#keeping an eye on him is a fucking nightmare for the ponds

[transgenderdoctorwhomst]

fobwatch!eleven would go to a rave without telling amy or rory, come back at 3am after absolutely not answering his phone, drunk out of his mind, and with at least three phone numbers. amy is considering making a "how many guidelines have we failed to follow" bingo out of this.

he spends the next twelve hours hungover as hell curled up under three weighted blankets trying to recover from the insane levels of stimulation he decided to expose himself to

#keeping an eye on him is a fucking nightmare for the ponds #fobwatch!eleven #amy pond #rory williams #eleventh doctor #ramblings #blanket permission to steal concept

[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name. 

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present. 

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow. 

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows. 

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again. 

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her. 

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him. 

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him. 

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her. 

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!” 

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it. 

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women. 

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep. 

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls. 

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off. 

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fanfiction #john wick imagine #john wick fanfic #john wick chapter 4 #john wick x you #john wick 4 #keanu reeves #john wick smut #ochl #my works

[planetsano]

◟* ♡ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : hybrid reader, guns, hunting mention.

Sometimes I think about a hunter— a big, tough macho kind of man who can hold a gun that’s heavier than you ever probably had to lift because all you do is pick berries and herbs all day.

A real man, you know? One of those men who could survive in the wilderness alone with just his bare hands. Hands that are so big and rough— ones that radiate warmth. I think about those same hands that have never touched or.. really felt a soft pair of silken bunny ears.

He would have had to met you in the wild, right? I imagine he’d had to have been at least 30 feet away looking through a scope on his rifle— he saw your ears first. Floppy sweet things that were beautiful in color. Shiny and healthy, a rare type of pattern speckled against the base color of your hair’s locks.

If your head hadn’t popped into view at the last second, surely you would have been someone’s dinner or a new fur scarf. A vegan’s worst nightmare, really.

His brows would furrow in a burly pinch, lowering his weapon before letting out a sigh. Well, he couldn’t kill you now. That would go against his morals but he’s well aware that there are plenty who would just be jumping to sink their claws into a hybrid. To either sell, kill, skin or keep as a pet— even a slave. There was just so much opportunity, which is exactly why hybrids like you were in such a high demand.

He’s never actually interacted with your kind before so he’s curious. He’d inch closer, careful not to spook you. It’s no surprise that for such a big man, he’s surprisingly light on his feet when he’s in his element. There’s too much experience under his belt to carelessly step on a twig. It’s life or death in some cases.

You’re at a pond— the crystal-clear waters mirror the vibrant greenery that surrounds it, while lily pads float gently on its surface. There’s a waterfall pouring into its depths. It looks unreal, and you’re just the cherry on top.

You’re nearly nude, only tattered pieces of various pieces of cloth almost stylishly worn to your body. You seem to be at peace giggling as your feet make the water splash while your chase a butterfly. He’s never seen anything quite so innocent

It’s your eyes. Your eyes it’s just fucking big doe eyes that do him in when you finally spot him. He’s fully ready for you to make a run for it but You don’t seem afraid at all— he’s surprised. Even more so when you cautiously walk over as if you don’t want to scare him. It’s just that.. he’s a man.. you’ve never seen one before. You’re so curious, too curious for your own good.

Your fingers would gently trace the contours of his face and run through his hair, a sense of confusion deepening in your eyes. Unlike the hybrids you’ve encountered before, there’s a startling absence of ears on his crown. You would take one of his hands and allow him to touch the softness of the floppiness of your own, silently asking him where his were.

“I don’t have ears like yours—” He’d suddenly cut himself off at your expression. His voice..! It’s so.. deep! It’s amazing, you want him to say more words but you don’t quite know how to communicate in a way humans would understand. You’re just so excitable you want to explore every inch of him but alas, you hear your friends approaching near. You give him one of the wild flowers stuck in your hair before disappearing onto a deeper part of the forest.

And he wonders if he’ll ever see you again.

— ushijima, kita, iwaizumi, toji, choso, nanami, eren, reiner.

+ bonus: dilf gojo specifically, and single father bakugo.

#┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° bria writes! #bitchcraft inc #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #x reader #tw: flashing images #tw: flashing gif #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader

[azrielgreen]

They're broken up.

It's been a year. Everyone's found a way to be around them now. Things aren't difficult like before, with the awkward silences and Dustin being visibly torn. Neither would ever ask for anything resembling allegiance, never. But the kids clearly felt torn, Robin would find ways to spend time with Eddie still, trying to tell Steve in the kindest way possible that, "oh, um, sorry, not tonight, I'm uh. Going to see his band, y'know? I already had the tickets and--"

Steve would shake his head, smile, kiss her cheek. "Go have fun, say hi to everyone for me."

He'd usually be going with her. His ticket's been given away.

Because they're broken up.

And it's been a year, so the awkwardness has faded for everyone. The kids are getting older, people are starting to drift. Steve's reasons to stay in Hawkins vanish one by one. The pond is small and he'll have to keep himself small to stay there.

Eddie didn't want to stay there. He had ideas, big bright plans that gleamed to Steve like neon; harsh, new, no.

But it's not why they're broken up.

Eddie didn't leave anyway.

Because when they broke up, they broke each other. Foundational crack of the love they shared, the time they spent, the little life they built in the ruins of the fight they can't ever tell anyone about.

They were in love and now... now they're not sure anymore.

The arguments got nasty, cruel, quiet.

Resentment and jealousy, nightmare and isolation. Easy to be in love when the world is ending, but in the harsh light of a boring Monday, they didn't know what to say, sometimes. Sex can only fill so many hours. And one awful day, when Steve asked why they were even together, Eddie stared at the floor, shook his head.

Steve left, wanting to be followed.

Eddie stayed, cried to be left alone.

They're stubborn.

Didn't talk it through.

It's been a year.

Things are different. Better. Worse.

They're at a bar with different people one night. Steve's friends from work, Eddie's band. They see each other. They stare.

They fuck in the bathroom, Eddie's hand over Steve's mouth and when they kiss after, it's tremulous and strange; the gentle violence of something reborn, something dying. They never did it like this before. Not so capable and knowing, not this confidence of touch with the counterbalance of emotional stability.

They fell in love when the world was falling apart and that love could not hold when it healed. They broke apart, healed alone.

Now, Eddie cradles Steve's face, studies him.

'Hey.'

Steve looks between dark brown eyes. Stranger, lover, Eddie. Not his Eddie, because they've grown now. Changed, but he's still him. He is still all the things Steve fell for.

They're wet with come and sweat, with spit-slick kisses and tenderness growing from fresh earth, room for roots to sink and seek. Not the stale pot that cracked, ceramic could not contain them both.

"Hey, yourself," Steve utters. "You still fuck real good."

Eddie smiles, kind of frowns like he's surprised.

"Like I could ever forget how, Harrington."

It's been a year. Maybe they needed that.

Maybe they needed a lot of shit they couldn't say to each other.

"Wanna get a drink?"

"Why not?"

Or maybe they just needed that time apart.

That's what they'll tell Dustin, anyway, when they call from Steve's bed the next day. Warm skin, lazy kisses, secrets and stupidity.

It feels like coming home after seeing the world, even though they never left Hawkins.

Not without each other.

#steddie fic #steddie #oonionchiver #a03 #fanfic #i was feeling very melancholic #gee i wonder why

[familyvideostevie]

my dear i think i need 8. "I like when you're being so soft." with my bf sirius if you're feeling generous <3

valentine's day prompts 8. "I like when you're being so soft." | sirius black x reader summary: just a walk with your new-ish boyfriend. life is simple and good. | grumpy-ish!reader, fluff, teasing, silliness. new love is fun, people!!! | 0.7k a/n: cute, dude. anything for u and your bf. this was fun! first sirius in a while, hope it satisfies.

__ The sun hangs low in the sky, golden-hour light bathing the park in yellows and pinks. The warmth that has everyone outdoors on a February afternoon is slowly fading. You feel the chill nipping at your nose and your fingers and wish you brought gloves.

"I actually can't fucking believe it's not January anymore," Sirius says.

You knock your shoulder with his. "Weren't you complaining last week that January is the longest month?"

"Was that me?" He flicks a curl from his face, mouth tugging up in a smirk and nose ring glinting. "Doesn't sound like me. I'm not a whiner. You're probably thinking of James --"

His smirk turns to a shit-eating grin when you fail to swallow your laugh. It's just one of many in the park full of children running around, friends lounging on benches, and couples pressed close like you two.

Sirius is remarkably good at that -- making you laugh. Making you smile, pulling you out of your head. He likes it when you're in your head just fine, or so he says, but having someone willing to put in the effort is new. It's novel.

Well, new-ish, anyway. You've been seeing each other long enough that a walk in the park isn't really a date so much as spending time with him. You'd give him every spare moment if you could. You love whispering secrets in the dark, love the crease of your pillowcase on his cheek when he wakes up next to you. You love the riot that is his hair in the morning and the way he kisses you, the way he treats you like someone to be worshiped, like someone he's waited for, like --

"God, they're a fucking nightmare, aren't they?" he grumbles, tearing you from your thoughts. Sirius has tugged you to the edge of the pond to watch the two swans chase away ducks. "Don't know why anyone likes birds, if you ask me."

"They're romantic," you chide. "They mate for life, you know."

He laces your fingers together. "Nature expert, are you?"

"Come on." You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. "Everyone knows that," you mutter.

His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. You can feel his eyes on you but you keep your gaze on the swans.

"News to me," Sirius says, softer. "Do you think that happens for us?"

The question surprises you. He's not the most romantic guy, your kind-of-boyfriend, preferring to leave that to his friends. He treats you plenty well and takes you on nice dates and calls you on days he doesn't see you but he's not exactly...serious. He's not open like this, at least not to you, not yet. Not outside of your bed. It's still so new, this feeling in your chest when you see him, when he touches you. The future stretches out in front of you and instead of being daunting, it's exciting. You want him there for it.

"Like, soulmates?"

You turn to look at Sirius just as he looks away, his own cheeks a little pinker than before. He wrinkles his nose and shrugs. You trace the strong line of his brows and his sharp jaw with your eyes and squeeze his hand.

"I guess so," he says. "Silly, I suppose."

"I don't think it's silly."

Sirius looks at you, dark eyes swirling with something you can't put a name to.

"No?"

You step a little closer to him, close enough that the tips of your shoes almost touch. He smells like leather and the cigarettes he sneaks when he's stressed. You inhale deeply.

"If birds can have that, why can't we?"

"Romantic."

"You started it," you whisper. Your eyes flutter shut and you feel his breath on your lips.

"I like when you're being so soft," he says.

Before you can retort, he's kissing you. It's firm but unhurried, just the press of his lips to yours, his tongue tracing the seam of them before he pulls away. On the scale of kisses you've had with him, it's pretty chaste, but your heart picks up all the same and you blink a few times when he pulls away.

"It's February," he says.

"Uh, yeah?" you say, a bit stupidly. "We -- we talked about that already."

He laughs and wraps his free arm around your shoulder to tug you in for a hug.

"Will you be my valentine?"

Before you can answer, a loud squawk startles you both. Sirius yelps and leaps back from the water's edge, pulling you with him.

"Fucking menaces!" he shouts. "Up to no good!"

The swans flap their way onto the path and crane their necks at you, hollering all the while.

You throw your head back and laugh.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fluff #valentine's day prompts #emma's asks #marauders fanfiction

[marisol124]

I need lore for Zorua Carmine pls? :0

I apologize in advance for how long of a read this may be Its a copy and paste from when i was explaining the whole thing to a friend on discord so sorry if theres a bit of context missing from some parts- This might be around 1k words im so sorry. I am not normal about the kitakami siblings.

warning for drowning and child death (Y E A H)

The au starts with The Drednaw Incident™ (I can't go into detail about it currently, but for now... lets just say that itll be explained on the rp blog i run 👁️)

Carmine still feels so horribly guitly for the whole thing. she feels she was responsible for the whole mess. for her mothers death.

and kieran, he too is so torn up about it. he doesnt WANT to blame his sister, but hes an emotionally torn apart like 6 year old, i dont think young kids aremature enough to realise what is or isnt someones fault

SO, one day, the siblings are having their usual arguements. but it just keeps escalating, getting worse and worseeventually it gets to the point where its like WAYYY too far. carmine says something bad and then kieran claps back with "WELL, maybe if you didnt *kill* mom then, then i..."

he IMMEDIATLY knows he fucked up bad, but its not like he can undo it

carmine just. just stands there in shock for a bit. She knows its true, but nobodys ever said it outloud. its the first time. and from her *brother* off all people, the one who her horrible mistake affected the most...

She just stands there for a bit, then looks down at her hand. she sees it covered in blood, like in her nightmares

it just. replays for her. the nigihtmares where SHES the one killing her mother

Kieran goes to hold her shoulders, to apologize because yeah he said the most out of pocket shit ever

but it just scares carmine. her anxietys so bad she starts to run. she doesnt know where shes going but she just knows she needs to get far away

she ends up back at the timeless woods, to the spot where they were attacked

she runs to the little pond in there, for some reason like searching for a drednaw, hell even a chewtle. something to kill her i guess D:

she runs so fast that she accidently trips far into the lake. and the silly thingis. she never learned how to swim so :3

also, her grandparents and kieran are trailing behind her, but since carmine had a lot of a head start- they kinda lose her once they reached the woods

she starts to drown in the lake, unable to get back up. she regrts everything, she only now realises how much of a coward she is to die. she doesnt want to die here

but she also thinks, maybe shes just such an idiot that she deserves to drown here in a small pond, never to be found again.

eventually after a bit of running around, kieran reaches the pond and looks down it, just in case. then yep, there she is. carmine looks at him and tries to feebly reach her arm out, but both of them are too small to reach each other at all

he yells for his grandparents to get over there, right now, and eventually their grandfather reaches them, jumps in to get carmine, and bring her back to land

however shes just. swallowed and breath in too much water at this point. they try to get it out, but its useless. it wont come out

the last thing she sees before dying is just. the horrified look in all of their faces. kiki is staring directly at her, everybodys eyes are full of tears. it wasnt supposed to go like this

finally, her eyes go from looking back into kierans to just... nothing. her eyes still open but there was nothing behind them. the light in them had faded. her body had gone completely limp

their grandparents keep trying and trying, but eventually they have to admit that shes gone now. there was nothing they can do about it.

now its KIERANS turn to feel disgustingly guilty. he said the thing that set her off in the first place. whoospie

so yeah... they go back home. they grieve. they do all that stuff...

however, unbeknownst to them, a bit after her death, her spririt, her guilt, her regret, it solidified itself and turned into... a little zorua

i wanna take some inspo from pkiki for it... like a sort of fuzzy memory... not being fully aware of herself but knowing she used to be a human..

she spends so long just wandering around the wilds, aimless but knowing there was something missing, making the zorua feel so empty

shortly after she wakes up she meets a friendly trevenant

it takes pity on her, for it also remembers seeing her and her mother back during the drednaw incident

it cares after her while she has no idea what she's doing as a pokemon, she just feels so much body dysmorphia and doesn't know why

he tells her stories of back when he was a human as well, guides her through this whole thing

though he does recommend for her to stop trying to get her old life back...

as he has tried before too and it lead him into horrible mental states that lead to nothing. just a bunch of worrying over nothing...

he's not being malicious doing this btw, he just doesn't want her going through the same usless pain as he did

but carmine is a strong and persistent spirit, so it doesn't deter her much. just makes her hesitat a bit and accept her more feral side eventually...

she and the trevenant grow very close, the trevenant reminds her of someone she used to love so much.. someone who was always there for her..

But, one day...

also dw about the trevenant. he's just looking out for her in a way that's not helpful for her 😔

like. like think of a mother being afraid of letting their child do something a bit risky

but they know their child wants to do it so bad, so they set aside that nervousness to help them achieve their goal. that's kinda how trevenant and carmine r

Going back to Kieran in this story, he ended up picking up mask making as kind of a coping skill, his grandpa being his mentor

SO, he and his grandpa end up going to the timeless woods one day, to cut down a few trees for more materials

-ough maybe she likes to illusion herself into a phantump... it makes her feel a bit closer to the trevenant and the slightly more humanoid pokemon feels just a bit better than a zorua..........-

ok so when Kieran and his grandpa are at the forest, grandpa chops down a tree, and then hands the ax to Kieran to try

So Kieran goes to cut a tree down.. but it's actually the trevenant sleeping (I like to think they're a bit nocturnal, zoruas too)

this angers him and so he then gets up suddenly, scaring the shit out of the two people

They've been through this before. They've seen how aggressive the pokemon here could get. They knew the dangers of this forest and. they. were scared. they would be the next fatalities in this cursed woods

The trevenant attacks Kieran, it scares him so bad, BUT THEN

carmine sees it going to attack and just.. she feels something so strong looking at the two. she can't put her finger on it but she knows they are what she's looking for

so as trevenant attacks, she jumps in front of Kieran to take the attack

the force throws her into a rock, she looks a bit at the shocked faces of kieran and his grandpa before quickly fainting

this is the first times she's fainted btw. the sudden pokemon attack gives her bad flashbacks too

trevenant is shocked by this, he didn't mean to hurt her at all

he figures that if she jumped out to save them, then she doesn't want them killed so he won't attack them anymore..

grandpa has some pokemon stuff on hand, intedned for their own pokemon but when you find a pokemon in need you gotta help them out right

he gently gives her a revive, waking her up again

She's really freaked out when she gets back up, panicking from the attack still

she notices the two and trevenant and while trevenant expects her to go to him for comfort, she instead leaps into kierans arm for some reason

it catches him off guard, the sudden lunge scaring him and making him drop her

when she hits the floor she looks back up at him kinda hurt, trying her best to communicate she wasn't bad and she wanted to go with them, it all came out as growls and barks though

his grandpa though is a bit experienced with pokemon so he gets it though, telling Kieran that it's not going to bite

the two decide they should leave and head back home, but the zorua refuses to let go of kieran so, they end up just agreeing to bring it with them. it was a bit injured after all, and could probably use some medical attention

carmine looks back at the trevenant, he just stands there and in a silent type of way wishes her the best

kinda a sweet goodbye for them

so then they head back home... heal her up a bit more. they were going to release her back into the woods but it refused to leave, so yep to them it's like they found a silly little stray and now that's a new part of their family

though they do find it a bit strange that when they offered to catch it, it absolutely refused lmao

I like to think kieran reached out his hand with a pokeball in it as an offer, and then she just slaps it out of his arms hehhe

so after like the first night of having her in the house, they start to introduce her to their other pokemon, just to like start incorporating her into the family

the first one they introduce her to is kierans sentret, since its usually out of its ball roaming the house. HOWEVER they find it really... unnatural that the sentret immediately ran towards her in a concern type of way, it seemed to sniff her and realize something, chipping a lot at kieran, as if trying to say something...

the other pokemon don't really know who she is but, they just have the slightest of feelings that it's someone kieran used to know

so yeah the pokemon are kinda all over her, but they do make quick friends with her :D

this is were the "finding herself" arc begins jehdudhjf

she spies photos of her sometimes around the house and just... looks at it intently

there's something about that girl that she just... can't understand what it is about her

I think.. the silly thing I'm doing with this au is symbolizing her humanity with her headband :3

since it was such an important thing to her, they kinda uh buried it with her

so as she slowly starts to remember herself more, she ends up wanting to illusion herself back into a human again. to be able to show Kieran and her grandparents who she is

but the key to doing that is the headband...

OK THE COPY PASTE IS DONE. Yeah its a lot XD.

#tcz!carmine #the confused zorua au #the confused zorua #marisols rambles #pokemon carmine #pokemon kieran #marisols answers

[faunandfl0ra]

TIMING: Yesterday LOCATION: Wicked's Rest State Park PARTIES: Conor & Rhett @ironcladrhett SUMMARY: A walk in the national park turns into a trip down memory lane for some, nightmare alley for others. CONTENT WARNINGS: Sibling death (mention)

In the two months he had been living in Maine, Conor hadn’t really thought about taking a look around town, or beyond. The shop was often busy, and when it wasn’t, he liked to retire in his backyard, which was beginning, day after day, to look like the disorganized, flowery, luscious haven he wished to spend his evenings in. When he didn’t do that, he generally settled with his violin in his bedroom, rehearsing for hours. 

Going out was never really his priority. His garden counted as going out to him. He didn’t need to be with people to do that. His garden was fine. 

He didn’t particularly seek the company of others today either. 

Conor wasn’t much of a hiker, but he figured the state park would have greenery worth the trouble. He hadn’t packed much aside from a bottle of water, and he hadn’t told a soul about where he was going or for how long. It was Sunday, he didn’t need to tell the whole town about what he did on Sundays, right? 

On his way toward a stream, he had to stop to look at the purple and yellow irises growing there. “Well aren’t you a beauty,” he smiled, crouching down to take a closer look. 

—

Spend more time in the woods, his brother had told him. Warned him, more like. There was a reason he was trying to keep Rhett from the lake, and while the warden couldn’t fathom what it could be, he could do what Emilio asked. For a little while, anyway. 

As such, today found him wandering through the state park, his posture relaxed enough that it was almost as if he was just on a stroll and not on the constant lookout for fae or fae-related activity. Still, the scabbard hanging from his hip and the rifle slung over his back told a different story—not that he cared much about appearances. He looked dangerous, and anyone that he encountered that had nothing to fear from him would do well to stay away anyway, because he was in a sour mood after failing to kill that fucking lake nymph. 

A buzz crawled over his skin and he stopped dead, wide eyes scanning the area. His vision might be shit, but his fae-dar was impeccable, especially in a place like this. Crowds of people and monsters were another story. 

Moving stealthily, the warden drew his sword and twisted it in his hand, his breath catching in his throat when he finally saw the source of the claws that scratched at the backs of his eyes. Some… whatever it was, crouched down admiring flowers. Cute. Those purple and yellow buds were about to get a fresh paint job, though.

He crept up behind the figure, careful with the knowledge that it might have some kind of advanced hearing, moving as slow as he could. Crouched down among the ferns, focused fully on his victim to-be, he didn’t notice the crystal poking up from beneath the foliage his palm brushed through, his fingertips dragging along its smooth surface for a brief second or two before moving on to the rough bark of the tree that stood beside him.

When the fae started to move again, Rhett moved faster, closing the distance in about a second and pressing his iron blade to its neck as his hand gripped it by the opposite shoulder. He should have slit its throat then and there, but curiosity got the better of him. “What are ya?” He could only tell a nymph by feeling alone, and this one had a different flavor of irritation. 

—

Conor left the flowers where they belonged. He couldn’t bring these back to his place. They’d die there. Then, if he managed to dig a pond in his backyard, perhaps he could invest in those sorts of plants next year. He’d have to worry about mosquitoes, but he supposed there were easy ways to get rid of them. 

Lost in his train of thoughts, he paid no mind to the sounds in his back, up until it became clear those were footsteps, and coming from someone way too close to him. Now was not the time to freak out, yet, Conor couldn’t stop himself from focusing more than it was comfortable on the sharp, cold yet burning thing pressed to his neck, or the strong hand gripping at his shoulder. He didn’t like strangers touching him. He knew he was tense, and yet any noise that could have helped him get help got caught up in his throat. And why was that knife burning him? 

The stranger spoke. He didn’t sound nice, or from around here. 

Conor didn’t attempt to take a look at him. He didn’t dare move. Still, he had to answer his question. “What do you mean?” His voice quivered as he stammered his way through the short sentence. “I’m just hiking, I’m not gonna do anything.” 

—

“Didn’t ask what yer doin’, idjit. Asked what ya are. Know you’re fae, no point in lyin’ ‘bout it. Wanna know what kind afore I cut yer damn head off. Why don’tcha let that pretty li’l disguise’ah yours drop, eh? Would love tah see what ya really look like.” 

As if to back up this threat, Rhett’s cutlass pressed more firmly into the fae’s neck, his grip moving from the creature’s shoulder to grab a fistful of its unruly hair. 

“Come on… rude to keep a fella waitin’,” Rhett warned a final time, leaning his head down to speak directly into his prey’s ear, just in case he wasn’t being heard. 

—

The hunter did a good job of exposing Conor’s neck, of making him entirely vulnerable. What could he possibly do now, to break free from his strong hold. With a whimper, Conor slowly raised his hand up, before him. He didn’t want to do the other harm, simply to get out of harm’s way.

It would be disappointing to see the end of the path today. He had just began the process of letting his brother back into his life. Disappearing would leave a bitter taste of unfinished business in his younger brother’s mouth, and Conor hated to be the sort to keep on letting him down. He had just introduced himself back to the Bostonian man, all to be murdered weeks later. What a shame. 

“I’m a…” He winced. The other’s lips brushed against his ear lobe, too close, his voice too loud for his sensitive ears. With that stimulation, they turned back to their natural aspect, pointier, goat-like, and it wasn’t long before Conor’s legs took on a more hairy and complicated aspect, his bushy hair parted on his temples, revealing curled horns. “Please, I… I don’t do people harm.” He tried not to wince. That wasn’t quite right, but the other didn’t need to know it.

___

Was a divine damn thing, seeing one of their kind shed the human disguise it used to masquerade in a place it didn’t belong. He pulled back a bit as those ears changed, gaze traveling down the creature’s body as more of it shifted, then back up again to see the horns that’d appeared on its head. 

“Ah.” The usual plea. “Faun.” As far as murderous fae went, faun were a little lower on the totem pole—he could recall a time when he’d have left most of them well enough alone, provided they weren’t hurting anyone. But unfortunately for this faun, those days were gone. 

“No? Y’ain’t never killed no one? Find that hard’tah believe, goat. Easy t’go overboard. Never had an accident, then? Yer the pinnacle of control?” His tone carried a sharp, poisonous edge to it, not unlike the one digging into the faun’s flesh. “Be honest, I know it’s terrible painful to lie. You ever killed anyone?”

—

"You've killed before," Conor countered. No one in their right mind would walk up on someone like that with a knife if they weren't metaphorically screaming bloody murder from a mile away. "Doesn't mean you should die for it, does it?" Conor knew some of his fae pals would disagree. 

He was ashamed of his feats enough as it was. He didn't need the fae police to come and slap him on the hand (or much worse) about it. So yes, Conor's tone was harsh, and the faun was once again cranky. It would be terrible to die having renounced his ideals. It would be strange for it to be any different with that damn blade burning against his neck. 

With a heave of his shoulders, Conor took another calming breath. "I was raised by humans. I don't know the ways of my kin," which was why he had accidents. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to do people harm," most of the time, he didn't. Karens and Kyles had it coming.

—

“That’s where yer wrong, bucko. I’ve killed, sure. I’ve killed lots. Fae, undead, shifters… don’t make much difference to me, so long as they ain’t human. But fae really key me up like nothin’ else, yanno? All those fuckin’ tricky ways you lot like to talk… sucker some poor human into doin’ whatever you tell ‘em to, into hurtin’ the people they love, all with yer god damn fuckin’ words…” It was getting personal, clearly. “But all that killin’ I’ve done? It does mean I should die for it. In fact, I plan to. Just not today.”

He shoved down on the faun’s shoulder to force it to its knees, sucking in a deep, wavering breath. “Save yer fuckin’ apologies,” he bit out, wondering why his throat felt so tight. “You might not mean to, but ya do. Ya do all kinds’ah fuckin’ harm all the fuckin’ time—” What remained of his vision had grown blurry, and there was a sound in his ear like a mosquito that just wouldn’t leave. “I—” His thoughts had gone foggy and he felt… he felt… oh, no. Not now. His mind abandoned him, separating from his body in a metaphorical sense, leaving him hollow and confused. 

“Gonna kill ya,” he muttered, tightening the grip on his sword, almost like he was trying to remind himself why he was there. “Gonna…” His dark gaze dropped down to the top of the faun’s head and the world around him felt spinny. It felt wrong. 

“Look at me,” came the command, soft but stern. He only waited a half-second before demanding again, louder and more fraught with emotion. “Look at me, goat! Look at me!” His eyes were wide and wild and brimming with tears as the faun finally met his gaze, and a choked sob was barely bitten back as he took in the other’s visage. 

Fuck’s sake, he looked a lot like Desmond. 

It. It looked a lot like Desmond. But it wasn’t. Dez was dead. Dead a long time ago. Not lookin’ up at him from his knees, horned and fuzzy-eared—

“Dez,” he groaned, still holding his sword out in a threatening sort of way, though it was clear that he was… elsewhere. Agony turned to frustration and he tried to shake off whatever was ailing him, but it was no use. God, why did this thing look so much like his brother? 

—

The tricky ways his lot liked to talk? That didn’t speak to him. He hadn’t met many fae, but the few he did meet were kind to him, even Cass, and she had destroyed his front door. Some were scared, hiding, disgusted with themselves, some took being fae as something more than an identity, making it their duty, and some just wanted to live their life. He was a bit of that, although Conor had avoided looking at his reflection over the years. 

His knees hit the ground as he reflected on his situation, how unfair it all was, and how fair it all was. It was unfair to his mother. She’d never know why he stopped writing. To his brother and to him. He expected a response from him, and he wanted to reconnect with him. But deep down, Conor knew that none of this mattered. This man was right. He was a murderer. He didn’t mean to, but more than once, he was unable to stop his feeding process and people had died. Of course it looked like heart attacks, and he was coined as the unlucky witness. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

His eyes fell on the flowers. If he was gonna die, he might as well be looking at something beautiful. The thought brought a sad smile to his face. 

And then that cruel man demanded he looked at him. And that’s when he saw his face, at this awful man calling him a goat. He was not a fucking goat. The faun’s lip quivered and he wrinkled his nose in anger, in disgust. 

“What?!” he spat. Who the fuck was Dez. “Why are you doing this? You don’t need to do this. Please.” 

__

Something was wrong. This wasn’t the usual bout of dissociation, something else was happening and he didn’t know what. He felt furious and tormented in the same breath, like there was some terrible, heavy truth weighing down on him that he’d been hiding for centuries. 

But that was ridiculous. So what, then? Why did he feel like the world was fucking ending? He was just here to kill a goddamn goat. Kill the faun. Focus. Focus. Breathe. 

“I do need to,” he argued, unsure why he was even bothering talking to it. Just cut the head off and be done with it. “Y’don’t understand… I gotta.” Why? Because he’d been raised for it? That hadn’t mattered to him back when Dez was still alive. In fact, he’d often been the one sticking up for fae when his brother wanted to kill them. 

But that was why, wasn’t it? Because his trust had been misplaced, and it had gotten his brother killed. And the one who did it—she’d gotten away. It was her fault. Her fault. The fault of all fae, just like this one. But if he hadn’t made that promise—

Fury decorated with a golden filigree of sorrow wrapped around him like chains and he gasped for breath. He couldn’t do this. The faun was begging for its life and where that would normally delight him, now it made him feel ill. He tried to think about what could have changed. He retraced his steps in his mind, as serpentine as they were and as much as his thoughts wanted to fully disconnect from themselves. None of it made sense.

“Get out of here,” he snarled, unable to combat the feeling of damnation that had taken his whole person in a vice-like grip. Fuck it. Fuck it, he needed to be alone, and killing this thing felt like too much effort for arms that refused to work, to do what his brain tried to tell them. “I said git!” Again, the command was barked louder and only a half-second after the first. Rhett took a step back, his sword thudding to the forest floor as his hands rose to instead tangle themselves into his mane of silver hair. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this, not ever. Not anymore. He didn’t feel shit anymore. He needed to ground himself. Needed to do his steps, run through his routine, until this went away. 

____

"Why? Who told you that?" Conor's eyes would have rather looked anywhere else than at that terrible, terrible man's face, but he could feel a change and maybe this would be his only chance. “I don’t fucking understand, no, but… you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Please.” He felt like every single time he pleaded, the clock just ticked closer toward the inevitable, and yet he couldn’t stop saying that damn word. If that man allowed him, he would say it again.

Around them, things were undisturbed. Perhaps could he find solace in being surrounded by such beauty for his final moments ?

The water was still streaming next to him, and the scent of the flowers still perfumed the ambient air. Soon, there would only be the smell of blood, but the calm would last because all in all, he knew he was insignificant and that the neighborhood would be more disturbed by the absence of a florist than by the absence of the florist. Hermetic to the torments that shook the hunter, the faun was about to leave, but certainly not in such a literal way.

The bad man barked, and Conor didn't immediately understand what that meant. It didn't make any fucking sense, and he stood for a moment, a second at most, staring at him, looking confused as well as offended. What the fuck, he thought.

And yet, it didn't take long for him to do exactly what was asked of him, once again. Conor didn't necessarily have much affection for authority figures, but he preferred not to upset assholes who carried a sword behind their backs. The sound of metal hitting the floor. He remembered covering his ears then, almost mirroring his opponent, but not for long. Before the hunter regained his composure, the faun would be long gone. 

—

It was illogical, what he was doing. There was no reason that beheading the faun should feel so fucking difficult, but it did, and he was telling it to leave before he’d taken care of things. Stupid. Stupid. 

Who told you that? Everyone. Everyone he’d ever known, even though he’d not believed it for the first twenty-some-odd years of his life. They didn’t all have to die, he’d argued. The ones that weren’t hurting anyone on purpose, they didn’t have to die. They needed tools, that was all. Tools to help them control what the universe had given them, to make their own choices. Like he was making his own, despite what he and his brother had been taught growing up. 

That was a time when ‘it’ had been ‘she’, and she had been the love of his life. The one that showed him nothing but beauty and a kind of grace that he lacked, but had aspired to. She was everything, until she took everything. His love, his family, his unborn child. Gone in a second. Gone like his choice to spare any of them, ever.

Except for now. Because there were voices in his head screaming at him to stop, voices he’d never heard before. Phantom hands, not real in any capacity but still able to grasp him as though they were, dragged the warden to his knees where he wept. He wept for some unknown anguish, foreign to him but coursing through his bloodstream like it was his own. 

The faun was gone, but that didn’t stop the feeling. It went on, and on, pulling him to the forest floor where it would keep him for the better part of two days. 

#ironcladrhett #faun and flora | threads #rhett threads #sibling death tw #wickedswriting

[galaxywhump]

@brutal-nemesis tagged me to share 7 snippets of my writing, either already posted or in progress!

1. Next chapter of SV-240 whaaaat

"People know that you're alive."

The car is getting closer and closer to the hospital, and Wren digs his fingers into his thighs, not too hard so Nathaniel won't notice. At the dock it was just the two of them, on the ship it was him and the crew, but now there will be so many people everywhere, and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

"Do the hospital staff know I'm going to be there?" he asks, his throat squeezed tight.

"Yes." Nathaniel nods. "I was told they would do their best to keep your arrival secret for now. We won't walk in through the main entrance."

"Okay. That's good." Wren bounces his leg, but stops himself, not wanting his anxiety to show too much. "But it's not gonna stay a secret forever."

2. Daniel has a bad night

For once, it’s Daniel who’s plagued by nightmares. Wren wakes up to a low whine and the arms around him shifting, and it takes him a moment to realize what’s going on, why Daniel’s breathing is shaky, why his hold on Wren borders on desperate.

“Daniel,” Wren mutters, squirming in his embrace, reaching up to squeeze his arm; he’s only answered with another strange whine. “Daniel.”

That works. Daniel’s breath hitches, his movements no longer feel like they’re outside of his control. Wren sighs, not wanting to deal with this in the slightest, but he pushes against Daniel’s arm until he can move more, and rolls over to his other side, to face Daniel, whose eyes are half-closed, gaze still absent.

“What…?” he asks, and Wren barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“You had a nightmare. Woke me up.”

3. Everything's fine

Wren leaves the house without Daniel’s knowledge.

He still has the tracker, of course, but when he left, Daniel was napping, so he hopes that he won’t wake up for a few more hours. He just wants to go for a swim in the picturesque pond that he remembers the path to. He’s unarmed, without so much as a kitchen knife, but he’s not scared. He’s not anything.

There is an emptiness inside of him that has had a grip on him for several weeks now. The sort of hopelessness he was trying to avoid, but instead of making him Daniel’s loving partner, it’s only making him… do this. Go for a walk in the jungle, looking straight ahead, not scanning his surroundings, barely flinching when he hears rustling and other sounds of the dense forest.

4. Continuation of Berkeley's Revenge

“I guess when I feel like hearing you scream again, I can just take my pick.” He lets go, circles the table, and gets to cleaning and dressing the wound on Wren’s right hand, laughing a bit at his instinctual attempt to wrench his hand free. “Try not to get an infection and die, but it should be fine. You'll live. You’re so tough, after all.” He glances at Wren’s face, listening to his frantic breathing. “Why so quiet, Rackham? No more jokes? Figures,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “We both know how pathetic you really are.”

“You cut off my fucking finger,” Wren rasps.

“And I can do it again if you don’t stop swearing.” The terror in Wren’s eyes when his head jerks towards Berkeley makes him smile. “Yep, I think that’s a good idea. Cutting off a finger every time you swear.”

5. Speech is silver

“See? Just like that. I know what I’m doing, don’t worry.”

The feeling of the thread slipping through his skin makes him sick to his stomach, and there’s more sharp pain which turns to burning with another stitch. Daniel strokes his chin with his thumb in a soothing motion, and doesn’t stop his work for a second - a small mercy in his eyes, getting over with the sewing as fast as possible while remaining cautious not to mess it up.

To him, it’s love.

6. #scrabble whump

“Buying you was the best decision in my life.”

“The most expensive Scrabble buddy in history,” Wren scoffs and lets his head drop again, his shoulders trembling with muffled laughter, because this whole situation is hilarious, honestly.

All this effort to kidnap the head of the League’s kid just to play fucking Scrabble with him.

Well, and torture him. And humiliate him.

But right now they’re playing Scrabble, and it’s the funniest thing Wren can imagine in his almost delirious state.

7. Oscar's debut

“Who the hell are you?” Oscar snapped. The person didn’t answer - instead the pressure on his neck disappeared, and the object was sent flying to the side. It hit the ground with a horrible clangor, and Oscar finally saw what it was - a piece of metal shaped like a capital H, probably a piece of scaffolding, no doubt identical with the one pinning his legs down. He could finally prop himself up on his elbows and look up at the face of the person who defeated him - the face he’d seen on billboards and the news, the face of Bradley McKenna.

“You know me, don’t you?” Bradley flashed his teeth in a brilliant smile seeing the hint of recognition in Oscar’s eyes. “Would be weird if you didn’t.”

~~~

tagging: @lonesome--hunter @redstainedsocks @worldofwhumpcraft @b0amagination and anyone else who'd like to do this!

#thanks for the tag nemi! #i have a few wips going as you can see #i've just been struggling but what else is new #still i'm glad i get to share some of what i have with y'all #some wips #and some trips down memory lane #tag games

[day0walkersdrafts]

“Don’t get attached.”

He needs to hear it—which means, he hates that she says it.

Xavier’s dark red brows tighten, pinch in, a line on his carved pale, freckled brow. He looks as vulnerable as he does picturesque like that. Leaned against the shuttered windows, peering out, dark bruises under his pond colored eyes. His arms crossed over his chest, tucked protective like. Not defensive. Like he’s keeping it together. Although the air’s returned to normal—to a nice cooling temperature, anyway—he’d not pulled the sleeves back on yet. There’s a vein in his bicep that stands out at attention, like he’s flexed and ready for something. Probably to be angry at her.

The bounty hunter sleeps in the corner, legs tucked up, head lolled to the side. One arm slipped around his knees to keep them there. The other hand rests on his helmet, as if in sleep, he needs the comfort of it. That it’s there. Will be there when he wakes up. She thinks of her monitors, the ocean blue screensavers that never dull.

Benji’s curls stick sweaty and slick to his face, his eyes flickering with REM sleep. Nomi cannot spare him more than a few glances at a time.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Xavier is playing stupid. Which is sad, because, he’s not. He really isn’t—no matter what the others say behind his back (or sometimes, to his face). No matter the nickname. Baby. Poor Baby. There’s a reason he’s Corporal. A reason they’ve gotten this far through this nightmare ship—and it’s because Xavier isn’t stupid. But, Nomi thinks sometimes he wishes he was. Wishes that was a good enough excuse. His arms unfold and he picks at a fingernail, glaring down instead of at her.

“It’s math, Xavier.” Nomi steps toward him. Her hand raises, like she might touch his forearm before it falls away. The bare expanse of his skin terrifies her. The atmosphere lights overhead dim, just a notch. Ready for bed, they say. The lights from the control panel flicker up in contrast, a mix of reds and blues. “You get it, yeah? S’just math. You’re good at math.”

“What are you saying, Nomi?”

“You,” she gestures with both hands at him. They both seem to consciously be keeping their voices softened—let the bounty hunter stay asleep. “It’s you, okay?” He plucks too hard at a cuticle, blood welling up. Nomi feels sickened by the little red dot, looks away, down at the floor and then up again. He has his finger wedged into his mouth, glaring at her. She glares back, because he has to figure it out. Has to understand. “Xavier, if anyone lives, it has to be you.”

They haven’t broached this subject—not it being Xavier, because Nomi seems to be the only one grasping that. They’re dancing around the rest; that they could very well fucking die on this ship. Something is hunting them, following them corridor to corridor and trying to kill them. Or worse. Drive them insane, make them weak and pliant prey. Nomi is more scared of wondering what it’ll do next than that there will be a next. That something else will come for them—something that Xavier and Benji can’t just kill. Pseudo kill. If any of those things were ever really alive.

It’s time to stop pretending. Ignoring the inevitable. But Xavier turns from her, back to the slice of window he can see out of.

“Listen to me,” Nomi snaps, louder than she means to. His eyes move to the corner and she flattens her hand on his side. He jumps at the sudden touch, startling back. Because Nomi doesn’t touch people really. She doesn’t make the connection. Extend olive branches. She’d consider Xavier her friend. Really. But she doesn’t know how he feels about the two way street. His eyes glance down to the way her pale palm curves over his ribs. His undershirt is still slightly wet from the sweat, from when the ship was trying to burn them out.

“I’m not saying this to sound dramatic, right?” She levels her big pink gaze at him. His eyes finally rise up from her hand. Xavier takes her elbow. Olive branch. You can stay here, he says. “But if it’s the three of us, I go first. I haven’t shot my service pistol since basic—nearly failed out, alright? They only kept me because I tested out of aptitudes in tech. Don’t—Don’t interrupt me.” She squeezes her fingers. “So it’s me first. Look, I don’t wanna die. Crazy to say that out loud, but I don’t.”

Nomi’s hand drops, so Xavier’s moves from her elbow to her palm. His is giant and warm. She can see the scars across his knuckles, where he’s used them for violence so many times they’ve broken over and over. Her fingers aren’t even originals anymore—she’d had them removed and replaced with tech that made her faster at typing. Strange thing, that.

“But you need to be fucking realistic, yeah? Realistic. If I go—and then you go, and it’s just him?” She tilts her head to indicate Benji, asleep in the corner. Hand on his helmet. Ready to hide. “Xavier, if he gets back to the ship without us, they’ll kill him.”

“No they won’t.” He mumbles it. Because he can’t say it with his whole chest—he knows he’s wrong.

“Yes they will. He’s a criminal, Xavier. He is a criminal.” His hand slips out of hers. Nomi feels its absence like the enviro heat turning up and down again. She tries to remember if the sensation of touch was the same before, when she had her original fingertips. “If he goes back, and we’re dead, they’re going to think he did it. And he will go back, you know that, right? He’s not going for an escape pod on this prison carrier. He’ll go back for Maran. And they’ll cut him down ‘fore he even gets on the landing dock—because they’ll think he killed you.”

Xavier stares at her and she stares back. Her hand flattens to her chest—she didn’t know when she had started breathing so hard, but her ribcage flutters like a nervous bird. Nomi closes her eyes and leans against the computer panel. Replace those too, she thinks. The lungs. Upgrade. Her eyelashes flutter as she listens to the heavy sound of Xavier’s boots steps. He moves around her.

“It has to be you, okay? You at the end. Us with you, sure. Would prefer we all live, you know. But—can’t be without you. So if you get too attached to him—”

“Don’t you ever get tired of being like that, Nomi?”

Being right? She wants to bite it at him. Instead she manages a huff of a laugh. Her palm closes around her neck and she watches Xavier look over his shoulder, just barely able to meet her eye. He is stunningly tall when he wants to be, when he pulls himself up like that, full height. Straight shoulders. She looks to the corner, where Benji still sleeps. Because the entire time, they had still somehow managed to keep their voices low.

“Yes. That’s why you’re going to take first watch. I’m going to try and sleep for a few hours.”

—

He waits until after she’s fallen asleep to go sit by the bounty hunter.

With the enviro back on (“It’s not off,” he hears Nomi in his head in her pretty clipped accent, “just turned the fuck up.”) pumping cool air, he’s almost shivering. Goosebumps all along his arms, at least. The idea of shoving them back into the long sleeves of his Marine suit makes him nauseas, though. The itchy pull of the fabric over his bare skin, the salt of dried sweat catching, dragging—the mere idea of it is enough to make his palms itchy. There’s no safety in his suit he can draw from, no metaphorical feeling of protection.

He wonders if Benji feels the cold in his sleep. If that’s why he’s twitching as much as he is. Xavier hadn’t noticed from further away, standing with Nomi. But up close—or as close as he dares to get—the thief is shivering in a different way. Underneath thin lids, his eyes dart back and forth, restless even as he sleeps. An expression moves over his face, this rolling anxious wave. He makes a sound here and there, fingers curling around his knee harder. Those sounds stick into Xavier’s skull and rattle around there.

He realizes Benji’s having a nightmare. Curls of his hair are finally drying, frizzing at the ends and turning even curlier. In his sleep, he’s lost his permanent grimace, but the pain of the nightmare is making him look vulnerable in a way that has Xavier turning away. He has to breathe evenly then, take in deep inhales, exhale them out on the count of five. He hears Benji whisper out a name and everything Nomi says pieces together. A puzzle figured out.

Whatever Benji is dreaming about involves his friend, back on their ship. Maran. Because that’s the name he’s saying in his sleep; in his nightmare. Maran. With his jaw tight and clenched and his brows up turned and his chest catching on a breath. Xavier flattens his back to the wall and slowly slides down, long legs thrown out in front of him. Nomi sleeps on a chair by the computers, the lights flickering over her pale skin. Lines and grooves of her modifications split her here and there.

Xavier briefly finds it in himself to hate Nomi.

Because she is right. She usually is—it’s what people dislike about her the most. That she’s right and that she says it. No social grace, no allowance for feelings. Nomi has always been that way. The hate dies out as instantly as it comes on; because she’s right. And she’s lying. Or she’s dodging. Nomi is asking him not to care, not to get attached because she knows his type. Knightly. Xavier is like that. Threw himself on a fake grenade in training once, got laughed at the whole night by the people he was fake saving.

She thinks he’ll do that for Benji. For her. Throw himself on the grenade.

But they’re already there. Stood at the computer panel, arguing in private voices so a criminal bounty hunter can catch sleep. Blood on the toes of Xavier’s boots from things he’d killed, right next to that bounty hunter. To keep that bounty hunter safe—keep her safe. They’re already there and she’s right there with him.

Xavier tucks his knees up, arms thrown out over them, head back against the wall. It tilts to look at the sleeping bounty hunter, the low lighting making everything fuzzy. Soft. Different from the hallways of violence. Benji’s calmed down somewhat, his breathing deeper. His chest rises and falls slowly and evenly. Xavier’s thoughts drift to when his hand had been there, fingers splayed, pushing him briefly to safety.

He imagines his hand there again. Underneath the slip of his shirt. Spread out over chest hair and muscles. He imagines brown eyes looking up at him, from under thick black lashes. The cut of a smile, sweat beads rolling down dark brown skin. The strange modulation of the helmet’s voice vibrating inside his chest, Benji’s voice. The soft sounds of him sleeping; what those sounds could be like. If it weren’t a nightmare he was having. If it could be a dream, or awake. Awake and—Xavier’s cheeks warm, his eyes close and his head rolls away. It’s too late.

“Maybe,” he says out loud in a thin voice. “We could just not die.”

#space horror au #xavier #nomi #benji #:3c

[sneakydraws]

I think it's very good and important to hype yourself up so here's some thoughts behind the goldfinch lyricstuck I did! I promise it's not all as long as the first section lol I just had a lot of thoughts about that part

First panel - this one I have a lot to say about. The (opening) lyric is this:

lord fate, give me someone who will not muddy the waters in my pond

In polish, the word zamącić (to muddy) can refer metaphorically to messing with one's head or confusing them, sometimes in a romantic context. Leaving for las Vegas and meeting Boris kick-started a huge identity shift for Theo - most prominently, he notes with shock his change from straight a student to drugged up slacker, but also an undeniable sexuality crisis, and he even slowly loosens his ties with new York. In this way, Boris 'muddies' the waters in Theo's pond by upending his life.

The pool imagery is sort of a mish-mash of film and book scenes. In the film, the dramatic jump dive represented an emotional catharsis for Theo after externalising his guilt over his mother's death to Boris ('coming clean' so to speak), and he only jumped in because Boris told him to, positioning Boris as kind of ritually absolving theo of his sins. In the book however, the scene is more unwholesome, with Boris holding Theo's head underwater and triggering a flashback and general violence ensuing. Next morning, there's vomit floating in the pool - I replaced it with blood, both because I didn't want to draw vomit and because it's more clearly recognisable. In my version of the scene, the blood is there in the pool when Theo decides to jump, representing how he plunges headfirst into the kind of violent, fucked up life Boris leads. Od course, this descriptor - someone who muddies the waters in my (Theo's) pond - is exactly what Boris is, as will be the case with all the following boys the singer doesn't want in her life.

someone who will not disappear like a bad dream when the fish in my pond run out

This refers to someone who isn't only with the singer for his own gain, but also a general idea of dependability, which Boris lacks in Theo's eyes - first because he, in Theo's view, chooses kotku over him, and then because he fails to follow him to New York and doesn't keep in touch. As codependent and desperate as their friendship is, it's marked by an undercurrent of anxiety and uncertainty, probably because neither is willing to be vulnerable with the other and admit they want to be together. In the lyricstuck, Theo looks over his shoulder - to make sure Boris is still there, or to see if Boris is blocking his escape route?

Where shall I find one so beautifully good? Where shall I find one so beautifully good?

Theo jumps, and Boris - inconsiderate and risky as always - follows right after, crashing into Theo and knocking the wind out of him in what he probably thinks a hilarious prank. Once again, the descriptor "beautifully good" seems to be as far from Boris as possible - but then here he is, comforting Theo after a nightmare (film homage)...

Then follows a list of qualities which the singer doesn't want in a boy (the word 'boy' in polish is used to mean 'boyfriend', which I think gives the song a curiously childish tone) - Boris, of course, possesses each and every one of them.

Lunatic - first meeting - Boris being fucking weird. I went with the film setting for this conversation (in the book, the "Harry potter!" Happens when they're in line for the bus) because I wanted a visual reference haha

Smoker, poor - Boris stealing xandras cigarettes! I'm endlessly charmed and a little heartbroken at the passage about Boris always taking what he wanted, but also sharing what he had like it's the most obvious thing in the world that what's his is Theo's and that he'll always give Theo anything...

Drunkard, Pole - I settled on vodka and gherkins as the quintessentially polish meal. Featuring popchyk

Ugly - of course, this is only half literal. Boris looks horrible in this scene because his father just beat him half to death, which is just another example of the 'ugliness' inherent in his life and his world that Theo has willingly wandered into.

Lunatic - Thanksgiving, featuring Boris-typical, casual, jokey violence. And yet, this is what has come to feel like home to Theo, and they are depicted through the window in a brightly lit kitchen, safe from the outside world.

Shifty, clowns around - honestly, the word 'cwaniak' fits Boris, especially adult Boris, to a t... Here they're sneaking around shoplifting, but of course Boris can't take anything seriously and gives Theo anxiety attacks 24/7

Drunkard, Pole, poor - there is a camaraderie I chose to depict that goes a bit outside if book canon, but it's because I wanted to shift the point of view to Boris at the end. I go back and forth on how in love exactly he was at what point in time and how much of it he admitted to himself, but here I chose to show him longing for something he can't have. This is what the final 'poor' refers to - not Boris's literal poverty, but his lacking of what he desires, and also 'poor' as in 'look at this poor child' - pitiful, miserable and deprived. As a side note, in all the previous panels Boris was wearing a shirt similar in hue to the overall palette of the scene (I refuse to dress him in black only because I wholeheartedly condone the choice of the filmmakers to dress him in the most random, thrift shop reject bin looking shit) but here he's the sole spot of red in an otherwise cool palette, firstly to bring attention to himself and secondly to suggest romantic longing in a sterile, cold environment.

#the goldfinch #boreo #theodore decker #boris pavlikovsky #this is so messy but i had to get it out lol i might go back and add/rewrite bits so its more comprehensible #ahhh i really would love to do the rest of the song... lord help me i might jsut do it at some point

[frizzle-tales]

Jiyeon glanced at the pond. Taehyung’s comment made her wonder about the type of nightmares he had, would the victims be haunting his dreams— looking for closure or revenge for what he did to them? Or, were his nightmares about his business collapsing and becoming bankrupt… or were there other things that would haunt him?

Thinking about it. What did she really know about him? There were some things that Jiyeon noticed, one of them being that despite the tight knit happy family photos that hung at the walls at the office, Taehyung never seemed to invite his family over, nor did she notice him calling them— it was as if his life consisted of only murdering, work and her.

But she didn’t dare to ask him about his family.

Human… Was he implying that he also had his imperfections and traits that made a human, human? Jiyeon understood what he was saying, yet, she found it hard to not see him as a monster., a cold blooded killer.

And just like that, the night ended.

—

Jiyeon’s eyes slowly opened at the sound of rushed footsteps stomping down the stairs, followed along by the door being opened.

Didn’t Taehyung told her he expected her to be asleep? So, why was he making so much noise? Jiyeon’s eyes narrowed as she tried to make sense of the figure that entered the room.

Jackpot!

Her eyes widened. That wasn’t taehyung’s voice. Who the fuck was this? Surely, this must be some sort of joke, or was it a test by Taehyung? Or a friend he had invited over? No, a friend of Taehyung wouldn’t be stuffing their bag with his valuables in the middle of the night.

Where was he? Did this person did something to Taehyung? Was she all alone now? What was happening?

Jiyeon sat up to have a better look at the man, but unfortunately, the chains rustled and the intruder snapped his head back, and they came eye to eye. Jiyeon let out a shriek, kicking the blankets off her before jumping off the sofa.

The door. She had to get to the door.

As fast as her feet would let her, she started to run, the chain hitting the ground with every step she took.

“HELP! TAEHYUNG! HELP!” Jiyeon shouted, hoping that he was still alive and that he was around, because if he wasn’t, she would never be able to escape from whatever this robber had in mind. Just this once, she needed him.

This bitch was going to ruin his life. He saw who her presumably husband or boyfriend was, a man who never once left the house with an outfit that’d cost less than what he’d earn with a minimum job, a man whose looks screamed millionaire money, having enough of it to keep him behind bars forever with the help of the best lawyers of the whole country.

He knew he had to shut her up, no matter what it would take. The robber chased after her; not that it was a challenging pursuit in the first place, as he got his hands on her arm and flung her through the room, his eyes originally set on the wall but instead she crashed against the dresser before she slid down and landed on the floor. The robber smirked before he stomped over to her, and jumped on top of her, pinning her arms down on the floor while he dug his knee into her stomach for good measure.

— 🎙️

The cold night air was refreshing. Crisp and clean. A wonderful contrast to the occasional drag of smoke he breathed in and out.

Taehyung watched the cloud grow before dissipating into the air around it. Smoking was a disgusting habit, absolutely filthy, but night’s like these — stealing one from his emergency pack felt right, relaxing. It calmed the frustrating storm his job never failed to brew.

When only the filter was left, Taehyung squished out the cherry top against the red brick of him home, flicking the butt on the pavement. Then, he made his way inside, one hand brushing through his hair while his steps steadily climbed the stairs.

Taehyung! Help!

That exact moment, every other sound inside his home stopped. The ticking of his grandfather clock. The creaks of the stairs. His own breathing. Sound stood still.

But Taehyung didn’t, at the sound of his prisoner’s shrill voice, it was as if a scorching flame lit under his feet. He needed to get to her — as fast as he could.

There was something about her tone, it didn’t sound like a childish prank. Her voice was petrified, screaming bloody murder. He could tell just from the sound of it how raw her throat was becoming.

—

“Shhh! Shut up, shut up!” The boy immediately growled back once Jiyeon started screaming. Whoever Taehyung was, the last thing he needed was to go head to head with him.

“Just be fucking quiet!” He snarled, digging his knee harder into Jiyeon’s stomach. The intruder’s heart picked up, drumming his entire body. Fuck, this was bad. Really really bad. Disastrously bad.

How were they home? There car wasn’t here — he was certain, 110% positive no one would be home.

Did Taehyung hear her? Was he coming?

The boy tried to listen for any sounds approaching the door, but over the sounds coming from the girl, and his own thumping heart rate, he couldn’t make out anything. “Shut up!” In a panic, his first collided with her face. “I don’t want to hurt you — Fuck! Just stop, be quiet!” He moved one hand away from pinning her wrists, clamping it tight over her mouth and nose. He had to hold her still, just like this.

After a few seconds, she’ll pass out. One less person to worry about. No harm will be done. As long as he didn’t hold it for too long. He could get out, unseen, unscathed.

His eyes stared down at hers, taking in the sight he could hardly stomach. Blood was pouring from the young woman’s head, trailing down her face, mixing with the thin locks of her hair. Her eyes were blood shot, stained from the salty tears. Her feet kicked, struggling to push him off, to catch even a sliver of air. “I’m sorry.” He hiccuped, panicked tears of his own trailing down his face. “I’m so sorry, this wasn’t suppose to happen like this.” The robber waited for her eyes to rollback, to flutter shut, but as he did, he couldn’t help but notice; she was his age. A plain Jane, although.. cute. If you subtracted the blood and tears. And much, much weaker than him. A chain wrapped around her ankle, snaking all the way back to the sofa he first saw her on.

… If he could get out of here, maybe he could come back when Taehyung for surely wasn’t here —

Before the robber’s thoughts could trail off any further, the bedroom door burst open. Nearly flying off its hinges. A whole formed in the wall, right where the doorknob broke through the plaster from impact. Taehyung — who had to of been him; the man Jiyeon called out for — stoop dead in tracks. Although, only for a split moment.

Long enough for the boy to scramble back, off Jiyeon. Stare directly into the murderer’s eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The words hissed from Taehyung, spewing from his lips like acid. Slowly, everything around him started to tint red. As if a drop of blood was mixing in with his vision. There was a tightness to his chest, a rage so suffocating it made him tremble.

“I-I can explain—” The boy attempted to sputter, but it fell upon deaf ears. Taehyung wasn’t himself anymore — in control of himself, that is.

“Were you just touching her?” The serial killer took a step closer. “On top of her?” And another.

Everything that happened next turned into a violent blur. Taehyung grabbed the burglar, an iron tight grip on the back of his neck, and without thinking twice, he smashed his face again and again and again against the solid stone fireplace. “She is mine! How fucking dare you put your hands on her! I’m the only one who can touch her! She belongs to me!” He didn’t stop until his head was completely caved in, blood soaking his Egyptian rug, forming a thick pool. Not even his parents had a chance at recognizing him anymore.

Parts of his teeth, fragments of hair, skin, and bone, dropped off the fireplace, scattering onto the hardwood floor below. Despite how the gruesome sight would leave over scarred, bent over vomiting out every last content of their stomach — Taehyung remained unfazed. The blood splatter across his cheeks felt like mere raindrops. The crimson liquid dripping from his hands were hardly recognizable to him. And the smell? Well, it wasn’t like it was the first time.

Taehyung’s chest heaved when he was finished, towering over the boys mangled body for just a moment. Slowly, the red that once tinted his vision cleared. As if the original filter that belonged to his eyesight switched back.

Jiyeon.

Taehyung snapped his attention away, turning towards the girl before quickly dropping to his haunches right at her side. “Jiyeon, look at me.” He uttered her name — not a nickname. Not even one of his favourite pet names. His bloody hand came up, cupping her cheek, turning her head towards his. Her pupils were slightly dilated, she seems disoriented. Conscious, aware, but very disoriented. “Up you come, come on.” Taehyung wrapped her arms around his neck before his arms found their way to her body. One around her waist while the slipped under her thighs. He hoisted her up effortlessly, carrying her towards the bathroom.

“Who am I?” He asked her, setting her down on the bathroom countertop. “When is your birthday?” He stood between her legs, holding up 3 digits. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He ran through the baseline basics he could remember from his brief time at medical school. So far, her memory seemed unaffected. Her depth perception was fine.

He sighed relief, an enormous pressure elevating from his shoulders. As if a bolder was pushed off from crushing him. Gently, he pushed away her bangs, now eyeing the cut right above her eyebrow. “You’re going to need stitches.” He moved to the more important matter at hand, the dead body in the next room over became furthest from his thoughts.

He stepped away for a moment, grabbing a first aid kid out from the cupboard. The metal snapped as he clicked it open, tossing the lid open. “… What did he do to you?” While he grabbed out everything he needed: tweezers, a needle, thread, ointment, gauze, he needed to ask her.

Ideas ran rampant in his mind. He could imagine the boy’s hands running across her body, getting to hear sounds that were rightfully his. The man’s lips pressing against hers. The blood in his veins began to roll to a boil again, so much so his hands started to tremble at the thoughts.

“Tell me the truth.” He stepped between her legs, his fingers finding their way to under her chin, lifting up her gaze to meet his. “Don’t spare a single fucking detail. What did he do to you before I came?”

#🎙anon #serial killer!taehyung #yandere taehyung

[unknownjpegs]

lyra

Maran wakes from one of his routine nightmares with a cry he stifles into his palm, which has been placed firmly over his mouth long before he even gained conscious.

 For a moment, panic flashes through him. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The fear lights like the fuse to dynamite, an anxiety stronger than the lingering usual rapidity of his heartbeat after a dream or the familiar, sick swell of memory bittering his stomach.

He takes several breaths and imagines himself chasing after the sparking string, stomping it into smoke and a cartoonish blackened fray before it can reach dynamite. Imagines himself as a road runner obsessed coyote, then, and the absurdity of the mental image is enough to make him chuckle. Enough to pull him out of it, that panic, and into the present. Into the stuffy, humid guest room of Benji’s house.

He goes to the window for air, numbing the ancient sticking lock and throwing it open. The air’s better immediately so he breathes in a deep lungful, trying to be mindful about the way in which it escapes back out. Tries to focus on it, think about it, like his therapist urges.

Except he can’t really focus on anything because there’s a figure in Benji’s yard. The window Maran hangs from, palms flat to the crumbling sill, faces the woods, the pond that stretches between their dark recesses and the house. Maran drags his eyes away from the pitch-black tree line, stifling a bit of fear at the sight.

It’s easier to look at the cross-legged figure. Red beanie, massive black jacket. Xavier’s friend, but not the friendly yet stony-faced Lark. Maran could lie and say that makes him move for his hoodie more slowly, that he doesn’t nearly trip on the last two steps as he goes for the patio door. That he doesn’t pause halfway down the grass, come to a skidding stop before darting back inside. Bit of a cold night, he’s thinking, and he won’t be comfortable sitting in the chill without a blanket. And even if he hadn’t thought it first himself, it’s his nonna’s voice in his head anyway. Chiding him in her lisping, comforting lilt to keep warm, stay healthy. So he gets a couple plastic cups from cabinet — top left above the stove, just like at Benji’s mum’s place — and makes for the door.

“You okay?”

Maran freezes and turns slowly, eyebrows up. Matilda stands half-way up the stairs, one slim-fingered hand resting on the railing and the other in a fist rubbing her eye. He likes Matilda enough to lie.

“Yep.” It has his usual brand of dismissive cheer reserved for questions along those lines. You okay? Has it gotten easier? Do you feel better now that you’re home? Do you feel like yourself? “Hard to get to bed sometimes. M’just going out for some air. Sit by the pond.”

She glances towards the glass doors. “At two?”

Maran pauses. “Xavier says you can see Lyra from here.”

“Sorry? At two?” One of her eyebrows lifts.

He nearly gives up then. Almost tosses the blanket to her, drops the two cups of water right on the floor. But when he opens his mouth to fire something back, a mean little quip, she stares right back into his eyes. Hers are a lighter shade of brown. He’s stood close enough to see the tiny golden flecks beneath her pupil. The comment sits in a hot, rude spark on the tip of his tongue and fizzles out.

Maran sighs. “Ben looks like he could use company.”

Matilda furrows her brow and then leans over the bannister to get an angle to the pond out the window. He watches her face for any hint of a reaction, any clue as to what she might be thinking about that. Finds none.

“Sitting out there alone?” Matilda points out in a whisper. “That makes it seem like company is the last thing on his mind.”

He shrugs, winding his eyes in a circle around the foyer and away from the glittering assessment of hers. He thinks for a moment, watching her posture tighten and mouth pucker, that she’ll try and stop him. Wake Benji, maybe, tell him your crazy fucking friend is trying to sneak out.

Instead, she begins to climb the staircase backward.

“What’s so important about Lyra?”

That morning, Xavier and Benji had lounged in their chairs on the patio. They’d dragged the chairs closer, and Maran had perched between them on either armrest. Xavier was reading from a wikipedia page, eyes narrowed at the white glare of his screen. He read slow, but in a way that elongated his accent and made it pleasantly listenable. Maran didn’t say so out of fear it’d be taken wrong, but he’d listen to an audiobook if it was read like that. Lyra, Xavier had announced, had one of the brightest stars in the sky. And one of its neighboring stars had boundaries of a habitable zone — meant the planets orbiting it were earth-like, might have life.

At that, Benji and Maran had exchanged theatric, wide-eyed glances and intoned, at the same time: “Aliens.”

So that’s what Maran tells her is so important about Lyra. She blinks at him.

“If they’re fit —”

She lifts a hand, scoffing a little too loudly for the time of night. “Don’t. Christ, you definitely grew up with Benji.” She turns to climb the rest of the way up to the second floor, where everyone sleeps. “Tell Ben that story.”

Maran watches her start to fade into the shadows. “Does he like aliens?”

Matilda pauses again at the top, half-turned around the corner. Only one side of her face is visible, split midway by the trim. “Yeah, sure.”

*

At the pond’s edge, Maran drops unceremoniously to the dewy grass and spreads the blanket over his legs. One of the cups stays in his hand and the other is offered to his companion.

“How strong?”

“Ah. ‘Ave to google the alcohol content of water.”

Ben stares at him. “Water?” He takes a sip from the cup, swallows, takes a breath, then tips it back and drains it. Maran’s eyebrows climb steadily up his forehead.

Ben does not blink.

*

They chat for awhile. Maran isn’t entirely sure how long. But when he comes back to himself, drags away from the conversation and Ben’s soft barely-there laughs, the fuzzy companionship of a story, and his confidence at recounting the mostly-correct details of Xavier’s constellation, the moon is in a different position.

And Benny is watching him gesture, speak, ramble. Maran’s hands abruptly drop, his mouth pressing into a firm, speechless line.

“I wanted to hear the rest,” his company says encouragingly.

 “Nothing else.” The silence lasts half a second. He lifts the edge of the blanket invitingly, tossing it over Ben’s legs too. “But I’m just sayin’, all these dogs know these buttons? Got vocabularies that big, all of a sudden? Nah. There’s no —”

“Would you be down,” Ben interrupts mildly, “to kiss?”

Both of them watch silently as Maran rubs a blade of grass between his fingers until it twines into a rolled, thin tube. And then he registers the question. Maran stares at him with wide eyes. He wonders if he’d get a laugh, were they to pop out of his skull on thin legs and run away. Go for a skinny dip, traumatize some ducks. He stops thinking of that, water and skin, because they’re sat a little too close and he’s just been asked —

Me? He wants to ask, to demand. Why? Is it a joke? Is it another trick?

Has to be, so Maran swallows a nervous laugh as he looks off across the water. Its reverse projection of the night sky would be a perfect, glassy reflection if not for the gentle ripple in its surface, a gift brought on by the breeze. It’s a lovely breeze. It’s a lovely pond, a house, a property, a night, a life.

It doesn’t feel like Maran’s, though.

“Like, a hypothetical?”

Ben returns his leveled stare in his pretty, winterized way. Intense but somehow not cold. “No.”

This time, the sound bubbles up no matter how much he wants it to stay down. It sounds just as edgy and anxious as he worried it’d be — high, unpracticed, awkward. If Maran makes noises like that, people will know something is off about him. People won’t want to be around him.

Won’t want to kiss him.

“Okay,” Maran says. He feels awkward all over, hyperaware of the arrangement of his limbs, the curve of his spine (bad posture, Benji’s mum teasingly snappish in his skull), how big this particular hoodie is on him, the spot on his jeans he can’t get out, how filthy his shoes are — “Um. Yeah, okay. Really kiss. No hypotheticals. Okay.”

“Okay?” Benny repeats. He rotates himself in the grass. Knees pulled up, he slots a leg in between Maran’s. When nudged, he leans forward on his elbows. Props up with one on his own bent knee, the other atop Ben’s — where his jean rips around pale skin. He has a tattoo there that Maran can see only half of, the black fading and mottled in places. Rough heal. He knows that from Benji.

“What’s this one?”

“Stupid.” Ben responds matter-of-factly, but with enough twist to make clear the joke.

Maran wrinkles his nose anyway. “I like it.” He runs a finger across the whiskers and nose of the snarling tiger, dipping slightly beneath the frayed edge of his jeans.

Ben grabs his wrist. It’s a loose circle, no crunch to his bone from an angry, iron grip. And yet he sucks in a breath and wrenches it away — not because of the touch itself, or that it crossed some boundary. But because he had.

“Sorry,” Maran says immediately. He presses his hands to the grass. Ben lets him, releases his grip and lets Maran pat a nervous rhythm against the green. Benji needs to trim it. Or have Xavier. The pond looks a little overgrown too, but in a nice way. The mystical mundane of all ponds at night, where they gained enough magic to hold the moon and stars. He remembers that first afternoon. Remembers the cattail he’s got wedged between pages of a book he’d brought along.

Who does that? He imagines himself letting that secret go, filtered out into the night along with all the little things he’d already let slip. I pressed that stupid plant between pages of a journal. He imagines getting laughed at.

Except Ben doesn’t laugh. He also doesn’t let Maran scoot away, or push to his feet to leave. Instead, he leans in so close that Maran sucks in a breath and holds it, eyes dropping to where tattooed knuckles curl around the back of his elbow.

“Wh-What are you apologizing for?”

He shrugs, tracing mad circles around Ben’s features. They’re too close not to look at.

“Preemptive, I guess.” He whispers it. Mot really knowing why he does. No one to hear them out here, no one to wake up except maybe the ducklings. Maybe it’s because the moment feels soft and thin. Speaking too loud would ruin the comfortable quiet, wouldn’t it? He used to do that. Used to be capable of speaking too loud.

“Just in case?” Benny uses the leverage on Maran’s arm to drag himself closer. He doesn’t seem too concerned about staining his jeans. Maran glances down at his palm and the slip of green marring it. He gets lost for a moment, staring at the hypnotizing valleys of lines.

“I don’t want to fuck it up.” The admission is unintended. So quiet that it’s nearly not there at all. But he snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head. As if he can take it back. “That — shit. That sounds pitiful, doesn’t it?”

Benny shrugs. Twin brushes against Maran’s calves, up the outside of his thighs, make him realize that he’s been guided closer. His knees are hitched over Ben’s, trainers flat to the grass on either side of his hips. It’s intimate; a lot of them touches.

“Full d-disclosure?”

Maran nods. He’s unfocused, tracing the stark black shapes of the scorpion that peeks from the edge of Ben’s jacket. And then suddenly there’s a touch beneath his chin, pulling his gaze away from that tattoo to clear blue eyes. Ben cups his jaw in a warm, calloused palm. Holds him there, forces him to look. His hand takes up nearly the whole of Maran’s face, middle finger brushing his eyebrow.

“It’s pretty m-much impossible to make me have a negative opinion of you, at this point.” When Maran stares blankly at him, he swears Benny blushes. “So. You won’t f-fuck anything up.”

Maran’s mouth pulls the odd facsimile of a grin. “We’ve known each other a day, tops?”

Ben tilts his head. The beanie slips off, and Maran catches it before it hits the dew-moistened grass.

“What’d you say — pitiful?”

He’s pulled in, then. It feels natural as anything to accept the press of lips to his own, although he stays stiff. His fingers vice a tight squeeze above each of Ben’s knees, chest rising and falling in aborted, uneven breaths. Suddenly, a hand cups the back of his head. Maran softens to the touch with an immediacy that embarrasses him, slumping forward with an arm around Ben’s shoulders.

The kiss stays tame, but Maran feels the want rise up from his gut regardless. When he tries to press in, part his lips, find the forgotten taste of another person with his tongue, it ends.

Ben clears his throat. His eyes still haven’t opened yet, so Maran takes the opportunity to drink him in. Notes the light, unevenly pigmented bits in his facial hair, his skin peachy with color, the delicate creasing around his eyes that’s visible even when he isn’t smiling. Maran would really, really like to see him smile.

“You leaving tomorrow with everyone?” He wonders. It’s the loudest he’s spoken for the entire evening.

Benny nods.

Maran does, too. Keeps nodding. Debating. Then he reaches forward and slips a hand into messy blond hair, using the warm cup of his palm to snatch Ben closer, himself forward. The other man makes a shocked yet appreciative noise, and allows it.

If I don’t see you again.

The second kiss is as satisfying, maybe even more. The condensed ball of heat in his chest feels like it’s been spun like mad, warming him from the inside out. He isn’t sure how Ben manages to keep his restraint when it feels so impossible to Maran. He squirms a bit in place through the kiss. His hands moving to rest against cool, bared knees, blinding that panther. They move of their own accord to thighs, clutch forearms and paw at a chest, rest carefully against stubbled cheeks.

The second kiss is messy, is quick. And yes. Satisfying — more.

But it’s also over far too soon; when Ben pulls away, Maran leans so quickly and severely forward that he almost collapses facedown into the spot he’d just occupied.

“Fuck,” Benny says, sounding husky and out of breath. He catches Maran by the shoulders and holds him upright. Holds him back. The strength makes Maran shiver. “Relax.”

He feels like he never will again. His thoughts have kicked up and are quickly spinning out of control. I don’t think I’m cut out for this kind of thing. Benji’s brave. He’s got it together. House and savings and a dog, a kitchen, a partner. Benji’s got the bravery and the stubbornness to do the things he must have had to do to land here. This isn’t the sort of accomplishment people get by drifting. This is a claw-for-it life. I don’t want to claw. I want to stay home. I want to sleep and I want to have dreams instead of nightmares and —

Fuck, I think I want to kiss again.

Maran squints against a suddenly blinding white light. When he peeks one eye open, he sees that Ben is only holding up his phone. Maran plucks it out of his hand, eyebrows bunched. The screen, usually locked, is open to a contact card. There’s no address or email or title or even picture.

Just a rabbit emoji where the name is meant to go.

#writing #ua #mgc #mgc x jlb #jlb #core au

[buckybarnesdiaries]

my sergeant

© credits to the author, i found it on pinterest. if you are the author, please send me a message to add your @.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky breaks into your house to make you keep remember one thing.

word count: 1.352 words.

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! clothes on, unprotected sex, hair pulling, language, cursing, sergeant!kink, praise!kink, mention of bodily fluids, a little possessive!bucky, and i don't know what else.

author notes: i'm not sorry for this scene turning me on af every time i watch it. reposted because it didn't show in the tags. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Your eyes snapped open, sitting up on your bed barely breathing. You were agitated after having another nightmare you couldn't remember once you were awake. At least this time, you weren't covered in sweat, but your whole body was on fire. Tossing the sheets away, you got up bare feet to head to the kitchen and drink a very much needed glass of freshwater. You drank it in one gulp, gasping while leaving it inside the sink. With both hands on the edge of the counter, you inclined your head back, putting your eyes on the ceiling. Those bad dreams would be the death for you one day, you knew it.

As you felt more calmed and recomforted, you turned around with the intention of going to your bed again. But that was left in the background at the moment you glimpsed Bucky sitting at the dinner table. He didn't scare you, not at all. You were starting to get used to find him there, waiting for you, in the middle of the gloom. He looked exhausted too. Deadly tired. He was reclined against the chair, legs slightly spread and his arm made of vibranium over the table. The soldier didn't utter a word, following your steps walking closer to him with his shiny blue eyes. He didn't even move a muscle when you sat on his lap and placed both hands on the sides of his neck.

Leaning ahead, you pecked his rough and dry lips slowly, taking your time with no rush. Bucky just closed his eyes, slipping his hands down to your hips, nailing his fingers there. He couldn't help but growl quietly the second your mouth trailed a path of short, ephemeral kisses to his jawline till reaching his throat, forcing him to toss his head back. Unconsciously, he urged you to swing your body on top of his. You dragged your incisors on his Adam's apple, causing him to swallow a soft gasp, feeling his digits grabbing your hips strongly —probably, that gesture would leave some marks on your skin.

“I've missed you”. You purred coming back your attention to his lips, as the bulge under the rigid fabric of his pants became bigger and harder because of your dance. You were aware that he looked for you whenever he wanted to put his feet on the ground, feel loved, desired. “My Sergeant…”

Bucky didn't open his eyes, sliding his cold palm to your lower waist and landing the warm one on the back of your head to tangle it in your hair. You groaned against his lips before they were hungrily devoured. The heat in your core grew by leaps and bounds when he repositioned you on his legs and his solid erection was placed under your weakest spot. You couldn't hold back a delicate, sweet moan. One of these that used to drive him insane. With his left hand, Bucky continued encouraging you to rock your hips against his crotch, rubbing it concretely among your folds covered by the soaked fabric of your panties.

You hated sometimes the control he had over you, over your body, over your mind. He could put you to beg with just one look. And he knew it. You were his, that was the absolute truth. And he wanted something else from you, as soon as you increased the pace. Bucky didn't care about your t-shirt, using both of his hands to rip it off from your body. Ruining it like he was going to ruin you. His hand of vibranium went straight to your breasts, giving you goosebumps because of the contrast of his cold fingers pinching them as he caught one of your nipples between his warm lips. You whined his name, securing your hands on his shoulders, out of the world while the sensitivity of your wet and needed cunt became more sensible to the firm rubbing against your panties.

“You want to cum, don't you, babydoll?” He hummed squeezing the nipple covered in his saliva using his thumb and his forefinger, bringing his lips closer to yours.

“Yes… Yes, Sergeant”. You pouted at him, nodding with your chin and looking at him through your eyelids.

“I knew you needed me… I knew my sweet girl needed her Sergeant to make her feel good, am I wrong?” Bucky's hoarse tone was pushing you to the seventh heaven, feeling the tickles borning within your lower belly, swinging your body faster over his rock-hard dick.

“No… No, you're… you're not”. You babbled this time, seeing him curling up the corner of his lips in that charming and breathtaking smirk of him. “I ne— need you inside me… I need you to… fuck me like you me— mean it, my Sergeant, please, I beg you”.

“I will, babydoll, I will… 'Cause you're a good, good girl”. Bucky affirmed unhurriedly, peppering your swollen lips, remembering how good they looked around his cock —sucking his soul out of his body— the last time he appeared in your house. “Open your mouth”.

You obeyed instantly, swallowing a loud whining, letting him tuck his cold thumb between your lips. You licked it using your tongue, giving him a whole show and noticing how a storm of darkness covered his pale blue orbs. When he decided it was well covered in your saliva, Bucky directed it to your panties, not pulling them aside. And he drew circles on your throbbing clit, pressing his fingertip enough to stroke it.

“Oh, f— fuck, Sergeant”. You sobbed arching your back, very close to being thrown above the edge of your limits.

“C'mon, babydoll… cum for me… Show me what only I can make you feel”. He whispered into your ear. A raspy voice that gave you shivers down your backbone. “You're so damn soaked I can feel it under my clothes… Good lord… what a dirty girl you are…”

“Only fo— for you”.

Your response came an instant before the fireworks exploded inside your belly, not being able to stop when the orgasm hit your soul crying his name, dancing your cunt onto his hard cock needed of him. Your thighs strained, your legs were shaking, hanging above the floor and you were panting nonsense words about your Sergeant.

Bucky stormed his tongue into your mouth, invading it with no mercy to dominate yours. Placing his hands back to your hips, he forced you to keep moving, stealing the less air inside your lungs. He was about to cum too, but it'd be a waste if he did it in his boxers; stopping you at the precise moment to push you back enough to undo his belt and zip. Bucky didn't let you time to react. As his cock covered in his own arousal broke free and he removed your ruined panties to the side, he lifted you sufficiently to impale your pussy down.

“Fuck!” You both hissed at the same time, closing strongly your eyelids.

Bucky made you bounce onto his rigid erection, once and once, keen to fill you up with his heated seed. You were a bundle of moans, sobs, and pleas, feeling his most sensible skin stretching your soaked walls and twitching between them. He didn't give you prior notice. Bucky just cum inside your cunt, pushing you down harder till his dick was balls-deep beyond your limits. He growled against your throat, pulling back your hair and your head, to nail his teeth in your sweaty skin.

“Oh, god, my Sergeant…” You gasped with a wrecked tone of voice, finding balance by gripping his jacket in two fists.

“You look like Heaven, babydoll… But you feel like Hell”. Bucky rumbled, making your whole anatomy shake again. “What a shame 'm gonna destroy you tonight…”

And by destroying you he meant you wouldn't be able to walk the next morning, not even to talk because what he has planned for you was to fuck every sweet, warm hole of you —your mouth, your ass, your pussy. Or rather, his mouth, his ass, his pussy. Bucky would make you keep remembering who you belonged to.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!! 🤍

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#R E P O S T E D because tumblr fucked it up #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #bucky x reader #the winter soldier x reader

[twisted-tales-told]

Excerpt from WIP Marauders war fic

“So, where is she,” demanded the masked Death Eater.

“Where's who?” James replied, his voice still choked from the mans hand being wrapped around his throat. 

“You know who I mean. The red headed girl. She visits you here, we’ve been watching you.”

James’ blood runs cold, we’ve been watching you. 

He knew. He knew exactly what James and the others were up to. If he didn’t tell them where Lily was, they would kill him. 

“Don’t I have the pleasure of knowing who’s asking?” James questioned in as level a voice he could manage. As if stalling would make a difference. 

“Dolohov,” the man holding the wand to his temple said. “Anthony Dolohov.” James could practically hear him grinning behind his words. “I bloody hated you in school, you know. Alway strutting about like you owned the place.” The wand pressed further into James’ skull. “Not many people wanted to have this mission. You’ve earned quite the reputation haven’t you, Potter. But I hoped I’d get it.”

James' throat practically closed in fear. He didn’t want to die here. How many hours until Lily and Pandora got back. Five hours? Four if he was lucky. He didn’t want them to have to find his body. 

“C’mon, Dol. Quit playing with your food,” drawled the other man. There was something about his voice. Slight, but it was there. A jump in his tone. Like nerves. How old was he? They took Regulus at sixteen. Maybe this boy had never seen anyone killed before. Maybe Dolohov was going to make him do it. Maybe James’ face would be the one to haunt his dreams. Like Oliver was to Regulus. 

Regulus. 

His name rang through James’ mind. 

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. 

The warmth of the Room Of Requirement. His grey eyes soft, crinkling in the corners as he smiled. The expressions only James knew. Regulus smiling softly, lying on the rocks at their spot, by their pond.  His eyes had been closed with his chin tipped towards the sun. So many memories, and so many touches reserved only for their most intimate moments. Hands grazing in patterns, tracing runes delicately along James arms. The debates. The fights. All those unbearable seconds James thought he’d lost him. 

How had he never considered it? In all of the most gruesome, agonizing moments of this war. All the narrowly missed curses, and the ones that hit. The ones that hurt. He’d never considered it would be the other way around. That Regulus would be breathing, alive on this earth, while James would be gone. Was this what Regulus had been afraid of? 

Regulus who wore so much armour, James didn’t know how to help most days. He understood there was something inside him that had allowed Regulus to touch softly again. Allowed him to breathe through all those fucking nightmare. All that pain. 

And yet, it was Regulus who ended up saving him. So many times it was Regulus who unravelled James. Burned away all his madness, stripped him bare, and forged him into art.

 Oh gods, he prayed Regulus could survive this. 

Prayed James’ death wouldn’t ruin him. The boy who touched James like he was creating a work of art. Like he was sculpting the way muggles did. Chipping away at all the parts the world demanded him to wear

___

Okay I promise James doesn’t die in this scene but I felt like sharing it cuz I keep telling y’all I’m working on a longer fic but never actually say anything about it. 

#marauders fanfiction #jegulus #jegulus fanfiction #James Potter #regulus black #first wizarding war #wolfstar fanfiction #pandora lovegood #lily evans #pandalily #james potter x regulus black #regulus x james #marauders fandom

[crystalcow]

𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑//𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝 𝑝𝑡 4

Masterlist // child reader ML //

Sapnap x reader !p !child reader

Pronouns used: none specified!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, casinos

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝗼𝐤𝗼 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝗼𝐰??

Quackity was telling you all of his plans

He rambled on for hours of his ideas for casinos and how he was going to marry Karl and sapnap

It sounded great

He had his whole plan set up! He even had Sam helping him with the building

But then he left

Just like everyone else

But that was fine! You were just with sapnap

Before Karl came running over rambling on about needed to move his library

He had a library?

“[Redacted] you need to stay close, please”

You looked at him weirdly

Who the fuck was [redacted]

“Karl my names Y/n you idiot” “flame..” “sorry”

He didn’t even notice it and then you had to spend the next couple days hauling over 100 books

“Oo hey what are these! The covers look really weird”

You had found his time travel books

Woops

That man raced over and in the kindest way possible, snatched it from your hands

“Don’t touch those, they are my special books”

You just shrugged and let him be, he freaks you out enough

So you all traveled to this area in the spruce forest and built a really ugly mushroom hut

But hey it’s fine! Foolish thankfully came around later that day and made everything better

So you stuck around

Maybe you needed this, this new start

Oh but prime knows that wouldnt last long

Karl started forgetting

At first it was simple things as just forgetting where he was or little stumbles with names

But eventually he was going away longer and longer

He started calling you by these strange names, some that sound Victorian and western and others that are unlike you

One day he didn’t call you by your name at all

You were hanging around the Sakura trees and the big yin Yang pond waiting for sapnap to come back with George

Then you saw Karl exit the library, running up to him for a hug

It’s been two months since you’ve seen him

You fucking hated it but you couldn’t help but consider him another parental figure

He loved it

But he just stood there as you wrapped your arms around him

Expecting the usual “[reda]- Y/n, I’ve missed you so much my sweet flame!”

But there was nothing just a sad one sided hug

“Hello? I’m sorry but do I know you?”

You were ready to cry

“I’m sorry, I uh must’ve mistaken you for the wrong person” “No that’s fine! Hugs are nice?”

So you left and ran into the library

Scouring throughout all of the books until you found them

The same 8 books you shrugged away

You read through all of them along with Karl’s other journals

You didn’t like going through his stuff especially, a whole invasion of privacy

The more you read the worse it got

What were you gonna tell Sapnap?

Who the hell is James, and [redacted]?

And why couldn’t he stop

It’s no use anymore

You were simply just forgotten

𝐋𝗼𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬

The closer you got to the large building, the sicker you got

Kinoko Kingdom was supposed to be your free pass

But somehow you always end up here

You called for Sam on the comms waiting for the beep

The inside looked great to say the least

“What are your past relationships with the prisoner?” “No answer.”

“Where are you currently resided?” “No answer”

“Do you believe the prisoner deserves his sentence?” “Maybe”

You put all your shit in the locker and followed him through all the safety checks

“I’m glad you didn’t bring anything with you”

You stood on the platform heart racing as the lava went down

It was like a ticking time bomb

The small squeaks and scratches of the hovering bridge

He just stared at you

That sick stupid mask was broken by tommy that day in the black stone room

So you had to look into his face

Lets just say he looks good in Orange

“Barrier up or down?” “Down”

He backed up into the corner as you stepped in

Smiling

Once the lava cascaded down your smile turned into a sick frown

“Hello” is that all he had to fucking say?

“Screw you. Fuck you. Damn you”

He just looked you a small chuckle escaping from his lips

“Those all mean the same thing.” “Well I’ve been living in cinnamon town for the past couple months, and I’m ready to fucking burn some buns”

Yeah he just laughed

“I’ve missed you Hot shot”

“You ruined our damn life!”

Someone went quiet

“If you didn’t have to have a petty little war, or criminalize children we could’ve been fine! It could’ve just been you, dad, me, and George.”

You were pissed, everyone just kept leaving you.

Tommy and Tubbo, Quackity, Karl, Dream, and hell even Wilbur

“You come and visit me, after not having seen me for months and you just yell? Not a hello or ‘how are you dream?’ ‘How’s prison dream’ ‘how can I help you get out of this damn place’ “

You just sat down ready to just walk out into the lava

“I’ve been stuck here for months! None of you even cared enough to visit me, hell even Tommy came around.”

You might have felt a little bad after leaving him

The prison was cold even tho lava was flowing right there

“Why would you leave the discs alone..” “Because I had to end it.”

What were you doing here

What were you planning on saying?

“So, what do you do in prison”

“I have a clock.”

You got up to go look at the pretty clock

Then threw it at his face

“Ow” “deal with it bitch”

The longer you stayed the worse the feeling in your stomach got

so you buzzed for Sam waving goodbye

“Wait.. Do they miss me?” “Can’t say, but I think this may be for the best.”

He wanted his best friends

But he just got the annoying teenager

Oh but that wouldn’t be the last

𝐋𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐬

You got a letter in the mail one day

Who the hell uses letters??

You were shocked to see the address and the small post card

“Come around some time”-Quackity

Ans on the back it had the cords

Oh well what did you have to loose? Sapnap was focused on Karl

and well Karl didn’t even know you

So you set off

It took you a couple hours travel by horse to get to the desert area

The large sign blaring in the red text

You gotta admit the place looked beautiful

There was a giant dick and different shops

You were shocked to see this random un human like guy

“Hello, I am Charlie a totally human guy!”

Yeah totally not slime

“I’m uh, Y/n?” He reached out for a handshake sort of thing

“Dap me up!” “Another time Charlie”

Maybe when you had hand sanitizer

“Ohh so your Y/n! Mister Quackity talks about you all the time, come on in!”

You were skeptical but followed anyways

Stopping in your tracks when you saw Fundy

“Furry?” “Fire shit?”

You went over to give him a side hug, ruffling his fur

“What the hell are you doing here ginger boy!” “Oh you know, just escaping nightmares”

You were confused then just let him be

You walked to the entry way of the place

A beautiful pond with flowers and an arch

“Did what the place where Mr. Quackity was going to propose!”

Going to?

You shrugged it off following inside

You hated to admit it, but you were excited to see him

Yeah you really needed a parental figure in your life at the moment

So when you saw him, he immediately pick you up in a hug

You didn’t fail to notice his change in appearance

That beanie stayed the same tho

Thank god

“Hey hey! Let me show you around the place, we can also go for lunch and talk.”

The casino looked great to say the least

Loud music booming from the speakers, along with the live jazz band on the side

Slot machines were going off every minute

“Have a chip, something to remember this by”

He handed you a red poker chip

It was a cool one tho, in the middle has a blocky sort of smile

Creepy and dopey.. sick!

So you put it around a spare silver chain

“So how have you been kid? ‘Ts been a while hasn’t it.” “Could be better..”

You both walked around the city in silence, offering to go in the super model shop

“No” “why not” “keep walking”

On your way to lunch you had to squint at what you were seeing

“Oh my goodness you’re still alive?!” “You’re alive!?”

You and revivebur just stared at one another

“Yeah he came back after I died!” “you what now-“

You just stared at Tommy and back to Wilbur

Oh god those shrooms were messing with your head

You should’ve gotten out of there a while ago

Quackity came over placing his hands on your shoulders

“Do I have to execute you both? Get off my damn property”

“Sorry Q. Say, Y/n wanna join Lmanburg 2.0?”

You back away holding your hands up

“I denied that offer once, and I’ll do it again. Fucking zombie freaks”

You obviously muttered the last part

Why the fuck did dream revive those two shits??

When did Tommy even die??

Your visit here has just gotten weirder and weirder

𝐌𝗼𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Quackity got you away from the brits as quick as he could

So he brought you over to his office

“So kid, how’s your dad..”

Ah you expected this question

“How the fuck am I supposed to know. He’s living his life, Karl’s time traveling! Oh yeah did I mention he doesn’t even remember me.”

He looked at you with wide eyes

“So I’m not the only one they forgot..”

You slammed you hands on the fable dramatizing the situation

“How would you feel about moving here? I mean you could work for me in the casino!”

You thought about it for a second

You have two options

1. Live in shroom town with bubbles

2. Move to las Nevada’s with Quackity

You were sure Sapnap wouldn’t mind

I mean would he even care?

He hasn’t for the past couple months!

“You feel abandoned there, over here there are hundreds of people. You’ll have the time of your life”

You thought about it for a sec

“Alright hand me a contract”

So you signed

Making deals with the devil huh

Little did you know it would cost you your life

Devils little soul

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

and this is the finale! I will take requests for sapnaps child, and I’ll do some shit with Quackity and the casino and go in more depth if wanted!

As always request and ask anything! And ask if you want to be on a taglist (child reader or general)

For those on the taglist I don’t know if you wanted to be tagged for all child reader shit or just dreams child.. so please tell me :)

@creatorofstars @georgenctfound @samistheidiot @smolbox-png @ghostlysenses @stellarinstigator @bobaducky

#sapnaps child #sapnap x reader #sapnap #sapnap x y/n #karl jacobs x y/n #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #quackity x you #dsmp #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur soot #tommy innit #kinoko kingdom #dream smp prison #las navadas #child reader

[professorthaddeus]

Mother, Father. This will be my final letter.

You know, I used to find the two of you everywhere. I would see the love I betrayed in the faces of families who are whole. I would hear your terrified screams in laughter. I would see your bodies twisted in agony in the flickering of a campfire. I would feel your blood on my hands every time I cast a spell.

I would find you everywhere, and so I held fast to the possibility that I would bring you back.

Today, I relinquished the chance of it ever becoming a reality.

I could have gone back and saved you. It would have worked. There were puzzle pieces in that chamber that I would have clicked into place; there was magic buried in those relics that I would have unlocked and unleashed.

I would have joined the ranks of mages of myth. I could have unraveled everything.

The chamber is nothing but ashes now.

I still find the two of you everywhere. Your dreams for my potential are in the spells I learned from Essek. Your hope for the Empire is in Beauregard’s pen as she fights for our people, stroke by stroke. Your love is in the grin that Veth shines on her son when he fires a toy crossbow at the ass of a local shopkeeper.

I miss you. I love you. I am sorry.

I hope I can still make you proud.

~

Caleb closes that worn, leather-bound book for the last time. Tucks it back beneath his arm, stands, walks to the entryway of his tower. His hand shakes as he reaches for the handle.

Well, you and the Nein got me to the door. Now I have to walk through it.

He takes a deep breath, then takes his first step outside.

He arrives in Blumenthal alone, visits their graves, leaves his letters in the ground.

And he gets to work. But in this, he is not alone.

Beauregard is there, matching every armload of books he carries with two of her own. They spend their days compiling records and narratives, wielding the truth both in court and behind the scenes—children of the Empire leaving their home better than they found it for the children who will come after them, just as they always vowed.

What wasn’t planned is this: a couple times every week, Beauregard drags Caleb out of the library. They teleport to a remote cottage in a location that few are privy to, where Yasha will have started preparing the ingredients for a new recipe from Caduceus. The instructions are often passed through a jumbled chain of Jester’s messages, and there always seem to be a suspicious number of bugs included for supposedly vegetarian dishes, but they make it work all the same. On more than a few occasions, Caleb plays referee while Beauregard and Yasha spar, safe in the knowledge that their attacks are of their own free will and they will never truly harm each other again.

Jester and Fjord spend much of their time on the open sea, but Jester’s voice is never far from Caleb’s ear. She tells him of everything from her newest tattoo victim to an encounter with a dragon turtle with a grudge, from a shanty about dicks she came up with on the fly to an update on a young half-orc girl Fjord has taken under his wing. Every once in a while, Jester will demand a reunion, too. Some of them are out of necessity—such as when Uk’otoa finally comes knocking and Fjord can no longer sail the other away—but many are not. They meet in Nicodranas when the Nein Heroez docks for a pastry run, they meet in Hupperdook for a night packed with drinking contests and celebone sticks and hugs for Kiri, they meet on Rumblecusp when life becomes too much and the nine of them sorely need to fuck off to a vacation. Soon, even Darktow is open to them, once Kingsley has unseated the Plank King and lifted their ban from the island. His reign is long, and it is magnificent. Until he grows bored.

Caduceus joins them for every mandated reunion, but for the most part, he tends to his garden or explores the world on his own. But he is never out of reach, and when he does not come to the rest of them, they go to him. It is not uncommon for Caleb to arrive in the Blooming Grove to see Beauregard already meditating by the pond. Other times, Fjord will be there drinking tea with Caduceus, and the three of them will share a quiet conversation, each far more secure in their words than they’d been over fish and chips all those years ago. Often it is just Caduceus and his parents and siblings, and Caleb will be invited to a family dinner in a home that Ikithon could not burn down.

Veth remains a constant in Caleb’s life. Of course she does. Sometimes, when the two of them are teaching the neighborhood kids how to point a copper wire, or reminiscing over a glass of sherry, or simply talking while she weaves flowers into his hair on the beaches of Nicodranas, he’ll think back to his old fears of losing her to her family and laugh. After all, how could such a thing be possible when he is a part of her family himself?

There are others, too.

Countless students who pass under his tutelage and grow into young mages who know that power should be used to protect, not to manipulate. A cat—well, there are many cats, but there is one in particular that Caleb does not own, a snowy white fey cat who slinks in and out of his classroom as he pleases, whose eyes seem to flash when the Martinet arrives to have a word, who settles into place around Caleb’s shoulders with a purr when the rare nightmare returns.

An unexpected kinship with Yeza, forged at first through mutual respect and an understanding in their love for Veth, but eventually growing into a friendship in its own right. It is one that unfolds in quiet nights by stacks of books, in gleeful debates when comparing notes on magic and alchemy, in exhausted evenings watching over Luc together while Veth takes a girls’ night out to cause some chaos with Jester, Beauregard, and Yasha.

His old friends, who, try as they might, never seem able to sever the threads that have always tangled their fates together. It is Eadwulf who comes around first, with the silent offering of a bottle and a grim smile as he and Caleb crumble the bricks of Vergesson to dust. Astrid takes time. It makes sense—she has always been a fantastic dancer, and for a while, it appears they will be trapped in a precarious political tango forever, stepping around each other in their roles as the Archmage of Civil Influence and a simple teacher who may or may not be practicing treason in his classroom. But in the shadows, Astrid pulls a few strings to keep Caleb out of prison. Caleb hears a rumor and sends the might of the Cobalt Soul after a colleague who wants Astrid dead. And eventually, she begins joining him and Wulf on their evening walks through the streets of Rexxentrum. They return to the dance hall. They get lunch. They share memories, relearn each other’s old scars, and discover that solace can still be found in each other the way it was when they were children. It will always be complicated. It starts to become beautiful.

And of course, floating by Caleb’s side every step of the way is Essek, a drow who has learned to curb his ambition and care for others, who has decided to make his own amends. The former Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, who now spends his days picking up cupcakes for Jester in Uthodurn, planting seeds in the Blooming Grove. Sitting in on Caleb’s lessons with a different face each week, sketching runes into the floor of Caleb’s home amongst scattered papers and spell components, curling up on a couch beside Caleb and begrudgingly getting through Tusk Love because he promised. A traitor, a hero, a lifelong friend. A steadfast love.

So when Caleb Widogast arrives at the final page of his story, he is no longer shrouded in guilt, or grief, or regret. No, he is surrounded by the warmth of his chosen family when he takes his last breath, when time has run its course and he is finally ready to meet his parents again.

(And even before he sees their faces, he knows. He knows he made them proud.)

—————

also on ao3 | my other cr fics

#critical role #caleb widogast #mighty nein #empire siblings #shadowgast #blumendrei #cr spoilers #c2e141 #this is very delayed because i've been too busy to sit down and finish it until now and it's kind of a mess #buuut here tumblr have half my feelings about the finale and the nein crammed into one fic #my writing #my ramblings #c2 epilogue #cr fic