#knife wall meet axe floor

[not-neverland06]

Bad Day

pt. two

part one

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) warnings: reader embracing the dark side, graphic descriptions of violence Summary: Another set of tourists, but this one’s different. You actually have to meet this group. They’re particularly difficult, too, causing more damage than any of you expected. Can you survive the night, again?

You focused on the way the knife glinted as it spread mayonnaise over the bread. You watched it glide through the thick substance and brought it back down, flipping the blade and smoothing and spreading it-

Your fingers tightened around the handle and you winced as you slammed your eyes shut. You couldn’t be around blades, even ones as dull as this, without thinking of that night. 

You’d fought, more than anyone else ever had, Bo told you. You’d also killed one of your friends in cold blood, no one had ever done that either. 

He had been tied up and vulnerable and you hadn’t even given him a fair shot at surviving you. 

You didn’t feel guilty about it, and that’s the part that haunts you. You didn’t try to justify your actions and cry yourself to sleep over the guilt you felt for being alive while your friends lay scattered throughout town. You slept deeply, peacefully, in the arms of the men who murdered them. 

You’d wake up after having a dream about that night and you would feel exhilarated because it had been the first time you’d ever truly stood up for yourself. You reveled in the power you’d felt when you’d swung that ax into his neck. 

You didn’t even remember their names. 

How fucked up was that?

You basked in the memories of their demise but their faces were lost to you. One blur that bled together the more you tried to picture them. 

You didn’t mourn them or feel pity, you felt no guilt, and that’s what fucked with you. Were you a bad person?

You had to be. 

But you’d never been one before Ambrose. 

You distracted yourself from the thoughts. You’d spiral and never get back up if you let yourself go down the rabbit hole. You tore off a piece of turkey and threw it at Jonesy, she pounced on it the second it hit the floor. 

You finished the sandwiches, one going into a brown paper bag the other a plate that you wrapped with plastic. You left the kitchen, winding around boxes and junk that they called sentimental. You’d gotten into a nasty fight with Bo a few months ago about cleaning the house up a little, but he had refused. 

You hadn’t realized how many beers he’d had that night and chosen the wrong moment to suggest change. Something he was staunchly against. He hadn’t hit you, never had, but he’d thrown a bottle near your head, the glass shattering and bouncing off the wall. Some of it had hit you, scraping up the back of your arms and legs. It wasn’t too bad, but you hadn’t felt that terrified of him since the night you came here. 

You’d been petty, stolen his keys and camped out in one of the houses in town. You hadn’t been able to get any sleep, not with the wax family watching you, but it had gotten the message across. Lester had told you Bo thought you’d left and lost his fucking shit. Vincent, apparently, had been even worse. 

By the time you got back the house was in worse shape then when you’d left. 

Bo had told you he’d think about cleaning some of the stuff out. That had been three months ago.

You grabbed the flashlight off their father’s desk and used the hatch in the office, dropping down into Vincent’s lair. Vincent, when he’d discovered just how much you hated the darkness that led into his workspace, had started leaving a flashlight out for you. 

When Bo got pissed at you he’d hide it. You’d have to crawl to him and beg for it back. 

You’re pretty sure he didn’t care what it was that he stole, he just wanted to exercise some control over you. Remind you of your place in this town, under him.

The flashlight was a nice thought from Vincent, but it didn’t really help you much. You used it anyway, wanting him to know you appreciated how much he cared. Because you’re pretty sure he’s the only real reason you’re alive. 

When Bo had caught you down here, standing over Owen’s dead body, he told you he didn’t know if he was going to keep you alive or not. You knew he meant it, he wasn’t teasing you or playing around, he genuinely did not know what to do with you. You were an outlier in a long list of repetitive victims. 

Vincent swept in behind him, glanced down at the ax, the injuries all over your body, and hesitantly stepped towards you. They looked at each other, a silent conversation laying in their gazes.  

Vincent took a slow step towards you and you recognized his actions for what they were. A test. 

Earlier, you’d seen Vincent try to help his brother, ease his pain and wrap up his wounds. Bo had reacted cruelly, the only thing he seemed to be capable of. 

You watched with a blank stare as Vincent kneeled down in front of you, brushing his fingers over the scraped skin of your knee. 

You jumped slightly at the burn of flesh against your wound, but otherwise didn’t react. Slowly, he stood back up, grabbing your arm with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your first meeting. He led you back to his desk, flipping over the drawing of your face and pulling out bandages. 

Some of them he had to toss to the side because they were covered in wax, others he used on you. 

Bo watched it all with a frown on his face and crossed arms. “What the hell are you doin’?”

Vincent’s head shot up and his arms tightened around you. Again, you forced yourself not to react, not to flinch away from his hold and grimace as you heard his muffled breath next to your ear. Vincent didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hands to communicate, he blocked you in like a guard dog and after a moment you heard Bo cussing and storming out. 

He mentioned something about getting the restg of your group, but nothing after that. You could only relax once you heard the basement hatch slam shut. “Thank you,” you whispered to Vincent. He grunted, but offered nothing else. 

His fingers were quick, precise in the way they cleaned and wrapped your wounds. They were also surprisingly gentle for someone who had just slammed a blade through your friend's skull. 

Vincent kept you squirreled away down there, sleeping on a cot in the corner of his large and stuffy studio. You weren’t sure how many days or weeks had passed with him idly sketching you and sculpting different wax animals for you, the lack of windows made it hard to tell, but you do know you were much better off here than in Bo’s dungeon. 

You’d learned bits of sign language from him, you were bored and he seemed eager to teach you. To finally have someone who would speak his language too. 

He was kind in his own way, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager to get the fuck out of there. 

Bo had stormed down one day, saw you, and lost his goddamn shit. Apparently, he’d thought Vincent was only keeping you around for a bit of fun and then killing you. The fact that you were still alive, and being taken care of, nearly gave him an aneurysm. 

Again, Vincent hadn’t let Bo hurt you. He’d protected you from his brother’s wrath and forced Bo to accept that you were staying. 

Sometimes you wished you weren’t kind to him. That you had yelled, kicked, and clawed at him. Called him a freak and told him to go to hell and find his precious momma. You would be dead, sure, but you wouldn’t be here. 

Thoughts like that had disappeared a long time ago, left with the summer heat. You knew it wasn’t Stockholm syndrome, you’d been a psych student before your world was flipped on its axis. You knew what the signs were, but this wasn’t loving them to save yourself. 

This was accepting that there was no place for you in society anymore, not after what you’d done. Not after you’d actually helped Vincent sculpt his wax around Allison’s pretty face. 

You’d enjoyed it, a sick satisfaction from seeing the bitch dead, your survival a victory over her. 

When she’d been alive she had a top. This really cute white, lacy number and no matter how many times you asked, she would never let you borrow it. She had no qualms stealing your clothes and never giving them back, but god forbid you ever even looked at that top.

It hung in your closet now, yours to do with whatever you pleased. You smiled every time you thought about it. 

“Vince?” You knocked on the doorway and clicked the flashlight off as the door creaked open. The warm glow of candlelight leaked out into the dark abyss. You slipped inside, shuddering at the rush of heat that hit you. It wasn’t always hot in here, only when he was preparing a new batch of wax. 

You frowned, he only did that when there were visitors coming. Lester must’ve called ahead, told them he spotted someone on the road. You closed the door behind you walking towards his desk and dropping the plate on top. Your fingers skimmed over the sketches, catching on another one of you. 

You picked it up and smiled, it was a sketch of you curled up on the couch with Jonesy, your face pressed into her fur as you slept. You remember waking up from that nap, frowning when you heard wood creaking behind you but not seeing anything. 

What a weird little stalker. He knew he could ask to sketch you and you didn’t mind, but he always ran away like you were gonna be mad at him. You shook your head, placing it back down, and walked further into his studio. 

You found him sitting at his table, curled over something you couldn’t make out. You could see his wrist flicking, the carving tool in his hand, and figured he was making another animal for you. You already had a whole shelf full of different animals, practically your own wax zoo. 

“Hey,” you whispered, hands creeping slowly along his shoulders. He tensed slightly before he leaned into you. “Brought you lunch.” His movements paused to sign, Thank you.

You glanced down at his hair, curling around him like a dark curtain and frowned. “Vince, you got wax in your hair again.” He shrugged and continued working. You sighed, walking back towards his desk and rustling through drawers until you found the brush you’d left down here for him.

Sometimes you think he does this on purpose because he likes how you take care of him. You ran the brush through his hair a few times trying to make sure you’d gotten all the wax out. He let out a low groan, his head tilting back and thudding against your chest as you stood behind him. 

You chuckled, scratching your fingers along his scalp and he let out a long sigh, melting into you. You’d have to force him into the shower later, to wash everything out of his hair. It was astounding how stubborn both brothers were about just showering. 

You weren’t sure why they resisted so much, maybe it was something that happened between them and their parents. Either way, it was a fight to get them near the water and even then you had to bribe them with your body, luring them in like a siren just so you could wash the grime off. 

You braided Vincent’s hair away from his face and he stilled, temporarily becoming your doll while you did what you wanted to him. He was always a bit easier than his brother. He was eager to please, even more eager for your praise. For you to tell him you were proud of him. 

You leaned down, pressing a kiss against the waxed cheek of his mask. “Eat your lunch, please.” He nodded but the second you backed off he was back to carving into the block of wax before him. You sighed and glanced around his space, collecting the dishes of other half-eaten meals you’ve brought down. 

The bell rang above you and you let out a sigh or relief as you stepped into Bo’s shop. A cool breeze rustled the fabric of your top. Seems like he got the air conditioning up and running again, even in winter you could still wear a tank top and shorts and be sweating. “Bo?”

“Back here!”

You walked towards the garage, brown bag clutched tightly in your hands and poked your head in. He was bent over, head under the hood of a car and oil smeared all over his coveralls. Your eyes traveled over the car he was working on, wincing when you realized it was yours. 

You hadn’t used it since you’d gotten here. You’d seen Bo towing it in, along with Owen’s but you’d always avoided paying too much attention to it. You weren’t sure why he bothered working on it, maybe it was a taunt towards you or he was just bored. You never really knew with him. 

“Brought lunch,” you offered, walking towards his work table and jumping on top, the bag going next to your thighs. He lifted himself up, looking towards you and smiling. 

“Thanks, hun,” you hummed in response, sticking your neck out as he approached. He chuckled, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

He reached for the bag, pulling out his lunch and taking too big of a bite. “‘M gonna have to go up to the house,” he mumbled through a mouth full of sandwich. “Need to change before our visitors get here.”

You nodded, staying quiet as he stared at you. You’d gotten used to this look and even more used to what was about to happen after. He’d tell you to follow him and would help you off the desk, deceptively sweet as he tugged you down to the room below the garage. 

Then he would tape you up, muttering to himself about not letting you leave. You’d submit easily, letting him do what he wanted. It was easier than trying to tell him you were staying. 

But his gaze shifted back to the car and you frowned at the side of his face. He should’ve told you to move by now. Instead he leaned back against the desk, his hand skimming your own. He didn’t look at you while he spoke. 

“Want you to work on your car.”

You blanched, eyes going wide as you stared at him. That wasn’t even close to what you were expecting. You had gotten so used to sitting under that grate, listening to the screams of his victims as he hunted them down. Now, he wanted you up here, wanted you to see it. 

What was he doing?

“What?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “fucked somethin’ up, want you to fix it.” He crumpled the bag into a ball, tossing it into the trash can and turned back towards you. You didn’t see anything on his face that would give away why he was keeping you up here on the surface and it set you on edge. 

This had to be some sort of test. Maybe he was seeing if you would try and use the new victims to escape or warn them off. Or he wanted to see if you could pretend like you belonged, go along with his act and keep the victims feeling safe and compliant while he killed them off. 

What the fuck?

You were used to how things worked in Ambrose. There was a system set in place, one you had learned to follow. This went against what you’d come to know and it was setting you on edge as you watched him walk off, heading up the hill and towards his house. 

You stayed glued to the desk for a while, you weren’t sure how long, but it was enough time for Bo to have cleaned up. He popped his head inside the garage, suit on, and frowned. “What’re you doing? Move your ass.”

You jumped, leaping off the work table and rushing towards the car. He laughed at your panicked movements, staying a moment to admire your ass as you bent over the hood before you heard his boots on the gravel, heading towards the church. 

You didn’t appreciate this switch up with him, how erratic his moods and behaviors were. He made it impossible to track and read him, to fully understand why he worked the way he did. 

You were grateful that, at the very least, he had given you a distraction from trying to figure out what this test was and if you were in trouble or not. 

You inspected the car, forcing yourself to remember everything he’s taught you while you’ve lingered in his shop. 

“Oh, they're right here.”

You jumped, rolling out from underneath the car and glancing towards the doorway that connected the garage to the auto shop. Two unfamiliar voices echoed within Bo’s shop. 

“Fan belts?”

“Yeah,” a guy and a girl. You poked your head over the top of the car and saw the guy was a lot taller than you and broader. Shit, you really hoped you didn’t run into him once they figured out what was going on up here. “But he doesn’t have the right size.”

“Just pick one, Wade, I don’t want to be in here much longer.”

“Alright, just hold on Carly.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands off and stepping towards them. 

“You plannin’ on stealin’ that?”

They both jumped, whipping around towards where you leaned in the doorway arms crossed over your chest. “No,” the guy rushed to defend himself, his girlfriend shaking her head frantically. “We left some money on the counter, we just needed to get out of here, that’s all.”

“There you are,” you all turned towards Bo. His posture matched your own, leaned against the entrance to the shop, hands tucked in his pockets. God, he looked good. Now that you weren’t fighting for your life you could fully appreciate how handsome he looked all cleaned up. Bo glanced at you then back to the other two, “She botherin’ you?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, glaring at him over their shoulders. He winked when they faced you and you figured he was putting on another show. Huffing out an irritated breath you rolled your eyes and turned back towards your car. You frowned at the oil streaked along your skin and clothes, you’d never be able to get the stains out. 

“Oh,” Carly started, shaking her head and glancing back at you again. “No, of course not, we just didn’t know that there was anyone in the shop.”

“She’s new, don’t like lettin’ her around customers, too much attitude.” You could practically see his smirk from under the car. He was probably so proud of himself, being able to tease you without you snapping back for once. 

“She’s fine, um, I left some money on the counter, but you don’t have any fifteens.” You watched as Bo’s feet moved towards the register, most likely pocketing the money. “Is that enough?”

Bo’s tone was easy going, the perfect southern gentleman as he helped a poor lost couple. “Close enough. You know, I’ve got the right size up at the house. Only a couple blocks from here…”

You forced yourself deaf, trying to block out the rest of their conversation. These people weren’t exactly assholes and they didn’t seem particularly deserving of what was about to happen. Your friends were bad people, you didn’t feel guilty about them, but there was something about this couple that had your stomach burning in anxiety. 

Maybe this was why Bo had you outside, playing mechanic with him. He wanted you to see the harsh reality of what it was they did here. you couldn’t always cover your ears and pretend it wasn’t happening. Was this what the test was? See how committed you were to him and Vincent, to Ambrose. 

You used the car as a cover, dropping the wrench beside you and covering your face as you tried to decide whether you were going to cry or throw up. It was fine, the idea of all this, when you were hidden under the grate. The straps were a reminder that it could be you up there being hunted again. 

Being face to face with the victims was entirely different. 

A hand slammed down on the roof of the car, the metal reverberating around you, “Hey!”

You screamed, jumping up and nearly hitting your head on the underbelly of the car. You rolled out, glaring at Bo while he stood smiling down at you. He kneeled down, laying a hand around your thigh and squeezing. 

“You’re gonna stay here, keep an eye out for any more of their friends, and behave. Okay?”

You nodded and he dug his nails in, “Yes, Bo.” 

“Good girl,” he stood up and walked towards the garage door. You watched him, afraid to take your eyes off his back. He turned back around, one last lingering look that had you feeling cold, “Don’t fuck up.��� You flinched as the garage door slammed down behind him. 

“Help! Help me, please!” You jumped up and ran to the front of the auto shop. Carly ran face first into you, her fingernails digging painfully into your skin as she looked behind her. 

“Shit,” you grabbed her biceps and pulled her away. “What’s going on?”

She backed up, wiping her eyes and gulping as she tried to catch her breath. “That- that guy, Bo, I think he did something to my boyfriend.”

“Alright, calm down, it’s okay.” God, you were just as freaked out as her. What the fuck were you supposed to do? “Let me get the phone, we’ll call someone.”

She nodded, running to the door and locking it. She pressed her face against the glass and peered outside, keeping an eye out for him. You knew you didn’t have long before she started to get suspicious. The station had a working phone, but there was no way in hell you were actually about to call the cops on Bo. 

You paced back and forth, running your hands through your hair as you looked around, trying to find a solution. Your eyes snagged on the wrench by the car. You whipped your head over your shoulder, Carly was still stuck to the window. You ran for it, grabbing it and turning back towards her. 

You raised your hand up, wincing as she caught your eye in the reflection of the glass. “What’re-”

She crumpled to the ground with a thud, crimson pooling around her arms. 

You saw in the reflection Bo approaching you from behind, back in his coveralls. “Atta girl!” You didn’t react when he slung his arms over your shoulders, squeezing you and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Did good, baby.” He released you, huffing out a big sigh and walking over to the girl, “Alright, grab her ankles.” His tone was no longer adoring going right back to business. 

You looked at him like he was crazy, ”Bo, what?”

You dropped the wrench to the ground and he frowned from where he was picking up her wrists. “You got a problem?”

”Yeah! What the fuck are you doing? Why am I doing this?” He dropped her arms unceremoniously and you winced at the crack they made against the cement. He stepped over her, stalking towards you and you stumbled back, heart beating faster in fear. 

His hand snapped out, grabbing you before you could make it far. You whined as he dug his nails into your cheeks, puckering your lips and gripping your jaw hard enough for it to creak. “You’re doing this ‘cause I said to. Do we have a problem?”

He was so good at making you feel small. You wonder how Vincent’s put up with it all these years. “No, Bo,” your words were muffled by his grip, but he got the message. He released you, but you didn’t go far, his arm wrapping around waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, his hand coming up to push some of your hair back. “It’s alright, darlin.’ We all make mistakes, right?” His tone was condescending, his smirk even more so, but you played along like he wanted you to. Nodding and accepting when he pressed a violent kiss to your mouth, your teeth clashing together and lip splitting from the force of it. 

He backed away from you, chuckling loudly and going back to the unconscious girl on the floor. You grabbed her by the ankles like he’d told you to and helped him drag her down to the basement. He propped her head on your shoulder while he unlocked the door and you struggled under her dead weight. 

“Why is she going down here, Bo?”

Your mind went to the Polaroids covering the walls, the things he’s had you do in that chair and you felt anger burning in your gut. Not worry or fear for her like you should feel, but white hot burning rage at him for trying to pull something like this.

He looked over his shoulder at your expression and grinned, “Nothin’ like that, baby. Little bitch put up a fight and wrecked my truck, I ain’t done with her yet.” 

A good person would wince and whisper and apology to the unconscious girl, say they were sorry for the pain she was about to experience. Instead you felt sated, relieved, and completely fine with hauling her body up into the chair and taping her down. 

You held her legs down as he taped them and she started to move around. Bo tossed you some superglue and you gripped her by the jaw, clamping her lips shut and pouring glue over the seam of her mouth. She whimpered and you ignored her, moving mechanically, distancing yourself from the fact that she was a real moving person. In her place was a wax statue, full of imperfections that you needed the glue to fix. 

All three of you looked up through the grate at the sound of the boots stomping in the garage above you. Bo shared a look with you and nodded towards the door. You let the girl go, slipping out of the basement and closing the door behind you. You came up through the entrance behind the register, glancing outside to see a man in front of the garage. 

You let out a breath of relief, closing the door to the shop as you stepped into the garage, he hadn’t got a chance to see the pool of blood. “Can I help you?”

He turned around, a particularly bitchy look on his face. “Looking for my sister, Carly, seen her?”

There was a loud yelp and you frowned. You walked towards the work table, reaching for the stereo and turning the volume to Bo’s music on. You covered the grate from his view as Deftones blasted through the small garage. 

“Sorry, it’s my dog, she hates new people.”

He gave you an awkward smile and nodded. “Yeah, might’ve seen her. Pretty girl, blonde hair?”

He nodded his head, giving you an appraising look. You weren’t sure if he didn’t believe you or was checking you out. You really preferred that he didn’t believe you, you weren’t prepared to deal with Bo if he thought someone was moving in on you. ”My boss, Bo, took her and her boyfriend up to his house a few minutes ago. They were lookin’ for a fan belt.”

“His house?”

You shrugged, “He keeps extra shipments there. Wasn’t too long ago, you want me to take you?” 

He sucked on his teeth, shaking his head and backing away. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

You panicked, fists clenching as you watched him retreat. “It's really no problem.”

“I said I’m good,” he snapped. 

You could see Bo creeping up behind him, the same wrench you used on the guy’s sister in his hand. If he turned around he would see Bo. Carly was easy to take out, she was small, trusting. This guy looked built and like he’d been in a few too many fights. “Wait!” You shouted, too scared to come up with a good distraction. 

He glared at you and opened his mouth to say something just as Bo struck. The wrench came down on the guys head with a disturbing crack, but he didn’t fall like he should have. He stumbled forward and whirled around on Bo, his fist catching him in the jaw and tackling him to the ground. 

You could clearly see blood pouring down the back of his head, but he remained unphased as he  pounded into Bo. “Shit,” you cursed, darting to the side to pick up another weapon but you failed to notice how the man had stopped beating Bo. He must’ve seen you moving somehow because in a split second something was slamming into your side and the air was leaving you as you were slammed into the cement. 

You groaned, feeling like your lungs had collapsed and curled up in an attempt to protect yourself as he directed his attacks towards you. “Nick!” A shrill voice screamed from the grate. “Nick!” He leapt off of you, heading back towards Bo and ripping the keys off his belt as he made a run for it. 

Your vision was red, blood pouring down from a cut on your forehead. You took in a painful breath, your lungs wheezing, your ribs had apparently taken the majority of his punches. With your brain pounding against your eyes you rolled onto your knees and crawled towards Bo. 

He wasn’t as badly injured as you had thought he would be, must’ve gotten in a few hits of his own. “Bo,” you grabbed his shoulders, gently shaking him. “Bo!” You tried again, shouting this time and slamming his head down on the cement. 

He groaned and you let yourself fall back, head lolling on your shoulders as you tried to get your vision to stop swimming. “Shit, he got me.” Bo sat up, wiping the blood from under his nose, “Get home.” He ordered, tone not leaving any room for an argument. You nodded as he stormed off, but instead of going home like he told you to, you laid down on the cold cement and groaned. 

Should lungs hurt?

You eventually managed your way to the house, once you’d got breath back, your injuries weren’t as bad as you’d thought they’d been. You stumbled into the doorway, glancing at a trail of blood leading into the office and trudging your way to the fridge. You grabbed a beer and threw yourself down on the couch. 

It didn’t take long to hear footsteps creeping towards you. Your heart clenched when you saw how hesitant Vincent was to get near you. You loved Bo, but he could be a real fucking dick to his brother. You leaned your head against the cushion, rolling it to the right and smiling at Vincent. 

It seemed to be enough for him to feel comfortable approaching you. He kneeled on the floor beside you and fussed over your scrapes. “I’m fine, really,” you reached up, taking his hand in yours and trying to give him a reassuring smile. “I think they got Bo pretty bad, though.”

He tugged his hands from yours, taking off his gloves and signing. How bad

”One of the guys, he’s pretty strong, busted his sister out from the basement after attacking me and Bo. Actually managed to knock Bo out for a minute.”

Stay here

“Wait-” you reached out, trying to grab the back of his sweater but he was already making a run for the front door. It slammed closed behind him, his truck starting up a minute later. You sighed and fell back against the couch, letting your eyes shut as you tried to relax. 

You hadn’t realized just how relaxed you’d gotten until you heard the door slam. You jumped up, glancing out the living room window and realizing how dark it’d gotten. You moved off the couch, placing your beer on the coffee table and heading into the kitchen. 

Bo was leaning on the counter, already a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was completely soaked in blood, his nose leaking and a bandage wrapped around his arm. “Holy shit, Bo, what happened?” 

You ran forward, hands instinctively going to the arrow buried in his arm. “Back off!” He snapped. You frowned and stepped back from him, trying not to upset him any further. You heard the rumble of a truck on the driveway and you glanced through the window. 

Two bodies lay in the bed of Vincent’s yellow truck, a blonde girl and some guy you hadn’t seen before. Vincent jumped out, Jonesy following behind him, and made his way towards the door. You opened it before he could, grabbing him by the cardigan and making sure he wasn’t hurt like Bo. 

He took your hands in his and shook his head, gently moving you back. “What have I told you about leaving without me?” Bo shouted. “You wait for me!”

Vincent nodded, not bothering to respond to Bo. There was a moment of tense silence before Bo offered a half-hearted smile to Vincent, “We’re almost done, Vinnie, momma would be proud of ya.”

It was the closest to an apology Vincent would ever get, you all knew it. Bo can’t apologize, his parents had permantly fucked with his psyche, and it started with his dad doing a risky surgery to seperate his boys. Vincent’s face would permanently be ruined but you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Bo had gotten the fucked mental end of the separation. 

“How many are left?” You asked, reluctantly releasing Vincent’s hands. 

“The girl and her brother,” Bo paced, taking a swig of his whiskey. He hissed and clutched his hurt arm. “Alright, help me out with this.”

You had to hold yourself back from snapping at him. Oh, can I help now? Dick. You grabbed hold of what was left of the arrow and yanked as hard as you could, Bo clenched his teeth and let out a loud pained groan. You winced at the amount of blood that started coming out, Vincent moved you to the side, already having a bandage ready and tying it tight around Bo’s arm. 

“Where do you think they headed?”

Bo grunted, speaking through clenched teeth, “House of Wax.”

You nodded and stepped back from him once it seemed like Vincent wouldn’t need your help. “I’ll go with you both.”

”No,” Bo shouted and Vincent shook his head wildly. 

“Don’t be a dumbass, you need my help. They’ve already kicked your ass, I’ll stay out of sight, promise. I just want to be there in case they get the upper hand.” Bo looked unsure and Vincent was still shaking his head. You placed a comforting hand on both of their arms and begged, “Please. Let me help.”

Bo shook his head and your stomach dropped, worried he would say no. Finally he let out a long sigh, “Stick with Vincent.”

You nodded, feeling Vincent’s hand grab onto yours as he led you outside. Bo grunted and slowly followed after you both, his left arm stiff beside him. 

You followed Vincent into the bowels of the House of Wax, he moved slowly, keeping one hand behind him to make sure you didn’t bolt. You weren’t planning on it, but they didn’t seem to completely trust you for some reason. 

You heard footsteps ahead, quck and frantic, rushing through his workshop. Vincent pulled out his bone handle daggers and ran down the rest of the steps. You stayed on the stairwell, keeping your head peaked around the corner. 

The brother was in there, rushing through the workshop and knocking shit over without a care in the world. He hadn’t noticed Vincent yet, too busy looking for something. You weren’t sure what he wanted, or what the plan was until you saw him grab a pile of sheets, getting ready to throw them in the fire that kept the wax warm. 

Shit, he was going to set the whole damn place on fire. 

Even if you did manage to kill these two, it wouldn’t matter, the police would come, they’d see the bodies. Bo and Vincent would be locked up and you…

Well, you didn’t really know what would happen to you. 

You could always plead insanity, show the jury the scars from your bonds and they’d think you were just a victim forced to do the unimaginable. 

You considered it for a moment, letting him get away with this, thought about the freedom that might await you. There was an empty feeling associated with that image, you’d miss Bo and Vince, miss the fucked up life you were living here. 

There weren’t any worries here, just make sure the victims didn’t make it past the woods and you were fine. No taxes, or wondering how you’d afford to keep living in your overpriced apartment, no fucked politics. You were free to be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted. 

You grabbed a lead pipe off the stairs and threw it at the wall. It provided enough of a distraction for him to drop the sheets, not yet making it to the fire, and for Vince to grab him. You watched long enough to see the knife go through his throat and then ran back up the stairs towards Bo. 

You heard screaming before you made it through the door, Carly shouting something at him. What worried you was that you didn’t hear him respond. You turned the corner, feet sticking to the wax as you gripped onto the doorway for balance. 

She was standing over him, baseball bat in her hands poised to bring it back down over his face. You could already see blood leaking down his face from where she’d hit him before. Without thinking you charged at her, wrapping your arms around her middle and taking her down to the floor. 

She let out a surprised yelp but you didn’t let her get much else out before you were wailing on her. You don’t know what happened after you grabbed her. You only remember punching her the first time, remember your knuckles splitting and your blood mingling with hers as she wrestled with you. 

All you could see was Bo laying on the floor, not moving, as this bitch stood over him with a bat. You were blinded by rage, a hot fury burning in your gut and keeping you moving as you pounded your fists into her. You felt satisfied by the sound of her bones crunching under you. 

She screamed at you, words you couldn’t hear as your blood rushed through your ears, and threw her hand up into your chin. You groaned, jaw whipping to the side. She pounced on you, digging her fingers into your throat until you couldn’t breathe and flipping you both over. 

You dragged your nails down her face, the skin digging under your nails like warm wax. You dragged your palms down until you could feel her throat, the movement it made as she took in a deep breath. You felt it bob up and down under your touch and you squeezed. She let out a strangled yelp and you could feel yourself slipping. You were becoming lost in a place of animalistic panic. 

You were almost dead, the man you loved was most likely lying dead next to you as you fought for your own life. Your vision was cloudy until it went completely black and then you felt arms wrapping around your chest and pulling you back. You kicked and screamed, still in fighting for your life until you recognized the voice in your ear. 

“Alright, it’s alright, it’s over.” You slumped back at the sound of Bo’s whispers. You ignored the feeling of his blood leaking into your shirt as he sat down with you, pulling you into his chest and squeezing until it hurt. 

You didn’t mind the pain, though, embracing it because it meant you were both alive. Both of you were okay. You reached back, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into him. Carly lay dead a few feet in front of you, her face mangled and you looked down to see her blood soaking into your clothes. 

You had your own wounds from where she’d fought back, bleeding lacerations that you’d fix later. For now you sat with Bo, watching as Vincent stomped towards you both. In a minute you’d get up, help them clean up the house and the bodies. Then you’d all go home, you’d make dinner, pass out on the couch and wake up in one of their beds. Probably Bo, if his panicked grip was anything to go by. 

Life would go on as it always had, except you’d never have to see that chair again. You’d never be looking up through a grate as blood pooled on the garage floor. You’d go with Bo when he went to the city for supplies, you’d be able to pick out clothes that weren’t plucked from the hands of the dead. 

It wasn’t right. 

You weren’t a good person. 

You didn’t deserve salvation or heaven after all of this. 

But you’d found it and you were perfectly happy. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fandom #house of wax 2005 #House of wax x reader #sinclair brothers x reader #bo sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x you #Slashers

[tripleyeeet]

DELIVERANCE, DELIVER ME (13)

SUMMARY: You and the party finally discover what Ketheric (and company) are up to.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,770

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, so much angst (I'm sorry), canon typical violence, (sort of) major character death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'd like to apologize for posting this chapter and then taking two weeks off. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

It’s an uphill battle for a while. As the minutes turn to hours and the hours quickly become what ends up being a day and a half of solid movement, you finally find yourself deep within the belly of the Illithid colony.

Gripping tightly onto the blade that resides in your hand, you can feel the membrane floor beneath your tired feet squelch as you creep further in, threatening to trip you with the way it gives each time you step to follow Wyll. 

Directly in front of you, you watch as he instructs both Lae’zel and Gale to keep a close watch from behind while the rest of you continue exploring. “We have to be getting close by now,” he grumbles. Then, he motions you and Karlach to move ahead, making you sigh.

You’re a bit scared to admit it but you’re almost too exhausted to continue. After countless battles won against various foes, you’re at the point of barely being able to see straight. Against the dimness of your surroundings, your eyes feel heavier with each passing step, threatening to close as you walk through the tissued door ahead, hearing Karlach hum.

“It’s all clear,” she says, lowering her axe. As she does, you drop your knife and raise a hand to rub your eye, emitting a low yawn just as some devourers rush across your half-obscured vision, shifting your attention to watch a grouping of them scuffle around your feet. 

“You know what? They’re honestly kind of cute, don’t you think?”

You blink at Karlach who’s ogling at one of the stragglers, lowering her body slightly downwards to give the brain a good pet before it squeaks in response and dashes away. 

“You think a brain with legs is cute?” 

Now at your side, Shadowheart scowls at the same creature, shaking her head while the rest of the group merely looks around, surveying the area further.

Unsurprisingly, it looks like every other section you’ve found yourselves in. Covered head to two in bodily innards, thick strands of membrane hang from the walls, dangling wetly above your heads, making you cringe as the group continues to speak. 

“I mean, yeah, look at their little feet! You can’t tell me that’s not the most adorable thing you’ve seen all day!”

“I very well can.”

Next to Shadowheart, Gale smiles at Karlach. “They’re rather interesting specimens… in their own way. A bit easy on the eyes but I supposed I can understand the appeal.” 

Shadowheart rolls her eyes then, causing Lae’zel to snort before telling everyone to focus. “We mustn’t allow any distractions,” she says. "We must focus on Ketheric Thorm and his inevitable death.” 

“Possible inevitable death,” Astarion corrects with a smirk.

At that point, Wyll gives him a questionable look, prompting the rest of the group to follow his gaze, watching Astarion respond with a shrug. 

“What? He might be useful.” 

This time you snort, shaking your head as the group of you come up to another fleshy door, watching it tear open at your arrival to reveal another similar-looking room.

Upon entering, it becomes clear then that there's a long road ahead of you. Another lengthy journey of walking and fighting and whatever else it is you manage to do through the exhaustive stupors you’ve been experiencing. Almost immediately, just the thought alone makes you want to flop onto the ground, regardless of how disgusting it is. To curl up in a ball and have a good cry, realizing just how stressed you are. 

Having been in constant fight or flight, you can feel the mask of bravery you often wear begin to slip. The closer you get to where you know you’ll meet your hardest fight thus far, the less poised you become. You can tell Astarion notices this by the time you’ve found Mizora. As she and Wyll exchange a few choice words with one another, you can feel him watching you fade. Staring far too intently at the way you shove your gloved knuckles into the base of your eyes, emitting a quiet groan in response. 

It’s obvious then that he’s worried. His face shifts anxiously each time you so much as close your eyes after that, watching with caution as you drift alongside everyone else, your mind not all there. 

By the time you make it to the platform that’ll inevitably lead you to Ketheric, you feel his hand on your arm, loosely gripping the leather of your armour until you turn to face him, blinking through the haze. 

“You’re exhausted,” he points out. And even though it’s obvious you still shake your head in response, offering a tired smile as you continue to blink. 

“I’m fine.”

He looks at you angrily before turning to the others who are already busily coming up with a plan, chaotically bouncing off one another until Astarion clears his throat and motions toward you. 

“She can’t fight,” he says simply. “Not unless we rest.”

You open your mouth in annoyance only to close it over a yawn that pushes through, prompting Astarion’s face to transition into a smug expression as he huffs. 

“We don’t have time to rest,” Lae’zel says, causing both Wyll and Shadowheart to awkwardly glance at one another, realizing she’s right. 

It’s only a matter of time before things get worse. Considering how long you’ve spent wandering the halls of the colony, you know Ketheric’s already well onto the road of recovering from your last encounter. 

Thanks to his endless amounts of resources, he’s probably already up and ready to maim every single one of you without so much as batting an eye, and because of this, you merely shake your head and brush Astarion away, telling him you’re fine. That you just need a little water —maybe a health potion or two and you’ll be good as new. 

You can tell by the hurt expression that takes over his face that he doesn’t believe you. That your poorly produced lie has fallen on deaf ears, further spurring the confusion in his eyes as he watches you pull a flask out of your pack and begin to drink. Swallowing hard, you avoid his gaze then, moving to focus it on the area below.

Illuminating in a pale green light, the area calls to you —commanding you to descend as your tadpole violently wiggles behind your eye. 

Groaning through it, you raise a hand to your temple and tightly shut your eyes, hearing Astarion swear under his breath before the feeling quickly surpasses, leaving you fearful as you glance around the party, realizing they felt it too. 

“We must continue now before it’s too late,” Lae’zel says then. Through clenched teeth she clicks her tongue and moves towards the apparatus, turning to face the rest of the group once she’s directly in front of it. “Do you need healing?”

You almost shake your head, but before you can Astarion’s already grabbing your wrist and setting a potion into your open hand, glaring with narrowed eyes. “Take it,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle. “And don’t argue —the last thing I want is to have you dying in my arms.” 

He mutters it low enough so that only you can hear, making you roll your eyes through a hidden grin, obeying his command. 

“Fine. But only because I love you.”

Unlike him, your words are loud enough for the rest of the team to hear, prompting Astarion to clear his throat and turn away when Karlach loudly gasps in response, causing a quick moment of uproar before Shadowheart shuts it down.

Glancing playfully at Astarion as you continue to sip the potion, you can tell he’s thankful for the subject change. Considering all the feelings between you are still a bit fresh, it’s obvious he’s nervous —cautious in the revealing of your private partnership. 

It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. In fact, you completely understand his reservations, knowing the severity of everything happening. With Ketheric and the Absolute and all the other issues that seem to cross your path each time you so much as blink, it’s probably best you keep your feelings a bit closer to your chest. To keep him safe in the confines of your yearning chest. 

Because of this, instead of teasing him like you’re tempted to do, you merely mouth out a silent sorry, love before brushing past to join Lae’zel on the platform, watching him hide a grin of his own as he and the others follow behind.

Once you’re all on and accounted for, Lae’zel then triggers the apparatus to begin its descent, causing your frame to roughly shift and stumble back, catching Astarion’s arm in the process.

“Falling all over again, are we?”

You give him a narrow-eyed look and peel your hand away, forcing back a smile of your own just as Wyll begins to formulate a plan. One that involves a lot of careful preparation, prompting everyone to listen as he discusses who should get up close versus attack from afar. 

“Gale and Astarion, keep your distance,” he begins, motioning to both of them. “Flank from the sides or above —whatever you like. Just keep yourselves hidden until I say otherwise.” 

Both of them nod in agreement as Wyll continues to speak, telling Lae’zel and Karlach to rush into the thick of things while the rest of you sit somewhere in the middle so that you can jump back and forth if need be. 

Overall, it’s a simple formation. One that you’ve used countless times over the last few weeks, making it easy to follow. And because of this, there’s an immediate wave of optimism that surrounds your senses once you step off the platform and move into Ketheric’s domain, sneaking through the membrane that shields you from his gaze.

Once there, all of you crowd towards the ground to watch him pace across an entirely different platform. Slightly above, you can hear him sigh and groan, his footsteps echoing until they’re suddenly stagnant and an unfamiliar voice begins to speak. 

“You said it was under control.” 

The voice is calm —low and calculated. Narrowing your eyes, you slide around the structure that hides you, taking a few hurried steps towards another so that you can see the voice’s face, noticing there are others. 

Two men and a woman join Ketheric in discussion. Beneath the woman, one of the others sits crouched and helpless, eyes desperately shutting as she sits on his back, playing with the knife in her hands. Beside her, the other man talks to Ketheric as if he’s above him, speaking of their failed plan —of you and the rest of your party and how Ketheric’s new plan was to lead you down here. 

Upon hearing this, you glance at Wyll who’s clenching his jaw and moving forward, prompting Karlach to pull him right back with a shake of her head. At that point, you remember then that the man practically folded into the ground is unfortunately his father, Ulder. A man he hasn’t seen for quite some time thanks to Mizora and his inevitable banishment. Realizing this, you frown but look back over, watching Ketheric’s fist fly into the air just as the woman’s blade stops at his neck, prompting everyone to stand down despite the tension. 

After that, you can hear a fit of laughter push through the woman’s voice. As she repeats the word again almost manically, pulling her knife away from Ketheric’s throat, she then talks of Baldur’s Grave. How Ketheric must lead some sort of murder march to it.  

It’s a strange sentence. The kind that has you narrowing your eyes, trying your best to focus on the conversation further in order to understand her words as they continue their back and forth, speaking of a weapon before informing Ketheric of their dwindling patience. 

“Orin and I can wait for you no longer,” the dark-haired man says. “The plan proceeds —we’re going to the city, and we expect you to follow— army and weapon in tow.”

None of you are entirely sure what he means. At least, not until he’s moving towards the edge of the platform, raising his hand to reveal a gleaming stone as he calls the edict of Bane. At which point, you share a worried look with Astarion. Both of your throats swallowing hard as the woman then calls for the lash of Bhaal, triggering an eruption beneath you. 

Gripping onto the structure that resides in front of you, you feel the ground begin to shake. At first, it’s rough, tossing you around a bit but quickly it settles once the presence of a tentacle rips through the water, crashing just a few feet away. 

As it happens, your breath catches in your throat. Failing to exit, it sits tight against your vocal cords like an enemy's hand, threatening to suffocate you as a large brain begins to ascend amongst the waves, pulsating disgustingly. 

Cringing at the sight, you take note of Ketheric as he joins the duo, calling forth the testament of Myrkul, triggering a different voice inside your head. 

It’s the same voice you’ve been hearing throughout your journey. The voice that initially saved you through the wreckage. The one that’s been entering your dreams unannounced and feeding your information. As your tadpole twitches enthusiastically, you can hear it loud and clear, informing you that the creature that continues to rise through the air is in fact an elder brain. A creature so powerful and cruel that, upon discovery, you visibly shudder at the thought of what it’s capable of. 

Well, this obviously wasn’t what I expected.

Without hesitation, Astarion’s voice clears away the rest of your thoughts, pulling you back to look at him jerk his head towards the enemy, noticing the woman grip Ulder’s head, granting the elder brain’s tentacle enough access to shove a tadpole in his eye.

As it happens, you cringe at the sight, remembering your own experience as the two men continue to discuss the details of their shared plot. About how Ketheric’s meant to attack the city so that the other man, the supposed hero, can save it.

It’s a simple plot. One that you know will be convincing enough considering the state everyone’s in. Based solely on your experiences throughout your travels, it’s obvious that everyone can feel it coming. The shift they’ve been weaving behind closed doors. 

Wherever you’ve found yourselves the tensions have felt higher than they need to be. Difficult to navigate thanks to the wariness of the Absolute and its ever-growing presence. Normally, people refuse to trust you on instinct but lately, they’ve been borderline hostile, attacking you without much reason —forcing you to fight when all you want is peace.

It’s why, by the end of the discussion after everyone but Ketheric seemingly disappears into thin air, the breath you were previously holding stumbles out like a gasp. Forcing you further down towards the ground, you run a hand down your face as it happens, realizing then just how big this has become. How, despite knowing that the Absolute was already dangerous, the last thing you expected was a shared plot between the harbingers of death and chaos itself.

Suddenly breathing hard, you discard the act of hiding to rush over to Wyll, placing a hand on his shoulder for support, watching him scowl at Ketheric who finally clues into your presence.

“There you are.”

Like all the other times you’ve spoken to him, you notice the eerie amount of calm that radiates through his voice. As if he already knows how this will end. Annoyingly, it manages to send a shiver down your spine as he begins to clue you in on everything you’ve missed. About his God and their deal —about Gortash and Orin and their shared plot to grow and take over the Absolute all in exchange for his daughter’s life. 

In the moment, it’s a lot to take in. The idea that these Gods have essentially been working together. But quickly you snap out of the shock, forcing yourself to listen to his threats —to hear him talk of how he’ll kill you and then raise you as his undead servants.

As soon as he finishes there’s a moment of silence before Lae’zel attempts to take the first swing. With her longsword, she leaps and strikes the edge of Ketheric’s abdomen, angrily scraping away the armour with a hearty scream that triggers the rest of you to move. Seemingly all at once, you all then scatter into position, watching Gale and Astarion begin to strike the undead soldiers that rise from the earth on opposite ends while you and Shadowheart move towards the middle, using magic to do the same. 

“It’s no use, True Soul,” Ketheric taunts then, dodging Karlach’s swinging axe with a snort before he swings his sword right back, catching her in the arm. 

As she cries out in pain, Wyll slices through an undead’s skull before turning his attention to the injured tiefling, immediately rushing to her aid.

After that, all of you fall into the same rhythm. When one of you is struck there’s an instant urgency that takes place, causing whoever’s closest to help the other before you relocate and reset. 

Because of this, it takes a while to weaken Ketheric’s defences. To strike him down hard enough so that his power begins to dwindle. So much so that by the time you’ve regained your focus after helping Wyll up a second time, you finally notice the reason you were sent to the mausoleum in the first place.

Struggling against conjured shackles, Aylin, the woman you met deep within Shar’s domain —the one who attempted to help the first time you fought Ketheric— now stands, calling your attention, screaming for you to release her so that she can help. 

Without even thinking you nod your head and rush to her aid, narrowly avoiding an arrow that whizzes by your face along the way. Panting through the exhaustion, you move as quickly as possible, forcing your body to climb up a ladder of flesh, ignoring the ooze that slips through your fingers. 

Once upright, you continue moving towards her, watching her struggle against the bonds through gritted teeth, begging you to help. 

Drawing your sword you begin to hack at the magic upon her request, groaning with each strike until you can see it cracking under the pressure. Breaking down bit by bit until—

You see the blade before you feel it. The way it angles down from your left shoulder into the air in front of you. Narrowing your eyes, it takes a moment, but not long after you notice the blood, you finally feel the shooting pain of your injury. How it spreads like wildfire throughout your torso, threatening to stop your lungs.

Shakily, you crane your neck to see the undead soldier loom carelessly above you. Somehow its hand is still locked tightly on the handle of the blade as you begin your descent to the ground, gasping for air just as Aylin breaks free and immediately kills it, saying something you don’t quite hear as it happens. 

Despite not being able to make out her exact words you can tell they’re angry. Loud and irritated as she motions toward your body, making you groan. Making you realize that despite wanting more than anything to live, your eyes are slowly closing.

After that all you do is feel and hear, struggling to process. 

Because without your eyesight, it’s as if everything else has been sorely amplified. Within your chest, the only thing you can feel is the blooming of your blood coating you in a heavy ache. The way it warms your skin beneath the already-heated leather of your clothes. As you lay there covered in it, you feel it bubble up your throat, obstructing every lick of air that fights towards the surface, causing you to gag. To fearfully reach for your throat as your ears begin to ring, reminding you it’s time. 

You can’t fight it anymore. 

As much as you want to, the injury is too severe to remedy with the lack of resources you and your party have. Despite wanting to live, even when you feel those familiar hands pull you into a tight embrace, clutching your face with those cooling hands, you know that you're done. That your time here has finished and there’s nothing more you can do about it except hope that it meant something.

Feeling your body shake against the one that holds you, you hear a garbled sound of despair. A sob so visceral it only serves to further rip right through your chest, causing a whimper to sound through the stream of blood that coats your lips. 

I thought I fucking told you not to die!

The moment you hear Astarion’s voice inside your head you’re already sobbing. Between each gasp, the pain of his presence immediately pulls you from your last few moments of peace. Forcing you to realize that you’ve let him down. That like all the others in his life, you’ve abandoned him. 

Why can’t you listen?

You can hear the anger in his voice as he begs you to stay. To fight for survival —to fight for him. To stay so that he doesn’t have to be alone again as he reaches for your hand, taking it tightly in his own. 

You try your best to hold it back. Faintly, your fingers twitch but ultimately fail to hold any weight; much like your mind that refuses to let you speak back to him. To tell him that he’s going to be fine. That the others will help him. That you won’t just be fine but that you’ll be okay too. 

Now crying with you, you hear him yell through the ringing again. A piercing sound of syllables that echo in your skull as you attempt to open your eyes. 

Like the soldier from before, he’s looming above you, only covered in tears and blood, pressing his lips together to hold back the quivering mess he’s become when Shadowheart finally makes it to his side, saying something about you. About letting you go but Astarion refuses to oblige, tightening the hold he has on your frame until Shadowheart’s fully yelling his face and tugging at his clothes, forcing him to let go just as your eyes begin to shut again, feeling her hands turn you to your side to rip the knife from your flesh. 

-

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#deliverance deliver me #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 15)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing. Warning: depictions of labor/childbirth and violence/death.

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen

“Y/N,” Effie all but accosts the woman emerging from the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N frowns, bewildered by Effie’s urgency.

She is in tears, “it’s Cinna.”

“What happened to Cinna?”

“He’s…he’s dead.”

Again the floor is falling out from beneath her, sinking, never ending. “How?”

“I don’t know, dear.” Effie breathes, it’s all being kept hush.

“I have to-” Haymitch left before Y/N, allowing her to rest. Her eyes are still swollen from the tears, no amount of sleep or makeup will hide it. “Haymitch is waiting for me.” Does he know?

“Of course,” Effie nods, excusing herself.

Y/N moves for the elevator, jamming the call button repeatedly with her finger. It dings upon arrival, moving at a snail’s pace to the ground floor.

The outdoor viewing area is open today. As if nice weather is reason enough for a picnic, while tributes slaughter each other on screen.

Chaff is still alive; hiding, waiting it out.

The current threat is monkey mutts, blood rain and the giant tidal wave; that sends Peeta and Katniss’ alliance to meet up with Johanna, Wiress and Beetee on the beach.

“Johanna?” Finnick spots her first, covered in blood from head to toe. “Johanna.”

“Finnick!”

“Looks like we have more allies,” Peeta remarks.

Y/N finds her husband, near the far wall of the indoor viewing area. He’s easier to spot in a crowd after all these years, the width of his shoulders, the color of his hair.

“Just couldn’t stay away, huh?” He is tired, worn down and unfortunately, the only news she has to share does nothing to help.

“Cinna’s dead.” Y/N whispers, plopping down in the seat beside him.

“Blight hit the forcefield, died on impact. Female morphling sacrificed herself to save Peeta.” Haymitch adds to the death toll.

“Do you think he lied? Plutarch.” That’s what gamemakers do. They lie to get in your head.

“His plan is to get Katniss out. I don’t think he lied about that.” If they keep this alliance going long enough-

“What about Peeta?” What about everyone else?

Can’t protect anyone in an arena. “He’ll be with Katniss.”

“Tick tock,” Wiress says, for what must be the hundredth time. Grabbing Johanna by the forearms to spin her.

“What’s wrong with her?” Katniss asks.

“She’s in shock, dehydration isn’t helping.” Beetee tells Katniss.

“I’ll get her some water.” Gloss takes the spile into the tree line. His back is torn up pretty good from the mutts.

“Tick tock.”

Katniss leads Wiress out into the water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Johanna follows, while Beetee stays closer to shore, winding something on a spool.

“What’s Beetee got there?” Katniss wonders.

“Some kind of coil.” Johanna picks pieces of debris from her axe.

“Did he get it from the cornucopia?”

“Took a knife in the back to get it.”

“Tick tock.” Wiress gasps.

“I can’t,” Johanna holds up a hand in defeat. “Have fun with nuts.”

“Tick tock,” Katniss repeats, though it makes little sense to her. Allowing the water to wash away any blood clinging to Wiress’ hair.

Y/N looks to Haymitch, “tick tock?”

He lifts a shoulder, hell if I know.

Lightening strikes the large tree, at the far end of the arena, twelve times. Almost like- “a clock.” Y/N mutters under her breath, “chimes on a clock.”

“Twelve sections.” Haymitch realizes, “everything stays in its own…the forcefields in between.”

“Oh,” Wiress bobs up from the water. “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock,” Katniss says again, “it’s a clock. Wiress, you’re a genius.”

————————————————————————

With this new knowledge, the alliance heads back to the cornucopia.

“It all starts with the lightening. Then the blood rain, fog and monkeys, that’s the first four hours. At ten, that big wave hits from over there.” Katniss pauses to watch Peeta sketch a crude outline of the arena, with his sword.

“The tail points at twelve,” Peeta adds.

“That’s where the lighting strikes, at noon and midnight.”

“Strikes where?” Beetee asks.

“That big tree.”

Beetee cocks his head to the side, “good.”

“Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock,” Wiress is singing softly to herself, beside the water.

Gloss takes a seat beside her to keep watch, smiling kindly. He doesn’t know this song.

“What about the other hours, did you guys see anything?” Cashmere asks Johanna and Beetee, hoping to fill in the other six wedges.

“Nothing but blood.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Peeta moves to stand, “as long as we steer clear of whatever sector’s active, we’ll be safe.”

“Yeah,” Finnick chimes in, “relatively speaking.”

Wiress gasps in surprise, drawing their attention.

Brutus is there with his sword buried in Gloss’ sternum. He had shielded Wiress with his own body. Gloss tumbles into the water. Cannon.

Leaving Wiress dead by Enobaria’s hand. Cannon.

Katniss draws her bow, the other victors now on defense.

Cashmere is lost in a fit of rage, knocking Brutus from the rocks.

The archer lands an arrow in Enobaria’s left arm, the career diving back into the water.

Haymitch scrubs a hand over his face. No time to digest the news as the entire cornucopia begins to spin. What the hell are you doing, Plutarch?

Johanna keeps hold of Katniss for as long as she can, but she is eventually lost to the whirling water.

She’ll drown. Y/N gnaws at the inside of her cheek. She’ll drown while I’m sitting here and all I can do is watch.

The spinning stops, the same way it started; suddenly and without cause. Eventually Katniss is able to kick to the surface, the viewing room cheers.

“Let’s just get what we need and get off the bloody island.” Johanna scowls, patting at Katniss’ back while she hacks up water from her lungs.

————————————————————————

“Besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?” Katniss asks, sifting sand between her fingers.

They are back on the beach now.

“Maybe Chaff,” Peeta offers, “just those three.”

“They know they’re outnumbered, I doubt they’ll attack again.” Finnick reasons, “we’re safe here, on the beach.”

Cashmere hasn’t said a word…not since Gloss.

“So what, we hunt them down?”

“Katniss!” Prim’s howl ends the conversation prematurely. “Katniss, help me!”

“Prim!” Katniss takes off; without back up, or logical thought. Prim is in danger and she needs to save her.

“Katniss, wait.” Peeta chases after her, his leg becoming more irritated with every step. Still he presses on, ignoring it as best he can.

The bird carrying Prim’s scream is shot dead. Jabberjays.

Finnick is the fastest, joining Katniss in the clearing. “Katniss, are you ok?”

“Finnick! Ahhhh!” Annie’s voice draws him deeper into the forest.

“Annie! Annie, where are you?”

Peeta pounds his fist uselessly against the forcefield. They can’t hear him, he can’t hear them.

Katniss and Finnick run back towards the beach, only to realize that they are trapped. Birds wailing all around them. Katniss sees Peeta before she collides with the forcefield.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. They’re just mutts, they’re not real.” Peeta yells, hoping Katniss can make out the words.

She screams, covering her ears, crumpling to the ground. Peeta follows; touching his forehead to the forcefield. They wait for the hour to pass.

Y/N’s lower back is taut, spasming and releasing, stealing the air from her lungs.

Haymitch notices the uncomfortable shifting beside him. “You ok?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her own voice.

Haymitch begins thumbing circles along her spine.

————————————————————————

Word comes from Plutarch, the extraction is happening tonight. A hovercraft commandeered by district thirteen will arrive shortly and they will go. Collecting the remaining victors, under the guise of death.

Beetee’s plan is a good one, it will cause enough of a distraction. Using his wire to conduct electricity from the lighting strike at midnight.

“How do we know the wire’s not gonna burn up?” Johanna demands, leaning heavily against a tree branch.

“Because I invented it,” Beetee looks up at her. “I assure you, it won’t burn up.”

Cashmere stares out at the water. The hovercraft never came to collect Gloss’ body. Did the cornucopia tear it up? Or do they just not care enough to recover it?

Finnick returns to the sea, waiting out the sunset.

Katniss and Peeta find solace in each other, the way they always have.

“I think we need to go.”

“This plan’s gonna work,” Peeta disagrees.

“I think so too,” Katniss whispers. “Once the careers are dead, we all know what happens next. I don’t wanna be the one that shoots first.”

“What if they don’t either? What if all of us refuse to shoot first?”

The gamemakers will send mutts, or perhaps gun them down if they’re feeling impatient. “We might still end up dead.”

“Maybe not,” Peeta lifts a shoulder, “I mean it worked for us last time.”

“They’re not gonna make that mistake again. We both know there’s only one person walking out of here and it’s gonna be one of us.”

“The careers are still out there. I say we stick with these guys till midnight, and if we hear a cannon, we go.”

Katniss nods in agreement.

“Katniss, I don’t know what kind of deals you made with Haymitch, but he made me promises too.”

“Way to throw me under the bus, kid.” Haymitch raises his glass to Peeta before chugging it down.

Y/N just shakes her head. For a man who claims he doesn’t love those kids, he sure does make a lot of deals. With them, for them, doing his damnedest to keep them alive.

When the star crossed lovers kiss, there is no denying it’s real. Katniss loves Peeta, Peeta loves her. Finally she understands, what Y/N had been trying to tell her, that day on the train. Peeta is that person; her best friend, her partner, the one who waits.

“Alright, lovebirds.” Johanna calls them back.

What’s left of the alliance heads to the lighting tree.

————————————————————————-

“You two girls go together now.” Beetee hands Katniss and Johanna the wire. “Unspool it carefully, make sure the entire wire is in the water. Then head to the tree at the two o’clock sector, we’ll meet you there.”

“I’m gonna go with them as a guard.” Peeta insists.

“No,” Beetee’s head snaps toward him. “You’re staying here to protect me…and the tree.”

“No, I need to go with her.” Peeta is not backing down.

“They’re trying to separate them.” Madge realizes, pulling the throw pillow into her lap. The children and her mother are asleep, leaving only her and her father on the couch.

Y/N’s family set up camp in Victor’s Village, providing Everest and Arista some normalcy. In their own house, in their own beds. They are often found in their parent’s room, clinging to pieces they left behind.

“I’m sure there’s a reason.” The mayor shoots his daughter a reassuring smile.

They rarely watch the games together, not since she was a child. Under different circumstances Madge might think their time spent together was nice.

Katniss leaves with Johanna. Staring back at Peeta until the darkness swallows his silhouette.

A few feet later Katniss feels a bit of resistance from the line, tugging lightly. Must be stuck on a rock. “It’s caught on something.”

Brutus cuts the wire, sending the loose end flying back toward Katniss.

Johanna turns on her then, slicing a gash in Katniss’ arm and smearing the blood across her neck. “Stay down.” She tosses her axe at the careers and darts off into the woods.

Katniss pushes herself upright once their footsteps are out of earshot. “Peeta.”

“Johanna,” Finnick comes to check on his friend, after the commotion.

Katniss remains silent, allowing him to pass her by. Gathering her bow, she heads back to the tree.

Cashmere is missing and Peeta is gone. Leaving only Beetee; unconscious and twitching after an ill fated tryst with the conductor.

His spear harbors the evidence, wire still wrapped around it’s blade.

A cannon sounds, symbolizing Chaff’s death.

“Peeta!” Katniss screams.

Finnick sprints back toward the sound, “Katniss, where are you?”

She draws her bow, aimed at Finnick as he returns.

“Remember who the real enemy is.”

Just like Haymitch said…

The artificial storm cloud looms above them, and Katniss knows what must be done. There is only one shot at this, one way it ends.

“Katniss, get away from that tree,” Finnick warns.

She does not heed it, preparing for her final act. Twisting the wire around her arrow, a single shot toward the bolt of lightning. Her body is sent flying when it collides.

The screen goes black, Madge’s mouth agape. Nothing like this has ever happened. What will happen? What will Snow do?

She doesn’t have long to agonize over the prospect before the old communication system hums to life. Static cracking through the speaker. A jumble of nonsense and then a voice, her voice. Madge would know it anywhere.

“Into the woods-”

“Y/N,” Mayor Undersee nearly trips in his haste to reach the receiver. “Sweetheart, are you there?”

“District twelve…” the line crackles, “into the woods.” Then she is gone.

They aren’t able to revive the signal.

“We have to move.” Madge understands.

“She wasn’t making any sense.” Her father argues. “It might be safer if we stay-”

“Y/N is stuck in the Capitol, that may be the last message she ever sends and she sent it here. To you, to me. So we have a chance.”

He squares his jaw, struggling to accept this news. Not because he thinks his daughter is wrong…because he knows that she is right.

“I’m gonna warn the Everdeens and then I’m taking Everest and Arista into the woods where it’s safe. Pounding on doors and screaming, all the way, for our people to follow.”

“Get the kids ready to move, I’ll get your mother.”

“Thank you.” Madge says, chest heaving as she turns on her heels. Waking the children, taking nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Her parents are waiting at the door, with Gale and Katniss’ family.

“How long do we have?” Gale asks, Primrose and Miss Everdeen tucked away behind him.

“Hovercrafts could be here in an hour, maybe two.” The mayor informs him.

“Something tells me they’re in a hurry.”

————————————————————————

“I need you to take a big breath for me.” Haymitch is kneeling in front of his wife. Cupping her face in his hands, the line is down, they can no longer communicate with district twelve.

“I can’t.” Y/N claws at his hands, unable to deny that she’s having contractions, no more than two minutes apart. “Haymitch…” what if they didn’t get the message.

“Everest and Arista are gonna be waiting for us. Madge too.” Haymitch knows it. There is no other outcome. “Thirteen is sending hovercrafts for evacuation as soon as possible.”

“Did we get Peeta?”

“We have Katniss, Beetee, Finnick and Cashmere, for now. The pilot is swinging back around for Peeta and Johanna.” They only have a few minutes before the Capitol fleet arrives. “We’re gonna get them, ok?”

Y/N nods, breathing out through her nose.

“I need you to focus on this.” He runs a hand over her belly, tense with another contraction. “Healthy baby, healthy you.”

————————————————————————

Katniss startles awake, an oxygen mask tied to her face. She’s in the hovercraft. They’re taking us to the Capitol. Beetee is beside her, still unconscious. They must be holding Peeta elsewhere.

The last thing she remembers is the arrow firing, broken pieces of the arena falling around her and the claw.

“Ahhhhhhh!” A piercing scream echoes through the hovercraft.

All the more terrifying because Katniss knows it, she heard it among the jabberjays. Y/N. They are torturing her. Katniss can’t say how, but it must be something awful. Tearing the flesh from her body…

Removing the mask, she scans the area for something, anything she can use, a syringe. All she needs is a clear shot at one of her veins, save Y/N from whatever they’re planning to do next. Then she would move on to Peeta, spare him this hell.

Katniss hides the weapon behind her back, tapping the glowing access panel to open the door.

Y/N is there, sweat clings the material of her dress to her body; mouth open in an agonized howl.

Haymitch is seated behind her, keeping her upright, holding her hands. Cashmere is perched between her legs.

Finnick spots Katniss first, from his place beside Plutarch, at the holographic display table. “Katniss.”

“Katniss?” Y/N repeats, eyes searching for her.

The syringe clatters to the ground, Katniss charging toward her and crouching at her side.

“Honey, are you ok?” Y/N shakes one hand free from Haymitch’s grasp, reaching for her.

Katniss, takes it, pressing her cheek against the back of her mentor’s hand. No. “I thought…”

Y/N bears down as another contraction ripples through her abdomen.

“That was good.” Cashmere nods, patting Y/N’s knee.

“What is that?” Y/N’s given birth twice before, this is different.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Cashmere encourages as tiny feet appear, “everything is ok.” It’s not ideal, but if they keep the baby moving-

“Where’s Peeta?” Katniss turns to Haymitch.

His eyes are glossy, hesitant to reply, “he’s in the Capitol. They got him and Johanna. We couldn’t get to him in time. But we’re gonna talk to President Coin when we get to district thirteen and figure out the best way to get him back.”

You’re a liar. Katniss wants to scream it, to slap him, hard, for breaking his promise. But it will have to wait. You promised to save him over me.

Exhausted and frustrated, Y/N reaches a hand down to make sense of what’s happening. “Breech?”

“Yeah,” Cashmere breathes.

Finnick is just beyond the blonde’s shoulder, a pained expression on his face. Or perhaps nauseated, watching over Y/N without actively watching.

“Once we deliver the shoulders, it should be easy.” Katniss has seen this before, her mother delivered a handful of breech babies, as a healer. The women of district twelve would call on her when the babies got stuck.

Y/N pushes again, crying out as she does.

Haymitch rests his cheek against the crown of her head. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes to the sound of her sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N continues, the same way Haymitch has known her to face any difficulty, with fierce determination. The infant is placed on her chest, kicking and crying. Healthy; same as her brother and sister before her.

Part 16

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655

#haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy fanfic #thg haymitch #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch x y/n #haymitch fanfic #haymitch abernathy x yn #haymitch x reader #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

[poedameronwifey]

A true home (The hobbit Fanfic)

Chapter 7

Third Pov

Bilbo opened the door and there stood the majestic Thorin Oakenshield.

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

Gandalf closed the door behind Thorin. All the dwarves bowed in his presence. Bilbo pushed through the crowd, entering the hall. The girls followed behind him. Kate and Renee leaned against the wall while Lily stood behind Bilbo.

"Mark? There's no mark on that door, It was painted a week ago."

"There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin began walking around Bilbo like a vulture circling its prey.

'So this is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?"

"Axe or sword? What is your weapon of choice?"

"Well, I do have some skill at Conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that's relevant."

"Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar".

The dwarves laugh at Thorin's jest. He gives them a warm smile and walks himself down the hall. The girls glared at him.

Lilith's POV

I can't believe this asshole. I walked up to him furiously until I was right in front of him. I just glared at him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? You have no right to disrespect our father like that. You are a fucking dick. If you ever say shit like that in front of me or my sisters about Papa, you can guarantee that I will personally murder you myself. And that's not a threat. That's a fucking promise, dipshit."

I looked him in the eyes to show how serious I was. It was so tense, you could cut it with a knife.

"Lilith, that's enough."

I turned to see Kate motioning me to stand next to her. I groaned but listened, walking to her side but not before giving Thorin a dirty look. As soon as I was close enough, she hit the back of my head and let me tell you, her hits are the worst. I pouted as I rubbed my head while Renée laughed at me. I just showed her the finger.

"I apologise for my sister, she's mentally unstable. But she is right,"

Kate walked up to Thorin and stood right in front of him, arms crossed with a glare.

"You owe our father an apology."

There was a pregnant pause before I looked at Renée and we both got the same idea. We turned to Kate and started clapping. Everyone looked at us.

"That's my girl. I knew you could be a bitch if you put your mind to it. Lily, we taught her well. Mama would be so proud."

I nodded with a grin. Kate just winked at us before turning back. Thorin looked in Kate's eyes once more before signing and smiling at her.

"You have heart, young one, My apologies Mr Baggins."

He nodded at Bilbo. Kate smiled and stood next to Renee who high fived me. I looked at Fili who grinned and winked at her, causing her to blush and look at the floor.

Renée's Pov

I walked up to Thorin and smiled.

"I apologise for that. I'm Renée, the lovely and crazy person who threatened you is Lilith, don't mind her. The other lovely yet scary person is Katherine but you can just call her Kate. Now that all of that is done, would you like some food? I bet you're exhausted from your journey."

Thorin smiled and thanked me for my kindness. I offered to take his coat and put it with the rest of his companions' things. I saved some soup and bread so I dished up the soup and gave it to him. I then stood off to the side and leaned against Lilith. I was so tired that I zoned out for the whole conversation.

Lilith's Pov

The dwarves sit around the table with Thorin, who picks at the soup Ren gave him. Gandalf sits beside him, smoking a pipe. Bilbo and Kate watched from the doorway. Renee was leaning against me as I leaned against the wall of the archway. I knew Ren was tired because she looked as if she was ready to go to bed.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?"

"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms."

"What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

Thorin hesitates, frowning. All eyes are on him. I knew that it wasn't good news.

"They will not come."

The dwarves groaned and sighed in disappointment.

"They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

"You're going on a quest?"

Bilbo looked at the dwarves, confused. Gandalf taps him on the shoulder.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light."

Bilbo left the room and came back with a candle. He set it down near Gandalf, who pulled out a map and spread it across the table as Kate came to stand by us, rubbing Ren's arm in a comforting way.

"Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."

Gandalf points to a peak drawn on the map.

"The Lonely Mountain?"

Kate and Bilbo said at the same time as they peered down at the map. I smiled. They really are the same.

"Aye! Oin has read the portents and the portents say it is time."

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

"What beast?"

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks. Extremely fond of precious metals."

"Yes, I know what a dragon is."

"The task to win back the mountain would be difficult enough with an army behind us. But we number just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best."

"We may be few in numbers, but we're fighters. All of us, to the last dwarf."

"And you forget, we have a wizard in our company. Gandalf must have killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

"Well, no, I wouldn't say that I -"

"How many then?"

"What?"

"How many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!"

An embarrassed Gandalf started to cough on his pipe smoke. The dwarves groaned, hopeless. The girls and I tried to not to laugh but he was making it very hard. Thorin rose to his feet and shouted in a language that I didn't understand.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

The dwarves jumped up and cheered. Balin got to his feet and raised his voice.

"You forget, the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain."

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true."

With a twiddle of his fingers, Gandalf produces a Dwarvish key ornately wrought. Thorin looks at it in wonder.

"How came you by this?"

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

Gandalf hands the key to Thorin. Everyone looks on in a proud astonishment.

"If there is a key, there must be a door."

"No fucking shit Sherlock. What the fuck did you think the key was for? A Window that you guys need to climb through?"

At this I can hear the girls chuckling. However most of the company didn't seem to have heard me.

"These ruins speak of another passage into the lower halls."

The wizard points to runes on the map. Kate looked at them and it almost looked like she understood what it said.

"There's another way in."

"No duh hey! Jesus, you two are fucking idiots I swear to the gods. What are you expecting the key does? Suddenly turn into a carpet and fly you in?"

I said I'm already sick of the two idiots my sisters have fallen for.

"Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can."

The dwarves looked at him, listening carefully. I noticed Renée perked up so she stopped leaning on me and walked to Gandalf .

"The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar."

"A good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?"

Bilbo freezes, half confused, half afraid. I walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert!"

"Me? No, no, no, I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my

Life."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He's hardly burglar material".

"Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."

As Dwalin said that he looked at us. Renée gave him her scary glare and Bilbo just nodded. Kate shook her head as I just rolled my eyes.

Renée's Pov

I can't believe this man. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind.

"Excuse me? You think that we are gentle? Oh honey, we are anything but gentle. We don't need anyone saving us and especially not you lot. We can fight just as well as anyone can with the proper training. Lilith is very good with swords and axes not to mention she did martial arts. Kate is brilliant at throwing daggers and pretty decent with swords. She's also done self-defence and martial arts. I'm great at archery and swords. I've done martial arts and we are very flexible so we can easily get out of tight situations. So don't think for one fucking minute that we are weak. And that goes for the rest of you. We aint no fucking damsels in distresses, Well maybe Kate but still."

Kate hit the back of my head and I pulled my tongue. She always does that. No wonder I have no more brain cells left. I went to where Lilith was and pouted. She just rolled her eyes at me. Meanie.

"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet! In fact, they can go unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage."

Gandalf turns to Thorin, determined to make his point.

"You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he's got a great deal to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this."

Thorin sighs. He scans the room, weighing the outcome.

"Very well, we'll do it your way. Give him our contract.'

Balin hands it to Bilbo. Kate and Bilbo looked through it and spoke aloud. I zoned out and I didn't hear the rest of the conversation. I don't know why but this scene looks just like the one in my dream. I felt like I knew what was going to happen next.

I looked at Bilbo and noticed how pale he was getting. I moved closer to him. He stopped for a second and fainted but before he could touch the ground, I caught him.

"Nice job. Really great job,"

I glared at Bofur. Kate sighed and helped me take him to his chair. Lilith took Thorin's bowl and washed it up. When we were done, the girls and I walked to Thorin and Balin.

"Um excuse me, I was wondering if we could come with. I mean we might be of some help. If you need an extra burger, I could help. I'm very good at it. And Lilith is very good at healing and shit. She has some...experience with wounds. Kate is also very good at coming up with cool and very effective distractions."

Lilith helped me out and so did Kate. The two dwarves seemed hesitant but they listened nonetheless We managed to convince them in the end. We signed a spare contract that Balin had. I first read through it and asked questions to be safe.

We gave it back to them before bidding them good night and packing our bags with whatever we needed. Kate went to tell Bilbo. We brought our stuff to where the dwarves' stuff were to save time in the morning.

We made sure that we had the next day's outfit ready. We came in and sat on the floor. Everyone started humming.

My eyes felt heavy so I gave into the darkness and leaned against Lily. I can't wait for this next adventure. I just hope that we can prevent the end of the line of Durin. I will do whatever I can to save them.

#the hobbit #kili #fili #the company of thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield #dwalin #balin #dori #nori #ori #bombur #bifur #bilbo baggins #bofur #gloin #oin #renee griffin #katherine wolfe #Lilith everdeen #gandalf #Youtube

[dumdumsun]

To Nightfall

A/N: And finally, Chapter 20!! Thank you to everyone who has given this series your love and support. It honestly means everything in the world to me that you guys read and enjoy it. This series is like my first-born child and I have a very deep connection with it. The writing process for this third installment was so fun and satisfying; this was probably some of the most fun I've had writing this series. I have no idea what the final season has in store for us, but I just hope it's a happy ending so I don't have to worry too much about Five and Reader. But until then, I hope you enjoy the final chapter of To Nightfall! Thank you all so much, happy new year and much love to you beautiful people ❤️❤️

Warnings: character death, violence, blood, mentions of death/dying

Word Count: 6640

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Chapter 20: Que Será, Será

The lights within the practically turned-over laundry room sparked as the guardian stood from the ground and dragged its katana back to its side. Surrounding it were about ten of (Y/N)’s clones, all lifelessly scattered around the floor. On the other side of the room, behind the dryers, was Sloane, (Y/N), Five and Ben, all taking cover. All of them sported some kind of face wound, except for Ben.

“You, (Y/N) and countless of her clones have hit him with your axes countless times. He should be dead by now.” Ben glared at them, as if they were the issue.

“It’s the armor,” Five informed. “It’s hitting like cement.”

“There’s a space,” Sloane explained. “Between the backplates.”

(Y/N) elevated herself a bit to look over the dryer, her ax still clutched in her hands. “We need to get behind him.”

“Let’s kill this thing.” She nodded and stood to her feet.

“Sloane, wait-”

“Hey, asshole!”

Before they could stop her, she ran out of cover. Five grabbed (Y/N) and blinked away as Sloane ran up on the wall. The guardian turned to her and, like it was nothing, flung a knife towards her. She cried out in pain when her exposed waist was slashed, resulting in her crashing to the ground. The guardian roared and marched up to her.

Just as it was about to attack her, Five’s whoosh sounded from behind it. Hearing the whoosh, the guardian turned and struck Five across the face, sending him to the ground. (Y/N) gasped and dodged the swing of its katana, running to stand behind it. However, she wasn’t fast enough and ended up being forcefully kicked to the other side of the room. She screamed out in pain when her back and head came into contact with the wall, the girl nearly knocked out cold when she hit the washer below her, then the ground.

She painfully lifted her head to meet the end of a katana, her demise staring her right in the face. Her heart rate increased as she tried to move quickly, but every part of her body ached too much to move. She whimpered as the guardian lifted its weapon high in the air.

Its attention was taken off of her when several tentacles wrapped around its body. The three turned their heads to see that Ben had emerged from cover and was using his power to hold the guardian back. He yelled with the strain put on him as the guardian struggled against the tentacles. His yells turned into cries of pain when the guardian ripped itself free, tearing apart the tentacles. As soon as they were injured, they retreated back into Ben’s body for recovery. He glared up at the guardian as it turned its back to the three, rushing up to Ben with his katana at the ready.

Opponent right where she wanted it, (Y/N) forced herself to her feet with a grunt and a groan. She scooped her ax into her hands and ran up on the guardian, swinging down and hitting it in its weak spot in its back. It abruptly dropped its weapon and fell to its knees, face-planting into the ground with the ax sticking out from its back.

Safe for the moment, the four exchanged looks of relief. (Y/N) let a smile twitch onto her face as she and Ben shared a nod. Perhaps Luther and Klaus were right. Perhaps there was a bit of the old Ben in him. Somewhere.

On the fourth floor, Viktor sped through the halls in search of anyone. “Five? Allison? (Y/N)?”

As he passed by a closet, he heard a very faint ring resonating from inside, but his adrenaline was too high for him to worry about it. That was, until the door was busted down. Spinning around, he was met with Lila, who stepped out of the closet looking disheveled and very pissed.

“Finally. Someone with a power worth mimicking.”

“Lila? Why were you in a closet?”

She exhaled and went to answer, but she caught sight of a guardian down the hall. “I’ll explain later.”

At the sound of a snarl, Viktor turned to be met with the ax-wielding guardian twirling its weapon through the air. “Shit…” He sighed out. “I’m tired of running.”

“Me, too.”

They shared a look before they both rolled their shoulders back and clenched their hands into fists, Viktor summoning his energy and Lila mimicking it. Unfazed, the guardian charged for them. They stared it down as they strengthened their power.

“This feels oddly familiar.” Lila referred to the war they fought against each other in 1963.

“At least this time, we’re not aiming at each other.”

They glanced at each other before turning back to the guardian and releasing their power, blasting it back. It flew down the hall and smacked into the floor with a loud thud, its chest sizzling with the gaping hole left in it. Lila chuckled and cocked her head in the opposite direction.

“Let’s go.”

In the lobby, the quartet had entered, unknowingly joining their family. (Y/N) felt her heart flutter when she saw Klaus being helped to his feet by Viktor and Allison, groaning in pain as he held his head. “Klaus!” She cried out, running up to her brother and tightly wrapping her arms around his middle. “Oh, my god! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Klaus groaned and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “It’s good to see you, too, sister dear.”

Viktor stepped back from Klaus to assess Five and (Y/N). “You guys look like hell.”

“You try fighting a guardian.” Five tiredly mumbled.

“We just did.”

“So did we.” Ben added.

“Klaus, I thought you were dead.” Sloane awed. Klaus nodded and waved everyone off as (Y/N) pulled away from him.

“Yes, yes, I’m alive and amazing, despite Dad’s attempts to bash my brains in, but tearful reunions later. What you guys need to know right now is that… Dad killed Luther. And he locked me out of the tunnel, and he rang that stupid bell!”

Noticing Reginald walking about the front of the lobby, (Y/N) rushed up towards him with her family following behind. “What the hell are you planning here?!”

“We don’t have time for this, my child.”

“You killed Luther!” Sloane screeched, holding her bleeding side.

“I had no choice. You refused to come together as a team.”

Ben growled and shook his head. “All of your stupid myths and stories. There were never seven bells or Norsemen. (Y/N) was right, you didn’t bring us here to save anything. You brought us here to die!”

“That’s not so.” Reginald dismissed. “Somewhere in this hotel is the key to resetting the universe. We just need to find the sigil!”

“I don’t care about your sigil!” Sloane hissed. “None of us do!”

“Yeah, we barely survived that guardian with his stupid helmet and his sickle!” Diego roared.

As everyone continued to scream at Reginald, Five’s eyes began tracing a familiar shape on the floor. To get a better view, he ran up the staircase to look from the bannister.

“The guardian we killed had an ax.” Viktor frowned in confusion. (Y/N) turned to him with the same expression.

“I killed one with a sword.” 

Diego and Lila looked to each other and spoke in unison, “There’s one left.”

From the bannister, Five’s gaze trailed over the stars marked on the floor below everyone’s feet. The pattern they made was one he swore he saw countless times. The one on the tattoo he cut out of his older self, the one from Pogo’s book, the one on the pachinko machine at the Hotel Obsidian, the one Reginald had shown them in his journal. The sigil.

“Hey!” He shouted down at them. “I found the sigil! It’s on the-”

From the ceiling, glass shattered, the final guardian falling through. It threw the sickle-end of its chain towards Five and struck him in his arm. He screamed as a white-hot pain surged through his body, the boy falling to the floor.

“Five!!!” (Y/N) hollered and bolted up the stairs without a second thought. When she reached his side, she quickly sat him up and leaned him against the bannister. “Oh, god, Five! A-Are you-”

A strangled gasp left her lips at the blood spitting out of where Five’s arm should have been. Snapping her head to the side, her eyes widened at the sight of his arm lying on the ground a couple feet away from them.

Below them, the guardian landed in the lobby. It wasted no time in swinging its sickle into Klaus’s stomach, leaving a deep gash. It then tossed one of its explosives, blasting back some of them. The mace-end of its chain was thrown and sent into Ben’s abdomen. They were losing. They were all losing.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was still composing herself as Five gasped and held the stub of his arm, blood spurting out from it. Thinking quickly, she ripped off the elastic waist of her harness. “Okay, okay.” She rushed in a panicked tone. “I got you, I got you.”

In the lobby, Diego had managed to land a few hits to the guardian, but they were deemed useless when the guardian simply swiped its sickle down and sent Diego to the floor in a heap. The only one left standing was Sloane.

The guardian snarled and stepped closer to her. She immediately held her hand up and used her power to halt it, but since she was already severely injured, she wouldn’t be able to hold it for long. She whimpered and strained until her power gave out. Just as the guardian went to attack, it was stopped.

It was stopped by Luther.

“Nobody hurts my wife, you son of a bitch.”

The guardian turned its head to face its smirking opponent, who had appeared behind it and was holding it by the sides. Luther let out a grunt before lifting the guardian and tossing it back, the armor-clad monster flying back and crashing to the ground. Luther didn’t even look at it, his focus on his teary-eyed wife. The two smiled before he approached her and gently pulled her into a hug. Sloane couldn’t find the words she wanted to say to him, rendered speechless by his sudden appearance. Despite the slightly-healed slash through his chest, he still looked exactly like the man she married one night ago. He was still her Luther.

He glared up at Reginald, who was staring in astonishment, yet disapproval. “All those years I stayed loyal to you. You wasted my life on the moon, and for what? To use me on this stupid mission?”

“You did have a purpose.” Reginald gravely responded. “I left you to guard the most precious thing in the universe.”

“And what was it?”

“You’ll soon understand. You all will.”

Having enough of his half-answers, Luther pulled back to lovingly peer down at his wife, cradling her face in his hand. Sure, she was battered and bruised, but she still managed to be the most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes upon.

Their gazes shifted to his hand when neither could feel the other’s touch anymore. Luther’s hand was fading, becoming transparent. He quickly turned to Klaus, who was splayed on the floor with his hand held out towards his brother, the blue hue surrounding his hand withering and dying out. “Klaus…”

He rasped as his other hand weakly pressed into his stomach wound. “I can’t… hold it.”

Not wanting to waste another second, he turned back to Sloane with a gentle, adoring look in his eyes. “I will love you forever. Okay?” He whispered, Sloane wobbly smiling and nodding in answer. The tighter she held him, the faster he seemed to disappear until she was left holding the empty air before her. Once again, the love of her life was taken from her. She was just thankful she could say goodbye this time. Though, as Allison and (Y/N) had warned, it still wasn’t enough.

And with one final breath, the blue of Klaus’s hand diminished as his body went limp.

From the bannister, Five let out a loud groan as (Y/N) tightly fastened the elastic strip near the end of his stub, the bleeding slowing to a stop. He would have kissed her and thanked her endlessly had they been in very different circumstances, but now was not the time. The both of them leaned against the bannister to look down at their family spread out in the lobby, their stomachs twisting when they noticed the final guardian gaining its strength and rising back to its feet.

“The sigil is in the lobby floor!” Five shouted down at them. “It’s the stars!”

“Children!” Reginald immediately called out. “Find a star on the sigil! Stand on it!”

As if on cue, Klaus sucked in a deep gasp and sat up straight from the floor with a groan, gently holding himself as he shivered vigorously. He had reanimated, and not only that, but his wound was completely healed.

“Ben, now’s your time, boy! Quickly!” Reginald shouted. Ben hesitated, but slowly stood from the floor as Sloane absently stepped to the side, stepping on the star beside her and causing the panel to click.

“Seven points, seven of us?” Viktor stumbled around in confusion. “We’re the bells?” He and Lila stepped on two other stars, the panels clicking and lighting up just as Sloane’s did. Right as Allison went to stand on a star, Reginald called out to her.

“No. Not you.”

Klaus staggered to another star and stood on it as the guardian straightened itself and situated its mask back onto its pore-cluttered face with a monstrous growl. “Hurry!” Reginald urged as Five reached the end of the stairs with his wife assisting him. “It’s the only way to stop him!”

Ben and Diego stepped on two more stars, leaving the last one dead in the middle. Allison, (Y/N) and Five stared at it before they locked eyes on each other. Awaiting the next move.

“Number Five, quickly!”

(Y/N) widened her eyes at Reginald. He wanted Five to go. Why did he want Five to go? Why not her? Why not Allison? It would make sense that Allison would be exempt from any danger considering they made a deal. Her heart hammered faster in her chest at the possibility of this being a sacrifice. She looked in the other direction to see the guardian swinging the mace-end of its chain menacingly. It was now or never.

The guardian let out a roar as she launched herself off the stairs and darted for the star. Before she could reach it, though, Five had blinked and appeared on the star. She fell to the ground at his feet and stared up at him in horror. His panel lit up and clicked before a beam of light cast down on each of the seven. A bright light glowed in their chests before a lightning-like energy blasted out of them and connected in the center to Five’s body. He cried out in pain as another string of energy shot out from their combined power and struck the guardian in its chest.

The monster dropped its weapons and shook uncontrollably until it fell to the floor, lifeless. An innumerable amount of cockroaches fled from out of the armor, causing the body to deflate into nothing.

The seven were released from the lightning-energy as (Y/N) stood to her feet slowly and stared at Five in alarm. He stared back at her and moved his mouth to speak, but instead of words, a strained gasp left his lips as his limbs locked and he threw his head back.

“Five?!” She gaped. Looking around, she realized that the other six were in the same state as him, indisposed by the beams that had them in their grip. Her eyes moved all around when she noticed every single inch of their surroundings crumbling and melting away until they stood in a bright yellow outline of what once was the Hotel Oblivion. “What’s happening…?”

Reginald walked around the seven and to the now empty front desk that rotated in a straight angle and came to a complete stop. He stepped through the opening of the desk as a hologram lifted from it, indescribable codes glowing and shifting around the screen-like surface as he used his hands to move them around.

(Y/N) watched in horror as the color drained from her family’s faces. This scene was all too familiar. She remembered the night of Viktor’s concert when he had nearly killed them all, when he had nearly killed her. She remembered her brothers and husband having the lives drained from them with their faces sinking in and their bones straining against their skin. If it was possible at all, and it proved itself to be, they seemed worse off now. Because whatever was killing them now was showing no sign of stopping. And she could do nothing to stop it.

“This wasn’t part of the deal.” Allison hurriedly walked up to Reginald. “You’re hurting them.”

“I can’t stop now.” He replied, sparing her a glance. “It’d shut down the machine.”

“What machine? I don’t understand.”

“The hotel was just a facade. We’re stuck inside a machine in another dimension. Whoever created the universe built this place.”

(Y/N) whirled on him. “What are you doing to them?!”

The beams shone brighter and the seven screamed louder.

“What are you doing?!”

“The particles inside their bodies are the only things that fuel the machine.” He explained as the same particles ejected from Harlan were being extracted from them. (Y/N) realized then that those were their lifesource, what they were made of, what fueled their powers. They weren’t entirely of this world, but of another somewhere she may never find.

Five moved his eyes to her, the only part of his body he was able to control. “You have to stop him.” He choked out. “He killed Luther. He tried to kill Klaus. He won’t stop until we’re all dead.”

And she wanted to, she swore she did, but when the volume of their cries increased along with the brightness of the beams, her need to help them spread further in her heart. Without thinking, she reached her hands out to grab hold of Five’s arm, but as soon as her hands made contact with the beam, an unbelievably striking pain shot through her body. She wailed in pain and drew her hands to her chest. She stared down at her quaking hands to see that the color had faded from them.

Allison gasped and turned back to Reginald. “You need to stop.”

“I’m almost done. And when I am, you and I will get what we came here for.”

“No, you are killing them!!!”

“Everything in life has a price.”

She glanced at her dying family one last time before whipping her head to Reginald.

“Stop!!!” She screamed, her eyes glowing that bright orange once again. Unfortunately, the hologram surrounding Reginald also acted as a forcefield, which blocked out her power, rendering her harmless.

(Y/N) was sick of it. She was sick of Reginald’s lies, his deception, his constant betrayal towards anyone in his path and the countless half-truths he spewed towards them. He cost too many people their lives. He killed Luther, he tortured her and her siblings throughout their childhood and when they tried to escape the abuse, he pulled them right back in. (Y/N) remembered that night the breaking news of his death was broadcasted on every news channel around the world. A heavy weight had lifted itself from her shoulders and for a second, she actually felt free. She would do anything to feel that again.

Anything.

The moment she spotted the sickle on the ground, she dropped to the floor and clutched it in her hands. She locked eyes with Allison, who simply nodded at her. It was the perfect opportunity, with Reginald turned away from her and completely engrossed in his work. She could end it all. She could save them all.

“This is for (Y/N).”

The girl lifted the sickle and slashed Reginald in the side of the face with it. His hands drew away from the hologram, causing the beams of light to vanish, releasing the seven. They all fell to the ground with coughs and groans. (Y/N)’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she and Allison fearfully backed away from Reginald.

Half of his face was now gone, the inside of his head anything but humane, a green substance oozing from his head rather than blood. He crashed to the ground in a lifeless heap, his otherworldly blood dripping down the other side of his face. He wasn’t human. He never was.

Figures.

Without another thought towards him, (Y/N) dropped the sickle and rushed over to Five, wrapping her arms around him and lifting him into her lap. “Five? Five, look at me. Look at me. I’m here… I’m here.”

Five coughed and weakly held her hand in his. It was deathly cold and almost limp, but she kissed it all the same. She pressed his palm against her cheek in hopes of warming it and he smiled tiredly at the sentiment. With slight difficulty, he turned his head to the side, eyes widening. “Allison…”

She looked up to see her sister standing before the hologram, her hand hovering over a glowing red button on the screen. “Allison! Stop! We don’t know what that does!”

“Allison, stop!”

Allison turned her head away to look at Viktor, who shakily got to his feet and glowed a dim blue, his power sputtering a bit. “Don’t make me do this!”

“Do you trust me?” She whispered.

He paused for a moment because, ultimately, he did trust her. As foolish as it was, he knew that after everything, Allison’s intent for her family was good. She wasn’t behind Luther’s death, she didn’t want Klaus to die. Whatever deal she made with Reginald would save them. And he believed that wholeheartedly. That was why he let his power deactivate.

“Viktor, what are you doing?” Five frowned. “Stop her!”

Allison smiled at Five with misty eyes. “You don’t need to worry about (Y/N) anymore, Five.” She sweetly whispered with genuine care in her tone. “She’ll be okay soon.”

(Y/N)’s face morphed into terror.

“She’s gonna be happy.”

Everything about that did not sit right with her at all. (Y/N) inhaled deeply and carefully stood to her feet, her hands letting go of Five. “(Y/N)? (Y/N), what are you doing?”

“I’m stopping her.”

The girl jumped over Five’s body and bolted towards her sister. Allison sniffled and smiled wider at her before turning back towards the button.

“Allison!”

Her hand reached up.

“Wait! Allison, don’t!!!”

Her hand neared the button.

“No!”

Allison pressed the button.

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

The night was dark and stormy when the cab pulled up to an extravagant home settled in Beverly Hills, California. Thunder rumbled as Allison climbed out and shut the door behind her. She stared up at the house she hadn’t been to in so long. This time was going to be different.

Allison reached under the potted plant on the porch and picked up the spare house key, just where she knew it would be. She unlocked the front door and took little time to observe the interior as she made her way through the lounge room and up the winding staircase. The door to Claire’s bedroom was open, as she knew it would be. Allison stood in the threshold of the door, her heart warming and picking up pace as she smiled at the little lump on the bed, turned away from her, wearing a silk scarf for her hair. She gasped and choked on a sob as she moved towards the bed.

Exhaling, Allison sat on the edge with a wobbling smile, gently placing a hand on the child’s leg. “Claire…” She whispered.

The little girl turned, the beautiful face Allison had been yearning to see smiling tiredly at her. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

Allison joyfully laughed and brought her daughter into a tight hug. “Nothing, baby.” She sniffled. “Oh, I’m just so happy to be home.”

A lifetime without this moment felt like eternity for Allison. Her constant fighting and tears and bloodshed felt all-for-naught up until now. Now that her beautiful Claire was in her arms once again, her heart felt whole again. She didn’t think she could be any happier.

“It’s where you were always meant to be.”

Her eyes snapped open at Ray’s voice. Slowly, she turned to meet her husband, the same age as she left him in 1963, smiling fondly at her. “Hey, baby.”

She tilted her head with a grin, her entire chest warming with the growth of her heart. Ray’s smile widened before he nodded to Claire. Allison looked back to her daughter and took her smiling face into her hands, thumbs caressing the apples of her cheeks and her lips pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Everything she wanted was right here, in the home she had missed so dearly.

She hoped (Y/N) was just as happy where she was.

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

The ding of the elevator sounded before the doors slid open. It revealed five pathways that all met in the center of the outside memorial, where a stone platform stood. Viktor stepped out first, followed by Five, then Diego, then Lila, then Ben, and then Klaus. The six slowly walked about the greenery around them that stood between each pathway as some sort of decoration.

“Cool.” Lila laughed. Five walked up to the stone platform to see that it held a statue of Reginald’s head. He looked down at the plaque engraved in the stone.

OBSIDIAN MEMORIAL PARK

Graciously Donated By

SIR REGINALD HARGREEVES

The 1st Day of October 1989

Another timeline with Reginald Hargreeves.

Viktor turned his head back to the elevator when he noticed someone else step out of it, a bright smile stretching across his face. “Luther?”

Luther looked around at them with wide eyes and a hopeful smile as his brother approached him. “Oh, shit. You can see me?!”

“Yes!”

“I’m alive?!”

“Yes!”

“I’m alive!” He cheered as Viktor threw himself into his arms, Luther catching him and holding him tight.

“Luther’s alive!” Klaus cheered as well.

“Oh, my god!” Lila grinned.

Now back on his feet, Viktor took a look at his brother and gaped in amazement. “Wait. That’s not all, big guy.”

“Huh?”

Luther looked down at his body and realized that his abnormally large muscles and beastly body hair was gone. Once again, he was back to his normal size. His size before Reginald had injected him with that serum. “Whoa! Oh, shit! My body! Wait.” He marveled at his figure as Klaus joined his side. “I look amazing.”

“Luther’s all svelte now.”

“Wait. I gotta show Sloane!”

Five lifted his arm and then froze when he realized he lifted his arm. “I got my arm back…”

“This is so cool. W-Wait… Where’s Sloane?”

Klaus blinked a few times. “Oh, she was, uh… She was right behind me-”

“When Allison hit the button.” Lila reminded.

“She’s gone, too.” Diego pointed out.

Five’s heart sank to his stomach when he didn’t spot his love anywhere. He twisted his body every which way in hopes that she would emerge from a corner or step out of the elevator. “(Y/N)’s gone, too… Has anyone seen (Y/N)?!”

“Last I saw her-”

“She was trying to stop Allison.”

“Would they be in the same place?”

He held his head in his hands as his siblings’ voices overlapped. He tried to wrap his head around it all. They were in a different timeline. They were standing in the hotel. Well, where the hotel used to be. Reginald had done it. He reset the universe.

“You got your fingers back!” Lila gasped and held Diego’s hand, the man grinning in relief.

“Sloane? Sloane!” Luther called out before marching up to Five and fisting the front of his suit jacket. “Hey, I don’t care about your resets, alright? I want my wife back. Where is she, Five?”

Five lifted his head. “I’m glad you’re alive, but take your hand off me.”

“Not until you give me an answer.”

“My wife is missing, too, Luther, and I would like to get to the bottom of it if you would let me go.” He jerked his body forward, but nothing happened. He was still in the same spot. He didn’t jump. “Something’s wrong…”

“That’s right. You’re about to get your ass kicked.”

“Yeah, kick his ass.” Diego excitedly grinned.

“No, you moron. My power.” Five frowned at Luther. “I can’t blink.”

At once, everyone tested out their power. Luther clenched his fists, but they didn’t squeeze nearly as tight as they used to.

Diego twirled his knife in his hand, but it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.

Klaus held his inkless palm out to summon a spirit, but nothing happened.

Ben shut his eyes and braced his core for his tentacles, but nothing within him moved.

Viktor tried to summon his energy, but his hearing was no longer advanced enough to listen to the sounds around him.

“This means I’m mortal again?” Klaus whined. “Awe, man!”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ben shook his head. “How do we get ‘em back, you idiots?”

No one answered, because no one had a single clue as to what they just got themselves into. Luther began to back away. “I gotta… I gotta go find my wife.”

Klaus gasped and turned to Luther as he ran down one of the pathways. “No! Luther, you can’t go. You were dead five minutes ago. You’re fragile!” He turned back to his family. “I gotta go after him.”

“No. Wa- Klaus, wait!” Diego called as Klaus followed after Luther.

“I’m out, bitches.” Ben hissed and strode down another pathway.

“Guys, come on!” Viktor called out. “We should stick together and figure this out-”

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Diego questioned. Lila looked up at him with raised brows.

“Live our lives?”

The two clasped hands and shared a hopeful nod before heading down another pathway. This left Five and Viktor to stare at each other in disbelief. Just like that, the family was once again separated. Five couldn’t entirely blame them, but a part of him felt betrayed by his siblings.

He couldn’t think about that right now, though. Because he had his own agenda. He needed to find (Y/N).

Without a word, Five turned and exited down another pathway. Viktor’s shoulders slumped as he watched him go. He had no idea what this new timeline had in store for him, for his family. Was there another apocalypse to come? Could they finally live in peace as they so desired? He didn’t know. All he knew was that everything they had gone through, every hardship within their lives, had started and ended with Reginald Hargreeves.

“Asshole.” He spat at the statue before heading down the last pathway, leading him into a world run by the very man he thought he defeated.

None of them knew it yet, but the water they stepped into was deeper than they ever anticipated. None of them knew it yet, but they had just set out their new lives…

In a Reginald Hargreeves dystopia.

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

As soon as (Y/N) creaked her eyes open, she shut them tight against the glaring sunlight that seeped through her blinds. She groaned and lifted her head, gingerly rubbing her temples to soothe the aching. She did it again. She stayed up too late. She couldn’t keep doing this, but the deadline for her drafts was approaching quicker than she thought.

Wait.

Her drafts?

She blinked and frowned down at the typewriter before her, a half-finished chapter typed out on the paper. She vaguely remembered working on this chapter what felt like a lifetime ago. Before the news report, before the funeral.

A tiny bark had her head snapping over to the left, where she saw a small golden retriever bounding up to her and pawing at her pajama pants. Her heart fluttered. “Mr Pennycrumb…?”

The puppy happily yapped and pawed at her calves. With a joyful laugh, she gently picked him up and scratched behind his ear just like she knew he liked, giggling giddily as he licked at her face. “Oh, my baby! I’ve missed you! Yes, I missed you, baby!”

Mr Pennycrumb wiggled and jumped off her knees, landing on the floor and skittering out of the slightly ajar door. (Y/N) shook her head and blinked rapidly as she looked around. She was in her old bedroom. The bedroom she used to share with Anthony. The bedroom she never thought she would return to.

“What the hell?”

She stood and headed over to the door, but froze when she passed by her mirror. Slowly, she backpedaled until she was staring at herself. Immediately, her hands flew to her chest and she gaped at her body. She nearly jumped for joy at the sight of her adult self staring right back at her. No longer was she in that prepubescent body. Yes, she felt a bit less energized now that she was older once again, but she preferred this much more than what she was forced into for so long.

(Y/N) gasped and reached her hands up to run over her now scarless face. Those dreadful lines that interrupted her features and reminded her of such a terrifying time in her life, were gone. She could feel tears building up in her eyes at her relief. When she blinked them away, she noticed that her hands were back to their original skin color. It was like she was completely reset. Did this mean Five was back to normal?

“Oh, god… Five!” She ran to her bedroom door and flung it open. “Five!”

She choked on her words at the two heads that perked up at her voice, distracted from their morning cartoons. She nearly fell into the wall as tears she didn’t even feel building up this time started to spill down her face.

“Mama!”

“Good morning, Mama!”

(Y/N) sobbed and ran to the couch with open arms. “My babies!”

Jada stood on the couch and jumped into her mother’s arms, wrapping her little legs around her waist as (Y/N) crushed her daughter against her. “Jada! Oh, my sweet baby girl!” She pulled away to press kiss after kiss to her soft cheeks, the girl’s heavenly giggles causing more tears to escape. “Oh, my god… Oh, my god… I missed you, babyface. I missed you so much!”

Jada gave her mother a kiss on the cheek before she was gently set back down on the couch. (Y/N) picked up Michael and gave him the same treatment, which surprised him, since he was told that he was getting too heavy for her to hold.

“Mama’s baby boy! My beautiful baby boy! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I was gone! Mama’s never leaving you again, you hear me? Never. Never ever!”

“No more business trips?”

“No more business trips.” She peppered kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips.

“Mama! Gross! Stop!” He laughed and wiggled out of her grip until he landed on his feet.

(Y/N) kneeled before her babies and brought them into a tight hug. “I’m so happy I’m home…”

“I’m happy you are, too.”

She let go of the children and turned to see her mother exiting the kitchen with a soft smile, her signature purple slippers on her feet. “You’ve been working yourself to death lately.”

“Mom…?”

“I made breakfast. It’s still warm, so I suggest you get it now-” She stopped when (Y/N) threw her arms around her and hugged her tight. Furrowing her brows, she slowly hugged back. “Um… Alright. Good morning to you, too, honey.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” (Y/N) sobbed. “This is- Oh, god- This is-”

“Hey, hey. Breathe, (Y/N).” She pulled away and wiped her daughter’s tears away. “Wow… You really need to work out a sleep schedule. Here, why don’t you have some coffee?”

That was when (Y/N) remembered. “Oh! Where’s Five?”

“Who?”

She blinked. “Five. My husband. I-I introduced him to you.”

“Honey, what? Are you talking about Anthony?”

The front door to the house opened, (Y/N)’s face dropping at the man who stepped inside.

“Dad!”

“Daddy’s home!”

Michael and Jada ran up and hugged Anthony, who was alive and well. He was dressed in business casual attire and his goatee was freshly trimmed. He set his briefcase down and picked up Jada, gently kissing her cheek. “Ya miss me?”

“No more business trips for you, either, Daddy!”

“Yeah, you and Mama have to stay here with us and Grandma from now on!”

Anthony softly laughed and shut the door behind him, plopping Jada back onto the couch and ruffling Michael’s hair. “I’ll think about it, alright? Morning, Mom.”

“Welcome back home, Anthony.” (Y/N)’s mother hugged the man and kissed his cheek. “How was your trip? You’re just in time for breakfast.”

“Smells great. I’ll tell you all about it.” He gently smiled at her before pulling away and turning to (Y/N), his smile melting into a more tender one as he walked up to her. “Hey, baby…”

(Y/N) couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. This wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. Anthony was dead. She had to see his body for the autopsy. She had to put his funeral together. He couldn’t be here.

But then again, Mr Pennycrumb was from the sixties.

When Anthony brought her into a kiss, she closed her eyes for only a moment, she only kissed back for half a second, she relived her old life for a speck of time before her eyes flew back open. Because this was not her husband. Not anymore. She was promised to Five, devoted to him, and she had no intentions of changing that. Not even for Anthony.

He pulled away and gently kissed her forehead. “Did you just wake up?”

“I… um…”

“You know she did.” Her mother chuckled and walked into the kitchen. “She was up again, trying to finish her drafts.”

“She’s a hard-working woman.” He squeezed her arm. “It’s what I love about her.”

(Y/N) watched Anthony walk into the kitchen with wide eyes, her mind racing. As she examined her home, she recognized minor differences. Anthony’s obituary was no longer sitting on its own shelf, Ben’s favorite books were missing from her collection, the family photos were updated. The last time Anthony held Jada, she was just a baby. But those photos couldn’t have been taken more than a few months ago. Swallowing, she looked down at her hand.

The white bracelet that belonged to Sparrow (Y/N) no longer took its place on her wrist. She never even remembered taking it off. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Her new wedding ring was gone, replaced with the old one she had taken off long ago. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all.

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

(Y/N) turned to the couch to find her children staring at her with big, curious hazel eyes, Mr Pennycrumb happily wagging his tail between the two.

“Oh, god…” She shook her head as the aching in her temples worsened. “Something is… very wrong.”

—————————————

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THE FOURTH AND FINAL INSTALLMENT, "Before Daybreak", IS COMING TO YOU SOON!! Thank you for reading ❤️❤️

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight #and dusk #to nightfall

[prismartist]

Let food be thy medicine

part 2 of to break bread, the series about soulbounds and food

Ao3

–––

“Ah the bloomin’- darnit.”

Etho looks up from his armour-polishing, raising an eyebrow. “Having trouble?”

“You could say that, yeah.” Joel is making an angry face at the crafting table, on which he’s placed a variety of vegetables. Right in the middle is a lamb’s shoulder, which seems to be the cause of Joel’s upset. 

“That mutton say something to ya?”

Joel looks at Etho, confused. “What? No, no, it’s just…” He turns back to the mutton. “I’m trying to remember how to do this recipe.”

“Which is?”

“I can’t remember the name. All I know is that I know it, probably from somewhere else.” Joel shrugs. “Anyways, I’m trying to recreating the blooming thing, but I’m hitting a wall.”

Etho sets the armour down and walks over to Joel. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah, nicked most of these from Timmy and Tango.”

Etho chuckles. “Nice. So what do we need to do now? Need anything to cook it?” 

Joel breathes in deep, closing his eyes for a bit. “I think we need to make an earth oven. But…” he sharply intakes a breath, “I don’t know how to make an earth oven.”

Etho perks up. “I can make it.”

Joel opens his eyes and looks at him, hesitant. “Can you?”

“You don’t have to baby me because I got shot earlier.”

“It was through your chest, Etho, I thought we were about to lose a life.”

“Hey, I’m better now, and the faster we make this, the faster I can eat.”

Joel sighs. “Fine, just don’t strain yourself.”

“Sure thing mom.”

Joel raises a hand as if to hit him, but seems to restrain himself. “Alright, alright,” he eventually sighs out. A resigned smile shows on his face as he meets Etho’s eyes. “Then roll up your sleeves, big boy, ‘cause we’ve got some work to do.”

It’s been a while since Etho’s had to make an earth oven, but he trusts his memory enough. He gets to work digging down a foot-deep pit. He walks around and gathers some rocks to line it; he remembers seeing a lot by the ravine’s river, but also remembers the last time he used riverbed rocks (they exploded, resulting in a very confusing chat message). So, he resorts to collecting them from the surrounding area around the Relation Ship. He lines the floor and walls of the pit with them, adds a layer of charcoal, then starts to prepare the fire. 

He whips out his axe, gathers dry firewood, and splits them lengthwise down the middle, arranging a campfire in the pit. He lights a pinecone—one of the many he’s picked up—with a flint and steel, setting it amongst the kindling. They’re a strong source of fuel, and they burn brightly and for long enough that the wood soon catches fire. Etho fans it for a bit before leaving it to smoulder, moving back to Joel, who’s put the mutton aside and has cut up the tomatoes, onions, and oregano, rubbing them into the mutton with olive oil. 

“You a fan of olives, Joel?” Etho had asked as Joel was extracting the oil.

“Didn’t use to be, actually. But one day I suddenly decided I loved them. Dunno why.”

Etho rejoins him just as he’s started on the potatoes, and Joel hands him an extra knife. 

“Did you put incisions in the shoulder?”

“Do we need to?”

“It’ll help it cook through.”

Joel glances at the mutton mid-potato. “Oh. Okay, thanks.” He casts Etho a curious look. “How come you know so much about cooking?”

“Y’know, I’m used to surviving on my own. Why, you surprised?”

“I just thought of you more as the, I dunno, the stoic fighting guy. I never would’ve imagined you to be like, a home cook, in an apron.”

“I have many sides to me, Joel.” Etho gives a playful wink, and Joel laughs.

“I can see that.”

Etho picks up a potato, noticing their slightly grubby nature. “You’ve washed these, right?” he asks.

“No? We’re going to peel them anyway.”

Etho’s eyes widen. “Don’t peel it.”

Joel halts again, looking like he’s been stabbed. His eyes widen as large as plates. “What?”

“I like it whole. You know, all the taste is in the skin. And it’s got a nice snap to it.”

“But there’s dirt on it!”

“Then wash it.”

Joel makes a series of sputtering noises. “Surely that’s not enough!”

“Sure it is! I eat it unpeeled all the time.”

“You’re sick, you sicken me,” Joel admonishes, looking away. Etho sighs.

“How about you peel half of them and leave the others alone. Compromise?”

Joel pouts, but says, “Okay, yeah, fine.”

“Great.” Etho gives a shit-eating grin as he gathers up half (read: most) of the potatoes, while Joel simply sticks his tongue out, too petty to notice. He resumes cutting into the mutton as Etho takes off his gloves and washes the potatoes. Then, they start on the final stretch.

Joel puts the potatoes, tomatoes, and carrots (“I don’t suppose you also eat those with the skin,” he had muttered to Etho, who only smiled and shook his head) in the pot, then places the mutton on top. He scatters in the onions and leftover garlic, then asks, “Is the oven ready?”

The firewood had crumbled into a pile of glowing ash at this point, but the heat had transferred over to the coal, emitting orange that throbbed under the dark surface. “Yep,” Etho replies as he walks over to it, self-satisfied. 

Joel pours a bit of water in the cast iron, places the cover on it, then a sheet of leather on top, secured with string. Joel squints at it. “I think that’s right,” he says. “Or is it just supposed to be the leather…?”

“You probably need both on, otherwise the dirt’ll get in. Now c’mon, get it in here.” 

“Alright, alright, don’t rush me!” Joel fixes Etho with a glare as he approaches the oven. He squints as the heat hits him, and sweat breaks out almost immediately on his skin. Slowly he lowers the pan into the pit, setting it on top of the coals. He steps back as Etho shovels the dirt on top and covers the whole thing until there’s just a mound left, which he pats. 

“There we go, all done,” he says jovially. 

“Until three hours from now when we have to dig it up.”

“Can’t wait.” Joel grins at Etho, who smiles back. 

“Now help me clean up.”

Etho groans. “Do I have to?”

“This is a two-way relationship, Etho, you can’t expect me to do everything around here!”

“Aw, alright.”

– – –

"Do you remember where you learned this?" Etho asks as he puts up his mask and opens the pot. It’s dug up and now cooking in open air, roasting the mutton within.

Joel hums and shrugs; the muscle memory and smell had jogged a bit of recognition in him, though not enough for full memories. It makes sense; it usually takes much more than cooking mutton to remember other worlds. "A bit. I think this isn't the first time I've cooked it with someone else, at the very least."

"Really."

"Yeah. I think…" He concentrates, trying to translate the gut deja vu into actual memories. Joel furrows his brows. "I’m not… used to having this much help though, I think it was a kid?" Joel's expression turns bewildered. "Do I have a kid??"

Etho's eyes widen at him, then crinkle with amusement. "You, a dad? Shocking."

"Trust me, I'm as surprised as you are." Joel huffs.

Etho opens the lid a bit, and Joel catches a whiff of the mutton’s divine savoury scent. "You want to know a fun fact?" Etho says as he brushes the dirt away.

Joel raises a brow. "Please."

"I remember all past worlds."

Joel blinks. "You do?" 

"Yeah. Every single one. Even before the first world."

"How?"

Etho shrugs. "Don't really know. My memory's not, uh, infallible, you know. Might have picked something up." He pauses. "Or maybe I've just been here too long. Who knows."

"That's very ominous."

Etho chuckles. “That’s just how it is.”

“Hm. Must be pretty lonely, if you remember but no one else does.”

“Eh, I’m pretty used to it. Like I said, been here a long time. Everything becomes routine eventually.”

“I…” Joel pauses. “Weirdly enough, I think I get that.”

“Really?”

“Y… yeah. Really.”

The edges of Etho’s eyes crinkle, as if he’s smiling, but instead of saying anything, he lifts the pot up and sets it on the ground. "Soup's up."

"It's roasted lamb."

"Eh, potayto, potahto."

"Now that's uncalled for."

Etho piles the contents of the pot onto wooden plates, and hands one to a starving Joel. On it, the lamb steams, browned and cut open to show a dark pink meat, juices pooling around it and seeping into the vegetables. Joel sets the plate on his lap, cuts a piece of the steak, and takes a bite. 

It’s tender and chewy, umami flowing freely and plentiful. Joel hums at the comforting warmth, and if he were maybe more poetic, he’d say something about remembering sunny farms and glimmering quartz.

“Is it good?” Etho asks. His mask is removed.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Taste like your other world.” 

“I think it does. Close enough, anyway.”

Etho smiles, and piles food onto his own plate. “Good, good.”

“Thanks for the help, man.”

“No problem.”

Joel moves to stab a vegetable, ready to decimate the whole thing when he stops, the smile on his face disappearing immediately. As watery as Joel’s mouth is, there’s a certain something on his plate that’s keeping him from devouring its contents right away.

“Etho?”

“Hm?” It sounds like he’s trying to keep from laughing. 

“Take these dirty unpeeled potatoes away from me.”

Etho tilts his head. “Why? I thought you wanted some.”

“You bloody know I didn’t, I would never willingly consent to putting unpeeled potatoes on my plate. Take it away!”

“Aw, but you’ll miss out. Come on, just try one.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Pleeaaase? For me?” Etho chuckles- or giggles evilly, rather. “Your loyal soulmate who’s never done anything bad to you ever?”

“You’ve probably tried to kill me at some point.”

“Hey, we’re not counting past worlds we may or may not remember.”

Joel squints and pouts, and ignores how much he must look like a child. He grumbles something unintelligible before angrily stabbing the unpeeled, disgusting potato and biting down on it.

Snap. 

Oh. That’s what Etho was talking about. 

He chews slowly, while Etho watches, grinning. 

“So, do you admit it?”

“...”

“C’mon Joel, you can say it, I can see it in your eyes.”

“Okay so maybe potatoes are fine with the skin, but-”

“You said it! I win!”

“What, no! You don’t win shit!!”

#double life smp #dlsmp #ethoslab #smallishbeans #etho #double life fanfiction #double life fanfic #boat boys #trafficblr #traffic smp #mcyt #prismatic writing

[jtavington]

Fic teaser

This is part of the rough draft of the fic I mentioned earlier. The basic setup is that Suletta calls Guel after the attack at Asticassia to get her friends out of the refugee camp. In return, he asks Suletta to return to Miorine because he’s afraid she’ll hurt herself. It’s an alternate plotline from when we knew very little about QZ or Calibarn and features more romance but also more intrigue, violence, and coping with trauma. The following is Sulemio’s first morning together after reuniting.

Miorine woke with a start. She flung out her hands and felt for the mattress. She was home, in her own bed, millions of miles from Quinharbor. She sat up gingerly and slid into her slippers. It was never any use going back to sleep since Earth and the President of the Benerit Group had a busy day ahead. She might as well scarf down some coffee and an energy bar and get started.

She made it as far as the first floor landing. The kitchen spread out below her. The aroma of cinnamon and fresh bread and miso soup tempted her down. Cooking breakfast as if she did so every morning, was Suletta. Her hair cascaded down her back, and the heat of the stove tinged her cheeks with a pleasant pink. Her biceps tensed and flexed as she flipped pancakes and chopped sliced a piece of pair.

Miorine’s mouth went dry. She had thrown up every wall she could create to separate Suletta from the bloodstained world of Prospera and Miorine, and she was cooking breakfast in her kitchen. Singing a tune about…what the hell was a swamp beastie anyway. Singing a nonsense song while cooking was such a silly, adorable, Suletta thing to do. No. That line of thinking was way more dangerous than it had been at Asticassia. Suletta wasn’t her groom. Miorine’s presidency was built atop a mountain of corpses. Her priority had to be getting Suletta somewhere safe. Somewhere she could be loved without her heart being cut to ribbons by thorns.

Suletta looked up and her smile was so bright and earnest that it was Miorine who was cut. “Hi! Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Miorine went down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Only because it was between her and the door. “I really don’t have the time.”

“Eat. You’ll feel better.” It was the same earnest, firm tone she used when she really wanted something. The same tone she had used on Guel when he had trashed the Asticassia greenhouse.

Miorine sat down.

Suletta sat down a plate of pancakes with the sliced pear. Miorine’s mouth watered. Focus. This was Suletta’s job, thanks to Guel’s paranoia. Suletta hated her for her cruelty. It was only a matter of time until the axe fell. Suletta would disappear from her life as quickly as she’d reappeared, hopefully to somewhere beyond Grassley or Dawn of Fold’s influence.

“So, I saw where there was a fencing club meeting on Tuesdays. I always wanted to learn. Think I should join?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“And you’ll have to show me all the cool things to do around the station.”

Miorine’s hand twitched. Suletta wasn’t normally this dense. “I work late now.”

“Well, maybe we could go on one of your days off and—”

“Stop it!” She slammed her knife down hard enough that the noise made Suletta wince.

“Stop what?” she asked with that lost puppy look that was somehow worse with her hair framing her face like that.

“Stop being so damn nice to me!” Her voice cracked, but she was past caring. “You should spit in my face. Slap me. Say that I deserve everything that’s going to happen to me. I can take that.” She shoved her chair back and stormed toward the door. “I can take anything but this.”

Suletta didn’t follow. With any luck, she would be on the shuttle to somewhere by the time Miorine dragged herself home. She flung open the door, stepped on the sidewalk and—

--came face to face with Earth House.

They smiled at her. Tight, nervous smiles, but smiles all the same. “Hello again, Miorine. It’s good to see you again. We were so worried when we heard about Quinharbor.”

A brain-eating microbe must’ve been released into Earth House’s water while she was away. “I’m the Butcher of Quinharbor. You should be worrying about what I’ll do to your homes.”

“Don’t give us that crap.” Chuchu put her hands on her hips. “You’re a stuck-up jerk who thinks she knows better than everyone else, but you love Earth. And you twisted yourself into a pretzel so we could make money without selling weapons. The news says you ordered the attack, but everyone knows that the news is run by a bunch of spacian turds.”

Miorine stumbled backwards. They thought she was innocent. It was almost sweet, really. The other members of the group praised their new president for doing what needed to be done and toasted a future of record weapons sales. Miorine hadn’t given the order, but if she hadn’t come to Earth, if she hadn’t started negotiations with that naïve offer of more jobs, if she had put her foot down and demanded armed security be removed, if she had done anything else differently, there would have been no massacre. It was pointless to quibble over the details. “It was me.”

Their expressions didn’t change. “What are you waiting for?” The words ripped from her throat came out somewhere between a shout and a sob. “Turn your backs on me. Resign. You’re supposed to stick together.”

“We are.” Ailya’s voice was soft. “You’ve been one of us since you founded the company to save Suletta.

A lump burned in her throat. To have a place to belong, to be one of the group instead of a princess on a pedestal… She swallowed, forcing the burning pain into her chest. She had to focus on what was important. “What about Suletta? She’s one of your own too.”

“We haven’t forgotten.” Chuchu bounded forward and smashed a right hook into Miorine’s jaw.

Miorine staggered backward. Blossoms of fire radiated from her jaw up to her cheek. It hurt, but that was nothing to the sheer shock of someone daring to punch her in the face. “Ow!”

“That was for breaking Suletta’s heart. Did I mention that you were a jerk?”

Miorine rubbed her jaw. Some mild swelling, but nothing broken. If she put some ice on it, no one at the office would even notice. “I deserved that.”

“Damn right you did. Now that we’re even, mind inviting us inside? Punching someone this early in the morning makes me hungry.”

Miorine blinked once, twice. A single punch came nowhere close to making them even. “I don’t understand.”

“I thought you were smarter than this, Princess.” Her gaze drifted to Nika, who blushed. “We want to hear your side of the story so we know what to forgive you for.”

The lump in her chest grew harder and more insistent. She would not cry in front of them, not when she hadn’t wept after the duel or seeing the carnage she had wrought. “You don’t have to do that.”

Footsteps sounded on the walkway behind her. “We’re your friends and we love you.” Suletta’s’s voice was gentle. “We want to do it.”

That word again. Friends. It was so comfortable when it referred to anyone but Suletta. “I tried to keep Suletta from all this, but I screwed up.” That was way too abrupt, but the truth meant revealing secrets that weren’t hers to tell. “I’ll have the staff bring food to you guys. There are things I need to tell Suletta first. In private.”

She didn’t like the sly looks on their faces one bit. “Sure, sure. Take as much private time as you need.”

They trooped back inside, all smiles and laughter. Miorine counted to ten in her head and motioned for Suletta to follow.

The kitchen was deserted. Miorine dug into the soup while Suletta picked at bits of bacon. Silence stretched between them. Miorine turned memories in her mind, contemplating how best to explain what she’d done. There was no defense to be had. She had broken the bond that had grown between them and there was no getting it back. She could have lived with that if only it had worked instead of Shaddiq’s ego and one broken terrorist destroying the place Suletta should have been safest.

Suletta didn’t speak, just looked at her with that earnest expression that was worse than a thousand curses.

“Do you remember that day we finally talked about what happened at Plant Quetta?” Her voice was flat. She didn’t want Suletta swayed by her emotions You said that your mother knew I would come around, but she had already agreed with me that what happened when too far.”

Pain flashed across Suletta’s face. “You were both right about that.”

Suletta looked so miserable that Miorine wanted nothing more than to wrap her in her arms and tell her that she was better than any of the so-called saints who puffed themselves up with philanthropy. That was no longer her place. “I was so angry that I couldn’t see straight. I ran off to Prospera and demanded she leave you out of her little revenge plan.”

“Revenge plan,” Suletta said with a faraway look in her eyes. “I know about that.”

She did? “Well, she agreed. If I became President of the Group and provided cover for a research project, then she would let you live an ordinary life. I just had to make sure she got the Aerial and that you fought one more duel.”

“So you asked Guel to—wait. That morning, you asked me if I would give up Aerial. I thought you were asking me if I would give her away if Mom told me to, but you were really asking if I would give her up without a duel.” Wonder, joy, and shock melted into each other. It was enough to take Miorine’s breath away. “You wanted to know if you could make that deal and still stay engaged.”

Miorine buried her face in her hands. She was a stupid, romantic idiot for wanting happily ever after. That always came with prices too high to bear. “Does it matter now? You said no. Guel is halfway decent these days and he would do anything for you, so I made a deal with him. My money in exchange for becoming the last Holder. All I had to do was make sure you hated me so much that you wouldn’t try to fight for me. I said what would hurt you the most.”

“It did hurt. Are you sorry?”

“I think only a cold, sadistic person could have done what I did. And I left you stranded in what turned out to be the most dangerous place in the solar system. I killed thousands of people, spit on GUND-Arm’s mission, and I’m the president of the place I’ve spent my entire life getting away from. Does that answer your question?”

“Not really. Finish your breakfast.”

Miorine was so stunned by nonsequitur that she did as Suletta asked.

Suletta watched in silence as she drained the last of the soup. “Feel better?”

She did. It had been forever since she had sat down for a meal instead of scarfing down some cheap take-out at her desk. “I guess.”

That small smile of Suletta’s really should be registered as a weapon. They stacked the plates and silverware on the counter. Suletta turned on the water. Miorine opened her mouth to remind her that she had staff to do the dishes, but closed it just as quickly. Cleaning up after meals was one of the few student work details they had been able to do together without risking that one of them would set something on fire. She rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a towel. They worked together in silence, and it was almost like the old days.

“I’m glad you feel, better,” Suletta said when they were down to their last couple of dishes. “I remember not eating and just laying in bed all day.”

Miorine had been curled into a ball on the flight back from Earth and just wishing that her heart would stop so that she wouldn’t have to deal with pain. “I’m sorry. I never wanted that pain for you.”

“This was after you left. If I tell you, do you promise not to think I’m crazy?”

She had thought Suletta was naïve or silly but never crazy. Miorine nodded.

“My friends tried to arrange a meeting with you, but the people in charge sent me to the hanger. Aerial was there, and I wanted to talk to my sister or than anything. So I climbed into the cockpit and she…” Suletta took a deep, steadying breath. “She told me who she really was. Twenty-one years ago, Cathedra wiped out the colony at Folkvangr.”

“I know. Your mom told me all about it and what she was going to do to my dad because of it.”

“Her daughter made it too, but she was dying and Mom did the only thing she could think of to save her. She uploaded her mind into a mobile suit.”

Miorine gaped at her. That was crazy. Even if the entirety of human consciousness could be reproduced as data, the energy requirements were astronomical. “You mean that your sister is inside the Aerial?”

“I think it’s more like Eri is Aerial. I always knew she was my sister. That part just filled out some of the details.”

She believed her, Miorine realized. It explained why she dropped the definite article, why she insisted a machine was family, and why Miorine’s hope of Suletta giving Aerial up had been doomed from the start.

“That was the easy part. It was Eri telling me what I was and what I was for that I couldn’t take. I was a replichild, eight years younger, but Eri’s genetic twin. I was created because Aerial needed a pilot. After the duel, she could move on her own. She threw me out and told me to stop clinging to her or Mom. Mom confirmed everything, and left me there. They didn’t need me anymore.”

Familiar, vital fury coursed through Miorine’s veins and roused Miorine from her torpor. She would pay for her crimes, but not before she made Prospera pay and turned Aerial—Eri—to scrap. She seized Suletta by the shoulders and turned her so they were face-to-face. “Listen to me. You are so much more than a key or a copy. I don’t care what Prospera meant for you. Being you is what matters.” Her breath hitched. “And you matter immensely.”

“Thank you.” Suletta made no move to escape, and Miorine was suddenly very aware of how warm Suletta was beneath her shirt. “I didn’t mean for you to have to comfort me. I spent all that time hating myself and wondering what I could’ve done differently, but it didn’t do any good. I couldn’t undo what you or Eri and my mom did. All I could do was deal with what was in front of me. It’s the same for you.”

The noise that escaped Miorine was an unholy hybrid of a sob and a laugh. Their situations weren’t remotely the same. For one, Suletta hadn’t actually done anything wrong. “That gentleness is going to get you into trouble.”

“It’s just the truth.” She pried Miorine’s hands from her shoulders. Her fingers ghosted down the sleeves of Miorine’s suit until her hands were hovering over Miorine. They weren’t quite touching, but Miorine luxuriated in the warmth of skin so close to hers.

“Everyone thinks you killed people at Quinharbor. You think so, too. But even if you did, berating yourself won’t make anything better. All you can do is deal with the consequences. Same for the duel. Yes, it hurt, but yelling at you won’t change anything. We’ve got to solve the problems we have right now and try to do better.

Suletta might as well have asked her to scale Olympus Mons. The whole Sphere was one spark away from erupting into a war unlike anything in human history. If Earth didn’t destroy them, the Space Assembly League would. If anyone else had asked her, Miorine would have readied a withering barb that would send them running. It wasn’t anyone else who had asked. It was Suletta. “I’ll try. No promises.”

Her eyes shone, and her grin was a star unto itself, a center of gravity that drew in all else. Beautiful, yes, but so inadequate. That smile had made Miorine believe in true love and sacrificing herself or others and devotion and all the other fairytales she thought she had stopped believing in when her mother died. For that smile, she would face down Prospera, terrorists, fleets of warships, and backstabbing corporations. Let them come. They would not harm a hair on Suletta’s head.

#sulemio #fic teaser

[mckiwi]

Whumptober 2022 Day 2: Nowhere To Run

Characters: Stephen Strange, Karl Mordo, Peter Parker, Cloak of Levitation

Prompt: Confrontation

Summary: Two Times Mordo tried to kill Stephen and the one time he decided not to.

While sleeping at the Sanctum

Today was the day Mordo would finally rid the world of the parasite that was Stephen Strange. Every sorcerer was a pest, but Strange was the worst of them all, using the Time Stone so recklessly. Breaking every natural law without a care in the world. But he didn't fret, no, because within the hour, Strange would be of no consequence. He didn't take pride in killing his former friend, but when one must meet the needs of the end…

He could sense the man sleeping in his room. All Mordo had to do was slit his throat without waking him, which also meant not using magic lest he would alert the man to his presence. Easy.

Or so he thought.

After breaking in through a window, Mordo had barely peaked his head into the building before the axe that had been hanging above the window fell, clattering to the floor, nearly decapitating him. Releasing a shaky breath, Mordo stepped inside, wearily watching the axe as he passed. One step onto the rug had Mordo's feet yanked out from under him and he landed on the ground with a harsh thud. If Strange wasn't awake from the axe then surely he would be now… but a quick check confirmed the man was still asleep.

Realizing the Sanctum itself must be weaponized, Mordo cautiously trespassed through the hallway, not that it helped. Paintings threw themselves at his head, making his vision go black for a moment. A small table used a leg to trip him while a curtain took the opportunity to wrap itself around his arm and rag-doll him into the kitchen.

The kitchen was probably the worst place for him to be. The sink immediately sprayed water at his face, flour was covering him from head to toe, and despite his training, he couldn't dodge all the utensils flying through the air. Forks, spoons, knives, spatulas, even the tongs wanted a piece of him.

He collapsed back into the hallway, breathing heavily, and ran for the stairs. He was nearly at the top before the stairs flattened themselves out, causing Mordo to lose his footing and slide pathetically back to the bottom. If he let out a girlish scream, it's not like Strange was awake yet to hear it. The stairs flatted and popped up repeatedly as Mordo tried to make his way up. He was crawling by the time he got to the top.

Mordo, wide-eyed and heart beating wildly, peered through the hallway at the array of doors. Which one led to Strange's chambers? Something told him he wouldn't find out without gaining more cuts and bruises.

To no one's surprise, he was correct. Doors slammed open to bust him in the nose. The floor tiles tilted to toss him into rooms full of dangerous relics. Doors locked and unlocked randomly. Eventually, he fell into a large bedroom. The bedroom of one Doctor Stephen Strange.

Strange lay in bed with a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his face contorted in pain. He had the blankets bundled up to his shoulders and the Cloak laying across him. A nightmare, Mordo assumed. At that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to care. Soaked, battered, bruised, covered in flour with a cherry on top, Mordo was done. Unsheathing a knife, Mordo held it over the sleeping man's throat and whispered venomously, "you're dead, Stephen Strange!"

The knife didn't get the chance to even break skin before the Cloak launched itself at him, suffocating him as it drug him through the halls, purposely slamming him into the walls, and throwing him out the Rotunda of Gateways into a rainforest.

The ground was surprisingly soft, Mordo decided, as he lay there for a few minutes. He'd kill Strange… just later. He could use some medicine and a nap first.

Sets up a Trap

This would be the day Mordo finally kills Stephen Strange. Yesterday had been a… minor setback. A miscalculation on his part, but now his plan would surely work, right here in this abandoned building in Queens. With his bait set up, Mordo covers his own magical signature and waits for the man of the hour to arrive.

It doesn't take long for Strange to appear, and as planned, he takes the bait. An interdimensional magic stone radiating energy from inside the building, the perfect lure for someone as curious as Strange. Little did he know, the second he touched the stone inside, it would trigger the building to collapse. Not even Strange would have enough reaction time to-

Wait- is that a child with him?

Mordo debated against himself. This teenage boy Strange had brought with him might very well end up dead as well. Now that he looked closer at the two, he saw they were eating sandwiches while the kid happily talked about something. Was Mordo really about to let that kid be a casualty in a war that didn't even affect him?

He wasn't given a choice. Strange hesitated in front of the building, talking with the kid, "I'm not taking you in there, Peter. It could be dangerous."

"Oh, please. I fought an alien in outer space before. Your 'Indiana Jones' rip-off will be nothing!" The kid, Peter, blew off. Strange still looked unsure. The kid continued, "I promise to be careful?"

Strange huffed and closed his eyes in resignation, "fine." The kid punched the air excitedly. "Got your web-shooters just in case?"

The kid pulled up his hoodie sleeve to show some type of device wrapped around his wrists, "always."

A flicker of sadness, perhaps guilt, shot across Strange's face at that. It was so quick Mordo wouldn't be surprised if the kid didn't even notice. "Alright, let's do this."

Something heavy landed in Mordo's gut. He was about to murder a kid. Sure enough, the building shook briefly before an explosion made the building collapse entirely. People in the surrounding area ran in shock and terror. No one could have survived that explosion. Sorcerers are just human, after all. Mordo felt a pang of remorse for the kid. He somewhat hoped Strange had been teaching the kid sorcery, just so that the man's murder would be worth the kid's death.

A few moments later, a portal opened up across the road. The kid helped Strange limp out. Through the portal, he saw a small spherical shield holding up the building. It faded out with the portal, leaving a puff of dust to bellow out behind the two. "That could've gotten us both killed if it weren't for your spider senses." Strange explained as he glanced down at his ankle.

"Are you okay?" The kid asked.

"Yea. I think my ankle's just fractured. What about you?" Strange returned.

The kid nodded, "high on adrenaline."

Strange chuckled slightly and winced as he tried to step through a portal to the sanctum, "better than being dead. You coming?"

The kid stepped through the portal as it closed, "you know we can cancel my magic lessons for today."

Better than being dead, indeed.

After a battle

The beast roared in rage and shot Strange down from the air with one of its quills. Strange screamed as the quill pierced his leg and he tumbled toward the ground. The Cloak flared enough to keep the fall from being fatal, but Mordo noticed Strange blinking away stars and his hair on the back of his head looking matted and wet. He tore the quill from his leg with a hiss of pain and stumbled to get back up.

The beast was too powerful for a lone sorcerer to take on without… assistance. It had already been about thirty minutes of relentless battle, and the beast was gaining the upper hand. Mordo saw the moment Strange decided on what he needed to do next. He witnessed Strange gather up the strength to summon Black Atlantean Magic. Mordo knew, Strange knew, every sorcerer worth their wits knew the cost of that magic, that type of assistance. It would give you the power to defeat your enemies, sure, but the cost was just as likely to kill you as it was to save you.

Strange's face scrunched as the dark power entered him. He looked up at the beast with a newfound determination. After a long battle, the beast met a power greater than its own.

It didn't take long for Strange to shove the beast through a portal. The portal collapsed, and not a moment later did Strange follow, hitting the ground hard. Mordo heard a sharp yelp as Strange tried to break the fall with his hands and watched as Strange rolled onto his back with his hands cradled to his chest. His face was covered in blood, mostly from the red rivets pooling from his eyes and nose. Heavy magic has a heavy price, as Mordo had tried to warn him before. He thought he heard a muffled sob as Strange lay there, looking rather pitiful. The Cloak tried to wrap around his injured leg, but he still didn't move. He just laid there, breathing raspy breaths and smearing the blood away from his eyes. Mordo figured he was waiting for what comes next, if it ever came.

The Cloak perked up in alarm as Mordo approached the downed man. A quick spell rendered the Cloak immobile. Strange heard the footsteps and lolled his head over lazily to look, "Mordo?"

"Yes. It's me," Mordo answered and kneeled beside him. Strange peered at him through hooded, unfocused eyes.

"Come to finish me off?" Strange joked, but something behind those words was an element of truth. Of knowledge. At Mordo's silence, Strange's chuckle turned into a cough, "wouldn't be the first time." He used the heel of his hand to wipe at his bloodied eyes one more time, and to Mordo's surprise, exposed his neck.

Mordo's brain froze. He wasn't expecting this. He was expecting a fight, for Strange to want to live, not for him to give himself up like a lamb for slaughter. "What happened to you, Stephen?" Stephen laughed bitterly at that. The blood around his eyes was washed away by tears. No. Who was he to kill a man who fate cruelty decided must live?

That night, Mordo dreamt of Stephen's disappointed face when he created a portal to the Kamar-Taj infirmary.

#whumptober2022 #no. 2 #confrontation #stephen strange #karl mordo #peter parker #cloak of levitation #doctor strange #dr strange #baron mordo #spider man #post infinity war #pre no way home #fic #fanfic #doctor strange fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #mckiwiwrites

[unrequitedloveletter]

The Deadly Romantics- Kaz Brekker

The Deadly Romantics Masterlist

Okay, just a note! By the time that this chapter is posted, the way that Jordie died will have been retconned. I was rereading the fic to prepare for writing the training chapters--I’d originally had the characters go from interviews to the games and scrapped the training entirely. The first draft of this fic is an absolute mess--and decided I didn’t like it. 

I also feel that writing it how I did villainized suicide a bit because I had the Capitol villainize it, even though I did my best to make my viewpoint clear through how I wrote Kaz’s viewpoint. As someone who has struggled with suicidal ideations and suicidal thoughts before, and as someone who has been dealing with them for a long time, villainizing suicide was the absolute last of my intents and I’m deeply sorry if how I wrote Jordies death came across that way, which I felt it did whilst I reread. 

I suppose in my attempt to make it clear that suicide was being villainized by the government and not the people living under that government or the family members of the person who committed, such messages as the ones I was trying to convey got lost in translation.

chapter specific warnings- axes, bows and arrows, and knives are mentioned, and the use of a bow and arrow and a knife is depicted, as is the use of fire as a weapon

Y/N L/N

The Training Center was a large building. It was twelve floors--one per district--and to get to their floor, Y/N, Kaz, their stylists, plus Alina, Genya, and Nikolai, had to take an elevator. Y/N moved to their room like it was clockwork, seeing a very basic layout upon their entrance. 

Four walls, a bed tucked into a corner, a screen on one wall to control what showed up where. Y/N moved toward it, finding an outfit to suit their tastes while they trained for the following four days. They set the walls to a background showing the woods, climbed onto a bed with an unusually comfortable feeling. 

They had an hour to themself before breakfast, so they used it. They showered, brushed their hair, pulled on fresh pajamas and got some sleep before an alarm woke them up. When the alarm blared, all that they had to do was wave a hand for it to be dismissed. 

They got dressed into the outfit they’d chosen, joining Nina, Kaz’s stylist, Kaz, Alina, Genya, and Nikolai at the table nearest the window for breakfast. The two hours that’ve been allocated for eating go by much too quickly, passing by in a whirl of buttered toast, good coffee, and warm rolls. 

The gymnasium for training was located on the second floor, and Kaz and Y/N trained largely as a pair. They went through the archery and axes stations together, Y/N watching as the others trained, many of them wielding the weapons they did for the very first time. 

Vasily Lantsov--the tribute from two, and Nikolais brother, somehow managed to expertly wield a knife, though Y/N had assumed he’d never held one before, much less thrown it. They sighed as they picked up a bow, stringing it with an arrow.

Vasily Lantsov had been a career. Tributes from districts one and two always were. Y/N didn’t know why they were surprised.

They picked a dummy and aimed for the chest, grabbing another arrow as they watched the first meet the spot they’d aimed. They aimed the second arrow at the dummys head, using the remaining arrows in the quiver to hit all vital organs before moving on to the knives, forcing themself to stay away from the station with flints for Grisha use, 

Y/N and Kaz went through the following days of training much the same way, moving from one station to the next but avoiding their areas of expertise so as to be able to use those skills to impress the game makers. 

When finally the day to make their impressions came about, Y/N and Kaz made idle conversation as they waited. Kaz went in before they had, and fifteen minutes after Y/N had watched Kaz walk through the heavy steel door, they were being called in.

They walked in and immediately went to the weapons, finding Inferni flint, labelled with the different capabilities based on adjustments made to the flint by Fabrikators in the Capitol. 

Without hesitation, Y/N grabbed the normal flint--it was essentially the same one they would’ve used to start a fire back home.-- and the one labelled lumiya. 

They used the normal flint first, burning five dummys to a crisp in short, fire ball esque bursts, another five with long, fatal shots. They used the lumiya flint thereafter, doing much the same but seeing results that only managed to get more lethal.

They didn’t look to the game makers as they finished their performance, merely dismissed themself, hearing the chatter of the game makers as they left. 

-

The Deadly Romantics taglist: @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows

[creepypasta-archive]

Underminding iNSaNiTY

by Anonymous

No tmuch to say about this story. But I like the imagery it creates. It's vivid in my head and it's also very greeen and dingy.

CW// death, blood, trauma, laceration, knifes, murder, poor representations of mental illness.

Click below to read the original unedited story

The young girl brightly smiled grabbing a hold of his hand. She pulled him along, forcing him to walk faster than his normal speed. Another boy followed after them, chasing them really. She giggled leading the two boys towards a large bush. She moved her black bangs behind her ears, away from her green eyes.

"Isn't it pretty, Jeffrey?" She asked turning towards the boy who was named 'Jeffrey'.

The boy nodded. The older boy walked to the girl he stare out at the trees, sighing softly.

"You wanted to show us trees, Harley?" The boy asked.

The girl, Harley shook her head. "No, Liu!" She pouted, "it wasn't this, there was something on the other side, something secret, but I'm afraid of going inside along, that's why I want to tell you guys the secret." she smiled brightly.

"Come on Jeff!" Harley yelled.

She grabbed Jeff's hand pulling him into the bush.

That was before, before she went insane. It was before she lost everything, her friends, the guy she always hung out with, her family, everyone, just because of a mistake, a large mistake she made. She admitted to him that they would meet again someday, reunited. But those were just children promises, something that would never happen. She was stilling living in the past, still trying to find that spark that ruined her life.

She pulled herself up from the ground, looking down the alley to the exit where lights shined. Cars speed by, quicker than anything Harley could imagine. She walked along the side of the street, pulling her large black, over-sized hood over her head. People eyeballed her as if she was poor, as if she was gambling for money or part of a gangster group. She wasn't neither, behind that hood was a girl with a past of killing, murderous killing.

She was looking for anyone to kill, it could be anyone. Yet she doesn't acknowledge her victim, she just marks down on her arm the number of kills she down. The thing she does acknowledge is the guy called "Go to Sleep", the one who's making more people die then her. Ruining her victims and records. She looked up towards the sky, raindrops starting to fall from the orange, red, blue sky, lights shining all around her. She rolled her green eyes looking forward.

She kept walking for minutes, it could have been twenty minutes but she stopped making a turn. She walked into an apartment building, a one that had only three floors, grubby white walls, and carpet flooring. She walked to the top floor, entering her apartment. She was able to fool everyone, making them believe that her parents burned her, then commit suicide during the process, she just then simply burned down the house. Many conclusions came around from different people, family, friends a lot of people. Some said that the "Go To Sleep" guy struck again, or that a accidental house fire happened and they just didn't make it out. But that wasn't it. She sliced both her parents heads off, then started laughing. It reminded her of Alice in Wonderland, her favorite kid movie. She always thought Alice had a little, dark secret, but Harley never knew that SHE had a little, dark secret.

She dropped onto her bed throwing off her hoodie, she tossed it across the room sighing softly as she stared up. She could hear knocks at the door, it silenced for a bit then more knocks came, then bangs, multiple bangs. Harley stood up walking into her kitchen, she grabbed her axe which was in the bottom door just in case of emergencies like this. It could be the police, or the drunk man from just down the hall.

She gripped onto the knob turning it slowly. She opened it coming face to face with a guy. White leathery skin, really, really pale skin, a wide cut in smile like the Jokers, and dark, black rings around eyes that appeared to have no eyelids. His hair looked oily as if it hasn't been washed for years, or months. She took a step back, her heart starting to pound.

"Hello Harley," she was welcomed with a wide, cracking smile which stares into her soul; if she had one. Multiple sickening laughs started to come from the 'freak', he walked towards her pulling out a knife from his jacket pocket.

She swung her axe, missing the killer's head. She gulped stumbling backwards as she tripped, hitting herself on the carpet floor. The killer was just steps away from her, at least three. She could count them in her head, three, two, one. She felt herself being pushed into the ground as a knife was stabbed into her stomach. She winced and screamed in pain trying to get loose.

She was going to die she knew it. But she didn't want to, she didn't want people to find out she wasn't dead, she didn't want anyone to know what happened, and she knew who this was. Jeff.

"Damn, Jeff," she hissed in pain.

The killer's eye's widen more bigger then they were, really in just surprise. The knife stopped moving from his hands and he lost control. Eventually she would die from blood-lost. Harley was going to be exposed to the truth, just from a mistake with opening the door.

"So much for promises," she gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the pain.

He pulled out the knife then placed it to her neck. They both knew what would have to happen, she would have to die, to die to live a new life, to die to become a new person. To restart her own life.

With that, he sliced her neck, blood spluttering from her. She was dead, her body went limp, her eyes losing it's colour. She was dead.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #fanfiction #jtk #horror #story

[scribbling-stiks]

OS - Changing Face

CW/TW - blood, gore, child abuse, death, child death, graphic violence.

“Oh. Another one,” a rough voice says from somewhere above him.

The little personification looks up, his eyes gold and his face flag-less. The man is wearing plain clothes and his eyes are the only thing visible under his helmet.

“Kievan Rus will want to see you,” the man says, his gold gaze meeting the child’s. His face set in a frown and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

He grabs the child’s arm and yanks him forward. The young personification flinched wildly. Then, the man’s frown contorts into a sly grin.

The child gets the feeling that the man has other plans.

-

Red.

Everything is red.

He bites his tongue, tasting blood. His body shakes and he holds the right side of his face, blood flowing through his hands. Everything is fuzzy, and he can’t stop the shaking.

‘Quiet. Quiet. Quiet,’ his mind repeats.

“Stop making noise,” the man demands, “or I will do the other one.”

The child curls in on himself, one hand moving from his eye to his mouth. He rocks himself, desperately stifling cries. The feeling of the spoon in his eye socket replays over and over until everything feels distant. His body seems to catch his breath and he sits still.

“Good,” the man says, washing the blood off his hands, “and hopefully you will be killed tomorrow.”

The young personification doesn't quite know what that means, but he hopes it will hurt less.

-

“Do not say anything,” the man warns.

He isn’t wearing his helmet, and his flag looks strange.

He sits on the floor, carefully watching the man, an eyepatch covering his injury. The man is talking to a woman sat upon a throne of cushions. She wears a long dress and a cape drapes over her figure. Their flags almost match.

“He is defective!” the man argues.

“I do not care,” a woman replies, “his eye is gold. He is to be under your care until he is grown.”

“But he will not be a good leader,” the man argues, “he formed without it. He should be dispatched.”

‘My eye?’

“He is under your care.”

‘No, you took it.’

“I refuse!”

‘You took my eye.’

“As my Army and subordinate, you will obey my demands. You found this child and he will be under your care.”

‘You took it.’

The Army spins around and grabs the child by the arm. The child tries not to flinch at the forceful grip.

-

“Flag-less,” Army demands, “come here.”

The child rushes to his side.

“Yes sir.”

“Did you misunderstand me?” Army asks, his tone flat.

“I told you to shine my axe and you chip it.”

The child shrinks, his head sinking into his shoulders.

‘Oh no.’

”I did not mean-” he starts, his legs shaking.

“I do not care. I allow you to live and this is the repayment I get?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I do not want your apology,” Army says, raising his hand.

The child tenses, ready for impact.

-

“Come with me,” Army says.

The child obeys, his head down and his footsteps quiet.

“This is important.”

The child follows him, his eyes trailing after the Army’s feet. His feet ache from the shoes too small, and his face itches from the patch.

“Now guard the door.”

The child stands by it, locking it behind their arrival. Kievan Rus faces the wall perpendicular to the door, and he gets a good view of the cloth covering her. She turns toward them, and he avoids her gaze.

“Army?” The Kievan Rus calls, her tone one of surprise.

Army does not respond, instead slowly walking up to the side of her throne.

“Why do you have the child-”

Her talking was cut off with a shriek. That shriek turns into a pained gurgle. The child looks up in time to be soaked with blood.

‘Red.’

‘Red. Everything is red.’

He looks back up to see Army cackling over her. All her blankets lose their color to the blood that spurts out of the slash across her neck.

“Come and help,” Army demands.

The child rushes forward without hesitation and finds himself with a knife in hand.

Her body stills, the look of irritation hiding fear sticks as she stops pushing Army off. Army’s smile gets wider as his flag changes. His hair flashes to black, and his face takes on yellow and white. Her body begins crumbling under the blankets and He slashes at her eyes.

The man cackles. “I am the Russian Empire!”

And when the child tries to wash the blood off his hands, black, white, and yellow meet him.

‘Now I match him.’

Numb disgust settles in his stomach. He swallows it back.

-

The matching does not last long as his new flag is quick to fade in: white with a blue ‘X’. And so did a strange sensation. There is a pull in his mind that he feels the urge to follow. And everywhere it takes him, he finds someone else with the same gold in their eyes that he has.

“Navy!”

“Yes, my Empire?”

“Show me the new personification.”

‘But they disappear after you see them.’

Navy swallows.

“Because I can show you what we do with new personifications.”

Navy nods slowly before pointing in the direction his instincts tell him. His stomach sinks as they walk out to the location. It's an open clearing, and a young child sitting in the center.

‘A little younger than me.’

The Empire chuckles. The child stares up at them with curiosity.

Empire rushes them and they don’t have a chance to get away. He grabs them by the arm and holds a knife in his other hand.

Before Navy can step forward, Empire slashes open the child’s stomach.

Navy swallows back a scream as his eye widens. The child screams and Empire drops the knife and the child. The child only has a moment to scamper back before Empire grabs them again by their intestines. They scream as he yanks them back.

He picks back up his knife and plunges it into their chest. The child takes one last gasp before beginning to crumble. Empire looks down at the pile of clothes with a laugh.

Then he turns and looks at Navy with a grin, his teeth stained with blood.

“Why did you do that?” Navy shouts, his heart racing.

Empire’s expression falls to a flat look.

“Shout at me again and I will do the same to you.”

Navy takes a step back and his breath gets stuck in his throat.

“We kill them to keep our place.” Empire explains, “If any of them survive, they take away what is ours.”

‘Yours,’ Navy internally corrects.

“And this will now be your job.”

“What?” Navy asks, breathless.

“This is now your job,” Empire repeats, “or you won't have a purpose to be here anymore.”

Navy swallows hard.

‘I hope no more of them appear.’

-

Navy hunches, trying to make his height disappear. The clothes he's wearing pulling against him. He flinches.

“Navy!”

“Yes, my Empire?” he answers, his head down.

“Have you dealt with the personification I sent you after?”

“Yes, my Empire,” Navy replies, the acid of the statement sticking to the back of his throat.

He had vowed to himself to be more kind than the Empire had been, but he remembers every face he was required to dispatch.

‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’

-

The next personification he finds is an infant without a flag, wrapped loosely in a blaket.

Tiny hands reach up toward him, and the baby smiles.

He fights back tears, about to feed the baby the sweet, toxic cocktail he’d brought with him. He swallows.

The baby coos.

He drops the bottle, the contents soaking into the dirt. His vision blurs with tears. He drops to his knees, his hands digging into the dirt next to the child. He chokes and his eyepatch is soaked with tears.

The baby grabs one of his fingers, babbling up at him. Their gold eyes wide and innocent. He doesn't let the sobs escape his chest and he gently picks up the baby.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbles, “I can’t do this anymore.”

The baby coos happily.

‘I hope I can hide you well enough. He will kill us both if he finds you.’

The baby smiles, reaching up for his face. He finds himself smiling back.

‘Maybe that would be worth it.’

-

He hides the baby in his jacket.

‘Now to get you home with the others.’

“Where are you going?” A commander demands.

“Home,” Navy snaps, baring his teeth, “leave me to my travels.”

“But you-”

“You do not see anything. Leave me to my travels.”

-

“Navy.”

“My Empire?”

“I hear you have not been dealing with the personifications you find.”

His heart sinks, but he holds a neutral expression.

‘How much does he know?’

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“One of your commanders told me he saw you carrying home a child.”

“He is lying, sir.”

“It is his word against yours,” Empire warns.

“I understand,” Navy replies with an even tone, “he is lying to frame me against you. I stand by my swearing my eternal loyalty to you as my Empire.”

The words are sour in his mouth, but they are easier to say while protecting people, he finds.

‘I will lie as long as I must to keep them safe.’

Empire smirks. “Good.”

The Empire continues to talk, and Navy nods along, his mind elsewhere.

‘I need to get home.’

‘I hope they haven’t caused too much trouble.’

-

“You have been keeping them against my orders!” Empire roars.

Navy sneers, dodging a blade thrown at his face. His back is against the wall and Empire races for his gun.

“I will kill them all!”

Navy lunges, tackling him away from the rack. Empire shrieks.

“You traitor! You will be the first!”

Navy lunges for the discarded knife. Empire grabs his foot and yanks him back.

‘I can’t die here!’

He kicks wildly and shoved his boot in Empire’s mouth. Empire shouts, and Navy hears stomping from the hallway. Empire grabs his boot.

‘Faster. Faster!’

He kicks off his boot and grabs the knife. He tries to push himself up, only to be yanked back to the ground. Empire tries to wrestle the knife from his hands, and his grip loosens.

Then, the cries of his children ring in his ears.

He yanks the blade back, and people slam into the door.

‘That isn't going to hold.’

Empire hops off the ground, bee-lining toward the gun. Navy forces himself to his feet, and pounces. His hand grips the hilt of the blade, and he plunges it into the Empire’s neck.

The Empire’s shriek turns to a familiar gurgle.

Blood soaks his clothes, and he pulls back the knife before burying it into his back. Crimson spatters across his face and creeps up his arms, soaking his jacket

The Empire’s face begins to crack apart, the last look on his face is one of resentment.

And this time, when he tries to wash the blood off, the red doesn’t leave.

He looks at his reflection, and he finds a hammer and sickle burned into his eyepatch and his skin has turned red.

-

“Papa! How come Russia gets a matching flag before I do?!”

~

Table of Contents

#countryhumans #tw child abuse #tw graphic violence #cw gore #tw gore #tw death

[panandinpain0]

Mrs. Wheber

Hello!

Okay, so I have nothing to do so maybe continuing this story will help- or trying to, at least.

If you couldn't tell this is the second part of a story, if you're interested (I'm not offended if you aren't) you can find it here:

Suspicion

Enjoy!

---

Delaynee tried to gather her bearings, panting as she held this large and quite heavy man. Her first instinct was to dart her eyes around outside the office, looking for Mrs. Wheber, or Mary, as she had insisted on being called.

She dragged Hickory backwards into her office, shutting the door with her foot behind them before trying her best to gently set him down on the floor.

After he was on his back, positioned so that the axe handle was pointing towards the ceiling, Delaynee hovered over him.

"Sir-- sir, I need you to stay awake, keep looking at me."

With the little medical training she had (her parents had wanted her to become a nurse before she switched professions) she inspected the wound while also trying to keep the "patient" awake.

"Sir, can you tell me your full name?" Delaynee asked, surprising herself by keeping her voice steady while watching blood gush from under the large blade. That was one of the reasons she changed professions, she couldn't handle blood very well. At least not as fresh as this blood was.

"H... Hick-- Hickory W-Wheber." The man swallowed thickly and continued to gasp for breath as he fought for consciousness.

"Good, Mr. Wheber."

"P-please, call me-" he took in a large breath before continuing, "-call me Hickory. Mr. Wheber is my older brother." He cracked a small smile while meeting and holding Delaynee's eyes. "Or, was, I s-suppose."

"How are you not screaming in pain right now," Delaynee breathed out, staring at him and his wound in awe.

"And yours?"

"My what?" Delaynee asked, caught off-guard as her head shot back to his eyes.

"N-name," he stammered, coughing a bit and letting out a large wince as his shoulder shook.

"Delaynee. Detective Delaynee Harper, at your service and hopefully rescue, Hickory."

"Well, Detecti--"

"No need for formalities, Hickory. You can call me Delaynee." She smiled down at him, and he saw how her eyes shimmered with kindness but also fear. Fear that she wouldn't be able to save him or get someone to save him.

This fear was something Delaynee was unused to. She had always been stubborn and a quick problem solver- leaving little to no room for fear. But now, as this man lay beneath her with teary eyes and an axe in his chest she was losing it.

"Just, stay with me, Hickory. Can you tell me what happened?"

"My sister-in-law, Mary, she came here the other-" he coughed, blood dripping from his lips- "the other day."

"Yes, I remember," Delaynee responded, quickly getting the phone from the wall and dial 911.

"She came back home, all angry-"

"911, what's your emergency?"

"This is Detective Harper, Mary Wheber has put an axe through her brother-in-law, he's currently bleeding out on the floor of my office."

After giving the needed information Delaynee continued with Hickory.

"She came home angry?"

There were sirens in the distance and Hickory's breathing had slowed, his blinks becoming longer.

"She came home angry, because she saw me holding the knife she had used to murder my brother."

To Be Continued...

---

This is a juicy story, but I have no plans for finishing it right now. Maybe in the future I'll pick it back up..

#writer #oc #murder mystery #i'm proud of it #seriously love this

[shiftythrifting]

1. Some fruits with faces

2. A frog that I was so close to getting

3. Many sharp objects (on the ground)

4. Trans vibes

5. A very nice looking doll

6. Another doll (kinda haunted)

7. A very fun toy (lots of hair)

#submission #thrifting #shiftythrifting #frogs #spawn #toys #dolls #military shit #knife wall meet axe floor

[the-faultofdaedalus]

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying. 

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother. 

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

Thyme wakes up in a clearing she recognizes well. Her mother is not there. 

The house she had grown up in is a pile of logs on the ground, destroyed and broken and in disarray, and Thyme is afraid. She calls for her mother, once, twice, and then rolls up her sleeves and begins the trek towards town. 

Her home is not here, she has neither her bow nor her knife, and if she means to figure out what happened she needs supplies. People are always in need of a witch, she knows, and her mother taught her long ago the value of a silver tongue. 

Except.

She walks out of the woods, and the town is... different. Smaller. The mill she knew so fondly, that she used to climb in with the other children of the village, isn’t there. 

There’s no indication it was ever there, and all at once, Thyme realizes what the ritual was for. 

It was a time-spell, and now she is in the past. The house is in ruins because her mother has not repaired it yet, the mill is gone because it has not been built yet. 

She is here, because...

She does not know. 

And now, it is up to her to take care of herself.

She learns the date from the villagers, gets herself a room at the inn and a good hot meal in exchange for looking at the innkeeper’s son, who has been wracked with cough for weeks now, apparently. 

His face is one Thyme knows, one that in her days were covered in wrinkles and laugh-lines, and as she goes back out into the woods to collect the herbs she needs to cure the boy, she thinks.

The boy will take the inn over from his father, and he will always welcome Thyme’s mother in with open arms for saving him when he was a child. Either the story had been wrong, or Thyme has already broken things. 

Thyme does not know which one she fears more.

She waits in the village for a full turn of the moon for her mother to come. She knows that this is when she should have come in to town. She knows that she should show up here, any day. 

The boy’s cough gets better and when it’s gone completely Thyme buys herself a knife at the blacksmith’s and returns to the woods, to the clearing she calls home. Hands on her hips, she surveys the once-cottage, and makes a plan. 

The house takes a long time to build. She buys an axe, makes a bow, and sleeps under the stars while the house is very slowly built back up. Walls, roof, floors, and then a fireplace, big and wide enough to fit a cauldron, built from special bluestone she hauls from a nearby hill one lump at a time, all the better to brew inside. 

Mama, she thinks wryly, you better be grateful for this. 

She hunts for herself, mostly, snares rabbits and shoots down deer, strips them of their skin, treats it and leaves the fur out to dry. They’ll be good blankets, a good winter cloak, someday. She knows what plants she can eat, what plants will be good, and she survives. She builds. 

She does not tell the villagers her name, and they know her only as “the witch.” 

Thyme eventually stops waiting for her mother. She watches herself in the mirror, and aches at how much they look the same. How much she’s turning out like her mother. 

She helps the villagers, occasionally travels further to heal illnesses in other villages, but mostly stays to herself, in the woods, collecting books and herbs and the house grows more and more as she remembers it. Her hair, that used to be so dark, raven’s hair, her mother would say, braiding it back for her before she learned to do it herself, gets shot through with white and goes grey. 

There’s wrinkles on her face that didn’t used to be there. 

Thyme stops waiting, and becomes the witch of the these woods.

And then. 

The King and Queen of these lands show up at her door, and they are holding a baby girl. 

Please, they say, We need a son. Give us a son. 

And Thyme, who now has a scar on her cheek from a branch whipping at her too fast to avoid, who knows that her mother had had the same scar, looks at the baby, meets her eyes, and knows that they are her eyes. 

I’ll give you a son, Thyme tells them, as if through a trance, but the cost will be your daughter.

They agree, as she knew they would, and she makes a boy out of clay and wood and she remembers learning how to make constructs like these with her mother, she breaths life into it and sends it off with the King and Queen and she holds their baby in her arms. 

Black hair. Dark eyes. A quiet baby, who looks up at her with a solemness that Thyme’s not entirely sure babies are supposed to have. 

Hello, little one, Thyme says, holds out her finger for the baby to grasp, feels her voice crack down the centre like a burnt-out log when the infant holds her finger in her chubby little hand. 

She’s a princess. This baby is a princess, and this baby is her, and her mother has never existed. She knows all these things now, but the thing that she knows most strongly is that she will protect this child, and not only because this child is her. 

(It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother telling her, it is alright to take things for yourself. You do not need to give yourself away, remember that.)

She has to build a crib and cradle for the baby, and until it’s finished, until she knows that the birchwood and blanket is as comfortable as it can be, she sleeps with the baby -- with Thyme, her name will be Thyme, and she smiles as she thinks it -- on her chest. 

She goes into the village, walking through the woods as baby Thyme looks at the trees and the plants with wide eyes, brings her to a farmer who has raised three girls, knocks at her door, and says, help me. 

The witch doesn’t know how to care for a child, and she is going to learn. She must learn. 

The farmer helps her gladly, something in her eyes that tells the witch that she misses having children, that however much she loves her girls, grown and adventurous, sun-browned and strong from working the fields with her mother, she misses caring for an infant. 

She learns how to make formula out of goat’s milk, how to burp the baby, how to change and wash her. She learns how to tell why the baby might be crying -- even though baby Thyme rarely cries, prefers to watch the world with her big, dark eyes -- and how to fix what might be wrong. 

She sits with the farmer as Thyme plays with a doll carved from a cow’s bone, and learns how to thresh wheat. 

The farmer never asks where the baby came from, but does remark how alike they look, that Thyme looks just like her mother, and the witch smiles at that. 

Thyme seems to grow quickly, learning to crawl, and then to toddle around while hanging off the furniture, and the witch cries at Thyme’s first, unsteady and unsupported steps, even as she builds high shelves into the rafters of her home so that Thyme won’t end up eating things she shouldn’t.

The witch takes Thyme into the village more and more, first in a bag tucked up close against her chest, and when Thyme grows more, holding her hand as she runs through the woods as fast as her little legs will carry her. Every time Thyme runs off to bring back a flower, the witch feels a surge of fondness she refuses to suppress. 

The mill is built, and the witch watches as Thyme runs off to play with the other village kids, brave and fearless and so, so curious. 

She teaches Thyme her first charm when the girl is eight, and Thyme takes to the craft like she takes to memorizing the names and uses of plants, like she takes to a bow and knife, like she takes to books, exactly as the witch knew she would. 

Sometimes, the witch hates the lie she’s made Thyme into. She agonizes over it, over she should tell the girl her true parentage, should spill this secret like a cut bag of wheat, but--

She does not want Thyme to know that she was traded away so easily. She does not want Thyme to know that to her birth parents, she was worthless. 

She asks, though. Asks, do you want to be like the girls in the books? a princess? and is warmed to the core when Thyme answers no. 

Yes, the witch had known what she had answered. Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her life, her studies, the woods, her home. 

(Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her mother, because the witch loved her mother. She knows this, and still, she asks.)

The witch teaches Thyme how to make constructs, how to animate them, is proud beyond words when on her fifth try, casting over a wood skeleton covered in clay, the shape of a rabbit, the thing shivers to life, and hops over to push it’s nose into Thyme’s outstreached hands, the girl beaming so brightly that the witch thinks the woods might be glowing with it. The rabbit-construct is lumpy, and uneven, it’s movements slow and unnatural, and she has not yet taught Thyme how to cast the illusion spell onto it that will make it look real, and alive, but Thyme looks so happy that the witch nearly, nearly, forgets her guilt at the purpose of this spell.

Thyme grows, first into a teen, skinny and narrow from how she had shot taller like a willow tree, bony and sharp and lean, and into a woman, growing broad from good food and hard work, takes to hiking into the woods for days at a time with only her knife and her bow and a pouch of herbs, returns home with wild hair the witch combs out for her as Thyme tells her of her adventures.

It matters not that the witch knows all of these stories, knows them because she lived them herself, when she was a girl. She listens to her daughter, dragging the comb through her tangled hair, asks about the falls she found, the cliffs, the animals, the herbs, makes sure that Thyme knows that she will be listened to, that she deserves to be listened to. She listens, because she knows that no matter how much Thyme loves going on these adventures, she also loves coming home, and sharing in these simple, cozy moments.

Winter comes. With the cold comes a grief, a guilt, that weighs heavy on the witch’s heart. She begins preparing for the ritual, for the time-spell that will send her daughter backwards and into loneliness and into the position to save herself from what her true parents would force her to become, backwards to learn the truth, backwards to become her.

She knows why she must do this. She has scryed on her construct, the prince, the soon-to-be-king, every moon since she sent him away and took herself in his place. She sees what he has grown into, she sees what the power has done to him, she sees and she knows that she and her daughter would have suffered greatly in that role. She sees him make hard choices.

She sees him go to war.

She sees the illusion she cast over branch and clay bleed. She sees him, bandages around his torso, arm hanging awkwardly by his side, leave the castle, and wade into the lake outside of it’s walls. She sees the clay in the lakebed melt towards him, heal the wounds, make him fit to wield a sword the very next day.

She does not want that. She does not want that for her daughter.

It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother saying to her, remembers saying to her Thyme, bleeding for others is a gift. It is valued, but it is up to you to give it.

Spring comes. Reedy plants are tended into a circle. Summer comes. Fires are burned over the dirt, ash mixed with soil. Fall comes. The heart of a boar is buried under the circle, placed to rest with gentle words. The witch and her daughter, Thyme and Thyme, stand together, hands raised, looking at each other.

The witch whispers, I’m sorry.

And her daughter disappears.

#my writing #original writing #witches #fairy tale #HOLY SHIT I STARTED WRITING THIS A LONG-ASS TIME AGO #anyways. here's thyme.

[cowboyified]

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Sam's sitting in the passenger seat like he doesn't belong. As though the leather isn't worn to his weight. Rigid with his hands sat squarely on his thighs. Dean's been counting the number of times he's made them into fists, fingers clawing at his jeans, tendons sliding over knuckles with how hard he clenches - twenty, thirty, open, closed, it gets dark and he loses count.

Stoplight red over the dash, Sam's soaked in it and Dean can see the blood on his neck from where he’d cut him with the knife, held back against his chest, succubus-strong. It's fairly superficial, Sam had wiped blood away with his hand; there are fingerprints smeared on his skin.

They'd got out of town after a sorry attempt at reconciliation, Sam telling him he didn't mean it, Bobby telling him they had no reason to feel bad and Dean's mouth was sick with sweet from the cola, spat out a quick lie to diffuse an uncomfortable situation. Bandaid solutions; they’re good at those. A relationship wrapped in patch-jobs, duct-taped together, nothing aligned proper since Dean crawled out of his grave.

It's past midnight and his brother doesn't bitch about stopping but his hands shake when laid flat between fists now so Dean picks off the next motel. He's not interested in counting road reflectors to keep his mind from tonguing sore spots either.

Sam seems to come back to himself when they pull up, breathes in deep like he'd forgotten to for the last five hours. 

"I’ve got it,” he says, reanimated, clearing his throat after it comes out croaky. 

Dean keeps her idle, lulled by her rumble under his thighs on the bench, the palm of his hand on the wheel. He waits in a less oppressive silence, rolls down the window to breathe, airs the cabin out in case the stifling mood has clung to the fabric of the roof, sticky like that. 

Sam walks under the periodic lights of the balcony, signs twenty-two with his fingers and points above him, upstairs. Dean puts her into gear and turns her around the bend of the building, parks her in front of the blindingly lit concrete stairs. 

Dean breathes out dragon-smoke - Sam used to call it. Air warm from his body hitting the night air, curling in front of his face. He leans his back to the brick outside their room and waits for the key. His jacket catches on the rough wall as he crosses his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He can hear muted television conversations, the dull sound of a Hollywood gunfight muffled by walls, light spasmodic through the curtains next door where the fabric hasn’t been shut completely. 

Dean has his ears perked for boots hiking stairs but they take their time to arrive and his brother-worry kicks him ungently in the gut. Your responsibility, it reminds him in a snide voice. It shouldn’t take Sam this long to meet him. Dean lifts himself from his lean and is about to hang his torso over the balcony when the creak of the impala’s trunk cuts hauntingly through the dark. 

Sam meets his eyes at the top of the stairs, bag in hand. It’s a split second thing, awkward - guilty even. He turns his full back to Dean as he sidles beside him to fiddle the key in the lock. 

“Get lost, Sammy?”

“Big building,” his brother dismisses, shouldering the door open.

The room is too spacious, Dean notes immediately. One bed, queen, pushed up against the wall, lonely in the space. It’s all wrong, unsettles Dean in a weird way, like he’d forgotten rooms without twins even existed. 

“It’s all they had left,” Sam says, sensing Dean’s imminent crisis. He throws the keys onto the wooden table behind the door, they skid and hit the wall. “I’ll take the couch.” 

Dean eyes the pathetic thing against the window - two seater, barely. The cushions are all frayed, cat-clawed, stains hidden by the dark upholstery.  “Yeah, maybe ten years ago.”

“It’s a pull-out. They said there’s extra blankets in the cupboard.”

Dean purses his lips, displeased but not in a place to argue because less than eight hours ago he had full momentum behind an axe aimed at his brother’s sternum. Sam tosses the cushions haphazardly into the corner, pulls out the mattress with relative ease considering the way its springs scream rusted. The foam is paper thin and Dean winces in sympathy for Sam’s back. 

The heater rattles from where it’s badly bolted into the wall, kicking dust around and stuffing up Dean’s nose. He lays under the heavy mass-produced motel quilt and struggles to sleep. 

He’s got the phantom weight of the axe in his hands, makes a fist around nothing and gets no relief. In the dark, Dean sees his brother’s chest opened up on the floor in perfect clarity. Massacred, if Bobby had been half a second too late. Had Sam been haunted by the what-ifs after he pulled the trigger on the empty cartridge at Roosevelt years ago? Mind-conjured images of Dean’s cranial contents sprayed out like windscreen bugs?

Sam is lit with a thin curtain strip, cut down the middle by the corridor light as he breathes quietly on his front, his hands tucked under the pillow. Split in half down his back, his shirt stretching out over his shoulders. Dean’s overcome with the want to butterfly his hands across his back, watch them move with the proof of his brother’s existence. 

The bed creaks loudly when Dean sinks a knee to it, and Sam turns languidly, reaching for him like he’d expected him to come despite it all. Physical apologies are easier. They can’t get caught up in his throat, they can’t be ruined by ill-chosen words, expressions can’t be misconstrued if it’s dark. 

Dean leans over kisses him and Sam sighs into his mouth, tiredly pulls at Dean’s shirt to get him closer.

He tastes metal on Sam’s tongue and doesn’t place its origin until a few weeks later, when Sam’s crying his name from behind the reinforced metals of the panic room, sweating out demon blood. 

#my words #wincest #sex and violence coda #i have not read over this sorry in advance #thank you mary im sorry its days late! #thank u frauke also for s4 timeline solving

[darling-i-read-it]

Jack Baker

Part 2

RE7 Rewrite Masterlist

Ethan Winters x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: spoilers for re7, violence, injuries, blood, gross rotted stuff, chainsaws, dismemberment

Author’s Note: I believe in Ethan supremacy. I’m playing through the game again in VR cause why not and I was definitely overdue for a good replay. I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: Getting through getting the dog heads and another fight with Jack.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator. Some of these lines are directly from the game so they may sound familiar.

(not my gif)

You and Ethan found a nice secluded room to gather your thoughts before moving on. You scrounged together some bullets and attempted to make sure that you had everything together. It seemed to be some sort of laundry room.

You sat on the counter, letting out a small sigh. Your head was against the wall as you evened your breathing. The adrenaline was still getting to your head. Ethan was standing, pacing back and forth.

“Why did we come here again?”

“Ah Ethan, the question of the goddamn hour,” you muttered. You looked down at the gun in your hand. You felt the weight of it, trying to truly come to terms with the fact that before long, you were going to have to use it again.

“We have to keep going. We have to find Mia.”

“Fuck Mia. If she didn’t leave here in her whole three years then she wants to stay. Plus, it’s not like she was very nice to us either, mister stapled on hand.”

“You sure are testy.”

“Ethan we were just almost murdered like four different times.” He nodded a bit and looked away. For a moment he looked like he was contemplating what to do next. You were too. You could get out of the house and hope for the best but first you would have to go out there again where the family was. Who knew how many of them were around. Who knew if they were like Mia; unstoppable. The idea sent shivers down your spine. You just wanted to go home.

“We have to go out there again if we wanna get anywhere.” Before you could protest Ethan was leaving the room. You weren’t about to let him go on his own so you walked forward, driven by the need in your chest to protect him.

Both of you were quiet as you walked down the hallway back towards the dining room. You kept very close to each other, basically touching as you looked around corners and doorframes.

There was a tap on the window at the end of the hall. You jumped and came face to face with a cop. You put your hand up on the wooded up window, face etched with worry. He pointed a flashlight at your face.

“You have to help us,” you said, worriedly looking behind you.

“Hold on now, back up,” he said, gesturing for you and Ethan to step away from the window. “Now do you two live here? Is this your property?” He looked behind you with his flashlight.

“What? Us? No, no,” Ethan promised. The officer pursed his lips.

“Alright. Now we got several calls about some missing persons lately,” the officer said.

“You don’t understand, we have to get out of here,” you protested.

“Now calm down ma’am.”

“You’re not listening to me. There are crazy people in this house trying to kill us!” you said in a hushed yell.

“Well alright, lemee tell you this. You two don’t exactly look like you’re playing with a full deck yourselves. I’ve seen it before, a couple like you breaking and entering someone else's property to have some privacy-” You threw your hands up in the air. This was useless.

“Are you kidding me?” Ethan asked, hands up on the window again.

“Look, like I said we’ve had several missing persons calls and I can’t rule out that an outsider like yourselves may not be involved.”

“Alright whatever, we’ll tell you whatever you need to know,” Ethan promised. You shook your head.

“He’s not going to help us Ethan,” you muttered.

“Well we have to try!”

“Hey now, miss. You two meet me in the garage, we’ll talk this out further and I’ll help you if you help me,” he said.

“Hey no wait, you have to give us some weapons or something,” Ethan said. You noted that you both still had your guns. Miraculously the Bakers hadn’t taken them away from you. Probably hoped you would stay put.

“You must have lost your mind.”

“Look officer,” Ethan started.

“Deputy.”

“Right, deputy. Do you wanna see our names in the obituaries?” The deputy thought about it and then handed Ethan a knife.

“There are two of us,” you protested.

“I’ve only got one knife. Now go to the garage.” You shook your head, amazed. Useless. Ethan held the knife in his hand and gestured down the hall.

“We may as well go to the garage. You want to get out of here don’t you?” You kept up your face and finally caved, just walking to the garage door. Ethan cut some tape and the two of you lifted it up.

The deputy leaned over the ground, looking at something.

“We need to get out of here,” Ethan said hurriedly. The officer turned around quickly, raising his finger to both of you.

“No first you need to tell me what you’re doing out here in the middle of the night all by yourselves,” he said convictedly.

“Us? What about you?” you asked.

“That’s my job. Now tell me what you’re doing here.” You rolled your eyes.

“I told you Ethan, this is hopeless. He wouldn't believe us if we told him,” you protested. Ethan shook his head a bit and the garage door started to close behind the deputy.

“Try me,” he said. You all looked behind him. “Hey, put that door back up. Put that door back u-”

He was cut off by Jack ramming a shovel through his head, slicing it clean off. You gasped, stumbling backwards in surprise. You reached for your own gun, fumbling in shock. Jack grabbed a large axe that was on one of the shelves.

“Fuck it. Imma kill every one of you,” he said, shaking angrily. You raised your gun, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Ethan ran behind you as you shot every last one of your rounds into Jack’s head. It did nothing but slow him down.

Ethan got into the car in the garage, starting it up. He revved the front into Jack. You stood back and out of the way as Ethan backed up again before hitting the gas even harder. Jack went limp in front of the car but you and Ethan remained on guard.

It didn’t take Jack very long before he was up again but he was quickly stopped by the engine catching on fire. You yelped, grabbing Ethan and dragging him out before you could think anything else. The two of you stumbled back, watching as Jack burned and the car gave a couple more loud blows.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” you said, voice shaking.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The two of you went up a ladder and back into the main part of the house. You grabbed a key type thing that was on the garage shelving and brought it to the complicated door, placing it inside.

It opened up to the main hall of the house.

Ethan made a run for the front door before seeing that there was some sort of mechanism keeping it closed. It didn’t use just a key, it used three types of keys.

“I’m willing to bet they’re scattered around the house,” you muttered, rubbing your head. “How the fuck do they even leave their own house.” Ethan let out a long sigh and turned to you.

“All we have to do is find the three dog heads and then we’re out of this house but who knows what else is out there.” You rolled your eyes.

“Let’s worry about the now. I’d say we should split up but I don't want to be away from you right now.” He nodded.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He looked around. There were two staircases leading up to the top floor. “This place is built like a puzzle. We figure those out, we get the dog heads, we leave.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

=====

You made a decent argument on splitting up but Ethan wasn’t hearing it. The two of you were to experience the whole house together or not at all. You figured that you would be able to find the dog heads in a shorter amount of time if you split up but he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose you like he had lost Mia.

Even the smallest noise would cause him to grab you and put you behind him as though he had more experience than you. You didn’t say anything about it though. He had let Mia go; he couldn’t deal with losing anyone else.

A couple of rooms and weapons later, you found a tape on the upper floor. You didn’t want to watch it. You didn’t need to know what this fucked up family did and recorded. But Ethan thought it might have something to do with the two of you getting out so while you stayed at the door to the room, he put it in the VHS player.

You heard Mia’s voice but didn’t look at her face. You didn’t want to face her. Ethan glanced over at you but kept watching. You held one of the dog heads in your hands. You and Ethan had gotten two out of three. You had just one more before you were out of this part of the hellhouse.

“Ethan, Y/N if you find this I know I can’t expect anything of you not after what happened. Not after what I did. But I just want you to know it wasn’t me.” You rolled your eyes.

“Sure looked like you Mia.” Ethan didn’t look up from the screen.

“I don’t know what happened,” Mia continued. “There’s so much you need to know.”

“There you are! You gave us quite a scare young lady!” Another voice came into the video loudly. Likely the lady you had seen at the dinner table.

“She’s moving through a different house. Come look at it in case we have to go through it.” You let out a sigh but walked over anyway. You stood behind him, eyes glancing back to the door again and again.

Mia tumbled through the house for a couple of minutes. You felt bad but not that bad. No matter what she said, you still blamed her for you being here. She should have known better.

Eventually the woman found her and dragged her away as she yelled for help. Ethan seemed a bit concerned but you shook your head.

“She’s been here three years, I have a hard time thinking this is authentic,” you muttered. Ethan shook his head.

“She needs our help.”

“And she’ll get it, when we get out of here and can call the police.” He let your words sit for a minute and nodded a bit. You were right.

“We have to get that last head. Any idea where it is?” You nodded. You had scribbled down a rough map on a piece of paper and pointed at one of the rooms.

“Here. It’s the only place we haven’t quite looked at yet.” He nodded a bit.

“You think we’re going to run into those goop guys?”

“We probably will. You have many bullets left?”

“Hopefully we’ll find some on the way.”

====

“There.” You pointed at the last dog head. It was sitting on the counter. You and Ethan had just made it past a couple of the mold monsters to get here. The very last one. Ethan reached to grab it but suddenly Jack walked by, grabbing it quickly. Ethan moved his hand back and covered your mouth. You would have usually complained by not with Jack right there.

“I was gonna be her father,” Jack muttered to himself. “Now she says he is her father. And she is her mother...no, no, no, no, no I will find them and I will make them suffer.” Jack walked past the hanging dead cop and through the door. Ethan moved his hand off your mouth. You took a deep breath and gave him a look.

“I could have been quiet on my own,” you muttered.

“It was for my own comfort,” he grumbled. You looked over at him worriedly. He must have known what you had to do. At least a part of him knew. You grabbed his arm and he snapped back to you.

“Whatever it is, we can do it.”

“He does know we’re not Mia’s parents right?” You laughed gently.

“I hope we don’t look that old.” You tugged on his arm. “We need that last dog head. Come on.” Ethan nodded curtly and followed you down the hallway.

You looked around as you entered one of the large rooms. There was a small set of stairs that the two of you walked up. Ethan pushed open the door with the cop inside it.

“Poor guy,” he muttered, looking at the decomposed body.

“Should have given us his gun,” you muttered. Ethan rolled his eyes and the two of you walked forward onto the top floor. There was the dog head. It was tied up in some barbed wire. You grabbed his arm before he could reach for it.

“What?”

“It feels like a tr-” Before you could finish Jack and pushed you over the edge. He grabbed Ethan’s hand and shoved him down as well. Ethan had managed to grab the dog head and it clattered on the ground beside you. You scrambled up as Jack jumped down. He held his axe in both hands, looking rather angry.

“Again?” you muttered. Jack let out a crazy laugh. Ethan shot him in the back of the head, doing nothing but stalling him.

You and Ethan worked like a well oiled machine. The few fights you had been in together had caused you to know a little about what the other person was going to do next. You would shoot and then Ethan would shoot. Jack barely got a second to move but he did get in one swing which caused his axe to break.

He crashed through some fencing to grab some sort of chainsaw thing. Beside it though was an actual chainsaw. Ethan grabbed it, feeling the weight in his hand and then revving it up.

You swapped your handgun for your shotgun and kept Jack in one spot as Ethan used the chainsaw against him. He cut as best he could and after a mere few moments Jack was cut in half.

The top of him pused with some sort of mold and then blew up. The bottom half walked two more steps and then collapsed.

“Do me a favor,” Ethan said between laboured breaths, “and stay dead.” You blew a piece of hair out of your face.

Ethan used the chainsaw to get you out of there, breaking it in the process. He tossed it to the ground. He paused, looking over at you.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “You know that was...kinda hot,” you said, gesturing to the chainsaw. He rolled his eyes but there was a hard blush on his face. You smiled a bit and walked past him, nudging him.

“You didn’t look half bad yourself.”

Ethan grabbed the dog head off the ground and nodded a bit, walking with you out into the main hall.

You placed all three in the door and it opened. You held back the urge to clap. You shook his arm, laughing a bit.

“Nice job Ethan,” you said.

“You too.” You walked through the door and looked around, surveying the yard. There was a trailer, some sort of door and a pathway. You decided to try the trailer. The two of you walked up and inside of it.

You leaned against the trailer door and Ethan sat down on the counter across from you. You stared at each other for a moment. You both had your fair share of scratches and bruising. Ethan barely had two hands. You smiled a bit and put your head on the closed door.

Before either of you could speak the phone. Ethan picked it up. You walked over to him and pressed your face against the phone as well.

“You made it. You’re the first people I’ve seen get this far,” Zoe said.

“So what is it you need us to do? And is it going to help us get out of here?”

“Yes, now listen carefully Ethan. My family and I, our bodies are contaminated. I can’t leave the property until I get it out. The same goes for Mia.” You rolled your eyes.

“Is there a way to get it out?” he asked.

“We need the serum. It should clear whatever this is out of our body. As long as you're not too far gone.”

“Alright, so where is it?” Ethan sounded tired. You didn’t blame him.

“If I knew where one was, I would already be long gone. But I have a feeling that my mother has something hidden out in the old house somewhere.”

“So if we get this thing we can get Mia and get out of here.”

“Right and so can I. The old house is near the water, you can’t miss it.” You and Ethan shared a look. More? “I just hope you can handle my mother.”

“Your mother?” Ethan asked.

“Be careful. They’ll be lookin for you.” She hung up. Ethan put the phone down and you stared at each other for a moment.

“We have to get through this whole family,” you said. “Fucking Mia.” He nodded a bit and moved backward, sitting down on the small bed.

“Let’s just take a minute before we go to get the mother.” You sat down beside him and nodded.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Ethan leaned against the wall and closed his eyes a bit. He felt around for a second and grabbed your hand. He held it gently and you rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb.

Part 3

#ethan winters x reader #re7 rewrite #ethan winters imagines