just rolled her eyes and settled back down to wait for the next “ambush’’.

after quite a while without hearing from the kitty, hyejoo finally relaxed, assuming she was done for now. she decided she could get away with a short nap if she slept lightly, so that’s what she did.

yeojin of course had been waiting for her friend’s guard to go down so she could finally ambush her like she’d been trying to for days now. her ears swiveled on her head as she listened for any activity from hyejoo’s room, but she was only picking up on steady breathing. as she made her way into the room, yeojin actually acted like a cat for once - being quiet and light on her feet. she couldn’t help but grin as she got ready to pounce.

hyejoo was sleeping peacefully when she felt someone grab at her ears. she jolted awake and threw a hand out toward her attacker on instinct, her fingers curled to catch them with her nails. she made contact in her panicked sleepy haze but was pulled out of her instictual response by a loud yelp and a mewl. as she shook off sleep, hyejoo saw yeojin holding a hand against her cheek, with tears just barely escaping the corners of her closed eyes. hyejoo immediately got up and tried to pull her friend’s hand away from her face so she could see.

“yeojinnie, i’m sorry please let me see so i can help you,” hyejoo was getting more and more upset the more the kitten resisted her help “please, yeojin.” she croaks out another plea as she finally allows tears to fall.

as antagonistic their relationship was, they never actually wanted to hurt each other, it was all just rough playing. but as hyejoo watched her new friend blink away her tears and look at the little bit of blood on her hand she felt like she had ruined it. the unnies were going to be so mad.

right as that thought crossed hyejoo’s mind, she heard the door to the house open downstairs. yeojin was wiping her tears away, seeming to have gotten over it pretty quickly, but hyejoo only panicked more at the thought of her unnies getting mad. what if sooyoung didn’t want to take care of her anymore?

as soon as they walked into the house, haseul and sooyoung split off from the group to go check on their respective hybrids. what they found when they entered hyejoo’s room was more than a little shocking. yeojin standing with blood on her cheek and an obviously upset hyejoo with her tail between her legs as she cried. both humans gasped, getting the attention of yeojin but not hyejoo, as she seemed too panicked to respond. yeojin did not seem upset, just kind of startled though they could tell she had cried a little before they arrived home.

“unnies, we were just playing it was an accident,” yeojin starts, thinking they would get mad at her wolf friend. “i shouldn’t have jumped on her while she was sleeping, she couldn’t help it.”

after hearing yeojin’s quick summary, haseul pulled her out of the room to get her face cleaned up while sooyoung made her way over to hyejoo. sooyoung was being cautious, she didn’t know if the wolf was far enough into her head to lash out in fear but as she got closer to the upset girl, she hardly responded. sooyoung softly called her name and her head snapped up, tears still running down her face. as soon as hyejoo registered that it was sooyoung there with her, she ran into her arms. sooyoung could only hold her as she cried and repeatedly apologized.

“i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, is yeojin ok, please let me see her.” hyejoo spewed questions and apologies at rapid fire as she held onto sooyoung’s arms, head buried in her shoulder.

“hyejoo, it’s ok. yeojin isn’t hurt too bad, she knows it was an accident, don’t worry honey.”

as hyejoo started to calm down, sooyoung looked at her, wiping her tears and asked if she would like to go see yeojin. hye nodded, already leading the way to the bathroom where they kept the first aid supplies. when the pair walked in, yeojin was sitting on the counter as haseul put a big bandage on her cheek. the kitten perked up seeing her friend less upset, and took the opportunity to clear the air.

“sorry i scared you while you were sleeping, i’ll keep my attacks to when you are conscious from now on.” of course yeojin was already back to her happy mischievous self, whock definitely helped hyejoo feel better as well. haseul and sooyoung both breathed a sigh of relief as they heard hyejoo’s response.

“i wasn’t scared, brat”

there’s the hyejoo they know and love.

#hybrid au #olivia hye #yeojin #yves #haseul #loona #loona headcanons #my post #anon

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nev3rfound · 5 years

Text

monster : b.b

human / monster / you

okay, I didn’t expect this to become a mini series but here we are. also hi, I haven’t actually made a lil note before on here but welcome. thank you for the support, and to @aquabrie @iris-suoh and @blank1502 for commenting on the first part.

You:

Groaning lightly my head automatically falls forward, the weight of it suddenly being too heavy to bear. Around me, I can hear faint laughter, some form of conversation that is incoherent. I slowly open my eyes, wincing as the dull light burns my pupils until I keep them tightly shut, avoiding the truth of where I am.

“Princess is awake,” The sound of heavy boots against the cold floor increases, but my eyes struggle to stay open as I focus on the vibrations beneath me.

A quick kick to my side causes me to wince and curl up, and as I open my eyes I see the chains attached to my ankles leading over to a brick wall. I’m trapped.

“Who, who are, are you?” Words struggle to form as my entire throat feels like sandpaper.

The large boots coated in dried blood and dust step around me, and then I watch as it rises to my face, kicking my head back as it slams against a wall.

“Fuck.” I mutter under my breath as I feel tears rising in my eyes, the trickling of blood down my nose as it hits my lip.

Closing my eyes I lean against the wall to focus on my breathing, but a strong hand wraps itself around my cheeks, forcing me to look into his cold green eye. Squinting I see his left eye is gone, a large scar covers his eyelid and cheek.

“Huh,” He smirks, tilting his head as he forces my face closer to his. “you see this? Your precious soldier did this to me.” Throwing me back I hit the wall again, all of the energy left in my body diminishes as I force out a breath.

“Bucky did that to you?” I whimper, not being able to imagine such a thing.

The man laughs before walking back towards the door, something glints in his hand. “Just you wait Princess,” He chuckles to himself before I hear a heavy door closing and a lock sliding into place. “an eye for an eye.”

His words hang heavy around me as I pull on my legs, forcing them closer to me as they remain bruised and bloody from the chains.

Silently I feel tears fall, diluting the dried blood that marks my skin as it hits my arm. I close my eyes, thinking back to the last time we were together. Just the two of us in each other's arms, he would draw patterns on my skin. But now the only pattern is made up of purples, greens and yellows.

My eyes open at the sound of the door opening.

At this point hearing, the lock slide from the door means one of two things. It is time for me to be questioned and punished, or it is time for me to be given food and then punished.

I glance up, slowly regaining strength as Ana salters over, bending down and smiling as she undoes my chains. “See, doll. All you gotta do is be nice.” She smiles too sweetly, and with the strength I have I lift my leg quickly and kick her in the nose.

She falls backwards, grabbing a hold of her face as a small smile forms on my face. “Fuck you.” I spit at her as more guards enter, lifting me up and dragging me away to the chamber where I black out before the real punishments begin.

Being strapped into the chair I look around. Stone walls coated in images of Bucky, me, Steve, his team. Anyone close or involved. I feel light headed as I see someone with a mask on their face nearing me, holding a syringe.

He strokes my hair back, making me feel nauseous. “It’ll all be over soon, Y/n. Sleep well.” The man tells me through his mask, and before I can ask anything I’m back to dreaming of him, of being back with him in my bed planning our future.

Bucky:

Shaking off the blood that clings to my fingertips I wipe it across my jacket. “I hate this,” I mutter to Steve who keeps his eyes ahead whilst Sam keeps us updated. “where is she?”

Steve sighs before stopping me in the empty corridor. “Look Buck, she’s here somewhere. We just have to find her.” He pats my shoulder lightly before continuing on. It’s hard to remember him as the fragile boy he once was, but the reason still remains.

“Six guards comin’ up on your right guys, all armed.” Sam informs us and I pull out my handgun as we turn the corner, the fight finally commencing.

You:

“What the?” My eyes slowly open, my head falling to the left side as my vision remains hazy. Whoever is here with me is panicked and gets up, heading away from me whilst I remain completely numb. “You, don’t move.” The person tells me and I wish I had the energy to laugh, if I wanted to move I would give ‘em the finger, but even now that would be a stretch of my limits.

The door opens quietly and I can make out a bit of their conversation as they talk in German. “Er ist hier,”

He’s here.

Internally I smile as my eyes begin to focus more on the two figures. Ana and Klaus as I learnt him to be.

“Get her gone.” Ana spits at him as he marches over to me whilst she walks out of the empty room.

Quickly I’m lifted to my feet and dragged away, still chained as Klaus takes me into another room.

As he puts me down I hear the sound of the chains being secured, and him laughing quietly. “Oh, how your Solider thinks he’s going to win here?” He mutters as I hear his footsteps dragging across the floor, nearing my head as I move to sit upright. But before I can move any further his foot is on my chest, trapping me. “He’ll never win, he is weak because of you.”

“Wanna bet?” His foot quickly moves off of my chest and a blur of darkness and metal takes over my vision.

I try to focus as I see a gun being pointed and fired. Klaus drops down and a series of people fall into the room.

Some I can recognise due to their clothing, but a blur of red takes ownership of my sight as screams and shots fill my ears. I blink repeatedly in hope the tears will stop falling as I try to keep myself from focusing too hard knowing I won’t like what I see.

But of course, my eyes zone back in on the awful scene. Bodies lie around me, one dead man's hand is reaching towards me as his face is unrecognisable, but the fight continues in front of me.

I witness the Winter Solider in action, something I never wanted to believe in. I wanted to believe he was a ghost story, a version that haunts James’ past, but not his present.

He shoots people without blinking, tackles them and snaps their necks. Bodies continue to rise around him, but not a single one makes it out besides himself.

“Ja,” I struggle to speak, coughing violently seeing blood on my fingertips. “James,” Whispering I see his head turn.

The mask that covers the lower half of his face, the gun he holds in his metal hand. Despite it, his eyes soften as he sees me, unaware of my presence in the room.

He lifts his gun at the door, firing it before I can even hear the person running his way. “Oh, doll.” He whispers before Steve enters. “Take her out of here, now.” He yells to Steve who breaks the chains and picks me up as I limply lie in his arms. “I’ll finish this,” Bucky mutters as I glance back, seeing him slip his mask back on and cock his gun again. The warmth in his eyes freezes, leaving the solider in his place.

#hope you enjoyed it #feedback is always appreciated!#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky imagine #bucky imagines #bucky x you #bucky x yn #bucky x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #avengers au #avengers writing #avengers x reader

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stattic-writes · 5 years

Text

Relocation

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

Support My Writing?

#sweet pea #archie andrews #sweet pea imagine #archie imagine #archie andrews imagine #archie x sweet pea #sweet pea x archie #riverdale #riverdale cw #riverdale imagine #riverdale fandom #written #female reader #female reader insert

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 12

So I was going to write more sacrificecup before this but I woke up yesterday morning like like...18 jokes in my head and had to get them all out before I lost them, so here is this.

Ao3

Hiccup tried valiantly to talk Mr. Grisly into a Grimborn book containing actual information but all attempts were brushed off repeatedly with the insistence that he’d been given a budget to hire experts for that.

Hiccup didn’t miss the dig that he is not considered an expert at the level of A. M. Mildew, but he wanted Grisly out of the library more than he wanted to argue. He knows Astrid doesn’t need his protection, but the way Grisly looked at her was uniquely sinister and the lopsided kind of glee in his voice when he talked to her is stuck in the back of Hiccup’s mind like a popcorn kernel in his teeth.

By the time he finally gives up and watches Grisly leave the library with a single beloved but largely sensationalized book, the archives are closed, and Hiccup finds himself suddenly completely underwhelmed. Given that he has not shifted his schedule back while his tours are…temporarily postponed, he texted Astrid pretty soon after waking up.

All in all that was a pretty landmark start to the day.

He starts the long walk home, glancing wistfully into alleys as he crosses them. He can’t help but feel disconnected and exposed on the main streets, surrounded by false modernity made out of plywood with a million percent markup. He knows Snotlout is right. He does look suspicious and he’s hiding enough by not telling Eretson where Dave’s prosthetic came from, but he’s sick of it taking so long to get everywhere.

Plus, assuming a Grimborn copycat working backwards, doesn’t he just have to stay away from the second murder site?

Unless the order of the two murders was a fluke and he should be staying away from the first site, a stomach clenching thought that’s categorically impossible. He couldn’t stay away from Astrid now if she lived in a volcano or had a loft in Atlantis, not after she told him that she likes him. Him. She likes him. Astrid. The beautiful, violent toothbrush assault artist who makes sure he sees what she does likes him.

His phone buzzes with a slow to download text message, lagging from the library’s thick brick walls.

Astrid (5:21pm): how’d that go?

He stops short and a man in a suit slams into his back, glaring at him for interrupting the flow of pedestrian traffic. Hiccup would thank the guy for restarting his heart, except talking is a little hard with it pounding in his throat.

How’d that go? Does she want…a review of some kind? Should he inform her of her 10.0 perfect score kissing skills but deduct a half a gold star for startling the hell out of him? Not that he minded being startled, really, but Astrid seems like a tough love type.

“On your left,” a bike whizzes by and he stumbles, still staring at his phone and barely snapping out of the haze with the insult that follows, “fucking tourist!”

“No bikes on the sidewalk, asshole!”

If he critiques her, does that mean she’s going to critique him? She doesn’t let him get away with anything else, after all. If he weren’t so giddy about her kissing him, he’d be more confused that she still wanted to after all that murder site sex idiocy that fell out of his mouth at Gruff’s.

Hiccup (6:04pm): I thought it was nice

He settles for neutral or something like it.

Astrid (6:05pm): I meant the creepy guy making you find a book for him

His heart drops. Of course she meant the whole Grisly thing, not—why would she be asking him how kissing was? She was there.

It’s a twisted kindness that he knows he’s said and done dumber things to and around her, so this probably won’t be the instance that scares her off.

Hiccup (6:06pm): right that makes more sense than you asking me to critique your kissing Hiccup (6:06pm): which was top notch by the way no comments, don’t change a thing Hiccup (6:07pm): so I do it anyway, fuck, anyway grisly is creepy as hell and I really hate that he’s investigating murders, it’s not fair because his breath’s death count is probably higher than any small time grimborn copycat

None of that made it better.

Astrid (6:07pm): I thought it was nice too Astrid (6:08pm): so you really think it’s a copycat then?

The morning’s roller coaster of emotions repeats in miniature and Hiccup pauses to unlock his front door and set his stuff down inside. Maybe his dad’s old chair has enough common-sense energy left to keep him from making more of an ass of himself and he flops into it.

Hiccup (6:11pm): no, we aren’t talking about grimborn, I forgot sorry

Astrid (6:12pm): it’s fine

Hiccup (6:12pm): no, we said we weren’t, let’s…talk about the next time we can not talk about grimborn

Astrid (6:14pm): is that a euphemism?

He blinks at that text for a second, trying and failing to shove his comprehension of it back into a neat little cube that will let him think or breathe or do anything but burn remembering how she felt against him.

Hiccup (6:15pm): Tomorrow?

And he has no money. Very minimal money at least. Not the kind of money that adults have for dates when there are euphemisms involved. Not that he’d pay for them like Viggo Grimborn luring some unsuspecting woman into an alley—this is why he’s single.

Astrid (6:16pm): Sure, what do you want to do?

Everything. Nothing. Ask questions and actually let her talk, for once, but that would require a personality transplant apparently and he doesn’t have time for one of those. Plus those probably cost money. Maybe he could pay for it with that frozen yogurt gift card, hell using a frozen yogurt gift card would practically be a personality transplant in and of itself—

Hiccup (6:16pm): frozen yogurt!!!

Astrid (6:17pm): so you’re…adamant about frozen yogurt, alright

Hiccup (6:17pm): oh no, I hate frozen yogurt, but I have no money and a gift card

Astrid (6:18pm): you know I can pay, right? This isn’t the middle ages, you don’t need to demonstrate your chivalry to me.

Hiccup (6:19pm): oh, I know, plus I’d cry if you expected me to put my hat down on a puddle so you could cross it Hiccup (6:20pm): I guess…this sounds weird but bear with me

Astrid (6:20pm): I think you just defined every interaction we’ve ever had

Hiccup (6:21pm): In a roundabout way, getting frozen yogurt sounds like a good idea because taking you places that I love has had really weird and complicated results, so maybe the answer is to take you somewhere that I hate

Astrid (6:22pm): it’s a date

00000

“Anything for me?” Hiccup yawns on his way out of his bedroom the next afternoon when they wake up, watching Snotlout juggle a shoebox sized cardboard box and a handful of envelopes through the door.

“Looks like a credit card offer and a student loan notice,” Snotlout holds out the box for Hiccup to take his mail.

“Two of the four horsemen of the adult apocalypse,” he tosses the credit card offer and opens the loan statement with a grimace.

“You know you can get those online right?” Snotlout sits down on the couch with the box in his lap, using the butter knife from his morning toast to open it.

“Hey, I sold my soul to the devil for an Art History degree, I want the hard copy receipt.” The number on the notice looks worse than normal though and it takes Hiccup a second to put together why.

It’s not about being able to pay for Astrid, she’s obviously not someone who cares about stuff like that. It’s about not…dragging her down. It’s different when Snotlout is the only one who sees him survive on ramen in the summer when tour interest goes down, Snotlout has seen worse. It’s different when he has a pocket of cash too.

He started doing tours for his own entertainment, he helped Heather start her company when it was all about the mystery for both of them. It was the notoriety that bugged him and that only amped up when the crime scenes got a fresh coat of caution tape.

But right now, staring at that number that really does keep growing when he doesn’t pay it, he’s reminded full force that he also does tours for the money.

“I’ve been thinking, I should start tours up again,” Hiccup sticks the mail to the fridge and nods to himself, “yeah, that’s a good idea, Berserker tours must be booking months out by now, I could get full share of the spontaneous customers. Any idea if there’s any issue at the crime scenes?”

Snotlout doesn’t mock him, which should be his first clue that something isn’t right, and when he turns around, Snotlout is staring into the open box on his lap with a pale face and wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t my self-tanner.”

“You ordered self-tanner?” Hiccup raises an eyebrow and crosses the room to see what is so offensive to receive in self-tanner’s stead.

It’s not skin bleaching cream, which would have been apt.

It’s a foot.

A foot standing disembodied in the shabby cardboard box, almost waxy in appearance, harmless except for the dread emanating off of it. Hiccup’s never seen an unattached right foot before, and he can’t say it was on his bucket list. There’s a note taped to the lid of the box and smeared with streaks Hiccup doesn’t want to think about, so he tries to focus on the letters. They’re blurry either from damp paper or his struggle to keep his eyes still on them, but he can see they line up in neat rows.

It reminds him of a letter he saw in glass in a collector’s museum. A letter that had been delivered wrapped around a victim’s finger and sent to Deputy Detective Ryker over a hundred years ago. A letter that had led to his eventual stint in custody.

“Is that a poem?”

“It’s a foot!” Snotlout jumps up, holding the box at arm’s length and shuffling towards the kitchen, “I know you only have one but you should still recognize it!”

Hiccup leans over the box when Snotlout sets it down, squinting at the writing and willing his heart to slow down enough to let him read, “is that in comic sans?”

“It’s a fucking foot,” he starts pacing, pulling his phone out and presumably dialing the station. “Yeah, I’ve got human remains in a fucking box—no, they were shipped here, are you crazy, Johnson? Yeah, maybe send a car, that’s a fucking brilliant idea, great job!”

Thoughts of Grimborn letters, fingers, Snotlout’s badge, and disconcertingly, of Astrid wondering what he’d do if the murders continued rush through Hiccup’s head as he fumbles with his phone, snapping four or five quick pictures of the box, as close as he can to the message.

“What are you doing?” Snotlout snaps as he hangs up and Hiccup holds his phone up.

“Oh, you mean—”

“Yes, I mean, are you taking pictures of evidence for your creepy collection? Because it’s bad enough that I touched the box,” he shudders, “oh shit, I set it on my lap, did I get dead foot juice on my junk?”

“No—”

“Are you sure?” Snotlout is more preoccupied with his lap than Hiccup’s phone now, but it’s still better to pad the lie.

“No, I’m not taking pictures of for my creepy collection.” He’s taking pictures for another reason, so it’s not technically a lie, “I’m texting Astrid that I doubt I’ll be able to make our date today.”

Hiccup (4:00pm): I don’t think I’m going to be able to do anything today, do you want actual reason or wild excuse?

“Yeah, they’re sending a car over,” Snotlout huffs, “goddammit, I thought I had one day without Eretson’s smug face—but no, some creep had to send us a hacked off foot, great.”

Astrid (4:02pm): actual reason

Hiccup (4:02pm): snotlout received a package that he thought was the self-tanner he ordered, but actually was a disembodied foot, and there’s a blurry message with it in a font I believe to be comic sans

Astrid (4:03pm): I had to read that three times to make sure I didn’t accidentally say wild excuse

Hiccup (4:03pm): raincheck?

Astrid (4:04pm): Don’t go spending that gift card without me

“Dude, put your shoes on,” Snotlout throws Hiccup’s shoes at him, one of them hitting him in the side.

“Hey!”

“They’re outside,” he points at Hiccup’s plastic left foot, “that’s a secret, remember?”

“Shit,” the rush to yank his shoes on is a perfect capsule of the anxiety that multiplies over the next hour or so as a forensic team takes the box and swabs what feels like every inch of the apartment. Snotlout isn’t happy to be in the back of a police car, even if he knows the officers in front, and he’s less happy to be plopped in Eretson’s office on the wrong side of the desk.

It doesn’t help anything that they’re both still in pajamas.

“About the self-tanner, dude,” Snotlout clears his throat, looking out the office window and presumably checking if Eretson is on his way, “it’s going to be really natural and gradual, you weren’t even going to notice.”

“That’s what you want to talk about right now?” Hiccup’s phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he hates how much he hates Heather. He needs to show it to someone. Then again, Heather wasn’t trustworthy when he trusted her.

“I watched a video on how to apply it—”

“Yeah, did it include directions to the jersey shore?”

“You mix it with your moisturizer for the first week and the color grabs slower, plus I have black chest hair, it was going to blend!”

Eretson opens the door somewhere between jersey shore and moisturizer, as stony faced as Hiccup has ever seen him.

“Mr. Haddock, Jorgenson,” he sits down and starts typing efficiently, not so much avoiding eye contact as metering his attention where he sees fit.

“It’s Officer Jorgenson to you, thanks,” Snotlout crosses his arms, flexing too obviously, and Hiccup elbows him. Officer doesn’t make anything seem better right now. The whole reason Deputy Detective Ryker spent two months in custody as Grimborn was because they could blame the bungled case on him.

“You’re not on duty, Mr. Jorgenson, in fact I believe I overheard you planning a beach vacation, don’t let my investigation interrupt it.” When he does look up, it’s at Hiccup in particular, “at five o’clock this time?”

“I know how you love your job?” Hiccup shrugs and Eretson sighs.

“So, Mr. Jorgenson, you received a package of unknown origin—“

“I thought it was from Amazon,” Snotlout tries to kick his feet up on the desk but they don’t quite reach and Hiccup rubs his eyes to avoid seeing Eretson’s reaction.

Hiding his eyes doesn’t help, every ounce of repressed irritation comes through in the detective’s pinched voice.

“Was the package addressed to you?”

“I was expecting a package so I opened the package,” Snotlout scoffs.

“You didn’t check if your name was on it?” Hiccup hisses at him and he flings his arms up, still trying to look bigger.

“I ask the questions,” Eretson doesn’t quite pound his hand on the table but the intent is there, and Hiccup tries to mentally will Snotlout to behave but his skull has always been too thick for that. “The package was addressed to an SG Jorgenson, is that you?”

“Those are my initials.”

“And they stand for?” The detective readies himself to write it down.

“My names,” he deflates, “Snotlout Gary Jorgenson, but—wait, someone sent me a cut off foot? That’s super fucked up.”

“Yes, you’re getting it, murder is fucked up” Eretson sets down a picture of Dave, or his body, coroner sheet thankfully pulled up directly under his chin. “The foot was an exact match to Dave Ralston.”

“Well I don’t know that guy,” Snotlout lies semi-convincingly, “I definitely don’t know why anyone would send me his foot.”

Eretson turns to Hiccup, “I understand you knew Dave Ralston from the homeless shelter.”

“Are you saying I mailed Snotlout a foot of a homeless man I knew in passing?” Hiccup’s fear manifests as it always does, a reason to be indignant and loud. He thinks of that leg and how he can remember having it fitted, learning to hobble on it and imagining toes. “Because no, that didn’t happen.”

“Your alibi for—“

“I was at the archives, you can talk to Astrid, you can talk to Fishlegs—“

“The package was mailed from the archives yesterday in the last package pickup at 4:30,” Eretson glances out his office window and Hiccup does the same, trying not to wince when he sees Mr. Grisly, talking to someone he can’t quite see.

He can’t lie.

“I was—“

“With Astrid,” the detective fills in, “of course.”

“I have texts,” he fumbles with his phone, but of course his camera is still open, the bloody note tiled in the corner as the last picture he took and he shoves it back into his pajama pocket. If he starts tapping his foot, it might creak, he didn’t fully tighten it down before they had to leave. “I can send them to you or something. To keep the um…encrypted dates for official—“

“Well Grisly was there too, right?” Snotlout trusts the office’s soundproofing far more than Hiccup would. “Who says he didn’t do it? It seems like the kind of creepy shit he’d do—“

“That’s enough,” Eretson booms, the sound reverberating like a ghost off of the walls. Snotlout opens his mouth to continue and Hiccup smacks him in the arm, shaking his head.

“Guess that beach vacation is cancelled, huh?” He nods at Eretson in understanding, “good thing you can get the same golden glow from a handy bottle that won’t take us out of town.”

“I’ll be following up.” Eretson gestures at the door and Hiccup leans carefully on Snotlout’s shoulder to stand, making sure his leg doesn’t creak or buckle or give itself away when it takes his anxious weight.

“Sure thing,” Hiccup drags Snotlout from the room before he can decide to go back onto tiptoes or something equally stupid. Of course, that means it’s Hiccup’s turn to be stupid and he balks outside the door, eyes widening when he sees who Grisly is talking to, “Heather?”

“Hiccup,” Heather cocks her hip, holding a thick, official looking file that isn’t labeled with her usual red sharpie. Someone else’s file. A police file. “Nice…jumpsuit.” She looks down at his plaid pajamas and he knows her too well to ignore her concern. It’s deeply buried but there and he glares at Grisly. Not even Heather deserves to deal with Rasputin’s mangy ghost.

“Miss Berserker is the Grimborn expert we hired, she’s already been explaining the concept of Trader Johann to me,” Grisly grins and maybe he’s exactly what Heather deserves, “very concise and articulate.”

“Yeah, easier to feed conjecture in small bites—“ Hiccup starts, but Snotlout grabs his arm. “I don’t know though, ‘Zombie Trader Johann’ is a little hard for anyone to swallow.”

“When solving a mystery of this magnitude,” Grisly chuckles, “we must consider all angles. Right down to resurrection.”

“Hiccup, let’s go,” Snotlout tugs and speaks a little too loud, clearly for Heather’s benefit, “don’t you have that date to get to?”

“Are you still doing tours?” Hiccup ignores him.

“Dagur’s taking over some of them,” she tries to sound professional and he remembers her wide grin when he showed her the ‘All Safe’ wall for the first time. Astrid’s picture is a piece of proof she doesn’t have, and it doubles his compulsion to get it out there. “Are you still—“

“I will be,” he nods, “I’ve got some new evidence.”

“I’m sure you do,” Grisly cuts off the conversation and points at the door, “official police business, I’m sure you understand.”

“He does,” Snotlout grumbles, glaring up at Grisly as he shoves Hiccup along, either barely remembering to mind his leg or getting lucky that he’s not causing a limp. “When we get home, I’m going to take a shower, because I swear I got dead foot juice on my lap, and then I’m going to look up ‘how not to be weird and morbid’ in your freaking office, and shove whatever book I find that definition in up your—“

“Gobber?” Hiccup once again stops short as Snotlout tries to forcibly drag him from the police station yet again. Eretson must have snuck around while they were talking to Heather, because he’s at the front desk with Gobber, discussing some notes.

“Can’t say I’m glad to see you here,” Gobber chuckles, “but I’m always glad to see you. And oh, you have Snotlout with you.”

“Yeah, I know, you must be thrilled to see me too,” Snotlout grins, apparently finding a new thing to hold over Eretson.

“Eh.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m glad to be here, not really my choice,” Hiccup glances at the detective.

“Oh, I’m sure you look guilty for something,” Gobber leans sideways and whispers loudly to Eretson, “it’s his specialty.”

“No, assuming I’m guilty is everyone else’s specialty,” Hiccup crosses his arms, leg feeling shaky like it never does.

“Aye, cops especially, so it’d be fastest if you let the handsome detective do his job—“

“Handsome?” Eretson isn’t used to being caught off guard and it doesn’t last long. “Of course, you were making a pass at me, and here I thought you were the only one in this damn town trying to help.” He collects his files, mumbling under his breath as he stalks back towards his office, clearly further from leaving the office than ever.

“Can’t it be both?” Gobber shrugs and Hiccup shakes his head.

“Twenty five years of friendship and you sell me out for a hot piece of ass?”

“I don’t think it counted as friendship when you were a baby.”

Snotlout scowls back towards the offices, “who cares about friendship? I’ve been working out just as much as he does, why does he still get everything?”

“For the best probably,” Gobber shakes his head, “you couldn’t handle me.”

Hiccup blinks at his father’s best and oldest friend, “you know, Gobber, thanks for that. Now I won’t have nightmares about mutilated body part mail.”

“Anytime.” He nods and this time it’s Hiccup dragging Snotlout outside.

Snotlout wasn’t kidding about the immediate shower, and he must have been serious about the ‘dead foot juice’, as he put it, because he throws his pajamas in the kitchen trash on the way back to his room to get dressed. Hiccup doesn’t like thinking about them in there and Snotlout agrees as he ties up the mostly empty trash as soon as he’s dressed, looking around at the ghost of forensic swab marks on almost every surface.

“Yeah, no, I don’t want to hang out in the foot-mail apartment right now,” he shudders, “Gruff’s?”

“Uh, sure,” Hiccup glances at his dad’s office door, wanting to print out one of the pictures he took and start deciphering it, but knowing if he wants to research right now it’ll be suspicious.

“I’m sure a girl as hot as Astrid already has another date lined up, you can talk to her tomorrow.” Snotlout sighs, “just put on some actual pants and come hang out until I stop thinking about…saw marks and—”

“Yeah, ok,” Hiccup doesn’t make him say it, swallowing hard against his own repressed memory as he changes. For the first time ever, he avoids looking down at his right foot and trips a little getting into his jeans because of it, but he shakes it off to engage full scale Snotlout distraction mode. “So, did you notice Eretson had a mustard stain on his shirt?”

“What? Where was it? Was it on his tie?” Snotlout snorts, “I bet he eats sandwiches like an idiot.”

Hiccup makes up enough details about the imagined stain to preoccupy Snotlout the entire walk to the bar, even throwing in a few fake laughs at a very bad impression of a British accent. He’s not quite cheerful by the time they’re sitting at the bar, but he’s cheered enough to start his version of the standard cop lecture.

“As little as possible actually means as little as possible in this situation,” he gives Hiccup a disappointed look, “like if you want to make Heather jealous, just tell her you have a date like a normal person, don’t say you’re going to start your creepy tours back up, especially at a time when that Grisly dick thinks Venison Greenland has something to do with the murders.”

“Ok, I’ll work backwards on that,” he numbers on his fingers, “Venison Greenland isn’t even clever, I am going to start tours back up, and I don’t care about making Heather jealous. And my date was cancelled by a surprisingly efficient postal shipment, which makes me wonder—”

“You can’t start tours back up right now, dude.”

“As I was saying, it makes me wonder if the person behind all of this has some sort of government sway,” Hiccup nods importantly.

“I can’t tell if you’re bullshitting me to avoid talking about Heather or not.”

“I don’t know why you always want to talk about Heather.” Hiccup stares at the row of dusty bottles above the bar and tries not to think about their comfortable nights at the Ripped Tavern, before things got contentious. Heather’s pet theory was Ryker before it was Johann and it makes his stomach churn.

“Because she was my friend too and I always thought shit would get weird in the group because you two paired off to have a murder themed wedding or something,” he shrugs, “not because you disagreed about research.”

“Snotlout, my issues with Heather are with her, if you want to be her friend that’s between you guys.”

“Are you kidding?” He snorts, “even before she teamed up with Mr. Grisly she screwed you over. Not a chance.” It would be sweet if Snotlout didn’t punctuate it by punching him in the shoulder so hard he almost falls off of the stool.

And if that package didn’t neatly line Snotlout up with Ryker.

“I’d have way better luck getting back at her by restarting tours than by making her jealous with some cancelled date.”

“You know what sucks? I used to be able to explain to you that girls care more about you moving on with another girl than they do about hundred-year-old murders, but now you’ve got Astrid whispering Grimborn in your ear—”

“Oh god, don’t go there,” Hiccup winces, “not today, haven’t I been through enough? Didn’t you hurt me enough by hitting on Gobber—”

“I wasn’t hitting on him, I just don’t know why he was hitting on Eretson when I was right there.”

“Probably because he’s known you literally your entire life.”

“Yeah, and so has your mom—”

“I’m restarting tours,” Hiccup cuts that off, “I need the money, for one—”

“Amen to that, Hiccup,” Gruffnut leans on the other side of the bar and glares at Snotlout, “it’s tough not being employed by the government to be a narc, isn’t it?”

“Just because I’m the only one with a job that makes money doesn’t make me a narc.”

“Oh, I do plenty for money,” Gruffnut numbers off, “I dress up as my dumb boy cousin and scam people, I wipe the counters, I pour beers for people, I sell alcohol for way more than I pay for it—”

“Except for the first thing, those are all just part of being a bartender,” Hiccup points out and Gruffnut shakes his head like it’s heavy with exhaustion.

“I know, right? I go above and beyond and I still barely make rent,” he whispers conspiratorially, “all the toilet paper in the bathroom is stolen from McDonalds.”

“I can hear you,” Snotlout shoos him, “so if you don’t want me to tell McDonalds—”

“See? Narc.” Gruffnut shuffles off to the other end of the bar.

“You could get a job, you know, with a boss and a paycheck and insurance that you don’t have to pretend to be my domestic partner to get.” Snotlout doesn’t need to know how much he sounds like Hiccup’s dad sometimes, it would go to his head.

“Yeah, I’m sure the five-year gap in my nonexistent resume would be great for that.” He sighs, “I guess I’m worried about…if I’m not giving tours, Heather’s basically controlling the whole Grimborn narrative in Berk and now she’s apparently working with Grisly, who—I didn’t tell you this because I didn’t think it mattered but he came by the archives yesterday—”

“I know,” Snotlout rolls his eyes, “Astrid told me.”

“Anyway, Grisly wanted a copy of that Admiral Haddock book, which means that the so called ‘experts’ at the station aren’t exactly people I trust with the truth.”

“Just a couple of weeks ago you were saying how shitty Heather was to be giving tours to active crime scenes.” Snotlout orders another beer, foot tapping against the rung of his stool, and Hiccup still never knows how to act when his cousin is worried about him.

It’s even harder when the feeling is mutual.

“I guess I was really hoping that this wasn’t connected to Grimborn,” Hiccup shrugs, “but now with the modern equivalent of the Ryker finger showing up at your—our door. Our door. I guess that me not doing a tour didn’t prevent the body part mailing, but maybe I could calm down the hysteria a bit while Heather is too busy to dump gasoline on the flames.”

And he can see what kind of information is spreading. Call him paranoid but this is all starting to circle a little too close to home.

“That’s stupid.”

“Well, I’m stupid,” Hiccup is at least keeping his promise to Astrid with that one.

“Yeah you are, given you’re actively deciding to harass Astrid’s apartment nightly when she’s your alibi for a bunch of sketchy shit.”

Hiccup opens his mouth to tell him that Astrid doesn’t mind, but then he remembers something she said when he thought she wouldn’t read a book, let alone go on a private tour with him.

“Can I borrow fifty bucks?” He stands up, “and I mean borrow, I will pay you back when this all works out.”

#ripped #httyd fic #modern au #hiccstrid fic #serial killer tour guide au #tw mild gore #tw comic sans #coplout #coplout is my life

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maybemitch · 5 years

Text

BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES

Description; When alone, it’s best to ensure you know where you’re heading, especially if it can lead to certain danger

Warning; Swearing, gore description (not major)

Word Count; 2676

———

Beyond the worn down bricks was a sight the girl had enjoyed; no matter the scenario, the dead walking or even what once use to be a normal school day. The outside world was much more beautiful than the one she was being held hostage in for her safety. Within the walls of the school, there wasn’t much to do to occupy the active mind, other than talking to people or even creating a game with the pebbles on the floor.

Yet, after a persistent debate with Marlon, he had allowed her to do what she pleased, as long as she didn’t don’t often. It all started with the two having a heated argument in his office, Rosie the dog barking in the background, not appreciating the fact her owner was in a dispute with someone.

The argument started when Y/N barged into the office, declaiming she was ‘Stir Crazy’ with doing the same everyday when not doing assigned tasked. Marlon was sitting comfortable in his chair, a book on the desk, he shrugged his shoulders.

With his lack of acknowledgement, the girls feet made their own decision and marched up to the boy, stealing the book from his hands and snapped it shut, making the sound bounced around the office. His eyes filled with anger, his body tensed before shooting up from his chair, slamming it into the cupboards behind him in accident, he didn’t really know his strength. The boy looked at the girl, who was shocked by his actions and moved round to her, demanding to tell him what hell the problem was.

Therefore, Y/N told him what she wanted. Marlon wasn’t having it. He stood towering over her smaller figure, arms crossed, shaking his head repeatedly. Displeased with the outcome, the smaller girl tackled the situation again. She tried to reason with why she wanted the rules to change, how it would help everyone if they could do what they pleased - inside the safe zone - in the woods.

The blonde shushed the dog which was barking still, before taking a look at Y/N. Her eyes were filled with hope, her hands clasped tightly behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels. Even within a world like this, she could always make Marlon smile and rethink. Meaning, he sighed before nodding his head allowing her. Only to make her stop celebrating, by telling her the rules for it; weapons in easy reach, no going out if tired and always back before pitch black.

Due to that argument and the agreement, it led Y/N to be standing in the woods at night. Her hands were planted on a oak tree. The tree had a story, just like everyone else. The trees either knew the world what it was before or how it is now - exactly like the generation in the world, the one which were born into the chaos.

Her hands rubbed against the rough bark of the tree, catching her breath. She’d been outside the walls for what seemed like hours, but then again the sky was beginning to dull, and the star light was taken over. It was time she began heading back, if she wanted to stay alive.

Her head looked in every direction, as she doing that, she shrugged off her plaid shit, tying it around her small waist, exposing the scruffy white shirt. Her feet swivelled, heading in the direction she came from. Her dirt cover hand, held securely onto her hand crafted knife in case of any danger.

As she strolled, her clumsy feet tumbled over the rotting twigs, which were scattered along the woodland trail. The holes in her ruined shoes began to collect things along the way, anything from dirt to sharp pointing stones. Her hand trembled to the cold air, handle of the knife becoming relatively cold.

The trail took an sharp turn. Y/N was still well aware, hence, when she heard moaning of the undead, she brought her knife up in a defence position. Beyond the trees to her left, wandered two walkers, their heads turning when a loud snap of a branches echoed the area.

They began walking towards her, backing up slightly, awaiting for them to split, then she attacked. Out of the two walkers, she went for the man walker, the knife diving into the rotting head. Blood flowed from the wound, the body going limp. Y/N moved onto the next one, this time the walker a little stronger.

The women corpse pushed forwards, the sudden movement making the knife idiotically fall from her hand. With an open mouth, the walker tried to get closer to her neck, her arms struggling to keep it far enough from her neck.

Her knee came up, the contact it had with the walker stomach makes it stagger back slightly, allowing enough time for Y/N to bend down, retrieving the knife. Her hand launched for the head, the knife sinking down, the moan of the walker stopping.

The knife came in contact with her leg, wiping the decaying flesh off it. Her hand rested on one of the tree again, catching her breath; something she does a lot. Her eyes fluttered shut, the images of fighting the walkers filled her mind, she wasn’t disappointed with what she did, the flesh eaters don’t deserve anything other than death, eye for an eye - that’s her opinion.

Another walker stumbled to the scene. Y/N to busy being caught up in her thought and catching her breath didn’t realise the danger she was in until she was too late.

The walker went to living girl, grabbing her arm, bringing it up to its mouth and sinking down its decaying teeth.

A blood curdling scream erupted from her

lungs, her eyes looked to her arm, the yellow teeth sinking back down into her forearm, the hands holding her in place. Tears gushed from her eyes, the liquid blurring and burning her vision. The knife she held, was taking gashes out of the walkers hand; yet it didn’t seemed fazed by the injury, it was more focused on feeding on her. Twisting her wrist, her hand went up to its head, sending the point down, puncturing the skull. The walker went limp, toppling her over, sending them both down to the floor.

Her eyes squeezed shut, before shoving the monster from on top of her to the side. She froze momentarily, the blood surrounding its mouth, which was still drizzling down its chin making her sick. She gave it another shove. Now all she could see what the torn clothing and it’s bald head. The hand which hadn’t been bit, pulled the knife out of it head, in case she needed it again for another unexpected visitor.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, chest rising up and down rapidly. Her forehead dripping with sweat; fever kicking in, in a matter of minutes. Gulping, she prepared herself for the wound.

She felt like being sick. The bite wasn’t what she was expecting, it was big, looking as if the walker was lucky to get two bites of her arm for its final supper. Her uninfected hand, prodded the inflamed skin around it, only to instantly regret it after the burning sensation kicked in.

Both of her hands, reached the bottom hem of her shirt. Shaking she tore it off. After it was frayed, she wrapped it around her wound. Her scruffy white bandage now seeped with her ruby red blood.

“Oh my god,” Y/N muttered. Her hands now both resting on the woodland floor. Her breathing was now back to normal, the tears she had been crying now stained her cheeks. After sitting on the floor for a few minutes, she stood up slowly, reaching for a tree to steady her stance.

Reaching for a plaid shirt, she slipped it on, slowly. Her hands grabbed the knife on the floor, besides the walker she had taken it from. Then set on her way again.

Approaching the school, Marlon stood at the fence, arms crossed, scowl occupying his face. The gate swung open, the creaking of it notifying the other teenagers that the girl had finally returned after a whole day of being MIA.

“Feel better?” Marlon asked as she walked through the gate, securely closing behind her, “You’ve been out for around 5 hours. Bout to send Rosie out looking for you”

Y/N nodded as she hugged her injured arm closely to her chest, not wanting to bring attention to it. Her eyes looked up to Marlon, his face was soft, worry held a residence in his eyes. He really cared for her. It was hurting her more about keeping the bite a secret for now.

“I... I lost track of time, that’s all,” she shrugged, the pair walked to the middle of the court yard. Marlon walking at her pace rather than his usual fast one. Her eyes scanned the are, everyone went on with with own business. “I’m going to go to the dorms, want to get changed”

The mullet boy halted, hand finding his hip, “Are you feeling okay? You look paler then usual”

Y/N gulped, “I just saw,” she stopped. She was going to lie, to him. Someone which kept her safe for all these years, “I saw a walker eating an animal”

“Damn, if we were all out there, we could have gotten to that animal first” Marlon said as she shook his head. His hand slapped her shoulder, her infect side, the impact caused her to bit her lip, holding a sob, “Shit. Are you okay?”

“I just want to go to my dorm,” with that she jogged to the dorms. Her hand flung open her bed room door, Violet sat on her bed while Clem and AJ sat on the opposite one.

Y/N stood at the door, a small smile on her lips as she went to the chest of draws. Her hands looking for a clean pair of clothes which were too small, they were going to act as another bandage.

AJ walked up to her, his small hand on her lower back, “You’ve been crying”

“Hm?”

The smaller boy looked around the area, Clementine and Violet watching him as he interacted with the girl.

“Your eyes are puffy,” he pointed out, his hands now resting on the draws as she peered over them looking at the arm clasped to her chest, “You’ve hurt yourself”.

Instantly, Violet got up from where was sitting. A hand placed on AJs shoulder as he moved him away from the girl. Clementine nodded her head at her friend as her child sat back down besides her. Just when the blonde haired girl was going to say something, Y/N shoved the door shut and left the room again.

She didn’t know where she was going, but soon she found herself outside of Marlon’s office. Her fist banged the door, before allowing herself in. Just like a few weeks ago, Marlon sat comfortable at his desk, reading the book she had once closed on him. The blonde looked up.

“You need something?” he asked as she timidly walked up to the desk. Closing the book, her rested on his elbows as she stood down before him, “Y/N speak up.”

“I lied,” that was the start of he truth from her. Her hands were behind her back, the injury hidden for now. Her eyes not making contact with Marlon’s, she was ashamed, “I lied, Marlon. There wasn’t an animal being eaten. The truth is, i got bitten”

She removed her hands from her back and began to shrug of the plaid shirt. It feel from her shoulders, pooling on the floor beneath her. Her injured arm lightly rested against the desk. The mark was revealed, the bandage shows. She uncovered the wound, the once scruffy shirt now covered in crimson. She shown the mark to Marlon. The infection was visible now, the teeth marks causing rotting around. The blood had dried with specks of brown in it.

Marlon lowered his head, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid”

“You’re afraid? Whenever you leave the walls, whenever anyone leaves the walls, im shit afraid. Afraid of this. This is why i didn’t want you outside if you didn’t have jobs to do,” His voice shown hints of anger, yet he was controlling it. He could feel how she felt, she was scared of everything.

“I’m sorry”

“I’m sorry too,” he got up from his chair, walking to the door, “You know... you know”

“That i’m going to turn? Yeah. I know what has to happen” Y/N admitted, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll ask Clement-“ Marlon stopped, shaking his head frustratedly, “Fuck this is awkward”

Y/N chuckled uncomfortable to herself, “Yeah it is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. So i’ll ask for the gun?” Marlon asked which caused Y/N to nod uncomfortably.

Everything seems to go slow after the confession to Marlon. Everyone was talking about it, how Y/N was bit. Yet it wasn’t like gossip, it was more like whispers saying that they would miss her and how she didn’t deserve what had happened to her.

Everyone knew no one deserved what happened to them and it was always worse when it was someone you cared for.

Marlon had asked Tenn to draw her something, how her life would be after the pain stopped, the young teen agreed. AJ asked if he could be involved in drawing something for her, despite only knowing her a few days, he wanted to show his respects like he did with Violet and Tenn for Minnie and Sophie. Ruby just wished the girl had been honest the moment she walked back through the gate as she could have done something to prevent it a while.

Marlon had asked everyone to give her space and it was safety for them incase she turned. Clementine had agreed to allow them use the gun as long as they handed it back to AJ as he belonged to him.

Hours had pasted. Y/N has called out for Marlon, the pain was now unbearable. Therefore, he gathered everyone around. Marlon stood at the front of the group, Louis his best friend by his side. Violet, Clementine and Ruby stood to the right while Mitch, Aasim, Omar and the two young boys; AJ and Tenn stood the left.

“I’ll miss you,” Y/N coughed out as the two young boys handed her their drawings. It was a picture of her happy, standing in a field with a the school in the back ground. Flowers littered the floor. “This is beautiful”

AJ and Tenn returned to where they stood. Clementine handing over the gun to Marlon. His hands shook as he pointed it at her, Y/Ns eyes shut as she saw the gun pointed to her, she awaited it. The pain was getting the best of her now.

“Please,” she mumbled as her head went to her shoulder, her life was slowly draining out her body, “Let me do it”

“No. I... I can’t let you do that, Y/N” Marlon tried to reason with her but he knew it was her dying wish.

Clementine placed a hand on Marlon’s shoulder, allowing Louis to slip the gun from his hand and handed it over to his dying friend. Marlon cursed, while Clementine rounded everyone away from where they were, wanting to give the girl the space which she wants.

Y/N smiled weakly as everyone walked away. She placed the gun to her head, her finger were shaking, alongside her hand. She took one deep breath, feeling the life slowly drain away and pulled the trigger.

The ringing of the bang, bounced around the walls. All the teenagers which had left the area giving her space, lowered their head in respect. They didn’t move, not wanted to disrespect the dead.

Y/N was now at peace. What more can they ask for?

———

Alright, why am i always writing these when the character dies? Maybe i should try and do a happy one for once.

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