#made this in an unhinged frenzy i hope it shows through

[pettyprocrastination]

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13th CUTIE <3 thinking abt ur mister incubus ezra and halloween,, how he usually spends that night hopping between bodies to feed from in a frenzy but somehow finds himself only wanting his nun this year. gah. man’s in love

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13TH GORGEOUS. Here is so beloved horny demon ezra on halloween in a MOOD future apologies for any spelling errors I was excited for this one.

It's frustrating to him, really. He feels especially unraveled this year and as he scopes out others, feeling their desire in the air his stomach ties into knots.

It's not enough. It's not right. The words tangled into his mind despite how he tried to will them away.

It's not you.

Just at the thought of you, his mind went fuzzy and everything around him dulled until it was just you. Your smile, your hands running through his air, your lips on his neck panting out his name with your thighs wrapped around him.

Ezra, Ezra, Ezra

"Ezra?"

He blinks, and finally realizes you're right in front of him.

Trees cover you both well, hidden behind the church that he had first found you in. He doesn't remember how or when he got there, only that he had been thinking of you.

"Are you alright?"

Even now, eyes wide and hungry staring down at you, your voice was dipped in concern for the hellion.

He grins. "little lamb, don't you know what night it is?"

You snort and set your hands on your hips. "you mean the night when teen go out smashing mailboxes and toddlers dress up and ask for candy? Why yes, Ezra, I'm very familiar with what tonight is."

Oh, how he loved your bite. The dry words and clipped humor that began to show more and more that he visited you, undressed your soul bit by bit until you weren't afraid to be naked before him, body and mind. Not some sniveling little church mouse he thought you were first. But a woman with desires and free-will could spit hellfire the moment she took off her habit.

"it's all hallows eve." He stepped forward to you, where you stood watching him, curious and amused. "the night when unhinged hellions come out and mingle with the living to pursue earthly pleasures once more."

His nose ran along the slope of your neck, savor the way your pulse jumped under his touch. "hellions like you?"

"i would hope not, I'm not keen on sharing."

It was then, that you noticed his hands were trembling. Slipping under your skirt to touch your thighs with a shaking grasp that worried you.

You pulled his face away from your neck to look at him and found a man half crazed looked back at you. Hair mussed, eyes wild and panting like a dog in heat.

"Ezra, what's-"

"I need you, lamb." Wicked hands spread your legs, wide enough for him to slot himself in between and grind against you. "For give me for my lack of pleasantries but I simply cannot control myself. Not tonight."

Part of you wanted to ask. 'like every other night?' but you knew something was different. He breathed into your neck like a starved man and you were his first meal in years.

His thigh rode up, pressing against your cunt in a way that made you gasp.

"Please-" His mouth dragged against your collar. "I need you. Like a man needs air and the devil needs sin. Give me the word and I will be yours until sunrise."

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging his head up to yours where you looked at him with a smile that would have brought him to his knees. "Oh Ezra-"

Your hands held his face, thumbs rubbing back and forth on his cheeks in a way that made him burn.

"-Aren't you already mine?"

The demon sobbed "Yes, God, yes." as the devout's lips met his in a sacrilegious kiss.

Neither would leave the forest until the next day. Once both fucked their fill, you'd drift off asleep in his arms, basking in the moonlight and the feeling of his head on your chest and arms wrapped around you.

Happy Spooky Day! Send spooky asks!!

#ask #asks #incubus ezra #ezra x reader #its SPOOOoooOOOOOooOOOOky DAY #also apparently HOOOoooOOOOooooRRRRNnnyYYYYYyy DAY #ezra prospect x reader

[leensor]

#wwditsseason3ep10 #i think this scene was SOOO funny and cute x #in my mind nandor made up his test thing on the spot because he is funny #made this in an unhinged frenzy i hope it shows through #digitalart #sketchcomic #comic #wwdits #nandermo #nandor #guillermo #whatwedointheshadows #wwditsfanart

[rreyie]

can I make a request for a reader x connie x jean x sasha fic where reader eats out sasha (or vice versa) and jean and connie are just watching? excited to see what you do with this one 👀

YES YES YES! i’ve been debating doing something like this for a long time but doing sexual stuff with these three could be so much fun :)))

afternoon snack

summary: you eat sasha out while jean and connie watch

warnings: nsfw- voyeurism, exhibitionism, pussy eating, fingering

a/n- hey luvs! this one was a fun one to make but i had no clue how to end it, so i gave this a shot! also this is my first time writing about wlw content, but i tried my best! hope you all like it!! :)))

you had no clue how you ended up here, it just happened.

you, connie, sasha and jean were all hanging out in your bedroom. connie was splayed out in the floor, pillow beneath his head as he read a comic book, jean on a chair sketching something, and you and sasha laying on the bed as you braided her auburn hair.

out of nowhere, your hormones got to you. you pictured yourself between her legs, eating her out as she called out your name like a prayer. your cunt clenched at the thought, feeling a pit grow in your stomach.

so, you started sneaking in some curious touches. around her neck, her waist, even underneath her boobs when you knew for a fact that neither of the men were looking. your fingerpads ever so gently trailed over her clothed abdomen, going a bit lower every time you came back for more.

it was jean who first noticed it- after all, he’s amazingly observant. he could see your hands trailing along her waist, the way sashas mouth was slightly open and the manner in which you looked at her, like it was some well kept secret.

“having fun over there?” he growled. “you don’t have to be all lovey dovey in front of us.”

he tried to act angry, maybe even a little bit disgusted. the last thing he wanted to see were his two girl best friends fucking each other, right?

wrong.

he could feel his pants tighten a bit, cock waking up due to the sudden corrupt thought. quickly, he placed his sketch pad over his crotch, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by you.

your cheeks turned warm at his words, sashas cheeks also turning flush at the statement. your embarrassment soon faded away, seeing the bulge begin to form in his pants.

“hmmm...your little friend down there doesn’t seem to agree with you”, you snickered.

now jean was the one who was red in the face, connie looking up from the comic book to see what the commotion is about.

“the fuck is going on?” he asked.

“sasha and y/n are literally touching each other while we’re in the room.” jean grunted, hoping that his very obvious boner would go away soon.

connies eyes lit up, a smug smile forming across his face.

“okay, okay. i’m sorry if i sound like a pervert but can you guys like... eat each other out?” he asked. “i’ve never seen girls do it, i’m kinda curious.”

“what the fuck connie?” jean asked. “that’s sick-“

“i’ll do it”, sasha says, a growing heat forming in her stomach. “only if y/n agrees though.” she wouldn’t admit to it, but the fact that her two best friends would be watching her give you a little bit of taste turned her on.

you nod. “sure, let’s give these horny fucks something to watch. connie, pull up a chair.”

connie and jean looked at each other with confused faces, but were they going to protest to this? absolutely not. connie hurriedly pulled up a wooden chair with salmon-colored cushions and sat next to jean.

sasha rested her head on the headboard as her hands slid down to her hips and began to remove her pants by the waistband. you helped her out by practically ripping off her shirt, revealing her toned abs and rather large chest that was hidden by her bra.

you could’ve sworn you saw connie drooling while he watched you remove sashas bra, jean beginning to palm himself while you fiddled with the clasp. the white bra fell on the mattress, sashas pale tits now being exposed to everyone in the room.

if connie didn’t have a boner already, he did now. jeans boner only got worse, now feeling the precum trickle out of the head and down his shaft.

sasha pulled off your shirt as you threw it into a random corner of the room, and you discarded your pants along with it. your heat was throbbing at this point, a stain of arousal lining the bottom of your panties.

now you knew sasha was a boob woman, and every single time you showed her your breasts they never failed to amaze her. but this time, she quite literally ripped the bra off of your body with a hunger you’ve never seen in her before. maybe it was the fact that people were watching.

she gave your breast a quick nip before you pushed her against the headboard once again. out of the corner of your eye, jean had a devious grin on his face while connie just gave you two a little smile. both of them were starting to jerk themselves slowly to the sight, both tips red and veins protruding through their shaft. both men had impressive sizes.

now sasha was prettily laid out on the bed, those braids you had made earlier now messy and tangled. you moved your head in between her soft thighs, which she gave you a squeeze with.

you started out by just dipping your tongue in between her folds to collect the juices you had made beforehand. she had a good taste to her, slightly salty and smooth. she tugged at the sheets, letting out a small moan.

you quickly found her clit, inflamed and needy. you gave it a little flick with your tongue.

“oh- more, please...” sasha begged. “need your tongue...”

you looked up from in between her legs, and gave her a pompous smile, your dimples showing along the corners of your mouth. your chin was wetted with her slick, and oh boy was it a sight to see.

without warning, you plunged a finger into her tight hole, sending her hands flying into your locks. sasha moved her hips slightly as you moved it back and forth around her, getting a feel of her soaked walls. she was trying to hard to feel full, but failing miserably.

“nother’ finger”, she gasped. “please- please y/n...”

you stuffed another finger into her greedy hole, just touching on her sweet spot that sat along the bottom. this sent sasha into a frenzy, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, that was now empty with not thoughts except pleasure.

you continued to lap at her soaked cunt, like a little kitten drinking milk from its bowl. though you may have been content at the moment, sasha was becoming continually unhinged at your constant movements.

jean spat on his hand and continued to fist his hungry cock while connie rubbed the tip of his own, spreading more precum along his swollen tip.

sashas thighs began to tremble, you could tell she was nearing the edge. you’d like to tease her, you really would, but now wasn’t the time. you could tell the men were awaiting sashas climax, hoping to cum with her as their fists wrapped tightly around their cocks. their pace was fast, and you needed to hurry things up.

your fingers practically went into overdrive, curling around her sweet spot as she yanked your hair. her tits jiggled ever so slightly as she let out a gasp, followed by a moan that bordered on screaming.

as soon as you knew it, your girlfriend was creaming around your fingers, the milky fluid dripping off of your fingers.

jean and connie hit their climax too, as their white cum spat out of their tips in ropes. connies eyes were rolled to the back of his head, both men were panting as they rode their orgasmic wave out.

“shiiiitt”, jean exaggerated. “that... was fucking hot.” he looked down on his hand and laughed at the load of cum that stained him.

“made me bust a fucking nut too”, connie added in. “what time is it?”

you checked the clock that rested on your nightstand. “bout’ noon. better start heading down to the mess hall.”

sasha seemed to put her clothes on rather quickly, not saying a word to you, or anyone else in the room. you found this questionable, she was normally chatty after sex- telling you what she liked, what she wanted to do next time, all that.

“you’re awfully quiet”, you say to her. “what’s that about?”

sasha sighed. “getting horny makes me hungry, remember?”

you nod. now that you thought about it, sashas appetite skyrocketed after she climaxed. no wonder why she was so quiet.

you four all walk out of the room as if nothing happened, the only mention of what you did came later that night.

“hey, quick suggestion”, jean said. “can we like... do that again? what we did today?”

you and sasha both blurt out a “yeah”, laughter following while you all walked down the hall.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #aot hcs #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #aot smut #snk smut #sasha x reader #sasha braus x reader #sasha braus #jean kirchstein #aot jean #jean kirstein x reader #connie springer x reader #connie springer #aot connie #jean kirstein smut

[grismavessel]

Legends Arceus Spoilers!

So I beat the post game today (nearly got stomped the fuck out by Giratina's ghost moves) and like, I really wish we got to see more of Volo becoming more and more unhinged.

I know its gamefreak and its the best in terms of what we'll get for a character development, but like, you could do so much with it.

Vessel AU ideas! Volo's Character!

So Volo's had a rough life, enough to the point he wants to get rid of it and rebuild it anew, or at least things haven't gone his way.

He prays and devotes everything he has to Arceus, the one true creator of the very matter he stands upon, but it does not answer.

Something else does.

Giratina, for a moment, is able to rip through the fabric of reality due to Volo's intense hatred and loathing, his aura enough to summon just enough strength for Giratina to pass through momentarily.

It gives him the Spooky plate, and there Volo asks a favor. To cause distortions of space and time to bring Arceus forth.

Of course, Arceus being the all-knowing creator, feels the first ripples and springs to action, calling forth a worthy vessel to act in his place and fix it.

When Gris shows up, Volo is very delighted to hear all about what may have lied behind the rift. Of course, his curiosity is only in his own interest, hoping the traitor deity followed through with the plan.

When the frenzied nobles appear and Gris is able to absorb the divine energy, Volo is surprised. A little jealousy that they could handle such divinity in their fragile mortal body. Until Unowns show up, Gris acting strangely towards them and claiming they could speak.

Volo meets with Giratina once again, his jealousy for Gris's lucky fate getting the better of them.

Once Giratina does hear about the stranger with a z-ring of golden light, it leaves Volo behind and enacts its own plan of rebellion.

Volo then finds out that everyone else, Adaman, Irida, and Gris, were being chosen by the divine legendaries to allow them access into their realm of reality. Without him being involved one bit.

He talked and made friends with Gris, all the while thinking why did Arceus, Lord of Lords, choose this imbecile to be a vessel. They didn't even want this amazing gift, the power of the great one themself, rejecting it and trying to pursue their life as a mortal than the demigod Volo would've become if given the chance.

Like, I don't know if I wanna write Volo getting revenge on Gris or if Giratina host swaps, but there's still so much potential for Volo to show his true colors without revealing too much.

Make him use more sarcasm and be passive-aggressive! He's a bitter dude let him be bitter but also put up a fake facade of being nice and helpful.

#game freak let me help write #i can do so much angst #serious though that's why theres fan content we can write it better lmao jk jk #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon #pokemon au #pokeman legends volo #pokemon volo #volo

[megthemewlingquim]

  ❛   i want you. and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twist in my dark soul.   ❜   Bucky gets jealous of someone (Sam maybe) but he doesn't think he deserves the reader bc of his past? Followed by some very sweet smut?

Sugar, Sweetheart, Angel

Summary: Bucky can't help himself when it comes to you — especially when Sam's away with a girl.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: sweet... but not too explicit smut, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, corny poetry about jealousy, Bucky being shy but very, very loving

A/N: Hi, loves! Happy Kinktober. This is my DAY ONE entry. I promise, I will get into more explicit smut as the month goes on.

“Nah, go on, man. Have your fun.”

Mistake Number One.

He feels the regret immediately after the words slip out of his mouth, and it only worsens when he sees Sam go off with a girl — a dame — beside him. She’s beautiful, with chocolate skin and velvet eyes and long, braided hair.

But, in his lonesome state, he turns and sees you.

Dancing to the unrecognizable tune that’s pulsing through everyone at the club, lit up by neon purple, green and blue lights and a smile that literally glows in the dark.

Mistake Number Two. 

Because his eyes don’t leave your figure and his mouth doesn’t open and — of course — his pants have gotten much, much tighter. 

Hope rises within him, but it quickly fades.

You’ve been on Bucky’s mind for ages.

You started out as Sam’s friend, his partner in superhero work. No, you couldn’t fly or move things with your mind or control lightning and thunder, but you could hack into computers and software, and you could actually use a knife well. You met both Sam and Bucky after the war for the world, after he and Sam were dusted and you lost your boyfriend for five years. And of course, with no contact for that long, even if it’s not intentional, a relationship can crack and dissolve.

So you were a hardened, tough wreck, but one that was starting to pick up pieces and put yourself back together. You were starting to learn to love again, and to fight for what you loved and who you loved... which, when you started working with Sam, was only your family.

Bucky was completely awestruck when he saw you for the first time. He was reminded of all of the pretty dames from the 40′s, the ones with shorter hair and cherry red lipstick. You brought him back to his sergeant years....

And when you make eye contact with him for one, split second moment, even before his sergeant years.

And there he is.

The boy who grew up with very overprotective parents. The boy who was scared of growing up, the boy who was so shy around the fifth grade girls. And the sixth grade girls. And so on.

Bucky is transported back to those years, and all he can do is look at you.

You’re free, it seems. You’re liberated, you’re unhinged, as you dance and sway to the tune... which now seems to be a slower, more psychedelic song. (Sam taught him that word. Enter Pink Floyd.) Your arms lift and you look up, absolutely content and so in love with the music and the lights and...

Well, not with him. That’s for sure.

He sighs, going over to sit at a vacant table. It smells of beer, the aftermath of an arm wrestle from whoever sat there last. Lifting a hand up to scratch his stubble, he finally tears his eyes away from you; he does not want to seem creepy.

Mistake Number Three.

Because he does not see you come up to him, sit down on an empty chair beside him.

“See something you like, James?”

He shudders at the use of the name. Not that it’s a bad shudder — it’s just... it sounds lovely coming from your lips.

You must take it as a bad sign, because you look down at your shoes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Sorry, Buck.”

His voice lifts a little. “No, sweetheart, it’s okay.” The term of endearment goes unnoticed by you. He’s used it with you so often, and even the first time you were numb to it. It fell on deaf ears, as it does now. “It’s okay. You can call me that... if you want to.”

He pauses. “I... I did see something I liked, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah?” Now it’s your voice that lifts. “And what was that?”

Either you’re really, really ignorant, or you’re doing it to be a tease and to piss him off. Bucky can’t tell.

“You.”

He says it bluntly. No hiding, no blushing, no nothing. Because he knows that you won’t think anything of it.

Not that you don’t like him back. You absolutely do. It’s just that you’ve been so hardened, so toughened, so numb to the fact that anyone might love you back, and Bucky knows it.

“Hm,” you mumble, “thank you.” It’s as sincere as you can make it sound, which isn’t very.

There’s an uncomfortable pause, one in which you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I want you,” he says, “and the thought of anyone else having you is like a knife twist in my dark soul.”

Every word from Bucky falls from his lips like weights. They drop, then they sit where they land. One lands on your shoe, the others land on the floor. He’s keeping eye contact with you, his gaze intense and... regretful? Introspective? Sincere? Sad?

You blink. And then you laugh.

Not at him, he quickly realizes.

“That’s some Billie Eilish type shit,” you giggle, “but that’s okay. I like her music... but hearing you say it is somehow much more corny.” You break off into more snickers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You do mean the apology.

He’s a little hurt, but he expected it. He accepts the apology wordlessly.

“I’m serious,” he says, and then you shut the hell up. “Completely serious.” He lifts his hand up and points his index finger at you. “You’re the one I want. Not Sam’s dame, not a girl I kissed in a hallway after knowing her for a month seventy years ago and never saw again.”

It’s a little insult to Steve, you remember. But then you remember what Steve actually did, and how he did it, and exactly who he left behind.

So this means something.

“I like you. I want you. And I love you, whether you know it or not.” He stops, leans in close so his lips are less than a centimeter from your ear, whispers the next part: “Whether you’ll accept it or not.”

His breath is hot on your neck, and he takes a warm hand in yours. It’s his flesh hand. Your heart is racing, and you note that Bucky can probably hear it. 

“Buck -” you stammer, “I — I don’t —”

“You don’t have to say yes, sugar,” he says nonchalantly, but with that sincere tone still lingering. “But you have to realize that some people actually do like you. Want you. Love you.”

He pulls back, his face so close to yours it’s almost claustrophobic for you. The tension in the room is overwhelming, and the air is stuffy and hot and you don’t know how to react to any of this.

“I do,” he continues, “even if that son of a bitch didn’t. You’d think that after five years of not seeing you, he’d come rushing back with flowers and chocolates and a weddin’ ring. You’d think that distance would make a relationship stronger, if it’s the right one.”

“He was dead,” you croak.

“So you thought. And what did he do? He left...Tell ya what, sweetheart,” he says, his tone lightening once again. “Why don’t you let me show you how I feel instead of telling you?”

His hand travels up your thigh and stays there.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispers, “and you don’t know how long it’s taken me to actually say it. Because now you’re listening. Now you’re learning. Now, hopefully, you’ll begin to accept it.” He looks down, down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.

Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he looks nervous. He stammers out the beginnings of words, never meeting your eyes. "Er — I don't — I don't deserve you. I really don't. You're an absolute angel compared to me. I've — I've killed people, I've done things that you'd recoil at.... I just hope that you come to realize that I love you. I adore you. And if something happened to you, I'd never forgive myself."

It takes a moment for you to collect your thoughts.

You shove them all aside and kiss him.

It’s gentle, and it’s warm and welcoming and it’s Bucky. He lightly takes a hold of your cheek and pulls you further in. The hand that was once on your thigh is now in your hair, at the very back of your head. His lips are soft, which is strange, because you know he used to bite and pick at them, especially when he was nervous... which was often.

You feel like you’re going to topple off of your chair, but if that happens, you won’t mind, because you have Bucky there to catch you.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he says after pulling back, nudging his head at the exit. “My place.”

All you can do is nod your head.

He cooks you dinner, the gentleman. It’s unexpected... you thought you’d just be a fling for tonight.

It’s chicken caprese - seasoned chicken breast with basil, mozzarella cheese, tomatoes and balsamic vinegar. A classic Italian dish, and a classic date night dish.

If you want to call this a date.

After you’re both done, he does the dishes. You both agree to brush your teeth and rinse with mouthwash.

He’s on you directly afterward, latching his lips onto yours in a frenzy. You ground yourself by gripping onto the bathroom counter with white knuckles. He towers over you now, leaning over you and surrounding you with his seemingly much larger form. You’re a small thing.

“Bed — ” he gasps. “Bed, now, please.”

He picks you up, hands on your ass, and you have no choice to wrap your legs around him and hold on. Somehow, you make your way into a bedroom.

He lays you down as if you could break if handled less carefully, and lays down beside you for a minute, doing nothing but taking in the sight of you all breathless and blushing.

He's never seen you blush before. It's a very pretty sight.

"You know," he says, "I haven't done this in forever: properly made love to a woman. But I want to do it right. I want to make you feel loved, sweetheart."

Loved. Not "good". Loved.

"Bucky, there's really no need." There you go again, denying it. It infuriates him and saddens him, but he only sighs.

"How bout this. How bout you... for an hour or so.. just forget about that sonofabitch that left you. Forget about the denial he gave you. And, just for an hour or two, maybe just try to accept the absolute fact that I want to treat you better than he did. Just because he left doesn't mean that I will."

You don't say anything.

"Do you trust me?" he asks rhetorically. "See, you really shouldn't, but you do. I often think, 'How the hell could anyone trust me?' but I accept that fact because you just do.

"That's how I feel with you. You don't think that people should be able to love you, but they do. I do. And I want to show you that.”

“You did make me dinner,” you say with a light smile, your stone exterior cracking a little.

He nods. “That’s one of the million things I’d do for you.” There’s a split second pause that does not prepare you for what he says next. 

“I’d marry you,” he says. Only then does he kiss you, when you’re too stunned to move. You kiss him back, your grip on him heavy this time. He notices, and he smiles.

Clothes are quickly discarded and hot, fast breaths are all you hear for a while. Bucky latches his lips onto your own lips, your neck, your jaw, wherever they can reach, and his hands do the same. 

But when you’re both naked, taking in the sight of each other, your breathing slows, and you both stop, let time pass before anything continues. He breathes out a question, one of consent, and you say yes.

Soft whispers and touches are what your senses take in. Bucky takes note of your every gasp, every whimper and every moan that you make, and remembers what to do to make you do it again.

For example, you like your left breast fondled more than your right. Your neck is a sensitive spot, especially right below your right earlobe. You really like it when he kisses your palms and your inner wrists. You do not like the idea of cunnilingus, unfortunately for Bucky, though you’ve never actually done it.

“Next time maybe we could try it,” he says.  Next time.

You notice, in a random moment, that he does everything with his flesh hand.

His fingers find your intimate parts, and explore there slowly, spreading your wetness all around and rubbing at your clit in slow circles. You don’t moan until the very end, where you’re almost ready to come. His eyes never leave yours, even when yours leave his in a rush of sudden bliss and a shuddered breath.

“Look at me,” he whispers. “I want to see you. I want to see you come.”

You gasp at that, throwing your head forward and looking at him with a look that can only be described as desperation.

“Come for me,” is all he says, a low whisper laced with lust. You clench around his fingers as you come, whining and gasping, and he touches your forehead with his as you’re lost in that wonderful feeling of ecstasy. He mumbles something under his breath, and your brain registers it a millisecond later:

“’Atta girl.”

At that, another rush of pleasure jolts through you and you shudder and twitch, your body becoming oversensitive. 

He doesn’t let you go down on him. Today, he says, is all about you, and you deserve all the loving he can give you today.

Which means he buries himself inside of you quite quickly, holding onto you with an iron grip. You’re on top of him, looking down at his sweaty, awestruck smile.

This is Bucky’s way of making love with you today: very deep, passionate strokes set to a faster rhythm than you thought he would go, but you don’t mind. In fact, you’re moaning almost as soon as you feel the first thrust, and your hair hangs a little in his face as you let your head fall closer to his. He wraps his arms around your torso, bringing you closer to him. So, his thrusts are more shallow but you can get all close with him.

You moan and sob, the wonderful feeling of warmth in your gut never leaving once but only growing. Bucky himself grunts as he thrusts, emitting a breathy chuckle once in a while when he notices how hard you’re gripping onto him.

There are no words here, only sounds and gestures. Enough words have been said.

Once you’re both satisfied and his seed starts to dry on your breasts, all you do is look at each other.

Two souls, two people, two broken hearts that have begun to mend.

#kinktober #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky angst #bucky fic

[5hining-aus]

Oh Bite Me AU (Vampire!Key X Reader) - Taken

I’M STILL HERE! I haven’t really been able to sit down and write in large amounts lately, but I’m still working on new stuff. This was a request from @taemtertots, sorry for the wait, I hope it’s dramatic enough for you!

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Regardless of what anybody else said, Kim Kibum had always considered himself to be a fairly patient man. Sure, he would get annoyed if something was taking a lot longer than it should, he did only have a set amount of hours that he could leave his home without his skin burning to a crisp after all, but he normally had no problem waiting for things or, to be more accurate to his current situation, people that were important to him.

That being said, a usually punctual person being more than five minutes late without any sort of notice wasn’t exactly normal, was it?

Where are you, Y/N? The vampire thought to himself, tapping his fingers on the table he was waiting at. It wasn’t like his lover to be late meeting him, not without telling him.

Five more minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Once twenty minutes had passed, Kibum began getting more and more worried. Had Y/N forgotten that they were meeting up that night? No, no that was about as likely as Kibum going vegetarian. It was Friday, they always met at the same twenty-four-hour café on Friday. Y/N had even messaged him earlier with the words “see you tonight.” This wasn’t like Y/N at all. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Key all but bolted out of the café, not even bothering to keep his speed at a human level. He didn’t care who saw him, he didn’t care if the whole city knew that he was a vampire, all he cared about at that moment was Y/N.

Without even thinking about where he was going, Key found himself heading towards Y/N’s house, hoping that he’d either find her there safe and sound.

Maybe she fell asleep. Maybe there was an emergency and she messaged me but they didn’t go through. Or maybe she lost her phone.

In the few minutes it took him to reach Y/N’s home, Kibum had come up with about twelve different possible scenarios in which Y/N was safely at home and not in any danger whatsoever. However, all those scenarios were pretty much thrown out the window when Key made his way to Y/N’s front door and noticed that it was ever-so-slightly ajar.

Kibum ran inside the house, thankful that Y/N had given him a permanent invite a few months prior. When he saw the state the house was in, however, his stomach dropped. Tables were knocked over, picture frames lay shattered on the floor, the whole house was in general disarray. However, nothing valuable seemed to be missing. This wasn’t a burglary and, while he’d never admit it, that fact terrified Kibum, especially after he searched the whole house and still didn’t find Y/N.

Key was just about to call the other members of his coven to help him search for Y/N when he noticed something glinting out of the corner of his eye: a ring. Could it be a clue as to where Y/N was?

He picked the ring up and began to inspect it, soon realizing that he had seen it before. The platinum band with a large, teardrop-shaped red diamond was unmistakable. Kibum knew who had taken Y/N, and he was not happy.

Sanguins. They know they’re not supposed to be anywhere near here.

The Sanguins were a coven that was considered to be so bloodthirsty that it bordered on obscenity, even by vampire standards. Though, to be completely honest, they were less of a coven and more of a ragtag gang of miscreants.

Jinki and O/P/N are going to lose it when they find out there were Sanguines in our territory.

Deciding to tell the two elder vampires about this transgression later, Kibum quickly headed towards Sanguin territory. He knew he should’ve called his covenmates for back-up, but there was no time for that. Every second he spent doing nothing was another second that Y/N could’ve been...Well, he didn’t want to think about that.

The Sanguins must’ve figured that Kibum would show up, considering the fact that there was a duo of members waiting for him the second he arrived at their hideout. Though, if their job was to fight him off, then they failed miserably.

Must be newly-turned, Key thought to himself as he slipped through the entrance. My fangs aren’t even fully grown yet and those two were still terrified.

It didn’t take Key very long to find where Y/N was being kept, all he really had to do was follow the trail of vampires waiting to fight him and, eventually, he found himself in a basement. Y/N was there, tied up, a little battered, definitely pissed off,  but very much alive and conscious. However, there were about three Sanguins there as well.

Everything froze for a moment as Kibum and the Sanguins sized each other up. Now, Key was leaving with Y/N no matter what, but he didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of taking on three vampires by himself, so he wasn’t going to push for a fight if they were willing to let him and Y/N leave peacefully.

Like that’d ever happen.

In the blink of an eye, the tense silence broke out into a frenzy. The Sanguines charged at Key who, in turn, met them head-on, with a brief, yet very intense scuffle ensuing. Biting, scratching, punching, it was brutal.

Key had just managed to send the last Sanguine he was fighting off running with his tail between his legs when he got an uneasy feeling. Something was off.

Wait, there were three of them. I only fought two. Where’d the third one go?

Fearing the worst, Kibum spun towards Y/N, who was all the way on the other side of the room. And that was when his worst fears were realized.

No, not Y/N. Please not my Y/N.

One of the Sanguines had somehow slipped past him and was now advancing towards Y/N with his fangs bared, and Key wouldn’t be able to reach them in time to stop it. Sure, vampires were fast, but the Sanguine was only inches from Y/N, the best Key could hope for was to get there before he drained all of Y/N’s blood.

Just as Kibum started running over to fight the last remaining Sanguine off, there was a scream, a scream that definitely didn’t come from Y/N. No, instead it was the Sanguine who had screamed and was slowly backing away, terror in their eyes, while Y/N looked just a bit unhinged.

The other vampire hightailed out of the basement, not even trying to save face, and part of Key wanted to chase after him. However, that part of Key was overpowered by the part that wanted to know how Y/N had made a Sanguine run away from her screaming.

“Y/N,” Key began, kneeling down to untie his lover and check her for any injuries, “what did you do to him?”

“I bit him,” Y/N stated, matter-of-factly.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“You...you what?”

“I panicked, so I bit him. As hard as I could, right on the neck. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan.”

Cue more stunned silence.

“Y/N, you are the strangest and most interesting human I have ever met,” Key said as he finished untieing Y/N and helped her to her feet, lifting her onto his back upon noticing an injury on her left leg.

“I’m going to ignore the part where you called me strange and take that as a compliment,” Y/N responded. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Gladly.”

#SHINee AU #SHINee imagines #SHINee scenarios #SHINee x reader #key x reader #SHINee #kibum #Vampire AU #Oh Bite Me AU

[davidcxrenswet]

“ i just want to hear your voice until i fall asleep … ”

He wasn’t present for most of the removal, and for good reason. If Mariana so much as shrieked or cried out once, he’d fight tooth and nail to stop the whole thing. Sure they had Bryce, a rugged brute, and Kaz the golden boy jock around, but Harvey was taller and quicker, and none of them would be able to hold him down. He’d stop the whole thing and drag Mariana away from there if she cried out for him to do so. So it was imperative he stayed away. He just didn’t get very far with that plan. Harvey had been pacing outside the house where they conducted the exorcism or whatever it was they were doing. He didn’t really know, and frankly he didn’t really care to know. The more details he had, the harder it would have been for him to be away. At the time he had only really understood a couple scattered facts: there was some shard inside Mariana which changed her genetic make up to the point that she needed to literally eat men in order to survive, the longer it was there the more feral she’d get, and that only the Murder Club could get it out of her. He didn’t like that last bit. No matter what, Harvey just didn’t trust that group of delinquents. And at that time he had to trust them with the most important person in his life.

It had nearly driven him mad, to the point where he just couldn’t stay away and finally gave into the urge to run to her. When he barreled down the stairs into the cellar where things were happening, he could only remember a handful of things. Mariana was chained down in the center of the room, her jaw unhinged in an inhuman way revealing rows of deadly sharp fangs. She didn’t look anything like the girl he cuddled up to almost nightly. It was hard to believe the flesh curling above those teeth were the lips he kissed so often. There was nothing recognizable in her frenzied eyes or shrieking voice. It was an image out of his worst nightmares, created from the girl of his dreams. He remembered the way his stomach flopped uncomfortably, the whirl of nausea that gripped him while his heart shattered at the sight. It was horrid and it was frightening and it gutted him to hear her scream like she did. Surely they were failing, there’s no way they could hold back that demonic thing. That’s what he thought, and it was probably true, but then there was a voice calling over the screaming and shouting — a voice Harvey thought may have been Violet Matthews but it had seemed unlikely. After all, none of them really cared if the former junior deputy didn’t survive this B-movie horror show they’d been dragged into — so whoever called out that staying this way could lead to his untimely demise was likely seeking the only trump card they could have against her in the situation.

The next events blurred together to the point where Harvey wasn’t sure exactly when they happened or how long it all took place, but eventually Mariana stopped fighting, and the whole weird ritual thing went on and a shard of glass was ripped out of her abdomen by some invisible force. It all happened so fast that whenever he tried to imagine it, he no longer felt scared of the memory. He was practically numb to it. What he recalled more clearly was Mariana passing out afterwards and everyone huddling close to her, until he’d shouldered past them, making his presence known, and carried her out of there. If any of them tried to protest, he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving her with them after all that — somehow he knew deep down she didn’t want to wake up surrounded by their concerned expressions and probing questions. So he took her away, back to the loft apartment he’d kept above the old church. She was out cold the entire time, and he’d worried momentarily when he’d deposited her on the bed that maybe he shouldn’t have moved her. It was too late, though.

She was there, tucked gently under the covers of his bed after he’d put her in clean clothes, snoozing silently against the pillow. He hadn't fully registered what was going on until Sassy had placed his head on the edge of the bed and whimpered at the girl. “Ssh, quiet buddy,” he hummed to the dog, scratching behind his ears. “She needs some rest.” And boy did she rest. Harvey thought she’d be asleep for maybe five to eight hours, at least the length of a regular sleep. Surely once the sunlight flooded through the skylight she’d be roused awake. He didn’t feel bothered when Sasquatch jumped onto the empty space beside Mariana and curled up to sleep, occasionally poking his head up to observe her in hopes she’d wake. When Harvey pulled a chair next to the bed, popping in one AirPod and pulling up an audiobook to keep himself occupied while he waited, he’d expected to only be sitting there for a few hours.

So when nearly sixteen hours had passed and Mariana was still asleep and he’d had the worst ache in his joints from leaning forward on his elbows and watching her with deeply worried eyes… Harvey just wasn’t sure what was going on. He was beginning to fear the worst: that somehow the exorcism or ritual those stupid kids did put his girlfriend in a coma. He wondered if he should rush her to the hospital but then what would he tell them? “My girlfriend was a man eating demon because someone literally shoved a piece of glass into her stomach but it’s okay some hooligans from school read some Latin out loud and got it out of her but then she passed out and hasn’t woken up in like more than half a day, so I’m not sure what’s wrong but I think she’s at least human again.” Her mother, the hospital nurse, would surely love to hear that ridiculous story about her daughter from a coworker. Before Mariana even woke up, they’d send Harvey to the loony bin and toss out the key.

He was beginning to fear the worst but then it had finally happened — she woke. He imagined that moment a lot when he’d been sitting there, alternating in between listening to Stephen Fry narrating Harry Potter or Weezer crooning alt rock. He imagined the sharp inhale when she woke, the way her eyes would slowly and hazily open, looking around the room and trying to piece together where she was until her gaze landed on her dutiful boyfriend brooding in the chair next to her bed. And he wouldn’t notice her until she’d speak up, her voice soft and tired. And then he would jolt awake and jump to the bed where he’d shower her in soft kisses and practically weep over how happy he was she was okay… the thought went hazy there but he assumed he’d go make her breakfast and she’d walk around feeling totally normal and okay, like a healthy and happy teenage girl just waking up on a lazy Saturday morning. Maybe they’d go for a drive, or head to Marie’s because certainly she’d be ravenous. Normal. He’d suspected she’d wake up normal. What he got was a little different. She definitely seemed tired, and a little disoriented, and when Sassy leaned his massive head over and gently licked her hand and curled into her side, well he suspected she must have been happy to see her two boys first thing waking up after that horrific night. He hoped she was happy. But there was this edge in the air, something that told him that something was off.

This only became apparent in the way Mariana had acted since waking up. She was fatigued, understandably, but she was also quiet and distant. While she seemed mostly physically okay, there was definitely something going on with her, mentally or emotionally, that didn’t seem okay. Harvey tried to figure out how to change whatever was amiss, but as usual Mariana didn’t open up right away to him. She kept herself a bit closed off, kept her feelings mostly concealed. So he’d focused on taking care of her in other more obvious ways. He cooked nutritious meals for her, foods to help her get her strength back, and monitored her hydration, urging her to drink often. He’d hovered by her whenever she got up to move, making sure she didn’t stumble. He’d made sure she was always comfortable, put on her favorite programs to give her something to occupy herself with. He’d even made sure a whole load of his t-shirts was washed and folded, ready for her to swap out since he knew she liked wearing his clothes while lounging about. He’d offered to take her on drives to get some fresh air, let Sassy occupy Harvey’s usual spot on the bed in case she wanted puppy cuddles — just about anything he could think of that would make her happy. But she barely responded to his actions. The only times he thought she really reached out to him were when she wanted to curl up against him. He’d caught her doing that when they slept side by side, Sasquatch banished to his own doggy bed so Harvey didn’t spend another extended period sleeping upright in a chair. They usually spooned when she’d slept over before but when they’d slept next to each other during her recovery Harvey had made it a point to give her space in case she was in any physical pain. But he’d wake up in the middle of the night to her curled up against his side and he’d shift over to wrap his arm around her. He knew when he was being asked to hold her, and he knew it was best to comply.

After a couple days, Harvey began to feel a little useless. Eventually she was tending to her own needs, taking care of feeding herself etc. He still felt that she was distant, and he’d yet to try and broach the topic of what happened. He wasn’t sure if she was ready to talk, and given that she didn’t bring up what happened herself he figured it was going to be some time before she gave any indication she wanted to speak about it. So he bit back the questions, the lingering concern of the after effects. They weren’t back to a normal routine yet, which made him think she wasn’t exactly back to normal herself. And given she didn’t give him any ideas as far as what she needed from him, he was beginning to worry. He recalled that moment she gave in to the shard removal, the suggestion that had been made by one of the Murder Club kids. You’ll hurt Harvey. If that was the thought that clicked with her, that led her to give up her demonic powers… He was beginning to think that maybe the reason she wasn’t opening up to him about what had happened was because deep down she blamed him for it. What if she didn’t want to give it up? She did give them a fight at the end there… What if she regretted giving it up? And if he was the reason she did do that… Did she resent him for it? He hated admitting he was an insecure man, but late at night when he was alone to his thoughts and she felt like she was pulling even further away from him… It was all he could think about. What if she hates me now? Deep down he knew it was a stupid thought, but she wasn’t giving him a reason to think otherwise.

When they laid down the next evening, Harvey carefully moving in closer to her while still maintaining space between them, he’d found he had enough tip toeing around her and to point blank ask her what she wanted from him. So as Mariana settled into her pillow, he turned to look straight at her and abruptly asked, “Do you want me to spoon you?” He watched her brows knit in response to his random outburst and so he continued speaking. “I mean… Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re sleeping against me and I realize when we go to bed I don’t, like, try to hold you or anything. I guess I’m asking if you want me to cuddle with you when we go to bed?” It felt so weird asking for clarification on something that was typically second nature for them. Dragging a hand through his curls, he slid his palm over his face and sighed deeply.

“I just… I don’t know what you need from me right now. Things have been kinda weird and I feel pretty nervous around you and I just… I’m worried I’m not giving you what you need right now. So I need you to tell me what it is that you need me to do, or want me to do to help you through whatever is going on in your head lately. I won’t push or ask you to open up to me if you’re not ready to do so. Even if you’re never ready… it’s fine, I’ll understand but I need you to tell me what I can do for you now to help make things okay again. I feel kinda useless which is fine most of the time but in the case of the girl I love, I - I just want to be able to do something for her. So please just… help me out a little. Give me something.” When she finally said something, Harvey was a bit surprised at what she said. He blinked a couple times before his gaze softened. He’d been an idiot. All this time he’d been working himself up feeling useless and he forgot one very simple fact about their relationship. Companionship. In its simplest form Mariana really just enjoyed his companionship. It took him a bit of time to realize that, pushing himself to the brink of insanity creating overly romantic moments filled with grand gestures when really all he needed to do was just be there and she seemed content.

Cheeks a bit pink with a slight blush, Harvey moved closer to her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his chest, tangling his legs with hers under the covers as he weaved his fingers through her blonde hair. “You want to listen to me?” He asked quietly, awaiting her confirmation. “What should I do? Just say whatever? Tell a story or…?” His nerves were getting the better of him but he swallowed them back and cuddled her closer. She wasn’t asking for much, there was no sense complicating things. She probably just wanted to be held by her boyfriend and listen to his soft voice while she dozed off. How hard could that be? He pressed his lips to her forehead, and smiled when he swore she moved in closer. He could do this for her. He was pretty sure he’d do just about anything for her.

“Okay, I can talk. If that’s what you want, then I’ll just keep talking until you’re fast asleep. I, uh… I was looking at the calendar while cleaning the dishes earlier and I realized something. Prom is coming up. Yeah I started thinking about it, trying to remember where I packed my tux. You know, from things like debut. ‘A gentleman should always have a tuxedo in case the situation calls for it.’ That’s what Margaret used to say. Anyway, I started mentally tallying up the cost of everything. Limo, corsage… Thought that instead of taking you to the motel afterwards like a total cheapskate that we could ditch town and drive to the city and stay at a fancier place for a long weekend. Make a whole trip out of it. Didn’t you tell me that after prom it wasn’t a requirement to go to classes? I think you said that once. Like a year ago… Whoa, we’ve been dating for almost a year now. That’s pretty wild. I think after everything we’ve been through this year, we deserve to run off and ignore everyone for a few days.” He chuckled, “Not that I’m suggesting I should be your date to your Senior Prom. I mean I figured some of the football players and other guys in town will attempt to ask you, and I should at least give them the chance to try. We both know I can do a kickass promposal, but I’m kinda curious what the other kids in town may come up with. Who knows — Maybe one of them will woo you better than me. Then I can spend another prom night in my boxers watching Lord of the Rings. Just know it’d be your loss because I’m a great awkward slow dance partner. And I look good in a tux.”

Smiling, he pulled Mariana practically on top of him, curling both his arms around her and pressing kisses into her hair and onto her face. He wanted to give her some sense of normalcy, something that was a bit more like their usual routine. And cuddles and chaste kisses while he joked about prom and her many suitors seemed like a good start. A reminder that there was still so much to look forward to and that, shard or no shard, she was a gorgeous girl that boys tripped themselves over. She was still that girl that took his, and likely everyone’s, breath away.

“Whatever happens, just promise me this — no truth or dare with random kids you don’t recognize, okay?”

@karolinadeanwrites

#ship: harviana #answered #karolinadeanwrites #I’m sorry this is a mess #some normalverse post shard removal stuff since we talked about it before

[pangolin-404]

Delving into what chapter 2 of Bendy: Rewritten (or just the side scroller AU, as a couple people have called it- still working on a vaguely clever name hh) would be like, where there are choices and reactions! More canon divergence! Things set up and hinted at!

The background music changes. No shame to batim's music, I quite like it, but it can be better. Whenever Sammy's around (carrying the cutout, looking over the band room, giving his ritual spiel) a banjo is added to the bg track. The followers get string instruments, more added depending how many are in the room. The sacrifice room is mainly string instruments

Sammy is somewhat a lost one. He loses his buff rights and is a mix of his pre- and post-update designs. I say somewhat because, while he is skeletal, he drips a lot and doesn't really have feet.

Sammy actually has followers. It can be pieced together from notes and dialogue that he split from the Lost Harbor after a close run in with Bendy permanently mangled his body and converted him to worship. He brought a few other lost ones with him (like, only a dozen but a couple died on the way). They wear Bendy masks, too, yet he's the only one wearing pants (mostly to hold his legs together). He also wears gloves to hold his fingers together, and only takes them off for brief periods to play an instrument before having to put them back on. Bendy left him with a lot of lasting damage

They all look the same and they know it hh

He's a proper prophet figure now that people look up to him. If Henry can find them huddled around a statue in prayer or drawing a ritual circle, they will talk about how much hope he gives them and how kind he is, despite how strict or overly optimistic he can be at times.

The followers' opinion of Henry changes with his behavior. Suggest Sammy is nuts? Say Bendy is evil? Drink too much soup? Break cutouts? They don't like that. Ask to learn more, give them some fresh soup, maybe even draw Bendy for them if Henry comes across fresh paper, and they'll appreciate it.

The cutouts are decorated with soup and candles. Drink a couple cans and the followers won't notice, drink more and they'll be upset, drink them all and they'll get concerned. Ink rats will scuttle out of hiding and can be found licking the empty cans.

Oh yeah you think humans were the only thing the ink affected? No there are ink rats and they scuttle around. Sometimes they become an enemy if multiple melt/fuse together and it's just a Lump Of Rat

"Did you drink the soup?" "No, did you?" "We don't have mouths! We can't eat!" "Who drank all the soup then?" "I don't know, but now there are rats everywhere!"

The whole chapter 2 area is bigger, kind of. Lots more signs of being lived in, with offices turned into little bedrooms and such. The followers are shy, though, and lurk behind locked doors, so finding them is tricky. Signs of life are everywhere but finding the life itself is difficult. Finding ones that talk more than a sentence is even harder.

Sammy is unhinged. Well-meaning, but ultimately mentally...cracked. He claims to have visions he interprets, but it's ambiguous whether they're nightmares/dreams or if Bendy's messing with him. He genuinely believes that Bendy will set them free, and he wants the best for his sheep. He'd be amicable if he wasn't trying to sacrifice Henry.

Instead of pressing the switches to open that first door, Henry had to find a pipe valve. A new "mechanic" of sorts is draining flooded halls. Ink pours down from piped above in an unpassable wall, and one or two valve are needed to shut it off completely.

Remember those notes I mentioned earlier? Well, some found around the music department contain buckets of how the followers see Sammy and their situation in general. They range from "oh hey here's Sammy's favorite tune-" to "note: don't play the organ! D:"

It's possible to find old newspapers and comics. Some of the pictures have been carefully cut out and pasted on the walls in various memorials, ranging from Bendy letting them outside to Sammy being "blessed" by the Ink Demon.

Some of the more petty depictions paint Alice as a jerk. She's an angel, he's a demon, so they're opposites. Since Bendy's so great, she must be awful! Rumors of a cruel Alice in deeper levels are hinted at.

The band room is slightly different. The projector's bulb is burst and there's a sticky note on it saying something about how touching it when you're made of ink is a bad idea, and to fix the projector before Sammy notices. Henry has to find a lightbulb and fix it now before he can turn it on.

The fight after opening the sanctuary affects the followers' opinions. They begin to realize what Sammy has in store for Henry. Killing all the searchers make them either makes them wince or frustrated, depending on their view on him up til that point.

I feel like you could probably click/interact with the banister to look over and it shows a still image of the band room below, and it shows whether or not the projector is fixed/playing and also shows any Bendy cutouts that pop up. I tried to draw that but couldn't get the angle I wanted, so

Sammy's sanctuary is like...just a big ol Bendy shrine. It's also where he sleeps, writes songs to Bendy, and where his banjo is kept. He has a Bendy plush on his bed

The further the chapter goes on, the quieter the followers are to Henry. They're gathering candles and offerings of personal belongings. They might be bittersweet, neutral, or glad to be away from him, depending on Henry's actions.

Jack is important to Sammy. They worked closely together and so they somewhat remember each other. He acts as Sammy's personal treasurer and doesn't let go of anything given to him. The first encounter with Jack is relatively the same, with needing to grab a valve from him. However, instead of holding the valve, it's sitting on the box

Henry's notes in his sketchbook also change depending on his interactions with things. If he annoys the followers and develops a bad relationship with them, he'll treat them like blind fools. If he helps them or is generally nice, he'll sound more sympathetic towards their situation and wish them well.

One is in the infirmary, badly hurt, missing a leg, practically a searcher, and delusional after getting just grazed by Bendy's aura. They believe they've been blessed by his presence, despite falling apart more and more by the hour (Bendy and any ink creature do not go together-). Henry can kill them and put them out of their misery, if he so chooses. The others won't like that.

Whether Henry kills him or not, Jack remembers. Getting items from him in the future becomes harder if he's killed multiple times, until eventually he's downright scared (I'll delve into more detail on the mess that is chapter 3). Befriending him completely later in chapter 3, on the other hand, will make the task easier.

Killing Jack triggers a horror vision. Henry briefly becomes unable to move, visibly distressed and looking around until the vision ends.

Not necessarily the sewers you first encounter him in, but close enough. You know you've entered an area Jack's in if there's a random item on a box that's under a light in an otherwise dim ink-flooded room

He goes through 'stages.' First the valve is on a box. Henry tries to grab it, but Jack (moving through the ink) pushes the box away. The methods of dealing with him is a messy web of cause-and-effect, with chances to crush him, corner the box slowly and steal the valve, it rush at it and cause it to slide off, or snatch his hat and bargain. (It's possible to steal his hat, kill him, and then keep/wear his hat, but why would you do that? Jack would forever loathe Henry and later on Sammy may ask for it back)

Nothing will stop Sammy from knocking Henry out. No matter how kind or cruel Henry is to his followers, Sammy will smack him over the head with a dustpan. He can't run, but the man can be sneaky if he wants to be, lurking through shadows and phasing in and out of the ritual portals.

(Clarification: because it would be a side scroller and the player could see Sammy sneaking up on Henry, instead there's a ritual circle on the wall that he'll jump out of when Henry walks past it.)

The sacrifice room is more of a hallway. The followers are all watching from the sidelines, peering through knocked out walls and over makeshift fenceposts. Candles and other offerings are around Henry. Sammy gives his spiel as always, first starting with a quiet "that face..." whispered mostly to himself but then using his Big Loud Musician Prophet voice to put on a show about how grand the sacrifice will be and how happy Bendy will be. The followers get excited for it.

Messy rendition but you get the picture

Sammy enters the room off to the side and calls for the Ink Demon. Ink leaks from the vents, and his aura is making some of the followers unsteady/weak. They become more restless, and unstable, until the calling reaches its climax (Sammy also sounds out of breath and his voice becomes wet and labored) and Bendy arrives out of sight. Sammy is torn apart, as per usual, though it's a slower, more audible mauling, and drags on through Henry's escape.

Some followers flee into the ink, while one or two are liquidated just by Bendy's aura. Others panic and attack Henry when he breaks free, messed up by Bendy's aura and so they resemble searchers.

Whether or not Henry powers through the onslaught or axes the frenzied followers may alter the number of followers he encounters later on, and (combined with how he'd treated them) how they react to seeing him again. "Oh I kind of remember you" vs "I don't blame you for using the axe" vs "Did you slaughter your way down here, too?"

Like in the updated chapters in game, the you can see ink machine lowering past crates/wood boards

Bendy actually pries himself up out of the ink with effort. Like, hands planted on the ground, lurching up, ink sloughing off of him, generally more detailed for a 2D animation.

Boris time! The boy himself peeks out from behind a wall before stepping out of the shadows

Feel free to send an ask for clarification/more detail about anything- I'm happy to go on more tangents!

#rants #batim au #Bendy: Rewritten #batim but it's a side scroller multiple choice game #but not really a game because i'm not a programmer so i will instead share every single choice and outcome #batim

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 6 – Frankenstein’s Secret

“Goddamn it.”

Frankenstein spat out a contemptuous grumble, stowing away his Dark Spear. His goal was to keep the monster in his grip for 3 minutes, but the stopwatch in his pocket was marked with digits 1 and 13, a record 30 seconds shorter than the previous one.

Despite the shortness of time lapse, the chamber looked utterly disastrous, plastered with dark purple on every corner of its floor, walls, and ceiling. Frankenstein could not help marveling how he was standing on pieces of tiles instead of their particles.

“This is gonna cost me another series of days and nights,” said Frankenstein in a biting tone, looking around the calamity he brought upon the chamber once again.

Ever since the nuclear missile launch by Crombell, there had been several changes Frankenstein met.

First, for example, the number of vacancies in his house at Seoul increased. Second, the name engraved on the nameplate in the Ye Ran chairman’s office is no longer his. Third, the diplomatic relation between Lukedonia and wolfkind is now completely and literally on the bright side.

Yes, quite a lot has changed, but what Frankenstein just forced himself to encounter was the biggest and most noteworthy change. And a bad change.

Unlike before, Frankenstein’s power turned unimaginably unstable. The degree of instability was nothing like before. Now a mere act of summoning the Dark Spear has become, metaphorically, trying to make an ice cube stay perfectly unscathed while slamming down a gigantic hammer onto it in full power.

And the missile launch was the genesis of such catastrophic change. Or rather, it all began the minute Frankenstein felt his bond to his master shattered.

*****

Fifteen days ago, when the bond from his contract with Raizel was destroyed, Frankenstein was tortured by the aftermath of his loss. He felt as if the most fundamental root of his soul was broken down. He felt as if he were a prisoner to the extinction of his entire time and existence. Most of all, he felt as if every biological molecule of his body was detonated, and oh-good-heavens, how it hurt.

It was more than a loss. A mother would have deemed it the death of her child. A patriot would have dubbed it the day his country was eternally conquered. Juliet would have identified it the moment she saw Romeo fallen about her. And it hurt.

His pain burned his entity even when he with the rest of his fellow fighters returned to his home. Which is why the first thing he did upon stepping through his door was to make everyone promise that they will leave him alone for a while, so that he could let his powers screech and shriek and scream in mourning annihilation, in a special chamber under the ground.

His control was totally lost as he roared in the center of a storm of black and purple. The last bit of his sense of responsibility forbid him of pulling out his weapon, but he brandished his dark power so viciously even Gradeus would grovel, begging for his mentorship.

The only time in the past he had ever unleashed his power without restraint was when he lost the tug-of-war against his own power and forfeited his mind.

And he had rather wished he would lose his mind, for the pain was unendurable to handle with his sanity intact. Much to his dismay and heartbreak, his mind was at full function, incising his foundational essence with psychological, emotional, and spiritual trauma.

After whipping up a tempest of maddening woe, he fell asleep into a nightmare.

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

‘...What?’

... .... r.. s.. F....

‘...What’s that noise?’

..F.. f... n....

‘What...? I can’t hear you...’

...Fr... ...tei... n....

‘I said I can’t hear you... It hurts.’

Frankenstein groaned, enveloped by mysterious noises echoing from eerie darkness.

...s.. s...

‘Shut up. I don’t wanna hear you... Just leave me alone.’

...ss... B...

‘Shut. Up. Just leave me alone...’

..ss. Bo...ss...

‘Please!!!!!’

“Boss!!!!!”

Noises resembling cacophony from unfocused radio were outdistanced by a familiar voice, and Frankenstein’s eyes frantically flashed open as if he were electrocuted.

Almost at the same time, his upper body slashed through the air in elevation, only to shrivel due to bone-wrecking pain that hit his whole body like a lightning.

Forcing himself to ignore his joints writhing in complaint as the result of his rampage, Frankenstein turned his eyes towards the source of the voice and ended up staring directly into the eyes of a man with black-hair-studded-with-white-locks. His eyes were trembling in uneasiness as he was kneeled by Frankenstein’s side.  

“...What are you doing here, Tao?”

“W-what do you mean, what am I doing here? I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m bushed, not brainless. And I know same could be said of you. I’m asking how you got in here, ‘cause I do remember sealing the chamber before... Before all this.”

“Uh... Well...”

Tao, instead of answering, directed his gaze beyond his shoulder, onto the door that was nearly dissipated into debris.

That was a cue for Frankenstein to take in the status of the special chamber designed to cloak and stand against Dark Spear’s power. The door was the least damaged component of the chamber, he noticed. Wherever he locked his eyes upon was marred by dark-purple blurs, as if the apocalypse itself dawned upon the room while Frankenstein was in dark frenzy.

“I could feel your power from up there, so I had to come down. What on earth happened here?”

“...I couldn’t help it.”

Frankenstein hoped he would not have to waste his energy talking, but Tao mouthed something incoherent, hinting that he needed to hear more.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Uh... Actually, I’ve been watching you for roughly a minute.”

“...And?”

“That is, I’ve been watching you asleep. Or I think you were asleep. But when you were on the floor... I could see the Dark Spear’s aura rippling from your body.”

Tao then pointed towards the ceiling behind Frankenstein. There was a crevasse huge enough to hold the Eiffel Tower, dripping with purple aura that Frankenstein could identify anywhere, anytime.

“When I walked up to you, you started to mumble something. And that made the Dark Spear’s aura surge and do that. I would’ve thought you were showing off how strong you can be while on your back, if only I hadn’t seen how your eyes were closed, and your breathing was stable.”

Showing off how strong I am on my back? I don’t recollect beating your head that hard during our past trainings. In normal circumstances, Frankenstein would have jokingly retorted as so.

‘I emitted Dark Spear’s power during sleep?’

This was not the first time his control over the Dark Spear slipped during sleep. His past is an archive of numerous attempts and failures in governing the damned weapon.

However, now his failures are history, a record of his efforts in making friends with the Dark Spear. Ever since he honed his mastery of the Spear, he has never lost grip of his reins, regardless of the intensity or numeral degree of souls the Spear has absorbed.

He was aware that this time, out of his loss and pain, he deliberately bombarded the chamber with his power. He even considered throwing away his reasons to turn into a mad dog. Nevertheless, he did not plan at all to actually lose his control. And the level of damage was way beyond his calculation or expectation.

This chamber was repaired and improved at the time when he made a mimicry of Raizel’s seal with the power of the Dark Spear. In consideration of the chances that the Dark Spear will absorb increasingly stronger souls in the course of struggle against the Union, Frankenstein compounded the chamber’s cloaking integration and defense against Dark Spear’s power. Yet the chamber’s door was nearly unhinged, and Tao even picked up his power from dozens of meters above.

“Boss?”

Tao nervously called Frankenstein’s name, his voice now thicker with concern. Frankenstein had to intentionally change the subject, as he detected fear unparallel in Tao’s eyes.

“...What’s keeping the rest of the team?”

“...For some reason, Takio and M-21 suddenly left for school.”

“And Seira? Regis? Rael?”

“T-they left after they told me they’ll be away for a bit. So did Sir Karious. Since they asked me not to look for them for a while, unless it is absolutely necessary, I doubt they’ll be back by the end of the day.”

“Really...? Good.”

“No, it’s not good! Nothing is good! How can you say it’s good when something is obviously wrong with...”

“Yes, it is. Because I have just one person to silence on this matter.”

Tao gaped at him, quietly questioning his words. Frankenstein straightened his face, serious and devoid of fatigue from days of combat.

“I need a favor, Tao.”

Certain that his house will be empty, the next day, with Tao’s assistance, Frankenstein fixed his chamber as his time and resources allowed for an experiment: using a sample of rapidly-working sleep inducer to see if he loses his control over his weapon whenever he falls asleep.

The results from multiple rounds of experiments that therefore took place were neither helpful nor hopeful, for the Dark Spear’s aura leaked every time he was in slumber.

He wished he was mistaken. Or too imaginative. Or too tired and thus delirious. However, the fact that he always woke up to find Tao (who was in charge of injecting him with rapidly-working awakening drug before things got out of hand) wearing apprehension matching his own killed his hope.

“Maybe... Maybe this is because the Dark Spear absorbed the Blood Stone Crombell was using, at the end of your last battle with Crombell.”

And a hypothesis Tao offered to bring about a change in the atmosphere slaughtered his hope.

Frankenstein cursed the Blood Stone and its copies, as they were the direct or indirect cause of pain and damage for his master and those he held in his heart. But now the abominable stone was part of the Dark Spear – part of him.

The second the terrible realization swept through him, Frankenstein was urged to rip his own skin off his body out of self-abhorrence that exploded like a volcano.

And that was the reason why Frankenstein decided to leave Korea after Raizel’s return. The main reason, of course, was to discover the secret behind Raizel’s return as well as reinvigoration: to find out how in the world the Noblesse managed to not only rise from death but also become healthier than before.

On the other hand, he wanted to secretly resolve his secret. He wanted to separate pieces of the Blood Stone from Dark Spear in one way or another. And in the meantime, he wanted to somehow stabilize his power back to normal.

Hence he had to stay awake with his wolfsbane tonic, in order to prevent himself from discharging Dark Spear’s aura in sleep and to find command over the Blood Stone stuck in his weapon.

‘And here I am, not making progress at all. God, this thing would trash harder and harder whenever I pull it out.’

Sighing heavily, Frankenstein fell to the floor as he was engrossed in thoughts, speculating for how long would he be able to keep his secret a secret when he is now entrusted with Muzaka’s favor.

Until very recently, he has been wary only of his master. Although there is a link between their minds based on their contract, Raizel respected him. He would never inspect his loyal servant’s mind even if he wants to. In other words, his master would be unaware of his distress as long as he is careful. And since he happens to be away from Raizel, technically there is not a chance of getting caught in action by the Noblesse.

In fact, the greatest threat for him as of now is the secret agent Muzaka dispatched for him.

So far Lunark has noted nothing. But there is no guarantee he can keep it that way, especially when that afternoon he could see how attentive and observant she is. And much more interested in him than he had wanted.

‘Hang on. Want? Want what?’

Startled by his own thought, he soon reprimanded himself.

‘What could you possibly want from her, Frankenstein? She may not be an enemy any longer, but she is still the one to be most wary of.’

Pushing back the bitter ache somewhere in his body that rose out of unknown reason, Frankenstein calmed his breathing.

He was already plagued with tons of worries, but he knew what he had to do – get rid of his secret as fast as he can, without letting Lunark learn what is occupying his mind and soul.

‘I should borrow Tao’s hand if I have to. He is the only one who shares my secret.’

As soon as he recalled Tao’s name for once, the three initial members of the RK whom Frankenstein had left behind in Korea popped up in his mind.

‘Which reminds me, I wonder how they are doing with their duties.’

(next chapter)

Yes, this is the reason why Frankenstein had to leave Korea (at least in my fic) in addition to his new quest in discovering the secret behind Rai’s miraculous return to life, which will surely be discussed in this fic later on.

I figured it wouldn’t be so bad to decide that Frankenstein’s Dark Spear (hence his power) got unstable because of the Blood Stone that Crombell used before his demise. In fact, in the last episode of Noblesse Frankie did mention that Dark Spear will be unstable for a while because it absorbed Crombell and his Blood Stone.

Next up, we’ll be revisiting Korea to take a look at a couple familiar faces, one of whom will be an unexpected character long forgotten. :)

#fanfic #korean webcomic #korean webtoon #noblesse #frankenstein #lunark #frankensteinxlunark #wolfsbane

[returnofdedsec]

I played Borderlands 3

Finally played borderlands 3. Beat the campaign as FL4K in less than a week. In a few different ways, it both delighted me and disappointed me. Spoilers galore, read at your own risk. Also this is all my own opinion, what would/is/could be better/changed is all based on my own likes, dislikes, and general feelings about the game.

1.  the villains - the Calypso twins are my type of antagonists. People who think they're hot shit, who think they're untouchable, who's pride and vanity are as big as a star. They use their charm and their talent to get what they want, and when that doesn't work they turn to violence and kill everyone who gets in their way. But that's ALL they are. They're vain, and self - absorbed, and have no loyalty to each other, which COULD be an interesting plotpoint, if Borderlands ever played on it.

Troy and Tyreen are twins, born conjoined, and Troy is referenced as always being sick in his childhood. Tyreen is obviously the dominant twin, and while the relationship between two siblings is unique, the way their siblingship was explored was miniscule and narrow. It was obvious Troy had some sort of resentment towards Tyreen, because he needed her Siren powers to live (Whether men can become corrupted and weak under the power of a Siren, or if Troy simply was a piece of Tyreen that needed to be joined to her to survive is still under debate in my eyes,) but his resentment towards her is hinted at maybe. Once. Twice, probably, but that was really only shown after he absorbs Maya.

They hint at Troy maybe, MAYBE, betraying Tyreen, or at least causing their ultimate downfall because of his newfound Siren powers. Never happens. Why? Who knows.

They feel more like business partners than siblings, their relationship so watery. If Tyreen is so powerful, and Troy so miniscule in her eyes, it makes no sense for her to keep him around. Troy needs Tyreen, Tyreen doesn’t need Troy. What keeps him around? A bond between twins? It doesn’t make much sense.

If I were Gearbox, I would’ve really ramped up a sibling rivalry. Have Troy go just off the deep end with his new powers, butting heads with Tyreen full throttle, and having that rivalry dynamic utterly destroy them as they become Gods and turn the universe into their personal battleground. OR I would’ve made them so close, they really only have each other to rely on. I wanted to see Troy and Tyreen be ride or die, like a lot of siblings were. When Troy died, I was hoping for SOME real emotion from Tyreen, but found none. There was no venom, no real regret or sorrow, and even with Tyreen being a sociopath who steps on everyone who gets in her way, she didn’t even show a moment of triumph as she leeched his power away and opened the Great Vault.

I was hoping to see some venom from Tyreen, a real sociopath on the same caliber as Handsome Jack, or an unhinged and violent Troy, who dotes on his twin sister and knows his place as her weaker half. Their performances, while really fun and entertaining, only showed the evil, annoying Calypso twins. We see a bit of Troy’s assholeish-ness when he’s holding Elpis, but there was nothing really else to their performances.

TLDR; Calypso twins, while fun antagonists, left a lot lacking.

2. Sirens - There were a lot of things I didn’t expect when it came to the Sirens in BL3, and what I didn’t expect the most was Tannis becoming one. So it leaves me to two conclusions. One, when Sirens die, their powers are transferred to another person, basically just transferring that power to another woman upon death, which means theres a very slim ability pool for Sirens. Or, two, Tannis somehow leeched the power from Angel’s body to herself. Either way, I think it constrains the powers of Sirens, and keeps it in such a small funnel, when Sirens could exist anywhere within the galaxy. To have a character who was, before, just human, and turn her into a Siren, is such a weird choice. I fully believe Sirens can willingly give away their gift to someone of their choosing (Maya and Ava,) but having a character like TANNIS become a Siren is…..ridiculous. It felt like they had a wheel of female characters, and spun it and when the dial hit Tannis they went “Alright, that’s fine.”

I love Tannis. Even her weird, pseudo-sexual self from the Commander Lilith DLC, I love her. But having Tannis as another Siren, especially when she is like a full-fledged Siren with already established abilities from such an iconic character like Angel, is so….ODD. Tannis worked better as just a weird scientist, and having her as a Siren dilutes what was a unique character. And then there was the issue of Tannis having Angel’s abilities, and not an ability unique to her. It felt like they didn’t know what powers to give Tannis, so they just spun a wheel and shoehorned in Angel’s power.

If I were Gearbox, I would’ve played more on an Angel AI. In the Commander Lilith DLC, in the prototype Angel AI Core, Tannis asks you to download the information on Angel, and you see a glimpse of Angel’s eyes on the download console that flickers into view. This leads a logical conclusion of two things, in my opinion. One, that Tannis downloaded an ACTUAL Angel AI constructed from ECHO recordings, and revealed that at Carnivora. Or, two, Tannis built her own Siren technology in the form of a weapon or personal exoskeleton. It was odd that Tannis somehow either recieved Angel’s powers after her death through the universe, or they somehow transferred to her as she downloaded and recieved the data from Angel (because Angel’s whole deal was her being able to hack into and control machinery and electronics, so Tannis recieving the powers that way isn’t so far-fetched.)

TLDR; Odd choices with the Sirens all around

3. Gameplay - As always, Borderlands 3 was as fun and frenzied as I expected. I played FL4K, and did a Mr. Chew run using only the perks in that skill tree. I don’t know if it was the build I was using, or what, but Borderlands 3 felt much more chaotic and fast-paced than any of the previous BLands games, and I gave most of the Vault Hunters throughout every game a full/partial run. I found myself on the edge of my seat, and swerving with FL4K as I ran them through an area and sent an irradiated Mr. Chew out and using Torgue shotguns and sliding arounnd. It was a lot of fun, and I’m definitely gonna do other runs where I use the Meat Thief (Jabber) and Baroness (Spiderant) builds, as well as trying out every other Vault Hunter. The loot was great, and as always with a Borderlands game, I never felt like I was grinding out to beat a boss or farm for better loot. I barely did any sidequests my first run, and I never felt under - powered as I faced bosses and enemies.

It was also a welcome sight to see things like: Small enemies spawning during boss battles so you can Second Wind yourself, friendly NPCs fighting by your side so during certain parts you have a partner to revive and help you, and (I don’t know if anyone else is a collectible hunter like myself,) plenty of collectibles that immerse you in the lore of the game. The customization options were plenty fun, as well as the meaty voice acting from the current BL3 VH’s, which (in my opinion) made already charming characters more charming.

The characters, both old and new, were fantastic. For the most part, nothing has changed so drastically that there’s a giant divide between characters across games (Besides a few exceptions.) We don’t see all of the previous Vault Hunters, but the ones we do see are crafted lovingly and I loved seeing them (despites all the bullshit that happens.) For other NPCS, vital or not, I loved their personalities, loved their designs, and even the smallest NPCs dug themselves a little crevice in my heart :) Also loved the amount of LBGT characters in the game (Zane is pansexual, Lorelei is trans, FL4K is nonbinary, Hammerlock and Wainwright Jakobs are gay and in a relationship, as well as the return of Moxxi and Ellie, who i believe are both bisexual.)

TLDR; Borderlands 3 is fun and fast - paced, give it a shot and you will like it :)

All and all, this is a true - to - the - bones Borderlands game. Nothing has changed much from the other games, it’s the long - awaited third game to a beloved storyline! However, some of the story falls short, and certain parts I can’t help but be disappointed by (Not to mention during my run I ran into a number of bugs, such as NPCs getting stuck on doorways, or enemies clipping into the environment, or my bullets/melee hits not connecting despite me being RIGHT up in their business.) However, with all of the hype that followed BL3, I think it was near impossible to expect it to exceed the popularity that BL2 and TPS collected and the fans it amassed.

TLDR; BL3 is a bit flawed, a bit weird in places, but out of everything, it is crazy fun that will keep you coming back to it, again and again.

#izt #Borderlands 3 #Borderlands 3 spoilers #bl3 spoilers #long post

[tuneoftyourdeath]

So I wanted to show people this

I wrote this story some while ago and never really showed it to anyone, but I’m somewhat proud of it. I miss writing so much and I guess I still cling onto the old stuff I’ve written BUT ANYWAY I hope you (whoever is reading this) enjoy it!!

A Report of Time 

By mightytime.

      I’ve always been impressed with the abstraction with which people define me. The use me, make the most of me, throw me away, and some don’t even know what to do with me. I can go by faster or slower; therefore, they keep on trying to keep me organised. Pathetic. For some, I’m the most precious thing in the world; for others, I’m just a heartless bastard weighing on the shoulders. But not this fellow in particular, whose story I’m about to tell you. This one simply couldn’t make up his mind.    

      John was his name. Not very tall, not very rich, not very lucky, not very much of anything, really. He lived in London, God Save the Queen!; and despite looking like an ordinary man, worried about the weather, the traffic, the bath temperature; only two things took hold of his thoughts: Alice and me.    

      Each minute of each day he thought of us two, his thinking about her entwined with his thinking about me. It’s a funny thing, I’d say. It had been quite a while they hadn’t seen each other, John and Alice; they met at school years ago when I was still an ally and my permanence didn’t seem to interfere. Naivety, I’d say; allowing yourself into such substantial feeling, regardless of the damage that my prolonged stay might cause, is one of the sweetest innocences I’ve ever encountered.    

      She was, humbly saying, what you’d imagine an angel looks like: Beautiful, generous, caring, delicate and strong at the same time, clever and cautious, capable of making any lad fall head over heels, and specially John. He felt lucky. “How come me?” he thought; “Why me? Why the shy, unnoticed, so messed up me?” Maybe she was just as misunderstood as him, or maybe she regarded a sense of wholesomeness in him that fit perfectly into whatever was missing in her life. It doesn’t really matter, what only did matter was that they must have found something in each other that made my presence insignificant, till then, the war.    

      John had been sent to war, Vietnam. He had left Alice in tears but he had no choice. Two years in combat had been inflicted to him and it was the best offer he got, believe it or not. There was a goodbye party, friends, drinks, lots of speeches and hugs. And as before the altar and God himself, Alice and John promised themselves to each other for as long as they were apart. The makeshift wedding ring, a brooch that was gently threaded upon Alice’s coat, vouched for their hasty, yet true, vow.    

      Bombs, chaos, unceasing firing and fear. John had never seen anything like it; he’d never been capable of imagining how far the eyes could behold such horror. I’ve seen worse, in all my raging unstoppable existence, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t turn my guts or makes me sickly miserable; but to him it was immeasurably worse; to bare it all, the sweet tender John; and I must admit that my having been there didn’t help him very much.  

      John counted me, constantly thinking and avoiding thinking about me. He couldn’t decide whether to ignore me or if to just endure my lingering about would make it hurt less. Which somewhat made me upset, because it’s not nice at all to know you’re part of someone’s suffering.   

      In spite of always mailing letters to each other during their separation, as to help with coping, he had been yearning acutely to see her again since the day he left. In his words, he’d put it the same way: “Still alive, still for you”. And every night he used to sit on the edge of his bed, looking at the brooch, flipping it through his fingers, imagining her smile and the soft warm touch of her lips pressing onto his once again.    

      Given that I never, and could never, stop, he eventually came back home, thank The Lord. He had a rendezvous with Alice in a nice charming restaurant downtown London. He could just picture it: She would walk in through the double doors and ask the waiter for John, but no answer would be necessary, because before the waiter could even conclude his sentence, Alice’s eyes would meet John’s. She would then rush to his arms, and dive into his embrace; finding in it again the ease and reassurance of John’s clasp; and like in a movie, they would kiss as if it were the last time.    

      It was around midday and John was already there. He had bought her flowers. Daisies; her favourites. Even forgot to throw the receipt away, so it was still in his pocket, staining his pound notes. He was dressed up in a military uniform, sharp, and even had a dog tag tangling down his bruised neck. Was he trying to prove something to himself, to make up for the war frenzy, or was it just pride? Go figure... And again, he insisted upon thinking of me, awful things really; that I was stalling Alice’s arrival; that I had some sort of problem with him. Not fair, for neither John, nor me. They say I can drive people quite unhinged, and there are a few times I do believe that, the way they derange themselves around me.    

      By the table, John was a grenade with its pin pulled off. He would explode at any moment. Affliction took hold of his senses. At the table behind him, an old lady tried to convince her husband that The Bahamas were the best place to spend this holiday season. A bit ahead, a mother was hopelessly trying  to make her fretful baby stop crying. To his left, two parents were telling their daughter off for getting home late the night before.  

      There was a silent nervous breakdown. The shrieking sound coming from the coffee machine when filling another cup hit his ears the same way a bullet does when it grazes the scalp. Each piece of cutlery dropped onto the floor made him shiver; they reminded him of a projectile brushing the surface of his helmet. The yelled words between waiters and cooks were as unclear as those between soldiers and their commanders resonating midst the disarray of bloodshed.     

      He was back in the battle field, sifting through in his head, instructions he had received whilst in training, searching for an evasive manoeuvre: In case of running out of ammunition, check the bottle temperature before giving it to the baby. No, wait. If an air raid menaces, then we won’t have to buy any presents this year. What? What was it again? “AH!! LOOK FOR SHELTER!! “But dad I’m already fifteen!” “AH!! HELP US!!” 

      He couldn’t bring himself to hearing himself think with so much going on around. Praying for the mayhem to cease at once, he glared at his watch, that stupid little thing people use to... how is it again? Oh, right, measure me. He swore he could hear me laughing at him through it. And how heavy it was, it trapped and squeezed him like a handcuff, straining him away from his girl... 

      ...his girl.     

      Suddenly it all went mute; John could only but hear his heavy breathing when his gaze fell upon her visage. There she was, waiting across the street for the lights to go green, distracted, almost ditsy-like; and staring wistfully at a piece of paper in her hands. Alice looked beautiful, gorgeous, flaring; the breath-taking usual Alice. She’d had her hair cut, and a locket was perfectly visible around her neck. The sun reflected vividly on her golden locks, aiming straight at John’s astounded eyes, who had broken free from the trance he was deep plunged into and was now moving towards the door.    

      Stepping out onto the pavement, he tried to come up with what to say to Alice, but there were no words to express what he felt, what he had been feeling, how bad he missed her. His feet led him while he crossed the street.  “That’s odd”, he thought, “Why haven’t you seen me yet? I mean, I’m right in front of you, and the lights are already green! Why are you still looking at that silly piece of paper? What on earth is it!?” And then he saw. It was a picture he had given her before going away, so she could remember what he looked like, in case she’d come to forget it.    

        She looked over, her distracted feature was instantly undone into such a smile I swear, not even I could ever forget it. John stuffed his lungs with air: 

      - Alice! I…    

      He was swept off his feet as his legs were disassembled by a sudden bumper, tossing him away, making him soar in the air like a leaf adrift in autumn. Alice was speechless for a moment, and I must admit, so was I. People who were passing by turned at the scene. Some were shocked, some disgusted, some dismayed; but they all felt sorry for the dead man and the sobbing girl who lied hunched forward on what was left of him.  John’s soul, and then of course, his body, was withdrawn amongst the cars, that opted to just swerve the mournful scene, rather than to properly stop and demonstrate a shred of respect for our unfortunate lovers. All because they couldn’t wait; apparently, they were also worried about me...

...but that’s never done any good to anyone, has it? 

Well that’s about it, folks! :)

#story #originalstory #shortstory #chronical #1960s #lovestory #time #war #love #fiction #:) #lightreading #dreaming #distance #longing

[haesungchan]

Feel now, Fear none|01

BTS x NCT MULTI-CHAPTER GANG AU

                                Bangtan are kings, but what happens                    when another group comes to take their crown?

→Chapter One: |01/?| Taehyung in first person point of view & Namjoon in third person point of view. Taehyung’s part takes place in the present, Namjoon’s in the past. →Characters in Chapter One: Kim Namjoon (Joon), Kim Seokjin (Jin), Min Yoongi (Suga), Jung Hoseok (Hobi), Park Jimin (Jimin), Kim Taehyung(V) and Jeon Jungkook (Kook) →Word Count: 3,175

→Summary: Bangtan are at the top of their crime game: the public fear them, other gangs want to be them, and to some members, it’s only the beginning. When a new gang comes into play, and new secrets come to light, Bangtan find it difficult to keep everything from unraveling. →Warnings: Violence/Language •Chapter Two will be told from NCT’s Win Win, Jaehyun and Mark’s perspective.

|V| • The Present

   I can’t feel any fear here. Far out into the countryside, my bravery takes its first breath. Now, I can move forward without looking back.

     There’s a place I used to go to in my head when I was a child. It’s a place where I was protected, a place where I could be free. The sky is so blue you can’t capture the beauty in a single photograph. The grass is soft and when I lie down, it wraps its blades around me and holds me tightly. I close my eyes and I can see the path home behind my eyelids.

 All is well until I remember who I am and what I have done. Fear drives his knife straight through my heart and he twists up until the blood is on just more than my hands. I can’t forget him.

 I come here often to clear my thoughts. The calmness soothes me. I don’t have to be anyone. I don’t have to hear my name spat out of anyone’s mouth like a swear word. When my family dreamed the best for me, I don’t think this is what they saw. Still, I arrive in the middle of nowhere and beg the skies for their forgiveness.

 The tree stump hurts my back, but I welcome the lack of comfort.  I roll my head around my neck and lean back so my chin is tilted towards the sky. I hope he can see me. I hope he can hear my apology loudly enough.

   The seven of us thought we were invincible. When one man’s stupidity shows itself, the rest will follow.  A group of men on fire knows not how to save itself. There was nothing left but to burn.  Life unfolded in unfortunate circumstances, but we can only blame ourselves.

                                              __________________ |Joon| •  The Past   He felt like a king walking through battle. The sea of men parted to let him pass, fists narrowly avoiding him, but all parts wanting a kiss from his skin. His long legs carried him to the center where he could see all of his gang like spokes on a wagon wheel. He turned slowly in circles to get a better look at them all. There was a warmness spreading across his chest at the sight of them.

  Hobi, his left hand man and closest friend, was cornered by two rival men Joon had never seen before. Each of the men had smiles on their faces extended from ear-to-ear. The cockiness they exuded surprised Joon, but only because they had no idea who they were dealing with. It wasn’t necessarily that Hobi was a skilled fighter. He was average at best, but he was full of bloodlust. 

“Hobi,” Namjoon yelled across the crowd.  “Go easy on them. They’re new.”

  Joon locked eyes with Hobi through the crowd and he knew that he would never be able to control his friend. It was something he had long since accepted.

  “Just like old times, Namjoon, yeah?” Hobi said.

  The excitement in Hobi’s eyes shined brighter than any sun. He untucked his shirt from his pants to move more comfortably. When his first fist cracked at the jaw of one of the men, Joon looked away. He thirsted for the violence, but there were parts of it he couldn’t swallow.

  Directly in front of Joon’s line of sight stood Jimin. His lip was cut and swollen and in his hands he held a wooden bat. Jimin threw the bat down at his leader’s feet and backed away into the crowd, his eyes never leaving Joon’s.

  V picked up the bat, ran his fingers underneath Joon’s chin and charged into the crowd, hitting whomever was in his path. The crack of wood on bone reverberated around the quarry. When Joon looked back up, Jimin was gone.

  He took Jimin and V under his wing around the same time. Back then, Joon would have guessed that Jimin would be the obedient one. He was too kind, too caring, too nice, too eager to please. When he was sad, he had these puppy dog eyes that made Joon cave, which wasn’t always his best decision as their leader. He couldn’t help it. There was something about Jimin that made Joon second guess himself.

     Although there was a soft spot for Jimin, there was something about him lately that got underneath Joon’s skin. Jimin was rebelling. He was undoing all of the work he and the others had put in for the last few years. He talked back too much and he was going outside of the gang for comfort and friendship. Something had to be done, but Joon wasn’t sure what exactly.

  On the other hand, there was V.  Out of all his men, V was the most loyal. In a way, he was like a soldier for Joon. Emotionless and robotic, V moved through the world like he was ready for anything. Sometimes, Joon wished he could be more like that : detached, strong.

  V’s holler came from somewhere to Joon’s left. Joon walked towards it, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. What he found was Jin helping V regain his footing. Jin nodded in Joon’s direction, turned around and head-butted the man creeping behind him. When Jin pulled back, a stream of blood was running down his nose, working its way to pool in the deep scar across his lips.

 Joon remembered a time when Jin cared about his looks. He came to him years ago as a young, clean-cut and handsome man. Joon rejected Jin at first because he didn’t fit in. His body was delicate and his clothes too clean. There was a child-like innocence he carried with him like a crutch. He looked more like a schoolboy on a field trip rather than someone who could shed blood, if asked. But there was something Joon liked about him. He was tenacious. Jin kept pushing and prodding until he got what he wanted and that was something Joon could respect.  Over the years, it seemed like Jin was trying to reconstruct the softer parts of him, starting with his handsome face.

  “It’s almost over, “ Jin said, looking around at the bodies littering the ground. “We should leave before it’s too late.”

  “Not yet, “ Namjoon said. “The boy needs to learn his lesson.”

  The boy. He showed up months ago without a place to go. His big eyes were full of tears and he was scared of his own shadow. It was like he was running from something but he didn’t want to reveal what, which was fine by Joon. Every man has a right to his secrets.

   Everyone knew who they were, there were no secrets in that. Eyes followed them wherever they went, jaws seemed unhinged at the vision of them walking together.  The boy let Joon know how afraid people were of him. Deep down, Joon already knew the truth. He could feel the pressure in his chest whenever he thought about what his fellow countrymen thought of him. They feared him, sure, but Joon only cared if they respected him. If they didn’t respect him, all of this meant nothing.

   Joon’s eyes found Kook swinging his fists like he was taught. His body was stronger now than when he first came into Joon’s life. He didn’t want to admit this to anyone, but Kook held more promise than any member he had seen. The boy was good at everything, and if he wasn’t, he put twice the amount of effort to learn.  He wanted this badly. He wanted the taste of iron in his mouth, wanted to feel what someone else’s anger can do. Kook was tired of not being able to fight back.

  Joon began walking towards his youngest member. Again, the men let him pass. After all, this wasn’t his fight. There would be a time and a place for that soon.

  Suga leaned against a stack of wooden crates, watching Kook attentively. His suit was finely creased and fresh, not a hair on his head out of place. He looked more like a businessman than anything.

 “How is he doing?” Joon asked.

Suga shrugged. “He’s getting the shit kicked out of him.”

  Kook was lying on the ground clutching his stomach. Four men were kicking him repeatedly in the ribs and the back.

 “Should I intervene?” Suga asked.

  Joon shook his head. “He’ll handle it.”

  The men stopped. It was a game to them. They laughed at the kid crouched in the dirt, holding his body like it would fall apart if he let go. Kook was smaller and younger than their biggest guy, but he was not slower. As soon as they turned their attention away, Kook was on his feet and he was striking back. He flung his whole body into a punch that connected with a man's face. Arms grabbed Kook from behind and held him in a body lock that made Kook swing his legs out from underneath him. He wouldn’t win without help, but he would die trying to prove himself.

  Suga started forward, but Joon put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. All of the members had become like a father figure to Kook over the last few months. Though capable of much more than originally thought, there was innocence still left in Kook. The boy didn’t realize it, but he had each of them wrapped around his finger.

  “Let’s watch what he does,” Joon said.

  Kook was showing signs of defeat. He kept kicking his legs to break free but the man holding him maintained his grip. He looked like a pendulum being swung back and forth, or like a chew toy in the mouth of a ragged dog. Two of the men took pity and moved on to engage Hobi. The last one and the hardest of them all, circled around Kook like a shark during a feeding frenzy.

  “They’ll hurt him,” V said.

  Unaware to Joon,  his members were slowly creeping back to the start one-by-one. His attention was solely on Kook now.

  “You know I wouldn’t let that happen,” Joon said.

 Kook’s face was turning bright red as he struggled against his restraints. The vein in his neck looked ready to pop.

 “Relax,” Suga whispered under his breath.

  As if hearing him, Kook’s body started to calm. He took a fist to the chin, his face acting like a punching bag. It looked like he stopped fighting, but a maniacal smile was creeping onto his face. All it took was one slip up, one shift of an arm and Kook slipped out of the firm hold and sunk down into the dirt. When he sprung back up, any trace of laughter had vanished from the men’s faces. It was all strictly business now.

  Jin rushed up behind Joon and put his hand on his shoulder.“We have to go, “ he said. “Cars are on the way.”

  The grappling stopped. Heads popped up from headlocks, bodies picked themselves up from the ground, and cars were screeching out of sight before their doors could be shut. Gang activity was so frequent and violent these days that the authorities were forced to intervene. Joon’s gang was protected to a limit only money could buy, but getting caught wasn’t worth’s one pride.

 “I’ll see you later,” one of the men said pointing at Kook. “Leave that pretty face unmarked for me.”

  Kook started forward, but Jimin’s palm came down on his chest hard. The two of them stared each other down silently, inches from each other’s faces. Kook’s face was full of anguish at not being able to finish the fight, while Jimin’s was soft and understandable.

  Joon watched the exchange with curiosity. Kook began to calm, his chest rising and falling slower. Jimin brought him into a tight hug and released him with a clap on the back.

  I should be that kind of leader for him, Joon thought.

“Jin pulled the truck around,” Suga said. 

  Joon nodded and looked up towards the sky. It was such a beautiful, sunny day. It wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“We did well.” Joon said.

“We did.” Suga agreed.

  Joon climbed into the passenger side of the truck and watched in the mirror as the rest of his men got into the back of the pickup. V rapped on the hood of the truck and yelled at the top of his lungs as Jin pulled away to the sound of police sirens.

  A long time ago, things were simple. Businesses were small and local. Everyone handled things in a civil way, and if they couldn’t, they were pushed out and replaced by the next group of young men with a dream. Joon heard about gang leaders who went soft after years of cutting deals and choosing to fight with their words instead. The old ones played a different game back then. He’d always wondered why they chose to do things that way, and if they knew how ambitious men can get after being promised the world.

  When business wasn’t enough, the killing started. If you didn’t agree with things, you used your fists to sort it out. Wars were started for trivial things and enemies were made to last for years. Outliving your friends felt like you were winning some kind of award. If you can survive, you too can lead a revolution of your very own.

  At the age of nineteen, Joon was groomed to take over. Though young, he was smart and had grand ideas that could change things. There was something about power that enticed him. They would dangle it in front of him and he would work out all the problems, untying decades worth of knots, just to have a small taste of that power. Joon’s brain couldn’t function without finding an answer, and it was easy to take advantage of someone who only wanted a chance to prove what he could do.

 So, a leader he became. The old men died out like they always do. Most of them, anyway. A few lingered on the sidelines, always keeping a close watch on him. They were proud of him, he knew. He did what they asked of him, only he did it ten times better, faster, and more efficiently.

 “Joonie,” Jin said, hanging in the doorway. “Family meeting.”

  Joon stretched his palms against his desk and looked up into the bright rectangle of light coming from the doorway to his office. He had been sitting in darkness for over an hour trying to collect his thoughts. It was his way of mentally resetting his brain and all of the bad memories that tried lingering until he laid down to sleep.

 “Start without me,” he said. “And close the door behind you.”

  There was comfort without light. In the dark, he could be anyone, he could be anywhere. In another life, he might have been a scholar. He could have been a part of his father's business, could have been married, could have been a father himself. Those thoughts often plagued him when he felt like everything was slipping away from him. The pressure ate away at him often. All he wanted was to lead his friends in the right direction. If anything happened to him, it was okay as long as the people he loved were taken care of.

  By the time Joon got up to go to the meeting, it was nearly over. He walked into a large room with a conference table in the middle. A large chair stood at one end, which belonged to him. It looked more intense than it actually was. The boys sometime played video games at the table, hooking them up to a large screen displayed against one of the walls.

  Everyone was there: Hobi leaning with his knuckles against the wood, listening to Jin and Kook tease each other, his eyes slightly glazed over. Suga was writing something down in a black notebook he carried around with him. He never let Joon see what he was writing inside of it, but he assured him it was very important. V stood in the corner looking down at the street below. His face was blank, his tongue running back and forth against his lower lip.  Jimin sat with his arms folded against him like he was cold, but Joon knew it was his way of closing himself off.

“What have I missed?” Joon asked.

“Kookie wants a rematch,” Suga said, not looking up from his notebook.

  The rest of the eyes found Joon at once. He knew that they tiptoed around him. Nobody said what they were really thinking, even if he asked them to. He had to make the hard decisions, but he wasn’t always sure they were the right ones. There was a disconnect between his brain and what he felt inside, and he knew that they could feel it, too.

“It was good practice.” Joon said.

  He shuffled across the room and took a seat in his chair. He sunk into it, the soft leather clinging to his body shape. V came over and quietly sat beside him. The room remained still until Joon opened his mouth again.

“Any news?” he asked.

“They’ve been absent for days,” Suga said. “I hear they’re preparing a takeover. There’s been sightings in other countries, but we’re not sure. We’re in the dark.”

“We can take them. If they want it now, they can have it. Why wait all this time?” Hobi said.

“They have more men,” Jin said.

“Dead men.” Hobi said, smiling.

  Joon held up his hand, a sign to cease talking. His headache from earlier in the day was returning.  

“They aren’t giving us much choice,” Joon said. “Things have to be done. They threaten us, we retaliate. ”

“When?” Hobi asked.

“What things?” V asked.

“We could make a deal.” Jin suggested.

“I think we’re past making deals.” Suga said.

“It’s never too late.” Jin said.

“For some things,” Suga said “It is very late.”

“Not always.”Jin said.

“It’s us or it’s them.There are no deals. There is no peace.” Hobi said.

“Why?” Jin asked. “Did anyone ever think to ask why?”

“It’s just the way.” Hobi said.

“Look, I’m not saying we have to get rid of them without violence,” Jin said. “I’ve been noticing a pattern. We remain our control by taking care of the enemies only for new ones to crop up months later and we’re back playing this game again. I won’t wait around for someone to kill my friends, I-”

“-be quiet,” V said. “Let Namjoon think. It’s too loud in here.”

  Once more, all of their attention settled back on Joon. He could see more questions swimming in their eyes. He thought he saw a flash of disappointment in Jin’s eyes, but his sight could be playing tricks on him. Either way, the tension in the room was unbearable and unforgiving. Suddenly, he wished he was anywhere in the world but right where he was.

#armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfiction #nct fanfiction #nct #bts #i honestly have no idea what to tag tbh #bts gang au #nct gang au #bts and nct #bts x nct #im gonna vomit pls go easy on me if you read it i haven't written fic in years and im kdfnvkldf nervous

[kazimakuwabara]

I saw this prompt a while ago but was too busy at work to sit down and write for it! I haven’t lost the inspiration so i’m going for it! this is prompt #93 from @yyhfanfiction . Hope you enjoy the little snippet. :>

Prompt: Kurama and Kuwabara are treated differently for being red-heads

rating: pg-13

tags: tension, blood, assault mention

“Did you bring them, Shou?” 

“Yes master Yen, I have them here. They put up a fight, but once the bigger one was overwhelmed, the fox came along easily! It was just as you said...” A demon with a higher pitched voice (Shou presumably) eagerly answered the darker voice of his employer.

Shou tossed two figures that were half his size against the stone tiles of the floor. 

One figure was large, battered and lifeless. His body hit the floor and lay sprawled and boneless, unmoving against the cold stone. The second figure had chains on his arms and about his wrists. He fell sprawling to the floor as well, but unlike the first figure, he sprang into action rather than lying lifeless. With his hands still bound behind his back, the second figure managed to rise, and position himself near the first, eyes flashing, and mouth set in a threatening snarl. 

A deep chuckle bounced around the room, emanating from the darkness in the corner. As the echoed laughter continued, a tall and pale hulking figure appeared out of the inky blackness. Three silver eyes flashed over to the two figures before him. He raised his hand and waved at Shou, “Good. You may leave. Prepare two crates, and contact the usual clients. Let them know we will have an auction.”

Shou bowed, “Yes Master Yen!”

The door was shut behind the scurrying demon, and the three were left alone.

“Well...You two were awfully hard to catch. But now that I have you I see the stories are true. The silver fox Kurama has changed his pelt to red, and made friends with a human who is impressively strong...though from the looks of him...not strong enough.”

Yen bent down and reached for the unconscious figure’s face. Yen tilted the bruised and battered man’s face towards the dim lights of the room and smiled as he recognized one of his targets’, Kazuma Kuwabara.

Kurama’s hair seemed to bristle as his whole body tensed, the chains bruising his skin as he puffed up in rage. “Don’t you touch him-” Kurama spat, his heart in his throat as he made to lunge for the demon. 

The demon swept his arm out, catching Kurama by the stomach and sending him skidding across the floor. When Kurama came to a stop, he coughed pathetically as he tried to recover from the hit.

“Now, now...silly fox. Those chains aren’t mere decoration,” Yen said cooly, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “They weaken any demon bound up within them, so don’t you think you can attack me! You’re not even at a quarter of your strength right now.”

Kurama did not answer, which seemed to satisfy Yen further. Without another glance towards Kurama, Yen turned to continue his examination of the downed human.

Yen cupped Kuwabara’s head in his hands, casting a discerning eye over Kuwabara’s face. He nodded, eyes calculating and seeming to approve of something. Yen’s long fingers traced the curls of Kuwabara’s pompadour, and the demon let out a reverent breath as the curls glistened in the low light, “Golden orange. Like polished copper or the light of the sun....beautiful. Truly, beautiful. But then again, your hair now...is also beautiful. Deep red...like the finest rose, or a drop of blood.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to wax poetics Yen...” Kurama grunted from his curled position on the floor. The strike had hurt more than it should have, more than anyone had hurt him in a long time. Yen had spoken truly when he claimed the chains were weakening him. Kurama could really feel himself getting weaker...no. No, it was like something was suppressing his abilities, making him feel sick.

But weak or not, Kurama wouldn’t let Yen paw all over Kuwabara.

It was a struggle, but he managed to roll from his prone position and turn to get back on his feet. As he rose, he kept his body low and his green eyes locked on Yen, glaring at him as he tried to think his way around any tactics Yen might pull.

“Look at those sharp eyes...” Yen chuckled, dropping Kuwabara carelessly against his arm, “Even if you don’t look like how I remember you...those eyes are still wicked, and bloodthirsty to the core. You used to be white and gold...beautiful in its own right... But the red and green will sell much better.”

Kurama’s lip twitched and his face twisted in disgust, “So you’re going to sell me? Will I be a slave of some sort, and will someone scalp me so they can have a fine fur? You’re pathetic Yen...such obvious tactics won’t work to frighten me-”

“This human here is the real prize, however.”

Kurama’s words died in his throat, and he was left gaping at Yen as a hard ball of tension flooded his gut.

 “A healthy human is worth quite a lot on the market,” Yen droned casually, twirling a long finger in Kuwabara’s hair, “A human with impressive spiritual energy puts a human on another level when it comes to the market...but red hair....”

Yen let out a low whistle and gently set Kuwabara on the ground, “Red hair has always been a fascination to the demon world. That red hair you got there...red as blood. It’s typical for a demon but still sought after. You’ll fetch a pretty penny. But this color here, copperish gold...that’s a bit of an abnormality. I could sell him for such a high price...I could retire.”

“Why...?” Kurama suddenly rasped, a cold chill starting in his stomach and flooding up and out to his limbs.

“But I could keep him for myself,” Yen continued not looking at Kurama, ”like a pet. He could be my fighting dog. Enough time with me...he’ll have no humanity left and he’ll be nothing more than a savage animal. But selling him is more fiscally responsible,” Yen made a disappointed noise, “It’s so hard to decide. I’d like to keep him...but money is so good. And then if I sell him...well who knows what others would do to such...a fine specimen,” Yen trailed a hand down Kuwabara’s chest suggestively, “with enough stamina to endure. Any demon would love a human that won’t break so easily...”

“Your quarrel is with me!” Kurama spat, rising to his full height and taking an anxious step forward, “In the past-”

“In the past,” Yen echoed voice dripping with a long sleeping anger, ”When you were a silver fox instead of a red...you stole from me. You humiliated me. You even turned my servant against me! He was mine!”

“Kuronue was never yours to keep,” Kurama hissed, ignoring the pain brought about by his fallen comrade's name.

Kurama’s utterance seemed to unhinge Yen, and the demon stood quickly turning enraged eyes towards Kurama. He shifted his whole form to face the chained man, eyes flashing with violence and lips stretched thin as anger coursed through his body. 

It seemed Kurama had found the heart of the problem here...

“He was mine! And he would still be alive if you hadn’t...hadn’t seduced him away!” Yen snarled, spittle beginning to froth at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve waited...waited long years to make you suffer for what you’ve done!”

“Because I robbed you? Humiliated you?” Kurama snorted his voice filled with bitterness, “Or because I stole someone away from you before you could violate them?”

Kurama remembered his first meeting of Kuronue a lifetime ago. Kuronue worked as a thief for Yen but was constantly having to watch his back. Yen was a slaver, he sold demons and humans alike. And if anyone denied Yen...they would often find themselves being auctioned off at one of Yen’s slave houses. Yen had lusted after Kuronue a long time, and when Kurama showed up one day offering Kuronue a way out, he took it. Kurama had made off with what Yen considered a great treasure, a missed opportunity to slate his lusts.

And even hundreds of years later it seemed Yen still couldn’t forgive Kurama.

“Kuronue was mine...would have been mine! No one I have desired has ever said no to me! They wouldn’t have had the chance!” Yen howled a crazed look in his eyes.

“Kuronue belonged to no one...I didn’t even own him. I just gave him a way to escape,” Kurama sneered.

“And a lot of good that did him! He would have been safer with me!” Yen cried hands flying wildly in the air, “Safe in my hands! Better to be with me, than die as he did traveling with you!”

Yen’s words cut like a knife, and Kurama had to close his eyes against the memory of Kuronue’s bloodied body. Kurama took in a deep breath to steady himself, before in an even tone he whispered, “Better to die free with me, than in a cage he would not have bared.”

Yen let out a snarl of disgust, “I’ve been looking for you for years...I was going to make you pay for snatching away my prize! I thought I’d wipe out that human woman you’ve been living with, but then I caught wind of your human friend. Pale skin, red hair, and a decent power level to boot! Through him, I’ll truly make you suffer!”

Kurama met Yen with a cold glare, “You highly underestimate me, and even worse, you underestimate Kuwabara. You won’t be able to get your way.”

Kurama’s sudden cold and collected demeanor sent Yen into a frenzy.

“I’ll sell your friend to the highest bidder!” Yen roared, “To a group with the darkest desires!  And I’ll force you to watch as they change your human into nothing more than fodder! And when they are done I’ll have a go. When we’re done with him, they’ll come for you!” Yen howled, and raged, taking several threatening steps forwards.

His enraged face twisted to one of shock as a glowing blade erupted from the back of his neck and then out the front. The blade twisted for a moment, seeming to be stuck against the thicker part of his neck, and then with a swipe, Yeh’s head came off. Blood and gore splashed out, coating the floor and the attacker with blood. Yen’s body and head fell uselessly to the floor, while Kuwabara landed a little clumsily next to the mess.

“Fucker...” Kuwabara muttered, spitting blood from his mouth, and blinking against the blood that trickled down his face in rivers.

Kurama ran forward pressing his shoulder and body against Kuwabara so that the human could lean against him, “You attacked early...we were supposed to wait for the explosion!”

Kuwabara grunted in acknowledgment and leaned heavily against Kurama. Kuwabara’s legs were shaking and he was clearly losing strength.

“I’m sorry...I know it was early...but I was really beginning to pass out!”

Kurama lowered himself to his knees, Kuwabara following with. When Kuwabara was close enough to the ground he pitched forward and caught himself with his arms. Groaning he lowered himself to the ground and lay there in the blood of their defeated enemy, muttering in disgust.

“I knew those demons roughed you up too much! I can’t believe we went with Hiei’s stupid plan!” Kurama muttered, eyes looking over Kuwabara’s injuries with a keen eye. He flexed his fingers in irritation, knowing he could not actually help Kuwabara until the chains were actually removed.

“It was the only thing to do Kurama! With Yen stalking you, it was a matter of time before he caught you, or your mom-or hell your whole family! He was really out to get you! We’re lucky Hiei found out about his idea to get you, and that Murkuro knew enough about the slave market to know you and me would be a high commodity...” Kuwabara sighed. He made a  grunting sound and rolled over onto his back, blood completely soaked into his shirt.

Kuwabara frowned deeper, “This is so gross but I'm too exhausted to move...I’m going to make Hiei and Yusuke bathe me as punishment for taking so damn long!”

Kurama sighed, straining uselessly against his chains for a moment, “This plan had too many risks. We didn’t account for these chains. I was much more useless than I thought. And you were so quiet and still...I really thought you were knocked out...”

Kuwabara sighed closing his eyes, a coy smile tugging at his lips, “Well...I’ve faked my death before...”

Kurama chuckled, “Well you shouldn’t be so damn good at it!”

As the two shared a moment of dark humor, the building shook from a violent explosion that was taking place a few floors down.

“There they are...” Kurama sighed, tension unwinding from his shoulders, “Late.”

Kuwabara snorted, “As usual. Bet you ten dollars Urameshi’s gonna scream for me.”

Kurama opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Yusuke’s angry and concerned voice echoed from downstairs, “KUWABARA!!”

Kurama’s mouth hung open and he looked to Kuwabara who still had his eyes closed. Kuwabara’s mouth split into a wide grin, “Told ya. Now, wait until he sees me covered in all this blood! He’ll really scream then!”

There was a moment of silence, and then Kurama devolved into ugly wheezing laughter.

By the time Yusuke and Hiei had kicked down the door, Kurama was lying on his side choking from his fit of unexpected giggles. With the pair covered in blood and Kuwabara lying next to a decapitated body...it must have been some sight.

END

#kazi fanfic #yyh #yu yu hakusho #kurama #kuwabara #kuronue #i'll edit later. #hope its okay #yyhfanfiction

[projectalbum]

131. “The Moon & Antarctica,” 132. “Good News for People Who Love Bad News,” 133. “We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank,” 134. “Strangers to Ourselves” by Modest Mouse

I feel like such a Modest Mouse dilettante, sometimes.

I like the most recent few albums the best. You know, when the band sold out and polished their sound? “When nobody knew them they were great.” “I saw them in a tiny club and Isaac Brock shrieked his lyrics and the band locked into a sweaty, noisy rhythm and when ‘Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset’ started everybody in the crowd went ape shit!”

A valid point of view if that’s your taste. However! We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank (#133) was the one that made me sit up and pay attention. The previous album had the mainstream breakthrough: lead single “Float On” was inescapable, a VH1 staple during my high school years. That groundwork laid, We Were Dead… was presented to me in toto, thanks to someone’s unprotected iTunes library on the dorm Wi-Fi network. From frenzied, fatal shanty “March into the Sea” to the machine gun guitar on “Dashboard” (likely provided by collaborator Johnny Marr) to the astonishing shifts of “Spitting Venom” to the dreamy balladry of “People as Places as People,” it was a fan-creation moment for someone with a taste for angular post-punk.

I soon jumped back to The Moon & Antarctica (#131), a work containing harder edges, for sure, but no less scope and ambition. Impressionistic lyrics and quirkily sprightly acoustic guitar make “3rd Planet” a campfire singalong for stargazers snacking on some of the local mushrooms. “Your heart felt good— it was dripping pitch and made of wood” is like a love note passed in class by a Twin Peaks denizen. That cosmic swooning quickly dispensed with, the middle of the album swirls into a vortex of nervy self-examination. The main three-piece, Brock, bassist Eric Judy, drummer Jeremiah Green, roll with the tempo changes and tonal explorations. The slow/fast, cacophony/hush dynamics of a track like “The Stars Are Projectors” sit surprisingly easily with the surreal acoustic ditty “Wild Packs of Family Dogs.”

Good News for People Who Love Bad News (#132), the one that hit the public consciousness and arched the collective eyebrow of the band’s following, is no less singular and idiosyncratic for its Top 40 radio hit. Coldplay has yet to put out a dark bluegrass ballad about Charles Bukowski, for instance, though I’d be curious to hear how they’d insert a 3rd chorus key change on that one (that’s a pop song joke, y’see). The bursts of deliberately out-of-tune New Orleans brass in track 1, side 1 (that’s a vinyl reference, y’see) and in “This Devil’s Workday” make me think, at times, of a funhouse mirror reflection of Elvis Costello’s Spike. They even both contain mordant death curses, “Satin in a Coffin” the unhinged punk twin to E.C.’s righteously angry Celtic ballad “Tramp the Dirt Down.” The Flaming Lips show up to lend harmony and their trademark synth strings to the closing moments of the final track, “The Good Times Are Killing Me,” as if to say, “Enjoy the spotlight. It doesn’t shine on bands as weird as us that often.”

Though We Were Dead… followed hot on the heels of Bad News…, there was an unprecedented, for this band, 8 year gap until the next full-length. To my mind, Strangers to Ourselves (#134) was worth the wait. There’s not a bum track in the pack of 15; even the obviously tossed-off minute-and-change “God is an Indian and You’re an Asshole” is a lot of fun to sing. The production adds some new colors to their palette, like the treated electronic beats and synth pads on “Wicked Campaign” or the pitched-down distortion of Brock’s vocal against the processed beat of “Pistol (A. Cunanan, Miami, FL. 1996).” They act as distinguishing marks for this incarnation of Modest Mouse’s sound, without betraying their innate wildcard nature in the modern (or post-modern, at this point?) rock scene. But despite the smattering of electronic doo-dads, the core band are tight and accomplished players, which shines through on songs like “The Ground Walks, with Time in a Box,” with its weirdo vocal tempo and a skittering lead guitar that hearkens back to “Dashboard.”

If the band’s old school fans have moved on, myself and the rest of the 2nd (or even 3rd) wave fans are eagerly awaiting what comes next. I just hope they don’t keep the suspense boiling for another 8 years.

#Modest Mouse #isaac brock #johnny marr #indie rock #alternative rock #modestmouse #cds #listentothis #rock

[oikawas]

Title: The Hounds Come Running (and No One is Safe)

Summary: It’s a homecoming. Or where Dean is never forced to forgive Seth, Finn isn’t treated like crap by creative, and the reunion of a different faction brings everyone together in a way that’s right. (for @artemidi)

Contrary to popular belief, it takes four whole years for the three of them to reunite.

Finn Bálor steps over the fallen body of Kofi Kingston, deft fingers pulling the cloth of his bandana down to hang around his neck. The icon and his unicorn buddies were just the latest to fall under the pressure of the reunited Bullet Club, brought together under the joint distaste over the mediocrity they were dealt by the company. The crowd boos its distaste even as he holds up the iconic Too Sweet with both Karl and Luke, a smirk playing his lips.

It feels good. It feels natural. It feels right.

His thoughts wander to the months he spent pandering after that infamous shoulder injury had shot down his momentum. The useless fights, the misdirection, the way he had been held back from his title shot.

No more.

No more.

He accepts the mic Luke hands him, bringing it up in front of his face and huffing a laugh. “You lot really thought the New Day could beat us?”

The boos grow louder in intensity, but he can still make out cheers intermingling with the noise. It was a gratifying experience, being the epicenter of such controversy and adoration. To know his fans still support him, after all the betrayals and bloodshed and attacks in the dark.

“Remember this,” he drawls, wrapping an arm around the top rope and laying his weight against it. “There’s not a single damn person in this company who can stop us. Vince McMahon himself can come down here, and I’d give him what he’s owed, lest he’s forgotten how long I waited for my title shot.”

He pauses, glancing down at the WWE Universal belt hanging around his waist. His, ripped out of the hands of one Roman Reigns. Held up above his head, Karl and Luke at his side and the Samoan beast on his back.

Victory.

“Last week, we gave Roman a nice reminder of who exactly he was mouthing off,” Finn continues, accent thick. “Since he apparently forgot who took his title, who beat him down into the ground so hard he forgot his own name.”

A hush fell over the crowd; very rarely did any of them try to defend Reigns, and it was no content who they preferred. Which was unfortunate, considering the man’s work ethic, but that wasn’t his problem.

“A month of us running the show, and still people step up to try and knock us down. What more is it going to take for you all to realize that there is nobody who can drag us down? This is our company, and there isn’t a damn soul who can take it from us!”

He relishes the taste of truth, the knowledge of his strength, the strength of his stable. It is his world now—

The lights go out.

Finn startles just as the crowd begins to work itself into a frenzy, his brothers muttering choice curse words as they stumbled into one another in their haste to get their bearings straight.

The lights flicker, once, twice, and then remain completely off.

An excited murmur begins to make its way through the crowd, the only visible lights being the phones and the exit doors at the top of the arena. His eyes wander.

There’s a figure standing in one doorway, silhouetted by the white light from the hallway. Heart in his throat, Finn swings his head towards another exit, where another body awaits. And then in the third doorway, a figure larger than the first two.

Familiar.

Realization hits him like a spear to the gut.

A second passes.

And then another.

Sierra. Hotel. India. Echo. Lima. Delta.

SHIELD.

Bright, blue light flooded the arena, the beat dropping and the familiar theme song ringing throughout the building. Finn takes in a sharp breath, wild eyes watching as Dean Ambrose, Seth Rollins, and Roman Reigns begin to make their way through the crowd, dressed in familiar, black gear and wearing the skeletal masks they’d debuted shortly before Seth’s betrayal.

The crowd’s yelling reaches a fever pitch, shock vibrating through the hundreds of people at the sight of one of the most dominant stables in the history of the company reunited.

Finn parts his legs, stiffens, and waits.

Dean spares Seth a glance, the quirk of his lips hidden by the cloth around the lower half of his face. He sure as hell hopes the asshole trips over the barricade, reminiscent of the isolated incident from years ago; if anybody deserves it, it was him. He himself makes it over perfectly, the swift action coming to him without a thought.

When he had hauled Roman backstage the night Bálor had stolen the title, the older man had been a mess of anger and bitterness. Dean had been a quiet, solid weight to lean on, making sure his friend got to the locker room they were sharing with no trouble from preying eyes. It took a solid hour to bandage Roman up and help him into comfortable clothes, Renee seated next to them and whispering soothing words into both of their ears as Roman simmered and Dean worked.

Renee Young is a bright light and he doesn’t deserve her, not one bit. The thought of his wife brings a silly smile to his face as he began to circle the ring, eyes locked on Finn.

The two of them had managed to get Roman into their car with little difficulty, the trip back to the hotel one of silence until Roman cracked a joke and melted the tension away. They would cut their losses, would lick their wounds, and would go back for more.

Just like always.

He can still vividly remember the exact moment Roman had formulated their plan, this mess of a reunion and bandaging of old betrayals. The man had found him after a physical match against Wyatt, the kind that left Dean aching in the worst ways. Had sat him down, trepidation as clear as day on his face as he shifted back and forth in his seat.

“Bálor’s a problem,” Roman started, voice low. Dean settled further into his seat, attention only diverted when Renee entered the room with a warm smile. He returned the gesture, pulling her close as soon as she settled into the couch next to him.

“Man’s a pain in the ass,” Dean drawled, shooting his brother a tiny smirk. Still, he felt a bolt of anger shoot through him at the reminder of Bálor taking Roman’s title. A slight against one of them was a slight against all of them. “Got something in mind to deal with him?”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it, brother.”

Immediately, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Dean blinked, taking in Roman’s rigid form and the guilt suddenly clouding his eyes. If he could, he’d give Roman the world, and his brother knew that. What could he possibly be thinking of asking that called for guilt? Dean didn’t love easily, but when he did, there wasn’t a price he wouldn’t pay for those he held dear.

Roman knew that, too.

“Spit it out, man,” he finally spoke, tone sober and nothing like his usual self. He could tell when a situation called for seriousness, could be serious when it mattered.

“We can’t take the Club on by ourselves. We…we need him, Dean.”

Him.

Seth.

Dean felt his heartbeat break out into an erratic pace, the feeling of Renee’s hand over his skin doing nothing to slow the vessel down. Roman watched him carefully, looking for any signs of distress, anything that meant he had to nip this bud of an idea before it grew.

“He stabbed us in the back, Rome,” his voice is deceptively soft, albeit enough of a reminder of what kind of hell had followed that steel chair. “He…my head went through cinderblocks. He put my head through cinderblocks, after everything we’d gone through. You’re telling me we need that? Him? Until when? Until he hits us with another chair? Or maybe it’ll be a baseball bat this time, or a sledgehammer, or the stairs!”

Slowly, but surely, his voice rose in volume, and by the time he was done, Dean was yelling, his words bouncing off the falls and falling back inwards to suffocate him; he wasn’t sure if he was breathing. Renee is steadfast in her comfort, moving into his lap and letting him cradle her close as he struggled to regain his composure.

Roman reached out, grabbing Dean’s knee and squeezing softly.

“Never again,” he vowed, voice hard. “Never again will I let him lay a hand on you. Never again will you have to have your back to him. Until I’m dead and my body’s gone cold, I’ll be standing between both of you. He’s different, Dean, but I don’t expect you to change your mind about him. He doesn’t deserve it, and I know, brother, I know there are wounds that time doesn’t heal. I know this is one of them. All I’m asking for is some time for us to tear Finn Bálor’s little fan club apart, enough time to restore order to this place, and then you never have to team up with him again. We serve justice, and then we’re done.”

They lock eyes. Dean finds the sincerity, the promise, burning bright in Roman’s eyes, and Roman finds reluctance in his.

But Roman was a part of his family, his only brother, the rock that withstood his storm. He held just as much of Dean’s heart as Renee, in a different way.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do for him.

“Fine. Fine, we’ll recruit the little weasel.”

A hand touches his shoulder, and Dean jolts out of the memory, eyes locking with Roman’s as he nods down at him. Something presses against his palm; Seth is handing him a mic.

He takes it. Pulls down the mask, eyes the trio in the ring.

Smirks.

“Well, well, well,” he begins, his words stringing together in a way that sounded both warm and dangerous. He watches the way Finn’s eyes narrow, loves the calculating look. “You boys sure made a lot of claims, hmm?”

He pauses. Let’s his words sink in, waits for the anticipation to begin to mount. The fear; the paranoia. Mind games are what he’s good at.

“You beat down Roman not once, but twice, with no regard for who he is. You stupidly, recklessly, forgot he was a hound of justice long before he was Superman.”

The crowd cheers, unhinged, and Dean moves forward, feels Rollins and Roman following his lead. The energy in the air bleeds into his skin, heartbeat racing and pounding against his chest as he sizes up their opponents. It was a good feeling, a lost feeling, and he drowned himself in it for a moment.

Only a moment, before he grabs a rope and jumps up onto the apron, shortly followed by the others. The crowd’s excitement climbs as he stares Finn in the eye, makes his anger abundantly clear.

This man has put his hands on Roman. A stupid mistake, and Dean will make sure he pays dearly for it.

A slight against one is a slight against all.

“And we hounds of justice? Well, if there’s anything that could bring us out of the shadows together, Bálor, it’s injustice. And this little group you got going over here? The greatest injustice of them all.”

Gallows and Anderson begin moving closer, but it’s isn’t enough.

They will make sure it isn’t enough.

Dean Ambrose is a man of many words, and they are words he knows how to use properly. But he doesn’t have very many left, not for this particular moment.

So, he lets them go, just as Finn’s instincts kick in.

“But don’t worry, we’ll fix that soon enough.”

They pounce.

It’s quick work, really, and momentum is on their side; Dean slams heavily into Gallows, sending the man rolling across the canvas. A kick later and he’s bouncing off the ground, crashing into the tables with little fanfare.

Beside him, Seth does the same to Anderson, locking eyes with Dean only after the fact. Time slows around them, and Dean can almost hear Seth’s question, can almost feel the desperate hope emitting from the younger man’s skin.

He nods, once, twice, and then they’re racing, and flying, and suicide diving into both Anderson and Gallows.

The rush is a drug, but Dean let it go years ago. The euphoria’s nothing compared to the cold kiss of steel he became familiar with.

He didn’t need it—him—any longer; without any fanfare, he climbs back into the ring, where Roman is standing over Bálor. Doesn’t look back to see if Seth is watching.

Doesn’t have to. Doesn’t want to.

Doesn’t need to.

They gather around him, the crowd chanting ‘this is awesome’ without pause. There has been no break in the excessive cheering since long before the beat-down, and it is a liberating thought, knowing that the higher-ups will be immensely pleased with the reaction.

Good. Let the world know who really ran the yard.

Roman throws his head back, hair swinging, and howls like his life depends on it. With a nasty grin, Dean and Seth hoist Bálor’s limp body onto their shoulders, and together, the three of them slam his body down into the canvas. Like riding a bicycle after years of nothing.

Like a homecoming.

Their fists slam together, snarls matching.

A tidal wave of cheers erupts through the crowd, bodies jumping up and down as the Shield stood triumphant, once more, to close out the night.

It’s a good feeling.

It’s an even better sight.

#finn balor #dean ambrose #roman reigns #seth rollins #artemidi #mywriting #me; i should work on all my fics i havent finished #also me: does this instead #wwe #anyways........me @ wwe creative: i did this in like an hour and its better than anything you've done in months #do better bitch! #the only person dean would ever tolerate seth for is roman #also finn??? deserves so much better than what he's getting rn #i hope u like this fred im lov u

[leagueofbane]

“A part of the pit will always be with us.”

Bane and Talia have a proposition for their old friend from the pit prison, in this next installment of my fic FROM THE ASHES.

(This story is also available at Ao3 and FanFiction.net)

Chapter 24

             Abrams awoke to a chorus of birds somewhere nearby, strange calls that didn’t match anything he was used to hearing in any of the countries he had spent his sixty-odd years of life. He couldn’t remember how old he really was. Too damn old, he thought, as he considered his body aches when he cracked his eyelids to morning light streaming in through open veranda doors to his right. There were birds perched on the veranda railing, and some hopping about on the tiles, pecking at obscure morsels. Lying on his back in bed, he grunted with the effort it took to crane his neck, trying to see what lay beyond the veranda. Only a sky of pink and blue, with brushes of gold. Obviously he was several floors up. He tried to remember arriving last night, but the drugs made his memories vague. Well, considering the décor of his room, Bane must have made good on his promise of bringing him to Talia’s grandmother’s place. Obviously Talia’s grandmother was fucking loaded.

           Considering where Bane had grown up, Abrams almost laughed at the irony but knew laughter would cause him physical pain, so he refrained. Instead he took stock of his surroundings, noting every potential escape route, if needed. The large room’s walls were a soothing dark yellow, not quite gold, with colorful Persian rugs on the rich wood flooring. No photographs in frames anywhere, but several paintings, depicting Middle Eastern life, contemporary as well as historical. Gilded mirrors on two walls. A ceiling fan above him, breathing down a comfortable flow of air.

           He listened but heard nothing except the chattering birds. Where was Bane? Still in bed maybe? No, Abrams had a feeling his old prison mate was one of those lunatics who was always up before the dawn.

           Abrams sighed and closed his eyes, enjoyed the spacious bed. It had been a long time since he had slept in a comfortable bed. While a part of Darzi’s network, he slept either on a mat or on a bare mattress on the floor of his Brussels’ flat. Before that, in Germany, his bachelor’s pad had nothing more than a futon. But all of that had been heaven compared to that fucking charpoy in that damp, stinking, freezing pit prison.

           Memories of the pit tried to creep in upon him, but he fought them away, reached for the remote control to turn on the 55-inch TV across the room to provide a distraction.

           He had to admit he looked forward to seeing Talia, regardless of what she had tried to pull off in Gotham. Though he had watched her on television during the siege, it had been difficult to equate that treacherous young woman with the ragged, shorn-headed child of the pit. It was easy to remember the day of her birth, though he was no great lover of children. Seeing something so innocent and new in that wretched place had somehow given him hope. Of course that hope had been short-lived as year after year went by, but at least Talia’s activities and chatter provided a distraction from the monotony of nothing but male prisoners after Melisande’s death. Another day he could never forget from that place. 

           He had been away from his cell when Melisande had been attacked. Hearing her screams and the shouts of inmates, he had rushed back, expecting to find Bane in some sort of trouble because of her. Instead he found a roiling mass of men, fighting each other to get inside Melisande’s cell, to get their moment of violation before the woman was completely destroyed by those already inside. Abrams knew instantly that he was already too late to help Melisande, and when he saw nothing of Bane or the child, he figured Bane had gotten the five-year-old to safety. He did, however, spot Dr. Assad, the man who had inadvertently left Melisande’s door unlocked. Assad struggled amidst the chaos in a suicidal attempt to quell the frenzy. Unaware of Assad’s part in the insanity, Abrams had rescued him before he could be killed, himself suffering a flurry of kicks and blows that nearly ended them both.

           While in prison, Abrams had had little to no real relationship with Melisande. The woman never came out of her cell, which was two doors down from his. They rarely spoke. He avoided conversing with her. To even look upon her was torture for every man in that hellhole. Young and beautiful, exotic, unattainable. A constant reminder of what they would never sample again. Many prisoners came to ogle her on a daily basis, to taunt her self-imposed isolation, to say what they wanted to do to her. Some even masturbated in front of her. Bane, though a mere boy, had done everything he could to chase such intruders off. When his mother failed on occasion to restrain him, Bane usually suffered a beating from the man he attacked, yet that didn’t stop him from trying to protect his mother’s honor. It was one of Bane’s qualities that had piqued Abrams’s interest in the boy.

           If Abrams was to identify a particular moment when he had connected on a personal level with Bane, it was shortly after the death of Bane’s mother. The day after she had died, a prisoner who lived on the other side of Bane’s cell had befriended the boy. Abrams suspected the wretched little man known as the Vulture to be a pedophile. He had no proof, of course, only a sixth sense honed by having been a victim of just such a predator when he had been about Bane’s age. He warned Bane without revealing anything about his personal experience or specifics about what he thought the Vulture capable of. Bane, of course, refused to listen, as stubborn in his youth as he was as a man. The boy missed his mother, of course, and the Vulture had plied him with friendship and crafting a chess set, like an expert game hunter luring its victim with bait. And Bane didn’t want to lose that companionship.

           The relationship ended badly, as Abrams had expected. The Vulture finally showed his hand. Bane defended himself with the knife his mother had hidden in his Teddy bear, slicing the Vulture’s jugular and leaving him to bleed out. Abrams admired the boy’s courage; if only he had been able to do the same to his attacker all those years before. From then on, Abrams had offered Bane what little friendship he was capable of offering.

           A knock on the door jarred Abrams from his reminiscing. “Good morning, sir. Are you awake? I have brought your breakfast.”

           An Indian accent. Abrams frowned. Bane had servants? “Come in.”

           A middle-aged man entered, pushing a serving cart. His brown face showed little emotion, only duty, as he drew closer, bringing with him the heavenly scent of warm food. Abrams couldn’t remember when he had last eaten, and realized he was extremely hungry.

           “I am Hisham, sir. I will be helping you during your recovery here.” He moved across the room to a small cabinet. “Before you eat, I will change your dressing.” From the cabinet, he produced medical supplies then returned to the bed.

           Abrams started to remove his loose cotton shirt but winced and hesitated.

           “Allow me, sir. Slowly lift this arm…yes, that’s it. Now the other.”

           Once the old dressing was removed, Abrams got his first real look at his wound. It was ugly and stitched but appeared pretty typical otherwise. He wondered again how Bane had arranged his medical care. Of course he had asked, but Bane refused to divulge anything.

           “Save your breath,” Barsad had said, sharing a cigarette with Abrams after Bane had left them.

           Abrams studied the cigarette before handing it back to Barsad. “Bane ever tell you I used to sell these in prison? I had a source among the resupply guards who’d get a cut of whatever I made off of them.”

           Barsad took back the cigarette, enjoyed a long pull, flicked away the ash. “Bane hates cigarettes. Always bitchin’ at me to quit. Throws a fit if I smoke around him or Talia.” He shrugged. “I try not to.”

           Abrams offered a wry grin. “You must be paid well to put up with him.”

           “Paid?” Barsad laughed. “Even if a salary was a part of this gig, there’s no amount of money in the world worth putting up with Bane.” He winked and grinned before returning the cigarette to his mouth.

           Now that he was at this palace, on the road to recovery, Abrams hoped he had more opportunities to talk with Barsad about Bane, to fill in the blanks from all these years. He liked the man and his sharp wit, as well as his interesting balance of respect and playfulness with his commander. It was a brotherly relationship, Abrams could easily see, and he was glad Bane had someone like Barsad to keep him balanced.

           Balanced was not a term Abrams had expected to use now for Bane. Having closely watched the occupation of Gotham play out on television for months, Abrams figured Bane was quite unhinged, as did the world. He assumed something had separated Bane from Talia, his anchor. Perhaps the girl was dead. That would certainly explain Bane’s seemingly insane, suicidal actions. But when Abrams found out with the rest of the world that Talia had spearheaded the campaign against Gotham, Bane’s actions made more sense to Abrams. While some looked upon Bane after the occupation as Talia’s lackey, Abrams knew there was more to his motivations. Even if Bane hadn’t wanted to be the face of Gotham’s reckoning, Abrams knew he would do whatever Talia asked, not only because of his love for her but because of the adulation for Rā’s al Ghūl that he had seen in Bane’s eyes the day Rā’s had helped them climb out of the pit. And no doubt Bane had felt an obligation, a debt, to Rā’s for his liberation, the same debt Abrams felt for Talia for her inclusion of him on her list of inmates for her father to preserve. No matter what craziness those two had indulged in with their murderous plan for Gotham, he owed them his life.

           Hisham finished dressing the wound then left Abrams alone to eat his meal, which he did in short order, then wished for more. By then, another knock sounded at the door.

           “Come in.”

           The door opened to reveal Talia, with Bane behind her. Abrams was momentarily dumbstruck by not only her beauty, more stunning than any television screen could reflect, but by the transformation from the last time he had seen her in person—a waif sobbing in the arms of her ravaged protector as the sands of the Thar Desert swirled about them. How could this even be the same person? Bane’s eyes crinkled with pride from behind her, as if he could read Abrams’s thoughts.

           Talia glided quickly to the bed. “Good morning.”

           Abrams couldn’t help but return her smile. “Well, look at you. If I hadn’t been told, I’d never guess who you are. Nothing left of Henri from the pit.”

           Hearing not only her assumed name from her charade as a boy in prison but a name that had once belonged to her father tempered Talia’s expression. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, in truth, a part of the pit will always be with us.”

           Abrams’s own expression faded. “True.”

           “Here, let me take that.” Talia removed his breakfast tray and returned it to the cart. Bane set a padded wooden chair next to the bed for Talia.

           “And here’s Bane, still at your side. I should’ve known you were there all along in Gotham with him.”

           Sitting in the chair, Talia looked up at Bane and momentarily took his hand. The warm, private smile Bane shared with her from behind the mask gave Abrams pause.

           “How are you feeling?” Talia asked.

           “Okay. A little sore from the trip, but ol’ Hisham fixed me up before breakfast.” He eyed them with amusement. “Servants? You have servants?”

           Talia blushed. “He is my grandmother’s servant. This is her home, not ours. We are merely guests, like you.”

           “But servants? That’s quite a step up from what you grew up with.”

           “Indeed,” Bane said, placing a hand on Talia’s shoulder, which she covered with her own hand. “But let us not linger upon memories of our unfortunate past.”

           “I couldn’t agree more,” Abrams said. “The more important topic is my being here. Being alive, that is, because of you. Thank you.”

           “Considering we got you into this situation,” Talia said, “seeing to your recovery and safety is the least we can do.”

           “Where am I exactly? Or won’t you say? I’m guessing India, from the servant, the weather, and the décor.”

           Talia glanced up at Bane before saying, “Actually, you are not too very far from the place where we first met.”

           “Well, there’s some irony for you. Will I be meeting your grandmother so I can thank her, too?”

           “Yes, Jiddah will be in after lunch. Or if you feel up to it,” she gestured to a folded wheelchair against one wall, “you can join us for lunch.”

           “I think I can manage. I’m not very good at lying around.”

           “Very well. I’ll have Hisham fetch you when it is time. Another old friend of yours will be there as well.”

           Abrams’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The only old friends I have are you.”

           “Not true,” Talia said. “Surely you remember Yemi from the pit.”

           Abrams stared. “Yemi? How the hell—”

           “He is one of our brothers,” Bane said proudly.

           “Well, holy shit. Yemi.” He laughed. “I’d almost forgotten him.”

           “He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Talia said.

           Abrams considered her youthful face, a face that lacked the mileage of Bane’s with his worldly gaze and physical scars. “Hopefully the years have been as kind to Yemi as they have to you. You look well. Bane told me about your injuries at the end of the Gotham siege. It appears you’ve made a full recovery.”

           Again she exchanged a secret smile with Bane. “I wouldn’t say a full recovery, but I am getting there. Bane’s injuries were far more serious than mine.”

           Bane scoffed. “That is hardly the truth.”

           “Mine weren’t life-threatening; yours were.” She turned back to Abrams. “I thought I might lose him.”

           “Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

           “Bane tells me you should fully recover. He also told me of your bravery during the operation.”

           Abrams scoffed. “All I had to do was sit there and get shot.” His grin lay crooked upon his harelip.

           “I don’t remember this dry wit of yours so much in prison, old friend,” Bane said. “It would appear Barsad is already influencing you. Perhaps I should limit your contact with him.”

           Talia chuckled.

           “And to the point of your recovery,” Bane said, sobering, “we are concerned with your plans afterwards. As we have discussed, Darzi’s men might seek revenge, if they feel you were indeed responsible for our operation.”

           “I’m not worried about it,” Abrams said.

           “Well,” Talia said, “we are. And I know this is rather early to discuss, but we wanted to give you plenty of time to consider our offer.”

           “Offer?” A stab of pain in his side curbed Abrams’s laugh. “I’m not joining your organization, if that’s what you mean.”

           “No,” Bane replied. “We figured you would not be interested in that. No, this is something different but something we feel will afford you safety. It may not be a perfect solution, but I think it would benefit all of us.”

           Abrams rubbed the salt and pepper stubble on his chin. “I have a job waiting for me in Germany. I’m really not in the market for anything else.”

           Talia frowned. “You won’t be safe there.”

           “Like I said, I’m not worried about it.”

           Talia frowned. “Won’t you at least listen to our proposal?”

           The sincerity on their faces struck Abrams. They genuinely seemed concerned about him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such emotion in anyone connected to him. This made him both uncomfortable and intrigued.

           “Well, okay. Sure. No harm in it.”

           Bane expounded: “Here at the palace and whenever she leaves the grounds, Talia’s grandmother employs a small, personal security detail.”

           “Your men?”

           “True that while we are here we have some of our own security forces with us. However, those who protect Maysam are in her employ only.”

           “And why does Talia’s grandmother require security? Just because of her relationship with you or for some other reason?”

           Talia said, “Do you recall the circumstances around my mother’s condemnation to the pit?”

           “Something to do with her bastard of a father, if I recall.”

           “Yes. He sent her there. Long after we were free, we learned that he actually owned the prison.”

           “Jesus.”

           “He could own something like that because he was a very wealthy man. Some of his wealth was inherited but much of it was acquired, both legally and illegally, often brutally. He was a warlord in this region, greatly feared and very powerful.”

           “Is he still alive?”

           “No, he died some time ago. One of his brothers took over his empire, but recently he was assassinated. Another brother, Nashir, has ascended the throne, one who is a bit more moderate yet determined to preserve the family legacy. Though my grandmother has no direct role in any of her husband’s family dealings, she prefers to live here, where she is comfortable and where she can provide us with a sanctuary when needed. But you can imagine how the family’s enemies might wish to use her against Nashir. That is why she has a security detail of her own.”

           “And,” Bane said, “we would like to offer you a place on that detail.”

           Abrams raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a leap of faith on your part. You don’t know me, Bane, not really.”

           “I know you, Abrams. I know what we owe each other. That is something that transcends the years between our last meeting.”

           Abrams considered this and nodded. “You’ve talked to Talia’s grandmother about it?”

           “Yes, over breakfast,” Talia said. “If you decide that you are interested, she will conduct her own interview and background checks.”

           “We hope you will consider it,” Bane said.

           “It’s a generous offer. Looks like I’ll have some time to think about it.”

           “You’re welcome here for however long you desire.” Talia dropped her gaze for a moment before looking at him again. “We know you don’t have any family back in Germany, or wherever you may go. But we want you to know, you have family here, among us. You are always welcome, even if you decide to leave.”

           The unexpected lump in Abrams’s throat rendered him incapable of doing nothing more than nod.

           Talia smiled and stood. “We’ll let you rest now. As I said, I will send Hisham to fetch you for lunch. My grandmother is looking forward to meeting you. She has heard many tales about you over the years from Bane.”

           “I hope you haven’t told her too much, Bane,” Abrams said with a small grin. “She might reconsider the job offer.”

#Bane #Talia al Ghul #fanfic #From the Ashes #Barsad #Baniac