#tw graphic depictions of needles

[circusmothman]

The Doctor and the Fool - The Butcher’s End (HK story)

Previous - Shattered Glass

Content warning: Heavy violence, graphic gore, character death

~~~ Leaving Toten’s body behind felt like the hardest thing he ever had to do, but there was nothing else he could do. His mind was completely numb, still unable to process what happened, his body on autopilot as he started walking out of the room, until he accidentally kicked something. He looked down only to find... an arm? But not just any arm, he recognized it, this belonged to one of the intruders. A snarl started to pull at his mouth. Toten must have bitten it off, but that also means this man had gotten close enough to the doc for him to do so. This... this was from the moth with the light nails, the kind Toten was impaled by... Nash’s blood started to boil at that realization, a growl building in his throat louder and louder as rage took over. This arm belonged to the man who killed Totentanz. And Nash would not fucking stand by and let him get away with it.

They had a headstart, but they couldn’t have gotten far, not with such an injury, and the trail of glowing blood was still fresh. Nash’s body might have been battered and bruised from the fight, but all thoughts of tiredness have washed away in the wake of his anger. So with a furious roar he started charging down the halls, following the blood trail to hunt down the men responsible for his partner’s death.

The tracks never stopped, an injury such as this always leaving at least a few drops behind, and their glowing nature served as a beacon for him. Within half an hour he had found them, the two moths were struggling down the road, clearly battered from their own fight. The third, the little one, was nowhere in sight. But he didn’t care about that one at the moment, no, it was the one with the missing arm he was after, the white paladin. The white butcher. Nash growled once more before he dove into the bushes, intent on ambushing them from the side.

The moths never saw it coming, barely dodging out of the way as Nash leapt from the foliage, roaring at them as he started swiping at the paladin, missing barely an inch.

“Ambrose!”

Nash paused upon hearing the name, staring at the moth in bewilderment as all of a sudden everything clicked into place. How had he not realized before? The clothes, the mask, they were just as Toten described before, that morning with a shake in his voice and tears in his eyes. This was Ambrose, the Ambrose. Totentanz’s murderer, Totentanz’s former partner. The man who had abused his doc, abused his trust and feelings, and would have done who knows what else if Toten hadn't escaped. In an instant the fury within him doubled as the rage he felt now melded with the hatred he already carried for this man, washing over him like a tidal wave as he half roared half screamed in anger.

 “YOU!”

Immediately he landed the first strike, knocking the wind out of the moth and sending him flying to the ground. Megiddo cried out again but seemed too frozen to move as Nash pounced on Ambrose. The paladin had tried to get up but was immediately slammed into the floor again as Nash screamed into his face, the look on his own one of absolute fury, twisted in a hatred like none he had ever felt before. Somewhere in the distance there were more cries, but he barely heard those, in his head there was only the high pitched white noise that grew louder and louder, only contested by the Light which was screaming in his mind like never before. This was her son, her fucking son, and he roared at her in return as she tried to stop him. No, nothing would stop him.

He refocused just in time to see the other's attention had been drawn to something else, Ambrose was now staring at the glasses hanging from Nash's neck. Toten's glasses. Nash smacked him once more and this time the mask went flying, skidding across the floor. Yet seeing Ambrose's face only fueled his anger more and with another scream Nash smashed him into the floor again and again and again until there was a sickening crack. But that was not enough and while Ambrose was still mid-cough Nash tore into his throat, jaws clamping shut with such force he felt the other's neck snap. At the same time his claws dug into the moth's ribcage, tearing through his flesh and lungs like it was nothing. The Light was screaming, he didn't care, his head was full of noise and rage and the painful memories of his doc, of a feeling he couldn't describe but it was that which forced him onward with no mercy. In this moment he was wrath incarnate as he tore into the man with all he had. There was nothing in the world, nothing in his head anymore than the flesh under his claws and fangs, and the endless need to tear, tear, TEAR. Viscera flew in all directions as he reduced the radiant paladin to nothingness, his rage unending until there was nothing left of the man but a grotesque stain on the floor.

Once he was done he slowly raised his head again, covered completely in the glowing blood of the light moth, a growl still reverberating in his throat. Soft whimpering caught his attention and he snapped his head to the side. There stood Megiddo, terrified and motionless except for the tremor that wrecked his whole body. The moth froze, and the two of them locked eyes for a long while. There was still murder in Nash's gaze and the other could clearly see it, but both of them seemed rooted to the spot. Finally Nash snarled at him and that's what gave Megiddo the kick to move. The moth took flight, still haphazard and shaky, but was off within seconds, abandoning the horrid scene left behind.

Nash then returned his attention to what was left of Ambrose, it was hardly even recognizable as a body anymore, merely mangled remains with most of him strewn all about the place. Surprisingly enough the wings got mostly spared, torn and stained but still in one piece. He stared at them for a long time, but finally decided to pick them up, grabbing them with his mouth to carry them back to his den. He didn't know why, he felt rage and pain just looking at them, but it was almost a compulsion, something to remind him that he did it.

So he got up with his prize and started heading back to the Colosseum. That's when he passed by the mask, the last remnant of Ambrose's "face" and identity still staring up at him. With one final snarl he slammed his fist down on it, shattering it into pieces. Then, he left, he was truly done here.

#hollow knight #hollow knight oc #my oc #friend's oc #my writing #my stories #hk nash #the doctor and the fool #asspedes #tw violence #tw gore #graphic depictions of gore #tw character death #so my friend is making art of toten's death scene #needles to say that reignited the hatred for ambrose #needed to cope somehow so rewrote the blurb from that drawing #needed to make it more visceral #sorry not sorry i used to write a lot of gore once #also yes she gave me enthusiastic permission to write this #we both hate the bitch

[lostfracturess]

【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 9

x PAIRING gojo satoru x fem!reader (main); megumi fushiguro x fem!reader x WORD COUNT 7.8 k x SUMMARY you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head. x WARNINGS + NOTES this story contains partly abusive and possessive behavior, explicit content, graphic depictions of violence, injury, combat and angst. you can also read it on wattpad or ao3. pls like or repost if you enjoyed ♡

➸ ch 1; ch 2; ch 3; ch 4; ch 5; ch 6; ch 7; ch 8

tw: character death; suicidal thoughts

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

When was it really that it all fell down?

Was it when Yuji lost control?

Was that the first downfall?

Yuji was not one to lose control.

He never really did. But after what happened on that mission, he lost it all. And somehow, you felt like you lost a part of yourself that day as well. The horrors you witnessed etched into your very soul, leaving scars that may never heal.

You never wanted to see him like that again.

Maybe that was the day everything changed.

As you came to your senses, a scene of nightmarish destruction unfolded before your eyes. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring the sun and plunging the world into a cruel twilight. The ground was marred by deep craters, festering wounds in the earth's flesh.

It was a battlefield that bore the marks of Satoru's destructive fury rather than Yuji's. 

No. 

Not Yuji's. 

He's not cruel. 

He's not violent. 

But Sukuna is.

You couldn't really remember what happened. You were on this mission. Curses swarmed from all sides. One moment, you stood beside Yuji, and the next, you passed out and found yourself thrown to the unforgiving ground.

A ringing in your ears drowned out the world around you. It rang through your skull, piercing your mind like a thousand needles. Pain shot into your temple. You raised your hand to your face. It came away slick with blood.

Your vision was blurred and distorted, turning the world into a series of bright, disjointed images. Perhaps that was an attempt by your brain to protect you. Protecting you from the gruesome truth, refusing to accept the horrors that had unfolded before your eyes.

But the stench of ash and blood was so strong, you could almost taste it on your tongue.

This was no dream. It was a nightmare.

You wanted to cry out for Satoru. But he wasn't there. You were alone on a mission with him.

Satoru was not there to help you.

You hastily examined your body. Somehow all parts of your body were still there and seemed to be functioning. You gathered your strength to pull yourself to your feet. The throbbing pain from the gash on your head strangely absent, drowned out by the chaos around you.

Where was Yuji?

When the dust settled, you saw him.

Sukuna's marks disappeared from his body.

He lay sprawled beneath a heap of debris. His lifeless form pressed into the unforgiving earth. His face was buried in the dirt. He didn't move. Your heart clenched.

You staggered toward him. Your bloody hands desperately clawed away the rubble that imprisoned him. Your hands slipped a few times, unable to get a grip. Finally, you freed him, rolled him onto his front, and hovered over him. Your trembling fingers cupped his pale face.

"Yuji!" you screamed, your voice tearing through the eerie stillness. "Yuji, wake up!"

And then, a gasp. 

Life returned to him, his chest rising and falling as air once again filled his lungs. 

You brushed away the dust from his face. Relief washed over you as warmth seeped back into his pale features.

"Yuji, wake up. It's over."

Yuji's eyelids quivered open. His eyes welled up with tears, cascading down his cheeks like a torrent.

What?

Why did he cry?

You wanted him to stop.

Why didn't he stop?

You didn't want to see him cry.

That wasn't Yuji. That wasn't the kindhearted man you knew.

Before you lay a broken young man-a young man grappling with a burden too heavy-a curse too dark. His body convulsed with sobs as he lay there. His gaze avoided yours, as if unable to meet your eyes.

"I'm sorry," he choked out between sobs. His lips quivered uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry."

His once-vibrant eyes were bloodshot. Tear tracks streaked his cheeks, carving pathways through the grime and gore that marred his face. 

Words failed you. You didn't know what to say. What you could ever say. Nothing you could say would be enough. All you could do was stare, absorbing the sheer horror and pain etched into every line of his face as he cried.

"I'm so sorry, I lost control." His sobs grew more violent. "I should just die," he screamed before shielding his face with his hands from your relentless gaze. 

He tore at his eyes, as if attempting to gouge out the pain within. You grabbed his wrist. "Stop it, Yuji! it's not your fault!" you screamed, your voice a desperate plea that seemed to echo in the blood-soaked battlefield. 

But it didn't reach him.

"I'm no good. All I do is evil!" His voice choked with despair, tears streaming down his face like a relentless cascade.

"Yuji, listen to me," you tried to pierce through the chaos of his mind. "You are not your curse! You are not a monster!"

But his fingers continued their merciless assault on his eyes. You were afraid that if you couldn't stop him, he might actually rip his own eyes out in his madness.

You felt like you were about to cry. You wanted to cry. But no tears came out. There was only the feeling of your heart being torn to shreds. 

He was not a monster. He couldn't be. 

Because if he was, then you surely were one too.

His fingers dug deeper into his skin, leaving cruel, bloody streaks etched against his pale complexion.

In a desperate attempt to reach him, you let go of his wrists and instead cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, tears spilling over, but they did nothing to wash away the terror within them. You felt so utterly, entirely useless. 

"Yuji, this is not what you are. You are not him!"

"I am. I am responsible for all of this," he whispered, his voice barely more than a fragile thread. "I don't know if I can keep doing this."

His words struck you like a dagger through the heart. 

How could he say something like that?

"Shut up, Yuji! If I can keep doing it, you can too!" you yelled at him, your own frustration and desperation coming to the surface. You couldn't let him surrender to the darkness, for if he did, it would mean accepting that you were just as much a monster as he feared himself to be.

"Weren't you the one who always told me, it's not me? It's not me who violently killed? It's my cursed technique? It's the evil of cursed energy itself? So listen to me, Yuji, when I say it's not you, it's Sukuna! You're not him! And I'm not my cursed technique!" 

He was silenced. Your grip on his face tightened as his terrified eyes locked onto yours.

"If I can live with this burden, you can too. You're stronger than me," you whispered, your voice softening with a plea. "So please, Yuji, keep fighting. Because if you don't, I'm not sure if I can."

Yuji's tears ceased as you continued to speak.

"What role do we have in this world if we admit that we are monsters? Tell me, Yuji. What reason do we have to keep on living then? We can never undo the damage we've done, but we can try to make it right. It's either that or surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume us."

Your hands trembled. 

Your hands trembled so violently, you had to withdraw them from his face. You clenched them together, your knuckles white with tension.

Satoru never let you go on a mission alone with Yuji again.

So tell me, when was it really that it all fell down?

Was it back then? When you saw the terror in Yuji's eyes?

Was it then when you decided to protect what was left of Yuji's humanity?

Or was it when you met Satoru, the sorcerer who has altered the course of your life forever?

Who stole your heart?

Was it then that you wanted to do everything possible to protect them? 

To protect him?

But the truth is, it didn't really matter anymore, did it? 

None of these questions could change the brutal reality of the present.

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

Your hands trembled again.

Your hands trembled so violently, you had to dig your fingers into the palm of your hand to silence them. Blood dripped down.

Was this the final downfall?

Rising to your feet, the world around you blurred into chaos. You watched as Satoru collapsed to the ground. His breathing ragged and heavy. Blood poured from his wounds, staining the earth beneath him, as if the very ground wept for the tragedy that had befallen.

Each heartbeat felt like a crushing weight. Perhaps your heart could no longer bear the pain of beating. You hastily wiped away the tears that blurred your vision.

You had to be fast. Satoru would soon recover.

You moved quickly, weaving through the ruins of the battlefield. The pain coursing through your body was almost unbearable, and you longed for nothing more than to surrender to the agony that threatened to overwhelm you.

Then you saw them. Megumi and Yuji. Megumi rushed towards you, his brow furrowed. "What's happening? Where's Gojo?" he demanded, blocking your path.

"Megumi, just trust me," you pleaded, your voice strained.

"It's hard to trust you when you're acting like this."

As you tried to walk past him, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, halting you. His intense gaze piercing through you, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Swear to me you're not doing anything reckless," he said.

Time was running out.

Tears streaked down your cheeks. "Don't make me hurt you, Megumi."

Megumi gritted his teeth. "What are you saying?"

You held his gaze, hoping he would trust you enough-trust you enough to let you go.

"Let's just go home," he begged. "Please."

The weight of it all pressed down upon your battered form. You knew that you couldn't bear it much longer. Yet, you pushed forward, no matter the cost, no matter the pain.

"I can't."

He was torn. He was torn between stopping you and letting you go.

He knew that if he let you go, you would not back down, not now, not when you were so close. He knew he would have to kill you to stop you. So he let go. Knowing that whatever was to come was partly his fault. He would never forgive himself. But neither would he be able to hurt you. 

Not you.

So he let go of your wrist. 

He felt like he was signing your death sentence.

You turned away from him and sprinted towards Yuji.  

Your heart raced. You wanted to rip it out. 

Yuji looked up at you, his eyes filled with fear and terror. It was the same haunting expression he had worn when he lost control. You swore yourself you never wanted to see him ever again like this. But now you were the one he feared. The one he was so scared of.

It hurt. It hurt you to see him like that. When will there be an end to the pain.

Time seemed to slow down as you approached Yuji. He opened his mouth to speak, to reach out to you, but you stretched your trembling hand over his face, cutting off his words-sealing his fate.

"Domain Expansion."

****

"Who are you?"

Sukuna cracked open an eye to peer down at you from his shrine. His crimson eyes drilling into your very soul. Your blood run cold.

You briefly glanced down at your feet. You stood ankle-deep in blood. The surroundings had twisted into a nightmarish version of reality. Crimson shadows danced and twisted around the space like tortured souls.

This was no longer your domain, was it? Had Sukuna taken control of it somehow? But how was that even possible?

No. 

Drown out your thoughts.

Calm Down.

It will work.

"Don't even remember me?" you asked.

He pondered for a moment, his lips forming a cruel, mocking smile. "Aren't you the Fujiwara woman, who crumbled so easily when the brat lost control? Why are you here? Do you want to die?"

"I'm here to end you," you declared, your grip on your weapon tightening.

Sukuna burst into raucous laughter. Slowly, he sat up, his curiosity piqued. "My ending, huh? Bold statement. Let's see if you can justify it, wife of Satoru Gojo."

You flinched. Of course, Sukuna knew everything, just as Yuji did. Get a fucking grip on yourself. It was all part of the plan. The one slim chance you had to reach Sukuna and end this nightmare once and for all.

It's ok.

It will work.

You didn't need to beat him-just reach him. That's all. Then it would all be over.

****

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

"How can you be sure it will work?"

Snowflakes landed softly on your shoulders. Yet, the cold air was sharp, biting at any exposed skin. Each breath you took sent a small cloud of vapor into the frigid air.

Jack turned to you. "I can't guarantee it."

"So, it's a suicide mission?" you asked, a wry half-smile touching your lips.

"Not if you can control your cursed technique," he countered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Sukuna's strength lies in his cursed energy, flowing through his fingers. Disrupt that, and you'll render him powerless."

"Forever?"

"I guess so."

You raised an eyebrow. "You 'guess' so?"

Jack met your gaze, his eyes serious. "Like I said, I can't guarantee it. But based on what we know, yes, it should be permanent. If you can connect with him, even for a moment, you can use your cursed technique to break the flow of his cursed energy. But you need the fingers-they're the key."

"-and so easy to obtain," you added with a hint of irony.

"Mahito has them. All of Sukuna's fingers. You'll need to defeat him to get them. But there's a problem-he's with Kenjaku."

"Kenjaku?" You paused mid-step, the snow crunching under your boots. "This plan is becoming more insane by the second."

"You just have to separate them somehow, then go after Mahito to get the fingers."

"You say it all like it's nothing."

Jack's expression was grave. "I know it sounds insane, but it's the only way. And you are the only one who can do it."

You resumed walking. Each step felt heavy.

"And once I have the fingers, what's next? I have to fight Sukuna?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "This isn't about fighting him. It's about timing. When he makes contact, use that moment. With your cursed technique you can stop the flow of his cursed energy. You just have to be connected to his fingers at the same time as his body and stop it all."

He was surely insane.

Why did you want to meet him in the first place?

Ah. Right. How could you forget.

"I can stop the flow of cursed energy, but I've never done it permanently. And we're talking about the King of Curses here," you said.

"But you managed it with Gojo, didn't you?"

"Yes, but not permanently, as you might have guessed."

"If it worked on Gojo, it's likely to work on Sukuna too."

"And about making it permanent?" you pressed.

"That's the part where you'll have to improvise," Jack admitted. "There are no guarantees, but it's the best shot we have."

"What happens afterwards, if I can actually do it?" 

The question hung in the cold air.

"He'll be rendered powerless," Jack said. "Stripped of his cursed abilities."

"And Yuji will return to being a normal guy," you mused, coming to a halt and locking eyes with Jack. "Free of Sukuna's influence."

Jack nodded. 

With a heavy exhale, you tilted your head back, gazing up at the sky. Soft snowflakes landed gently on your face, melting instantly against your heated skin.

"Pick a side, Fujiwara. You can end this curse forever," Jack continued. "It's your chance for atonement. Your clan has already caused enough damage."

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

His eyes bored into you, a predator closing in on its prey.

The air shifted as Sukuna moved.

Sukuna lunged, his movements a blur. His hand sliced through the air towards you. Every instinct screamed to dodge, to evade, but you stood still. This was the moment you had prepared for, the moment that everything depended on.

The sharp, searing pain was immediate as Sukuna's hand made contact, slicing through your flesh. Agonizing waves of pain coursed through your being, threatening to rip your consciousness apart.

"Wow, you're just as easily crushed as all your other pathetic family members. How lame," Sukuna sneered, spitting on the ground. "But you, you were by far the weakest."

You grinned. "You think so?"

You seized his arm where it had gouged into the side of your abdomen with one hand and clenched his fingers tightly with the other.

You activated your cursed technique, tapping into the link that had just been formed. A burst of your own energy surged through the link, colliding  head-on into the onslaught of Sukuna's cursed energy.

It was overwhelming.  It was a malevolence beyond anything you had ever felt-a manifestation of pure evil that seemed to transcend the boundaries of human comprehension. It swept over you like a tidal wave. But you held firm. 

You envisioned the flow of his cursed energy, visualized it coming to a halt, and poured every ounce of your will into making it a reality.

Sukuna's laughter died. His eyes widened. The realization of what was happening dawned on him too late. You could feel his cursed energy faltering, its flow stuttering under your influence.

Your grin widened.

But in the blink of an eye, strong arms seized you. 

The walls of your domain shattered like fragile glass in a storm. You were hurled backwards with staggering force. Your connection to Sukuna's cursed energy snapped, leaving you disoriented and robbed of the taste of victory that had been so tantalizingly close.

No.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

No!

So close.

You were so close to stop it forever.

You crashed to the ground, wrapped in Satoru's arms. He held you close to him. He held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, as if by sheer will, he could protect you from the cruel twist of fate-or form yourself.

"Let me go, Satoru!"

Your legs kicked wildly in his grasp. Your fingers gripped his arms violently, nails digging into his flesh. You screamed and fought against Satoru's unyielding hold.

Your fingernails dug deeper into his flesh, leaving furious red welts and rivulets of blood in their wake. You could feel the shudder that ran through his body as he endured your assault.  But in that moment, you didn't care.

For what were those minor scratches compared to the pain Satoru had endured during those agonizing minutes when he believed he had lost you?

It was nothing.

A small sacrifice.

Nothing you could do would be nearly as painful to him as the suffering he had experienced while unconscious, not knowing where you were.

So when he saw your domain, he had no choice but to destroy it-free you-bring you back to him.

"Let go, damn it!" you hissed through gritted teeth.

"Stop it, love. It's enough!" His grip around you tightened, each painful squeeze of your wounded flesh adding to your agony. "What can I do to make you stop? Tell me. I'd do anything for you," Satoru's voice was soft, almost breaking, as he pleaded with you, his breath warm against your neck.

As you strained against his grip, you became painfully aware of his heartbeat. You could feel the warmth of his body, inhale the familiar scent of him that was unmistakably Satoru. It was all so awfully familiar. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you stopped fighting against his embrace.

"It's too late, Satoru. We have to do this now, or it's over forever," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. Resignation flowed through you, leaving you limp in his arms. The fight had drained out of you. All that remained was the harsh reality of the situation.

This was it.

The last downfall.

Sukuna, having partially taken control of Yuji, was closer than ever to seizing all his fingers. If you didn't stop him now, no one ever could.

"Then let Sukuna take over. It doesn't matter. You're all that matters." He paused, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Don't you understand? I can't lose you."

He was willing to sacrifice everything.

He had seen you nearly slip away too many times, and he couldn't bear to lose you again.

It had always been a dance of love and pain, sacrifice and betrayal. The wounds from past battles still lingered, scars etched deep into your heart. But despite the hurt, the love had never wavered, an unbreakable thread that bound you together.

Yes, he was willing to sacrifice everything for you.

But so were you.

You knew that it was your turn to make the sacrifice. To put an end to the suffering that had haunted you both for far too long.

"Sorry, do I interrupt the lovely couple?"

Sukuna's voice cut through the tension like a blade. His steps were slow as he approached, his crimson eyes locked onto both of you. Your heart raced, but you couldn't let fear consume you now. There was too much at stake.

He halted a few meters away, across from you.

"Satoru-" You whispered his name, a last desperate plea.

Satoru took a deep inhale. He lifted his head from where it had been nestled in your hair. "How long do we have left?"

"His cursed energy is suppressed, but only for another minute, maybe two."

"Then we need to be fast," he said, releasing you from his protective hold. "Will your plan still work?"

"I hope so." Your hand instinctively went to your belt, relieved to feel the fingers of Sukuna still securely fastened there. Your body ached. You were far beyond your limits, but the familiar rush of adrenaline dulled the pain. "It would have worked if you hadn't destroyed my domain," you added as you turned to face him.

He met your gaze squarely. "Consider it payback for stabbing me with that damn dagger of yours," he retorted, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Ha? You started it by throwing a fucking car at me!"

Sukuna watched silently, almost bemused. Then, with a heavy sigh, as if tired of the delay, he lunged towards you both. In a flash, Megumi positioned himself in front of you and Satoru, blocking Sukuna's attack.

"Can you save this discussion for couples therapy and focus on the fight?" Megumi shouted.

"What do you need?" Satoru quickly asked you.

"An opening."

"Nothing easier than that," Satoru replied, a hint of a cruel smile playing on his lips. 

In a flash, he lunged forward into the fray. "Move, Megumi!" he shouted. Without hesitation, Megumi dodged and cleared the way for Satoru to unleash his full power.

Satoru's fist drew back. Then, with explosive force, he unleashed his punch. His fist met Sukuna's jaw, and an instant shockwave tore through the air.

Sukuna was hurled backwards. He crashed into the remains of a building with a bone-shattering thud. The already fragile structure groaned and crumbled under the immense impact. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the aftermath of Satoru's devastating attack.

As the dust settled and the debris slowly cleared, Satoru's eyes remained fixed on the spot where Sukuna had been thrown.

Then, from the midst of the wreckage, a chilling laughter echoed. Sukuna emerged from the rubble, his form astonishingly unharmed. He brushed aside the debris that clung to him. His crimson eyes burned with malevolent fire.

"Is that the best you've got, Gojo?" he taunted.

Satoru cracked his knuckles and assumed a fighting stance. "I was just getting warmed up."

But you knew him better. You knew what you'd done to him, you'd stopped his cursed energy, and he wasn't quite back. His injuries still lingered, his cursed energy faltered. He was far from his peak. But so was Sukuna.

In an explosive burst of speed, Sukuna closed the gap on Satoru, their clash causing a shockwave that shook the surrounding.

Megumi clenched his fists and called his divine dog to his side.  "Go to the left!" Without hesitation, you darted to the left, circling around to flank Sukuna.

Sukuna's fist flew towards Satoru's face. Satoru dropped to the ground. In one fluid motion, Satoru twisted his body and unleashed a powerful kick from the ground, sending Sukuna flying over your head.

For a brief moment, Sukuna soared overhead. Your eyes locked with his.

Defying gravity and physical limitations, Sukuna regained control mid-air and hurtled towards you. But Megumi's divine dog was at your side in an instant, shielding you with its form.

In the next heartbeat, Satoru was there. "Don't touch my wife!" His kick connected with Sukuna, sending the cursed spirit flying away from you with a force that echoed through the battlefield. 

What the hell was Satoru doing?

Time was running out.

"What are you doing, Satoru?!" you shouted. "I need to physically touch him, stop sending him flying miles away from me!"

"Oh right, sorry." Satoru landed back beside you, his feet barely touching the ground before he moved again.

Simultaneously, you and Satoru charged forward. Sukuna swiftly regained his footing. In a blur of movement, Satoru's fist shot forward, aiming for Sukuna. His punch smashed into the brick wall where Sukuna's head had been a split second earlier. Chunks of brick flew into the air.

Sukuna exploited the brief opening. He lunged towards you, bypassing Satoru. You tensed, preparing for the impact, but Satoru was faster.

Satoru parried the attack with a swift, powerful kick to Sukuna's midsection. Blood spurted from Sukuna's mouth. Without missing a beat, Satoru followed up with a lightning-fast jab to Sukuna's face.

"Now!" he yelled, spotting an opening.

You lunged forward.  But Sukuna quickly regained his footing. He leaped back, dodging Satoru's punch with a fluidity that belied his injured state. He parried, sending Satoru reeling back.

In the blink of an eye, Sukuna's hand shot out, gripping your leg with an iron grasp. He swept your legs from under you. You crashed to the ground.

Looking up, Sukuna towered over you, his grin malicious. His crimson eyes glinted with malevolence. But before he could make a move, Megumi's divine dog intervened. Its huge form crashed into Sukuna and tore him away from you.

Megumi rushed to your side. "You good?" he asked, offering a hand.

"Never been better," you grabbed his hand, pulling yourself up swiftly.

Satoru was back on Sukuna, delivering a powerful kick. Sukuna dodged. He countered with a fast jab to Satoru's torso, breaking bone with a sickening crack.

Megumi, not missing a beat, joined the fight, his movements synchronized with Satoru's. They worked in unison-teacher and student.

Megumi feigned an attack, drawing Sukuna's attention. Satoru sought an opening. They were relentless, a blur of rapid strikes and feints as they pushed Sukuna to his limits.

Sukuna's desperate defense faltered. His movements became erratic. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, the stench of blood filling the air. Sukuna found himself cornered as Satoru and Megumi closed in for the kill.

There was no way to escape now.

They had him.

At Satoru's call, you burst into action. 

Sprinting forward, you positioned yourself between Satoru and Megumi. You didn't hesitate. Your hand shot out, seizing Sukuna's chest in an iron grip, while your other hand retrieved his severed fingers from your belt. 

With a deep breath, you activated your cursed technique once more, tapping into the fragile link you had established. Sukuna's cursed energy surged through the connection, dark and malevolent, but you were ready for it this time. 

You had felt it before. 

Now, all that mattered was stopping it-halting it forever.

You closed your eyes. The world around you faded into the background as you focused solely on the flow of cursed energy. Satoru and Megumi held Sukuna in place, their combined efforts restraining the sorcerrer.

But then, you sensed a change-a surge of power that shouldn't have been possible. Sukuna's cursed energy roared back to life.

It was too late.

Your eyes snapped open. You starred directly into Sukuna's eyes. He grinned.

"Too late," Sukuna sneered.

In an instant, Sukuna unleashed a devastating shockwave of cursed energy. It erupted like an tempest, its sheer force sending Satoru and Megumi hurtling backward. Their hold on Sukuna shattered.

But you stood still, your hand still pressed firmly against Sukuna's chest. You blocked the surge of cursed energy that rushed at you, deflecting it away from you. The chaotic energy swirled and raged around you. 

The ground beneath your feet shattered and ripped open. You twisted your feet to get more grip, holding your ground against Sukuna's overwhelming power.

The world descended into sheer chaos.

What do you think, was it then when it all fell down?

Perhaps.

Satoru and Megumi shouted. But their voices were drowned out by the chaotic force. Satoru cried out desperately, pleading with you to stop, to step away from the maelstrom, to return to him. 

And you wanted to do that. You really wanted to. You wanted nothing more than to heed his call, to turn back to the safety of his arms.

But it was too late, wasn't it? 

It was all too late.

You drowned out Satoru's pleas, the sound of his voice breaking with each desperate scream of your name. The searing heat of Sukuna's cursed energy scorched your skin. You felt your flesh tearing apart, wounds ripping open across your battered form.

You looked eyes with Sukuna. His crimson eyes bored into you, but all you could do was smile. Your lips twisted into a wry grin as you felt his cursed energy slowing.

You could almost feel the grinding halt of Sukuna's cursed energy in your mind's eye, pouring every ounce of your will into making it a reality.

Sukuna seized your arm. His grip brutal. His fingers dug into your flesh,  drawing forth a wellspring of blood. You winced at the pain, but your focus did not waver. Then Sukuna's hand shot towards your torso with lethal precision. 

The pain was sharp and immediate as Sukuna's hand pierced your flesh. A wave of agony ripped through you, so intense it was almost blinding. Blood trickled from your mouth, but all you could do was grin at Sukuna.

"Too late," you echoed his earlier taunt. In that moment, as your blood spilled and your body screamed in pain, you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you had succeeded.

Sukuna's laughter died. His eyes widened. The realization of what was happening dawned on him too late. You felt the flow of his cursed energy stutter, then stop altogether.

The shockwave subsided. Everything seemed to come to a halt. Frozen in the very air as Sukuna's cursed energy ceased to exist.

Forever.

Sukuna withdrew his arm from your abdomen. Blood gushed forth from the wound as he did so.

You watched as Yuji returned to normal. Sukuna's marks disappeared from his face,  leaving behind the familiar, gentle features you loved so much. Tears brimmed in Yuji's eyes before he sank to the ground.

You let out a heavy exhale.

It's over.

It's over.

Your breaths grew shallow.

All strength drained.

Your legs, no longer able to support your weight, buckled beneath you. The world spun, its edges darkening, as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.

Just as you began to fall, strong arms encircled you, catching you before you could hit the ground. It was Satoru. His eyes full of horror.

He held you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your blood as it spilled down his hands. He wanted to staunch the flow, to press against the open wound. Stop the bleeding. But a hole couldn't be stopped from bleeding. Some wounds couldn't be stopped.

"Stay with me, love," he whispered hoarsely. He brushed away the bloodstained strands of hair from your face. His fingers trembled. They trembled so violently. "Don't go. I can't live without you."

Over Satoru's shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Megumi. In all the years you had known him, you had never seen him shed a tear. He sank to the ground, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Satoru," you managed to breathe out. "Let's go back to the beach and live there. I'm tired of fighting," you said with a strained chuckle. Blood pooled around you, seeping into the ground, staining it crimson. 

Tears fell on your face, warm and salty-his tears.

Satoru's eyes were like the ocean as he looked at you. 

How you loved the ocean. 

You loved him so much.

You didn't know what was more painful, the pain of what had happened or the pain of what would never be-the future that was slipping away-the life you could have had-the dreams that would remain unfulfilled.

He looked so young in that moment-he was not the strongest-just a vulnerable young man. Stripped of all his strength. But what was strength anyway if he couldn't protect the ones he loved. How could he name himself the strongest sorcerer, yet be powerless in the moments that truly mattered.

It was all so meaningless to him in that moment, pointless, hollow. 

Without you, the world lost its purpose.

Oh, how cruel fate is.

How utterly cruel some fates were meant to be.

"Yeah, I'm tired of fighting, too," he murmured, his voice a soft, pained whisper. "We'll return to the beach and stay there, forever. Anything for you, love."

Your smiled. You reached up, cupping his face gently in your hand. "I'm all yours," you whispered. As your consciousness waned, you held onto the image of Satoru, the love you felt for him, and the peace of the beach that you would never see again. 

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm all yours," he echoed softly. "Forever."

And then your hand slipped away from his cheek. It fell to your side, lifeless and still. The light in your eyes dimmed, leaving Satoru adrift in a sea of despair, grappling with the cruel reality that you were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I love you," he uttered, each word fracturing his heart a little more as he pulled your lifeless form closer to his chest. Repeating the phrase, as if each utterance could somehow bridge the chasm that death had created between you.

"I love you," he repeated over and over as you drew your last breath. The silence screamed in his ears. He couldn't move. He could hardly breathe. All he could do was hold your frail body in his arms-so limp and lifeless, so utterly different from the force of nature he knew-he loved.

The world around him had crumbled, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill-leaving behind an unbearable weight of a future denied.

But all he could do was cry.

His heart shattered and broke in ways he never thought it could.

And all he could do was cry.

"I love you," he whispered until his tears drowned everything out.

Because all he could do was cry.

I love you.

Three simple words.

Three simple words Satoru Gojo could never bring himself to utter again.

To anyone.

Ever.

****

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

53,245.

That was the count. 53,245 curses eradicated since you left. Each one a silent, ruthless kill—each one a cruel reminder of his relentless agony.

53,245 emotionless annihilations.

53,245 final gasps of cursed beings.

53,245... and yet, Satoru Gojo felt nothing. 

No satisfaction, no relief. 

Nothing.

Only emptiness.

How could this world just go on. 

Why didn't it stop. 

Because it had stopped for him—frozen in the moment he lost you.

Satoru Gojo was soaked in cold vengeance and unyielding fury. Nothing more then a shell of his former self—a vessel fueled by rage and an insatiable thirst for retribution, his eyes long devoid of any spark.

Every curse he annihilated  was a futile attempt to fill an ever-deepening chasm within. But with each battle, with each kill, the chasm only grew wider, deeper, consuming what little of him remained.

Blood dripped from his fingers as he stood amidst the remains of yet another curse he had violently torn apart. His form was barely recognizable beneath the layers of blood splatter, the gore clinging to his body as if it had become one with his very being.

The wind whispered through the desolation, carrying away the echoes of his silent screams.

53,246.

Still this feeling.

Emptiness. 

An ever consuming, overwhelming emptiness.

Why?

Why didn't it go away?

Why did it haunt him?

Why did it have to haunt him so relentlessly?

Why was there no end?

To the emptiness?

To him?

53,246.

But who was counting anymore? 

The number was just a hollow count.

Pointless.

Meaningless.

Satoru Gojo had lost himself. He became a shadow, haunted by the memory of what could have been and the brutal reality of what was.

The only constant was the blood that stained his hands.

He didn't care. 

He had stopped caring a long time ago.

Because the world had moved on—that traitorous thing of a world had moved on, but Satoru Gojo remained trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Unable to find an escape. Unable to let go.

He had tried to fill the void, god believe me, he had tried so desperately—tried to fill it with his duties as a sorcerer, throwing himself into battle after battle, seeking solace in the slaughter of curses.

But nothing changed.

The emptiness remained.

There was no end to his journey, no final destination. 

There was only the hunt, the endless pursuit of a peace he knew he would never again find. 

The laughter, the love, the light—all extinguished in the wake of your death. The loss of you had stripped away the last vestiges of warmth from his heart. What remained was a man driven by a singular, unyielding purpose: to eradicate every curse that dared to taint the world you had once walked upon.

And so, he continued, a lone figure against the backdrop of a world struggling to maintain its balance, a sorcerer whose heart had been irrevocably shattered, leaving behind nothing but the cold, ruthless determination of a man with nothing left to lose.

Because nothing really mattered any more.

All that mattered was the void in his heart, the ache of your absence. He had lost the love of his life, and nothing else could ever compare.

Some days he couldn't help but think back to the days when it wasn't too late, remember the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, the feeling of your skin—they were distant memories now, fading with each passing day. He had tried to hold on to them, but they slipped through his fingers like sand.

And then the darkness consumed him again.

So this was his life now—a never-ending cycle of violence and death.

He was the strongest sorcerer in the world, but it meant nothing to him. All that mattered was the one thing he could never have again. All that mattered was the one person he could not protect.

Why couldn't he protect you? 

Why was he so pathetically powerless?

Why? 

Why?  

When did it all go wrong? 

Why didn't he see it sooner? 

Why didn't he keep you closer? 

The question echoed relentlessly, infiltrating his every waking moment and plaguing his restless nights. He searched for answers that seemed forever beyond his grasp, aching to comprehend the agonizing twists of fate that had torn you from his embrace.

His mind relentlessly retraced the steps that led to this loss. He replayed those moments, desperately seeking the point of divergence where he might have altered the course of fate, prevented the tragedy that had destroyed his world.

But he couldn't.

It was all meaningless.

Amidst the bloodshed of his massacre, he stood, his head tilted back as he gazed at the sky above. He wiped across his eyes with the back of his hand.

It's been two years. 

Still every day was painful.

Still every day he thinks about you.

Some days he thinks he's healed. Other days the wounds are fresh, cutting deeper than ever. But the unchanging, unbearable reality was that he missed you every single day.

****

"It's hot," Yuji remarked.

He's right.

The summer heat was unbearable, the air heavy and still. This summer was violent, each day bringing a scorching heat that seemed to drain the energy from everything it touched. Yuji and Megumi sat in the shade, seeking a fleeting escape from the heat.

"I wonder if Nobara's happy overseas," Yuji mused, his hands mechanically working through the motions of slicing watermelon. 

"It doesn't matter where she is. Here or overseas. She won't be happy," Megumi said as he watched the aimless swirl of a leaf caught in the still air.

"Probably not," Yuji agreed.

A heavy silence fell upon them, pressing down like the summer heat.

After a moment, Yuji spoke up again. "Aren't you leaving soon as well?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

"You think it'll change anything?" Yuji asked, his eyes searching Megumi's face for an answer they both knew but didn't want to admit.

Megumi paused, his gaze drifting away. "I have to try."

Yuji exhaled heavily. "So, it's just me now here."

"You'll be fine, Yuji. Gojo's still around," Megumi tried to reassure, though his words lacked conviction.

Yuji propped himself up on one elbow. "Didn't Gojo-sensei say he wants to quit teaching?"

Megumi's eyes widened slightly.

At that moment, a familiar voice cut through the heat. "Did I just hear my name?"

As they turned, the sight of Satoru halted their breaths. Of course, they were shocked. But they were not surprised. They long stopped to be surprised to see him like that. In this state.

His silver hair hung in disheveled strands, plastered to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and dried blood. His form was drenched in scarlet, the blood indistinguishable as to whether it was his own or someone else's. His eyes were shadowed with the familiar emptiness.

His exposed skin bore the marks of numerous injuries, bruises and scratches marring his pale complexion. He no longer healed himself with his reversed cursed technique unless his injuries were lethal.

He wanted to feel the pain.

He wanted to feel the pain of each and every scratch and wound.

He wanted to see the blood run down his skin—wanted to see it run out—wanted to see it end his pain.

Yet amidst the chaos of his broken appearance, a small patch on his left hand had always remained meticulously shielded by his infinity, untouched, unblemished. The wedding ring still adorned his finger, a singular spot free from the onslaught of his self-imposed penance.

Satoru drew closer until his shadow fell on Yuji. Yuji tilted his head back. "Oh, Gojo-sensei. What brings you here?"

Satoru strolled closer, picked up a slice of watermelon and sat down next to them. He seemed unfazed by the blood that transferred from his hands to the watermelon as he took a bite. The air around him carried the pungent scent of battle.

"You reek of burned flesh and ashes," Megumi commented.

"Do I?" Satoru responded, seemingly unbothered by the observation.

Silence.

"Is it true?" Megumi spoke up. "You're done with teaching?"

Satoru turned his gaze to them. "Yeah, I'm stepping back. It's time for you all to take over." He paused, his jaw clenched. "I'm tired," he added, almost in a whisper.

His gaze then shifted to Yuji. "Yuji, you're in for the teacher training program."

Yuji's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Really?"

"Yes, you've done well," Satoru said with a fleeting smile that hardly touched the weariness in his eyes. "You too, Megumi, if you want to stay," Satoru added, but he already knew the answer to that.

"Who would've thought? Me as a teacher. Times really are changing," Yuji mused aloud.

Just then, Maki arrived, her directness cutting like a blade. "Gojo, you're reeking up the place. Ever heard of a shower?"

Satoru shot a quick, irritable glance her way. "Shut it, Zenin."

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his response. "Seriously, Gojo? When are you going to end your self-destruction? It's been two years!"

Satoru's fist clenched, his patience clearly fraying. "Watch your words," he retorted sharply.

But Maki wasn't done. She had had enough. She had grieved, too, like everyone else, but to watch Satoru drown in self-pity made her blood boil; knowing that it was far from what you would have wanted for him.

She crossed her arms, her gaze drilling into him. "Look at yourself, Gojo! You're a mess! When do you think you will finally be redeemed? Huh? When you have wiped out every curse on earth?"

At her words, something in Satoru snapped. He stood up abruptly, his presence suddenly more threatening. "Enough," he warned, his voice icy, barely containing his simmering rage. "Shut your tongue, or I'll rip it out myself."

Maki held his gaze, unflinching. "And then what, Gojo? You think that will bring you peace?"

Satoru's eyes narrowed. "I advise you to stay out of matters that do not concern you." With that, he turned and left, leaving Megumi, Yuji, and Maki behind.

Maki let out an exasperated sigh, running her hand through her hair. "When will Gojo get a grip on himself?"

"Drop it, Maki," Megumi snapped back with an uncharacteristic sharpness. 

Maki's eyes narrowed, her own patience wearing thin. "Oh, come on! You're just as bad, Fushiguro. Both of you need to move forward. It's painful to watch."

Megumi's expression darkened. Without another word, he stood up, turned on his heel and walked away. Maki and Yuji were left in silence, the tension still hanging in the air.

"Was I too harsh?" Maki sat down besides Yuji.

"Maybe, Maki. I don't know. I really don't know." Yuji let out a weary exhale. "Just don't be so hard on them. They torture themselves enough already," he said while his fingers traced the faint lines under his eyes where painful marks had once been. "We all do."

That's it, isn't it?

That's fate.

That's life.

Unforgiving.

Cruel.

Somehow, some fates are meant to be cruel—cursed even.

And all they could do was hope—hope that one day the pain would ease, that it would become more bearable. Or that life would, at lat, offer them the sweet release they lacked the courage to seize for themselves—the release from the pain that held them captive.

Sometimes, Satoru thought about it.

In the quiet nights.

When he missed you the most.

He wanted to forget, to let go of the memories that haunted him. Maybe then the pain would be easier to bear. Maybe then it would be easier to breathe. Yet, he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to forget, even though he wished he could.

But the curses that plagued the world were a constant reminder of what had been cruelly taken from him, and he couldn't rest until he had annihilated every last one of them.

Until that day came, he would continue his relentless hunt, each cursed spirit he extinguished bringing him a faint step closer to redemption.

Or so he desperately hoped.

a/n: I can't believe I've finally completed this fic. It's been an incredible journey, and I want to express my deepest gratitude to all of you who stuck with me through it. This was my first-ever long fanfiction, and I've learned so much while writing it. 

I hope you enjoyed the ride, even if it was a bit wobbly from time to time; I just wrote it as it flowed into my brain, chapter by chapter.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. I hope you have a wonderful day or night, and maybe we'll cross paths again in another story! ♥

#gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #satoru gojo angst

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia - Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon

The day of the Heir Tournament has finally arrived, and what is a joust without some bloodshed? 

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: TW! Depictions of violence, mentions of blood, Daemon being an asshole, angst, the continuation of my blood feud against HOTD’s costuming department

Word Count: 4.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: With all the explicit detailing I included about the character’s dresses, would you guys maybe be interested for me to post some of my fashion designs here, so you guys can get a clearer vision of what I envisioned the characters wearing? Because I find it extremely difficult to translate my designs into words lol, blame my lack of fashion background. And from this chapter on, things are going to start getting serious. 

Also recommended that you listen to ‘There Are Worse Games To Play’ on the Hunger Games soundtrack while you read this chapter, particularly towards the end 💗

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics as always!

The fire crackled merrily in Lady Y/N’s chambers, although the room was filled with a ruminative silence. Night had once again descended on the Red Keep, and after tending to Aemma all day, who was in more discomfort than usual, Y/N was exhausted. 

She was still simmering with displeasure at Daemon’s words from that afternoon. One could argue that Daemon was merely being careless with his words, but Y/N knew better. Just like many other people, he disregarded her based on her gender. She thought maybe Daemon would be different since he cared not for the restraints society has put on him, but it appears she was nothing but a fool to ever think positively of him. 

I sighed, my fingers continuing to weave the bonnet for Aemma’s babe, even though I found no pleasure in the task. Daemon’s words this afternoon had sent me tumbling into an unpleasant spiral of emotions, and I directed my dark gaze towards the roaring fire, where the charred remains of my father’s letter still sat. 

Lord Matthos and Lady Primrose, Lord and Lady of Highgarden, and my parents. With my lady mother dead now, and me being their unfortunate sole surviving child, my father had directed his focus on getting me married off as soon as possible. “You must wed and produce heirs that could inherit Highgarden,” my father had insisted, pleaded, even. “I know with your...reputation, it might be difficult to find a match, but you are no longer young anymore, and you must marry as soon as possible. It is the duty you owe to House Tyrell.” 

“My duty,” I snorted, nearly pricking myself with the needle in the process. It was simply unfair, why must I be expected to marry and pump out babes for my husband while men like Daemon could prance about freely without a care in the world? I wanted to enjoy my youth, as was my right. Why should i care for duty? Even if my father required heirs, House Tyrell was not lacking in any cousins that could inherit if he should pass. 

Indignation coursed through my blood as I began increasing the speed in which I was weaving the bonnet. Even Aemma had reminded me on more than one occasion of the importance of duty, and I was sick of it. There was just some part of me that couldn’t grasp why everyone was so fixated on it. The Seven had granted us one chance at life: one should revel in it by pursuing their own desires. And besides, after witnessing Aemma’s grief and pain over her many miscarriages and stillbirths, I shuddered to think what duty might have in store for me. I was determined that I would not succumb to the notion of the dutiful, heir producing daughter that my father so wished me to be, no matter how much my father pleaded with me. After all, if Daemon could evade it as long as he did, surely I could do the same.

I frowned as I eyed the finished bonnet. Not as pretty as I envisioned, but children grow fast anyway. I went over to the window, gazing at the Dragonpit, dark and imposing against the night sky. It only made me think of a certain princeling, and I huffed, drawing my curtains shut. Rubbing my temples and exhaling heavily. I decided not to waste any more of my thoughts on the Rogue Prince. Clambering into bed, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

I had not expected to be in attendance at the tournament today. Aemma had been experiencing increasing bouts of pain for the past few days, and I wanted to keep her company should the babe be close to making its arrival in this world. Unexpectedly, I had been nearly dragged out of Aemma’s apartments by Rhaenyra and Alicent early in the morrow, with Aemma insisting I go spectate the tourney instead of staying with her like a watchful owl. I had argued, but Aemma specifically called upon Rhaenyra and Alicent as reinforcement, with some explicit threats that I would be quartered, hung and my head placed on a spike should I refuse to attend. 

Thus here I was, in the royal box, my face etched with concern as my mind kept wandering over to Aemma. I prayed fervently to the Seven that she would not go into labour in my absence, and to the Mother that if she did, that her labour would be smooth and painless. 

“What say you, Y/N?” I was pulled out of my reverie, eyes wide as I muttered an unintelligible “Huh?” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes good-naturedly while Alicent struggled to hide her giggles. “I was just discussing with Alicent why you seem to be favouring gowns of Tyrell green as of late. Usually, we noticed you would be in lighter shades.” My gaze shifted downward, surprised at her observation. 

I was dressed in my best, another gown of Tyrell green silk, with fitted sleeves that trailed to a more sheer, but still dark green material that flared out below my elbows. Several gold roses adorned my shoulders, interspersed with tiny rubies. The neckline dipped slightly in the valley of my breasts, but anything that could cause scandal was covered by a layer of Myrish lace. The dress’ skirts clung to my figure, parting at the centre to reveal an underskirt of olive green and gold brocade. It had cost a fortune, and had once belonged to my mother. My signature gold earrings adorned my earlobes, and my hair was pinned into an elegant braided updo. I might dislike the idea of duty to my house, but regardless, I had to represent House Tyrell in the best light possible, especially at such an important event. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent were decked out in their finest for the occasion as well. Rhaenyra was clad in Targaryen colours, and I admired the black corset that looked reminiscent of armour fitted across her upper half of her body. Dragon scales were painstakingly patterned on the corset, and they were held together by laces made of fine golden thread. Underneath the corset, she wore a dark red gown with an intricately pleated skirt. The sleeves were off the shoulder, going down to her wrists. Gold shoulder plates set in a dragonscale pattern with gold fringes protected her bare shoulders from the autumn chill. She wore a heavyset necklace cut with square shaped rubies, hammered into gold, and her hair was let loose in a wild cascade of curls. She looked every inch a Targaryen warrior princess. Alicent was dressed simpler, but still looked beautiful nonetheless. A light blue dress of brocade and silk with a square neckline hugged her soft curves, exposing a little bit of her collarbone, where two strands of pearls were draped across her neck. Her sleeves were puffed at the shoulders, stopping short just before her elbow, while the rest of her sleeves were fitted tightly to her wrists. Small delicate flowers were sewn at the hem of her sleeves. Her skirts parted at the centre to reveal an underlying layer of cream white brocade, and her bodice had crisscrossing geometric diamond patterns sewn on it, dipping at her waist with a point. Her hair was fashioned in a half up, half down hairdo, curls tumbling to the small of her back. Both of them had inquisitive looks in their eyes, though Rhaenyra’s harboured a glimpse of impatience.

I smiled a little awkwardly at the question. Truth be told, I had no idea why. My thoughts had been taking on a darker turn since my encounter with Daemon in the throne room and the raven sent by my lord father, and I supposed my choice of apparel reflected my mood. “Well, at such a celebration, it is only fitting of me to dress in the colours of my house.” I reasoned, tilting my head slightly. “Do the darker gowns not suit me?” 

“All colours suit you well, my lady.” Alicent said gently. I smiled gratefully at her, as Rhaenyra turned to Alicent and asked teasingly if she suited any colour as well. My smile widened as I watched the two bicker playfully. 

We were interrupted however, by the arrival of the King. We all stood up to greet him, bowing politely. He was beaming from ear to ear, as he began addressing the crowd, much to the raucous cheers of the crowd. 

“The day has been made more auspicious, by the news I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labours!” My eyes widened upon hearing those words, and as soon as the King finished his address, I stood up, ready to excuse myself to go tend to Aemma, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, effectively halting my attempts of a hasty exit. “Viserys-” 

“I know you want to be there for Aemma,” the corner of Viserys’ eyes crinkled as he spoke gently, trying to push me back down to my seat, “But she asked me to relay a message: trust that she will be alright, and enjoy the tourney instead. It will be your only time to relax before you are swept up in your duties to take care of the babe.” 

I bit my lip, a sense of unease washing over me. “But-” “You must stay and enjoy the tourney. Your King commands it. As does your Queen.” I glanced at him, eyes filled with worry, but he only nodded encouragingly. 

“If my king commands…I shall obey,” I said with some reluctance, although it dissipated somewhat when Viserys beamed at me, clapping my shoulder affectionately before sitting back down. I sat back down too, my eyes wandering over to Rhaenyra, who gave me a smile, which I returned. I said a silent prayer to the Seven as the first few contenders were being announced, that both Aemma and her babe would be safe and healthy.

The first of the tilts began, to the boisterous cheers of the crowd. I watched as a jouster carrying a shield with a sigil unknown to me quickly unhorsed a squire of House Tarly. My brows furrowed., I turned to Rhaenyra, “Do you recognise the sigil that the mystery knight was carrying?” She shook her head. Alicent leaned over, eyes fixed on the knight as he steered his horse before the royal box and bowed, “I think he’s from House Cole. Of the Stormlands, I believe.” 

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose, “I’ve never heard of House Cole. This should prove most interesting.” I pursed my lips as Lord Boremund Baratheon asked for Princess Rhaenys’ favour, addressing her as “The Queen Who Never Was”, causing the crowd to stir a little in dissent. “You could have Baratheon’s tongue for that.” “Tongues will not change the succession,” came Viserys’ assured response. “Let them wag.” 

“Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.” “Lord Massey’s son?” Alicent inquired, a little surprised. Rhaenyra nodded, “They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.” I snorted, remembering some of the unsavoury rumours I had heard swirling around the court as of late. “Best get on with it,” my voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.” Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief, and Alicent clapped a hand over her mouth as if reeling from the sheer impropriety of it, while I merely shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips and turned my gaze back to the proceedings. 

I leaned forward in my seat, intrigued when the mystery knight of House Cole unhorsed Lord Boremund in a single tilt, much to the crowd’s delight and mocking laughs. Rhaenyra let out a small “oof” sound, while Alicent looked  dumbstruck. Mayhaps the tourney would be of some excitement after all. 

“Prince Daemon, of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!” The smile that was forming at my lips dropped in an instant, and I pursed my lips as Daemon, clad in his black armour, raced past the audience astride his black steed, much to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. I rolled my eyes: show off. 

I was unsurprised and somewhat amused when Daemon chose Ser Gwayne Hightower as his first jousting opponent. Of course, Daemon chose today to be even more of a little shit than usual. Oftentimes, I wondered if he gained his life essence from pissing Otto Hightower off. I craned my neck backwards to catch a glimpse of the Hand’s expression, my lips curving upwards in a smirk when I took note of his irked expression. 

Suddenly, I felt a heavy stare upon me, and I turned back to the spectacle to see Daemon’s violet eyes fixed on me. When he met my gaze, that little shit had the audacity to smirk and tilt his lance at me. I huffed and turned away, fixing my eyes on Ser Gwayne instead.  

I had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh as Daemon’s lance was nearly knocked out of his hand by a well angled tilt by Ser Gwayne. Mayhaps that smug bastard will get some comeuppance today, I thought with glee. 

That glee was short lived as Ser Gwayne was thrown from his horse in an unsightly scene, when Daemon aimed for his horse’s legs, causing the animal to neigh with agony as it slid forward and bucked Ser Gwayne off into the dirt. I heard Alicent gasp with fright next to me, and I reached out to pat her hand reassuringly. That cheating bastard really had no scruples when it came to dealing with Otto Hightower, even to his kin. 

I frowned as I watched Daemon parade around on his horse, looking all too pleased with himself. I was caught off guard however, when Daemon came to a stop in front of the royal box, prompting Rhaenyra to get out of her seat, tugging me and Alicent with her. I was screaming internally for Rhaenyra not to drag me into this, but I begrudgingly followed Rhaenyra as she leaned over the railing, grinning at Daemon. “Nicely done, uncle,” Rhaenyra complimented him, causing Daemon to tilt his chin upwards arrogantly. “Thank you, Princess.” 

He smirked as he zeroed in on me, lingering behind Alicent. “Lady Y/N,” he called, a certain mischief in his voice. Oh no. 

“You look rather radiant today, dressed in your house colours.” I narrowed my eyes, aware of his attempts to bait me, by first paying me a compliment, so that if I rejected him, I would seem ill-mannered. But with so many eyes on us, I could only respond through gritted teeth, “Thank you, my prince.” 

“With such a beautiful lady as the one before me, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask for her favour.” Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, as I attempted to minimise the lethality of my death glare. This brazen little punk. To ask for my favour after what he had said yesterday-

I leaned forward, whispering harshly, “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” Daemon merely raised an eyebrow. “You know I am certain I can win these little games. Having your favour would all but assure it. You won’t rebuff me with so many eyes watching us, won’t you, byka zaldrizes?” 

Grinding my teeth, I did my best to keep my expression neutral. He was right, the crowd was getting restless. I could hear some murmuring from the lords behind me, and even Rhaenyra was nudging me subtly. The gods have chosen to curse me on this very day. I sighed, before moving to retrieve my favour, a small wreath of orange and purple flowers. Sliding it down the lance Daemon offered up, I forced a smile on my face. “I wish you good luck in the jousts, my prince.” 

Daemon smirked, having gotten under her skin like he wanted. “With your favour, I’m sure I don’t need it.” Daemon rode away as I rolled my eyes and took my seat once more, Rhaenyra and Alicent following suit. “It appears the Prince Daemon is attempting to play nice today, Lady Y/N,” Alicent smiled at me. Rhaenyra nodded earnestly, “Mayhaps he is starting to be civil to you, Y/N.” I had to refrain from snorting and saying something very derogatory about the Prince, instead letting my surly expression do all the talking. 

As Lady Y/N was distracted by the frenzy of the tourney, a maester sidled up to the Hand of the King to relay a message. The Hand’s eyes turned grim, and he turned towards Viserys, whose expression was still filled with mirth after witnessing his brother ask Y/N for her favour. Upon hearing the news, the King’s face visibly blanched, and he got out of his seat swiftly, followed closely by the Hand. 

Y/N, Alicent and Rhaenyra were engaged in fervent conversation, completely absorbed in the proceedings. But soon enough, the tourney had given way to violence and bloodshed. Y/N winced and averted her gaze as one after the other, the jousters who chose to continue their battle in arms caved in each other’s heads, fighting each other like feral beasts. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she did her best to block out the sound of agonised grunts and screams from the bludgeoned competitors. Looking over, she saw Alicent picking at her own fingernails till it was bloody. Frowning, she quickly nudged Alicent, who immediately stopped with a sheepish expression. Covering Alicent’s hand with hers to provide some reassurance, Y/N turned her head backward to take in Viserys’ expression, startled when she realised both the King and the Hand were missing. Cursing herself for her lack of awareness, she quickly moved to get up, but Alicent pulled her down to her seat. “Y/N, you must not leave now!” Alicent insisted, “Prince Daemon is about to tilt against Ser Criston!” 

I tried to shake off Alicent’s hand, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “I couldn’t give two damns about Daemon, the Queen needs me-” “It would be rude to leave before you’ve seen the jouster whom you’ve bestowed your favour to compete,” Rhaenyra chimed in, her purple eyes alight with excitement. “Father is there with Mother, she will be alright. They commanded you to enjoy the tourney with us, and as your princess, I order you to stay.” My face fell as I chewed my lip while glancing at the exit of the royal box. Alicent tugged on my hand, and I found myself relenting at the determined looks both of them were levelling at me. After all, there was no harm in staying for just a while. And I might even see Daemon get bested for the first time in his life. 

Reluctantly, I relayed my attention back to the tourney, just as both the competitors began charging at each other. Putting a hand over my mouth, I watched as Ser Criston and Daemon both failed to knock each other off their horses in the first tilt. With my heart in my mouth, my eyes nearly boggled out of my head when I watched Daemon being knocked off his saddle and into the dirt. 

Daemon had lost. 

Mouth agape, I stayed rooted in my seat, even as the crowd all stood to rain thunderous applause and cheers on Ser Criston. I felt a smug smile slowly spreading across my lips. Daemon had lost! At long last, someone had humbled that egotistical bastard, and I had been here to witness it. I sighed happily, savouring the prospect of being able to mock him for this for the rest of his life. “Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!” 

I raised my eyebrows as Daemon approached Ser Criston, wielding Dark Sister with a dangerous expression on his face. He is nothing better than a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum, I thought to myself, snickering. My eyebrows shot to my forehead when I noticed Ser Criston carrying a morningstar. A most unusual weapon. 

The crowd followed the ensuing sparring match with enthralled eyes, myself included. Rhaenyra was nearly falling out of her seat from the way she was leaning forward, and Alicent had a hand over her mouth. When Ser Criston splintered Daemon’s shield, it was like something feral had awoken in Daemon. He began doling out more impulsive blows as anger overtook him, slashing at Ser Criston like a madman and deftly manoeuvring out of the range of his blows. 

I clasped Alicent’s hand tightly in mine as Daemon kicked Ser Criston to the ground, pouncing on him with brutal force. When Daemon blocked Ser Criston’s attack by lodging Dark Sister with the morningstar’s chains, Rhaenyra reached over to take Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Finally, Daemon delivered the final blow, hurling the remains of his shield at Ser Criston, striking him squarely in the face and causing him to flounder on the ground. 

I shook my head in disbelief as Daemon raised both his arms up, hollering and revelling in his triumph. But that victory was soon short lived as Daemon felt a slash on his behind, knocking him to the dirt, face first. I felt Alicent reel back in surprise next to me. Daemon tried to lurch for his sword, but was forced to submission by a few well aimed kicks from Ser Criston, breathing heavily as he dangled the morningstar threateningly in Daemon’s face. 

“Yield.” Daemon could scarce believe what was happening right now. He had lost. To some unknown commonborn knight. Him, the Rogue Prince. The finest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. Tasting bile in his mouth, he gritted his teeth. “Yield.” Ser Criston’s voice made it clear that he would not ask again. Daemon chuckled humorlessly, refusing to say a word, but begrudgingly surrendered. He knocked away the arm that the knight offered, rising to his feet before stalking off. While leaving the jousting field, he took note of Y/N running off from the royal box. His ire now increased by tenfold, he swiftly made his way to the exit of the royal box, where he spotted his lady emerging from the shadows. Snarling, he grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face him. “Daemon, let me go right now. I do not have time for your tantrums-” 

“It was you,” he hissed, twisting her arm, causing her to grimace. His rage was blinding him, the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears making his blood boil. “Your favour cursed me. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have won. And instead, I was humiliated-” Y/N scoffed, trying to break away, but Daemon only tightened her grip. “You lost because you were a cocky, arrogant bastard. Do not attempt to blame your failings on me. Now let go!” 

Daemon’s vision was nearly red by now, and he pulled her closer to him as he spat out, “You’re not going anywhere, byka zaldrizes.” “Let. Go.” her voice was laced with contempt. “I will not ask a second time. Go reflect and accept your loss, maybe this will teach you some humility.” 

Daemon opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the arrival of that cunt, Otto Hightower. He wanted to spit at him to fuck right off, but the look on his face made him think twice. Y/N’s hand went slack, causing Daemon to release her, worried that he had hurt her. He looked between the both of them, confused, but quickly caught on when he saw the Hand bow his head grimly. 

Daemon had experienced a lot of things he would never forget that day, but nothing could compare to the pure look of devastation on Y/N’s face at that moment. The Hand inclined his head, lips pressed together, before he moved past them to the entrance to the royal box, no doubt to inform the other lords. 

His anger dissipating, an unsure look appeared on his face as he scrutinised Y/N’s face. She nearly stumbled over, eyes mad with grief, and Daemon unconsciously caught her arm with his left hand, steadying her. She didn’t seem to register his touch however, mumbling in a daze, “Aemma…I need to find Viserys. Viserys…” Daemon followed her movements with his eyes silently, as she mounted a horse reserved for the nobility nearby, spurring it towards the Red Keep. He watched her disappear into the distance, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his purple eyes swimming with a dozen complicated emotions. He needed to get out of his armour, it suddenly felt all too stifling to be in it. 

Y/N raced into the Red Keep, taking the steps two at a time as she rushed past startled servants. Barging into Aemma’s apartments, she stopped short when she reached Aemma’s bedchambers, her hand going to her mouth when she took in the gruesome sight before her, praying fervently that it was just some sick nightmare. 

Queen Aemma, no, her friend, her dearly beloved friend, Aemma, was sprawled out on the bed, the coppery stench of blood permeating through the room. Trickles of blood still oozed out of the incisions the maesters had made around her abdomen, and Y/N felt bile creeping up her throat as she realised what had been done.

No. 

No. 

 Y/N bypassed Viserys - still hunched over in grief, staring at Baelon’s small, wiggling frame with a broken expression - and went straight to Aemma. Her footsteps felt leaden and unsteady, as she crouched down to hold Aemma’s lifeless hand. She squeezed it desperately, willing her to wake up, to be alive. But it was in vain. 

Y/N went still, before she gently reached over and slid Aemma’s wide blue eyes shut. Trembling as tears began to cloud her vision, Y/N noticed the sun’s rays glinting off a small object tucked between Aemma’s sweat covered neck. It was Rhaenyra’s present to Aemma, that necklace with the ruby falcon pendant, its red shining brilliantly in the sun as Y/N and Viserys mourned for their good Aemma. 

rip aemma :( and also f*ck viserys, he deserves to be burnt alive, roasted and fed to balerion. 

Fic Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18​ @llovinjoonie​

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy​

Those who are bolded are those who could not be tagged! Let me know in the comments or through this form if you want to be tagged for future updates on this fic :) 

If you liked this fic, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Thank you for reading this far! 

#se zaldrizoti prumia #sezaldrizotiprumia_masterlist #aureliawrites #Daemon Targaryen #prince daemon #the rogue prince #prince daemon targaryen #daemon x y/n #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x fem!reader #prince daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targeryan #daemon taragaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd x oc #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x reader

[aggressiveviking]

me and @harringrovetrashrat are writing a canon-divergent, enemies to friends to lovers fic!

this will serve as a masterpost ⭐for all future related art

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Setting: Starts off from the night at the Byers house, Billy wakes up after being drugged alone. Begins non-sexual and grows into something more. Slow burn. TW: swearing, graphic depictions of abuse (both physical and mental), violence, (internalized) homophobia and others that will be listed in the tags as we get to them.

Summary:

When Steve returns to the Byers house that night, he sets off a chain of events that intertwine him and Billy.

After Steve needles under his skin, Billy can't seem to scare him off. He's not even sure that he wants to…

read the story on ao3

ART:

by @aggressiveviking: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] by @harringrovetrashrat: [1]

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #stranger things #ao3 fanfic #aggressiveviking draws #aggressiveviking writes

[anawkwardlady]

Good evening or morning Nana. I have something important I need to share with you.. As a trade-off, if you will, for you cursing my brain forever for knowing birds get off on having their wings stroked. This might not be as cursed but... well.. it is another rather.. disturbing bird fact....

:)

me : wakes up

my inbox :

but seriously what do you mean "consuming their internal organs" ?? how??? where does it go??? why do you need so much efforts for SPRING???? what is going on in my inbox.

Also (TW graphic depiction of the worst sexual intercourse you'll ever hear about) while we're at it and because I can't keep that to myself anymore.

Bed bugs don't have holes so basically the males have needle like sexual organs and they PIERCE anywhere and "fill" with 1/3 of their body weight. If you didn't already hate those bugs as much as I already did, heres another reason.

#answered

[measuresderepo]

Wow did I write an angsty fic about Gally?? Set in the time between The Maze Runner and The Death Cure? No way.

@shuck-it-slinthead

@go-catch-a-chickn

@its-tea-time-darling

@pealeii

Title: Pesar Means Son

Word Count: 11k

TW: Attempted suicide, self harm, PTSD, nightmares about traumatic events, hallucinations, intrusive thoughts, cutting, scars, suicide ideation, trivializing mental illness, death of a loved one, grief and loss depiction, murder, graphic deaths, graphic violence, gore, self mutilation, described blood, needles, physical injuries, escalating violence, implied underage drinking, swearing (if I missed any I am so sorry in advance.)

Summary: Gally is picked up by two men (Gul and Rob) on their way to the last city. Gally is racked with guilt over murdering Chuck, and has to work through this, all the while growing closer to Gul and Rob.

Hope you enjoy <3

When you’re half dead with a spear digging into your side, pain’s supposed to cloud your thoughts. Bullshit. Mine were clear. There was only one: I killed Chuck. If it were only words, it’d be bearable. They could be easily tucked away, slotted into a space to be dealt with later. But it wasn’t just the words. It was him. Chuck stepping in front of Thomas, into my gunshot. His expression right before my bullet buried into his chest. His face. God, he didn’t want to die. Even as he protected Thomas, even as he stared down my barrel. He wanted to live. Yet he saved Thomas. Thomas who ruined our Glade. Who disregarded what we had created. Thomas who I wanted to kill. Chuck. Chuck dead, less than a foot away from my dying. I couldn’t stand it. The others had left. Their running feet echoing against the walls of my tomb. Chuck’s tomb.

I grasped the spear jutting from my stomach; it clenched as I slowly started to pull at the shaft. For three blissful seconds all I felt was the trickle of blood down my abdomen. Then I doubled over. It was as if the spear had injected liquid fire into my body. My vision clouded and goosebumps rippled up my arms. Indistinct voices chattered in my ears. Sweat droplets like scales spread in circles around my wound. My hands were wet with my blood. Slowly I gripped the shaft harder and, barely able to see, I snapped it in half. My body screamed in protest and I slumped to the ground, curling around the bloodsoaked wood still in my stomach. My body was trembling with adrenaline, but I still wasn’t done. I painstakingly crawled to Chuck’s body.

His expression looked angelic in the flickering lights of the lab. The broken screens casting his face in blue shadows, his open eyes reflecting the yellow of the sparking wires. His shirt was soaked with blood. “Chuck,” my voice was ragged, like I’d swallowed glass. A tear traced down my cheek. I couldn’t leave him like this. I gently rolled up his shirt and started cleaning the wound. Using a piece of glass, I started making cuts around the hole, feeling for the bullet. The glass chinked against metal and I dug it out with my fingers. His body was still warm. I could almost imagine he was alive. I ripped a strip of cloth off my tunic and wrapped it around the wound. I pulled down his shirt and closed his eyes. Now he could be sleeping. My body was shaking from the effort but the pain felt numb and muted compared to the grief stuck in my throat. I killed him. The boy lying on the linoleum. His curls spread around his face like a halo. I turned away and vomited. It was dark red with blood. It splattered against my arms as I crouched in a fetal position.

I didn’t want to kill Chuck. Not the Greenie who used to play pranks on me in the Glade. I didn’t even want to kill Thomas. The voices wanted me too. But I pulled the trigger. My arms started to tremble. I couldn’t hold the weight of what I’d done. I couldn’t stand it. I kneeled under it and fell face first into my vomit. I heard footsteps before everything went black.

#

“He’s gotta be a Munie, he was part of WICKED’s Maze,”

“He had the tell-tale signs of the Flare,”

“But it cleared right up when we gave him the serum! And if he does get it… he’ll fit right in,”

“Dereset. He’ll probably wake up any minute now,”

“Hey. Who’s gonna tell him about the dead kid? Could’ve been his friend. He obviously tried to save him, binding the wound…”

“Look, if he doesn’t ask, we won’t tell him,”

The voices were uncomfortably quiet as they waited for me to wake. I cracked my eyes open and saw that I was laying on the ripped back seat of a pickup with the stuffing falling out. The two guys were sitting up front, one was failing to dodge potholes and the other had a book cracked open on his lap. The dead kid. That’s what they called Chuck. I wanted to punch both of them and drive right back. But then… I didn’t. I could still see his eyes. They gazed past me. Chuck had seen something else. Something beyond here. And I was scared.

All at once I could feel the cold of the gun in my hands again. And I was standing. My abdomen didn’t hurt. I felt it, and there was no wound. I was in a black void. But I wasn’t alone. Chuck was there. My hands grasped the gun and raised it level with Chuck’s chest. He looked at me with the eyes. Reflecting golden light. Looking past me. I was scared. My finger pulled the trigger before I could react. Chuck didn’t make a sound as it lodged in his chest. He didn’t fall. His expression didn’t change. The blood drip, dripped onto the sheen, obsidian floor.

Chuck! I screamed, but no sound. He didn’t react. Just stared at me with the golden, unseeing eyes. The blood was pooling at his feet. And then it was around my feet. Then to my waist. Then to my neck. I tried to swim to Chuck but I couldn’t move. I could only watch his golden eyes, his frozen expression slip beneath the red waves.

Chuck! I tried to scream again, but the rising blood poured into my open mouth and I couldn’t breathe… breathe… the eyes, the golden eyes were everywhere…

“CHUCK!” I sat up and a flare of pain brought me back to reality. I felt the scratchy burlap texture of the seat. The bump of the moving car. My own labored breathing. It was uncomfortably bright outside, I could barely distinguish that we were racing through the desert.

“Hey, son, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” I started and turned my head to see a bearded man crane his neck around the shotgun seat. His hand was out in what he obviously thought was a calming gesture. To me he looked like he was fending off a wild beast. My mouth twitched. This wasn’t gonna work. I swung my legs so I was sitting on the car seat normally and with some pain I straightened my back and crossed my arms.

“Did you bury him?” I said.

“Ah, you mean the dead child…” the bearded man began. Inwardly I sneered. I liked watching him squirm.

“Yeah. His name was Chuck. You didn’t bury him. Which means you have no respect for the dead. Which means I’m going nowhere with you,” I layed each sentence down like cards in a royal flush.

“Son, you can’t just—”

“No, Rob, if he wants to wander the Scorch like an idiot, let him,” the second man met my eyes in the rear view mirror. “But I have a feeling you aren’t an idiot,” I nodded and sat back in the seat. Rob was watching me, his lip slightly puckered. Eyes wide and gooey like a puppy’s. What a shank.

“Son, can you just lie back down? You’re already bleeding through your bandages,” I looked down to see a red spot forming on the clean, white gauze. I opened my mouth to retort but the second man cut me off.

“He will if he knows what’s good for him. Rob’s a medic. You’d do well to listen to him,” I glared at the man, but he just wiggled his eyebrows. Slinthead. I layed back down and let Rob unwrap my bandages. The wound looked worse. The puncture was starting to scab and there were rings of sickly yellow bruises around it. As Rob carefully cleaned the wound, it felt like a stinging, deadly poison shot into my body. The pain climbed to my neck, but I sure as hell didn’t show it. I clenched my teeth and gripped the side of the seat, my muscles bulging and veins popping all along my arm. I tried to breathe slow and even, but then Rob took out a needle.

“What the shuck are you doing with that?” I asked, gritting my teeth. Rob smirked.

“Shuck? What does that mean?”

“It means you aren’t gonna stick me with anything until I know what’s in it, Rob,”

“Okay, it’s okay, this is just for the pain, son,”

“Well slim it, shuckhead, ‘cause I’m not in pain,” Rob mouthed “shuckhead” in disbelief, then gestured for me to lift my hand off the edge of the seat. I did, and saw that I had ripped a gaping hole in my agony. He gave me a little smile.

“Close your eyes, and imagine the best place you could ever be, then you won’t even feel the shot,” I did as I was told. I imagined I was sitting around the fire at the Glade. I was watching the sun set over the walls with Ben and Alby on either side of me. In the distance Minho and Newt were running towards us, Newt without his limp. Frypan was at the fire cooking his stew. And by his side I imagined Chuck laughing at a joke Fry told. I turned around to reply to Frypan, but I saw Chuck. He wasn’t laughing. His eyes were wide and yellow. His mouth hung open in mid gasp. I looked at his stomach and it was dark with blood. I felt cold metal in my hand and I was back in the void. Chuck was staring through me. I tried to drop the gun but it was stuck to my hand. It felt as if the metal had frozen to my fingers. The cold, horrible pain crept up my hand and into my wrist, I tried to yell to Chuck, but no sound. Mocking laughter emitted from Chuck, but his mouth didn’t move, like an old talking doll. The pain was up my arm now, I could feel my nerves freeze and crack.

 Chuck. I mouthed, Chuck, I’m so sorry. His expression didn’t change. The cold was to my chest. My neck. I could feel it creep up my cheeks, and my eyes started to flutter. Chuck…

“Hey, shuckhead. It’s done,” I opened my eyes to see Rob rewrapping the gauze. I gripped his arm.

“This is real, right?” Rob looked taken aback.

“Yes, of course, are you okay, son?” I ignored his question.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To revolution,” the driver answered.

“Don’t give me that klunk, where?” I started to sit up but Rob forced me down.

“We’re going to the last city. Our base is just outside the city walls. You’ll be safe there,” Rob said.

“I don’t care about that, who are you?” I directed my question to the driver. He laughed. A short, derisive laugh. “Well?”

“First: what’s your name? Then you can ask all the questions your pretty little heart wants,” I hesitated for a split second before spitting out:

“Gally. Now explain,”

“Calm down, this isn’t a hostage situation. If you can drop the tough and gruff for a second, baby, I’ll tell you,” I crossed my arms and clenched my teeth. The driver laughed again. “My name, Gally, is Gul. I’m from Afghanistan, well, what’s left of it anyway. It was hit badly by the Scorch. No one lives there now,” His voice died and his eyes wandered to the desert.

“Gul…” Rob got off his knees and slid back into the passenger’s seat. He touched Gul’s arm. Gul shrugged him off.

“I’m fine, Rob. For the love of Allah, tend to your patient.” But Rob didn’t move. Gul continued. “As for what the revolution is, well… Lawrence will tell it better than I.”

He cleared his throat and laughed weakly. I wanted to keep pushing, but from Rob’s expression I knew I needed to back off. So I just lamely growled:

“Yeah whatever, slinthead,” with less enthusiasm than a kindergarten bully. That got a smile out of Rob. Gul winked at me through the mirror. I cracked a smile but quickly turned to the window before either saw. I could see a faint skyline in the distance, stark against the sun baked Scorch.

#

“Hey, Gally, wake up,” I opened my eyes to see Rob standing outside the pickup, the open car door framing his body. He was tying up his long blond hair, a gun slung on his hip. An old, patched leather jacket partially hid the weapon. Rob wore a plain gray pullover under his open jacket, and bulky, wrinkled cargo pants. Loosely tied onto his feet were mud caked boots. “C’mon son, we need to ditch the car,” Rob said.

“Give the shuckhead a gun, Rob. He needs to defend himself,” Gul added, walking up to Rob. I exhaled sharply. Gul was beautiful. Blue eyes stark against his light brown skin, coiffed curls sprinkled with gray, stubble perfectly peppered on his cheeks. He wore a sleek, coffee brown trench coat, boots laced to his knees and a shotgun slung around his shoulder. A belt was strapped around his chest where a knife hung sheathed. He looked like a model, even his expression was cool, debonair. That is, until he laughed. “Gally! Look at him Rob, he looks starstruck!” Rob didn’t even look up from tying his shoes.

“Gul. You’re conventionally attractive. He’ll get used to it. You’re wearing the trench coat aren’t you?” He met my eyes. “A shameless show off this one is,” Rob nodded his head to a posing Gul. I rolled my eyes. Gul laughed and took out a small, dark object.

“You’ll need to defend yourself. You know how to use this?” Gul set the handgun in my palm.

“NO!” I dropped the gun like it was hot and curled into a ball. I could feel myself going back to the void. I didn’t want to. I tried to fend it off, I tried to hide from the eyes. I was rocking back and forth. It was getting dark, cold. I could see the golden eyes…

“GALLY!” My eyes flew open. I was on the dusty ground with Gul kneeling next to me. I don’t know how I got there. Did I fall out of the car? I giggled like a shank at that. “Rob, he just blacked out, what did I do?” Rob crouched next to Gul, he studied me.

“Gul, I want you to grab my medical bag,” Gul hesitated. “Now, Gul,”

“Fine. Bay pathar,” he spat and walked out of earshot.

“Okay. Gally, as your doctor, it would’ve been nice to know you get…like that at the sight of guns. But it doesn’t matter, not now anyway. Now, I’m asking, as your doctor, what happened in the Maze to cause… that?” He danced around what he had just seen, like he was afraid to call me… something.

“Nothing, Rob. I just… Nothing,” I growled. “Now let me up, I’m guessing this isn’t a good place to linger.” He wavered for a moment. Like he wanted to keep pushing me till I spilled. But he nodded and hoisted me to my feet. I almost immediately leaned on him for support. The world was hazy, red and fractured like a kaleidoscope. My stomach throbbed dully, in time with my heartbeat.

“Hey, just breathe. In and out slowly.” As I breathed, the world cleared and I saw that I was in a deserted alleyway. Fractals of glass and grime floated lazily in circles around me. In the distance, a beautiful, futuristic skyline.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the skyline.

“The last city. WICKED’s last defense against the Flare. Their last barrier from people like us,” Gul said, walking up behind me.

“Who—”

“He means the infected, Gally. We’ve all been around the Flare too long to be considered healthy,” Rob explained.

“Gally,” Gul said. “You need a weapon,” he handed me a knife. “You know how to use this, right?” I grabbed it from him and latched it to my belt.

“Yes,” I said, my voice filled with venom.

“It was just a question, follow my lead, slinthead,” he said playfully. Rob fell in behind me and readied his gun. I unsheathed my knife and followed Gul. “Once we get out of the back alleys there'll be loads of people. Don’t lose sight of me in the crowds!” With this he started down a sunless alley. I could hear the hubbub get louder as we marched deeper into the heart of the city. I could feel Rob’s tense, quick breaths on the back of my neck, like he was preparing for something to attack. The alleyways tightened around us, their concrete, graffitied walls and broken windows seemed to reach towards me. My tongue was coated with dust, it tasted sour.

“Rob…” I whispered, a sense of unease frosting on my neck.

“Not here. Quiet, son,” I clammed up and gripped my knife. We marched on, the high and fast sounds of rushing people crescendoing into an onslaught of noise. My heart felt like it was trying to rip out of my chest. I wanted to stop, but Rob pressed on behind me. My abdomen throbbed underneath the bandages, my hands slick with sweat. I could smell the sour stench of sickness as it overwhelmed my senses. I opened my mouth to yell, to stop us, but Gul turned a corner and I was suddenly in a sea of bodies. People pressed against me, their voices rushing past my ears like water. They blended together in a disharmony, so I could only catch snippets of their talk.

“WICKED says they're close to a cure…”

“God, I think my Mother has it,”

“I’m running out of time—”

“Crank fight at ten! Crank fight at ten!” This voice was louder and distinct from the rest. I craned my neck over the crowds to see a man in a velvety purple suit that at one time would’ve been striking, but now was ragged and dull. He was on top of a garishly painted car, obviously supposed to be eye-catching but only succeeded in nauseating me. He looked down and scanned the crowds. His eyes rested on me. He cracked a toothy grin and jumped from the car. The crowd surrounding the vehicle parted and the man sauntered towards me. Gul grabbed my arm and went to disappear into the crowds, but—

“Gul!” The carney yelled. “What are you doing with a fine fighter like this?” He motioned toward me like I was a purebred dog. “I’d pay a good price for a body like that,” Gul nonchalantly flicked his coat to reveal a shotgun. Rob stepped in front of me, his rifle knocking against his thigh.

“Move along, Akando,” Rob said. The carney lolled his neck, a half smile on his face.

“Like Lawrence is even going to let him join your, ah, revolution. I know a Munie when I see one. Lawrence has no space for privilege in his uprising, best if you left the…” he licked his lips. “Specimen with me.”

His greasy, straw hair hung in tendrils around his face. Gleaming through the strands were poison green eyes. I raised my knife, gripping it tightly to hide my trembling hand.

“No matter what these guys say, I’m not going anywhere with you. Back off.”

“That’s the exact spirit I need for my fights! But if you won’t come quietly…” Akando reached into his suit, I saw the gleam of a barrel…!

“NO!” I lunged at him and sent the gun spinning out of his hand, then, in one fluid motion, grabbed his lapel and thrust my knife into his eye. For a split second we held there, my feet just off the ground, his head snapped back. But my momentum sent us both crashing to the ground. I felt my knife drive deeper into his skull and chink against the ground. I’d stabbed straight through his skull. I quickly scrambled off the man, shaking from adrenaline, only to see blood leaking out of his eye. Like deadly tears. A crowd had gathered, they were staring at me with one emotion: fear. They were terrified of what I might do, who I might hurt. My breath was coming in short gasps. Blood flecked my face. My muscles were sheen with sweat. It was terrifying. I was. Gul clasped my shoulder.

“We need to go,” he said through gritted teeth. I suddenly felt weak, scared.

“Did—D-Did I…”

“He’s dead, Gally, dead in self defense.” Rob said, raising his voice at the last part. He handed me a gun, and I was too shucked to feel it, or care. Gul took my arm and led me through the crowd. I didn’t notice then, but as we walked, I felt no people pushing in around me. Or even the cacophony of noises. Turns out, everywhere we walked the crowds parted and fell deathly silent.

#

Once we stepped into the doorway of what Rob called “Headquarters,” I kneeled over and vomited. But with nothing in my stomach, all that came out was a red mixture of blood and acid. “Gally!” Rob crouched down and I leaned against him. Sweat glistened on my face in droplets. He felt my stomach and withdrew, his hand stained with red. “We need to get him to the med wing. He can’t face Lawrence like this,” Rob said to Gul, who was standing over us.

“He has too. Lawrence isn’t patient. He’s probably heard about our escapade by now, and right now, that’s the only thing that could get Gally in.” Rob cursed and felt my forehead.

“Fine. But bring him straight to me afterwards. Whether Lawrence lets him join or not.” Gul nodded and hoisted me to my feet. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“You’re gonna have to walk on your own, Lawrence doesn’t like to see people weak,” Gul whispered. I nodded and focused all my energy on putting one foot in front of the other. It was like trying to move with two magnets stuck to my soles and the floor was stainless steel. I didn’t look up from my effort until I crashed into Gul. I was in what seemed like an empty airplane hangar. Cloth hung from the ceiling to partition off rooms, but it couldn’t distract from the open, exposed feeling. I tried to focus on details but everything was hazy and too bright. When I looked up all the lights had rainbows around them. That made me giggle. Gul turned to me.

“You have to go in alone, Lawrence wants you to speak for yourself,” He stared into my eyes. “Just in case… you don’t, uh—” I wrapped my arms around him before he could finish. For a second he faltered, surprised by my sudden affection. I was, too. He slowly, carefully enclosed me in a hug. We held there for only a moment, and I felt something I’ve forgotten to miss, something primordial about being held in an older man’s embrace. I felt a sob rise in my throat, but I pushed it down and pulled away. Gul awkwardly patted my shoulder and I stepped past him, down a short flight of stairs and into a whole different world.

Lawrence’s office wasn’t anything like I’d expected. There was no desk, no high backed chair, no purring cat. It was a greenhouse. Sunlight filtered through windows, showing swirls of mist in its light. Roses were everywhere. The smell was overwhelmingly sweet. Almost like it was covering up something. The man in question had his back to me. He was pruning a rose bush, it was so quiet I could hear the soft “pf” as the petals hit the ground. He gave no sign that he had noticed me enter. “Sir—”

“Quiet, boy. I’ll speak to you when I care to.” he continued snipping his plant. My eye twitched in annoyance. I turned the gun in my hand, unaware for a moment of what it could do. “Drop the gun,” Lawrence said. I faltered. “Drop. It.” I let it fall, realizing what I’d been holding. I pushed it out of my mind. I wasn’t going to black out in front of this slinthead. He continued pruning his roses. “So. You killed Akando.”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re immune.”

“Yes sir.”

“And you want to join my Crank army. Do you see the irony?”

“I would if I knew what a Crank was.”

“You would, you would…” Lawrence turned to me. “This is a Crank, boy.”

He was grotesque. There was no other way to describe the blueish-black veins crawling up his neck, eyes small and dilated like a frightened animal. And…

“Of course, most Cranks have their noses, but, this is what my army is made of, boy. And from the look on your face I don’t think you can handle it.” he started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm.

“Who’s your enemy?” Lawrence, disgusted, shook off my hand. “Who?” I repeated.

“WICKED,” he spat.

“Me, too. Can’t we be allies, Lawrence?” Lawrence sized me up. A small smile played on his lips. He stuck out his hand.

“Welcome to the Crank army.”

#

I woke up back in the Glade. I was home. It was strangely quiet as I walked through the familiar barracks, around the campfire. I didn’t even feel uneasy, I was so glad to be back. To rest my eyes on every familiar groove and detail, every nail pounded haphazardly into our shelters. Through the trees I saw everyone in front of The Wall. The one where every Greenie carved their name after their first day in the Glade. My pace quickened as I ran up to meet them. No one even glanced my way. All were concentrated on Alby. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the knife to cross out George’s name.

Wait! I tried to yell, but no sound. I couldn’t lose him now, again, when I was finally back… But the piercing, horrible scrape of knife on stone filled the quiet peace of the Glade anyway. I scanned the crowd: George looked frozen, his eyes closed as if he was asleep. But Alby wasn’t done. He crossed out Ben’s. Ben’s eyes closed and blue veins crawled up his neck, like when he was stung. Horror turned my stomach as I knew who was next. With the same careful precision, Alby crossed out his own name. Minho took the blade as Alby joined the rest of the Gladers, closing his eyes.

No! I screamed soundlessly. I tried to reach for the knife but my legs were stuck. Minho sent the knife scraping over “Chuck”. Chuck’s eyes closed and red bloomed over his chest in sadistic swirls. Tears filled my eyes, but then Minho raised his knife over the name “Gally”.

My heart stopped. Minho scraped and chinked at my name, until it was an unrecognizable mess of slashes. He dropped the knife. My hair stood on end. The Glade melted away, we were back in the void. Alby turned toward me, his eyes were golden. Then George, Ben, Chuck, Winston, Newt… they circled me, faster and faster until it was a blur of gold. Minho stepped into the circle. A spear clutched in his hand.

Minho! I tried to yell. Please! I tried to back away but the eyes were tightening around me, pushing me closer and closer to the spear. Please, Minho! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry. My voice broke into inaudible sobs. Minho’s eyes didn’t lift from his weapon. It almost looked like he was sleepwalking. He raised the spear level with me and shoved it into my gut. The golden eyes exploded like a supernova, washing me in superheated light. I raised my head to see Minho, his eyes dark. He released the spear and walked away. He didn’t even look back.

“Minho…” I groaned, and woke in a hospital bed. My stomach felt like fire, but I could see everything clearly and didn’t feel feverish. An IV was pumping something into my bloodstream, I started to take it out but a hand rested on mine.

“That IV is important, shuckhead. It’s pumping all the minerals you lost from blood loss back into your body. Plus a little antibodies so you aren’t crippled with pain.” Rob said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“How long was I out?”

“Seven years in catatonic sleep, Hell froze over, and WICKED found a cure!” Gul said, sauntering in with bagels and drinks.

“Hah. Rob?”

“18 hours, give or take. You slept the rest of the evening and into the night. It’s ten o’clock now,” he finished. Gul handed me a bagel with a healthy serving of cream cheese smeared on it.

“He can eat that, right, Doc?” Gul asked. Rob nodded.

“As long as he’s slow—” I inhaled the bagel, getting cream cheese all over my fingers. “—about it,” Rob finished, sighing and handing me a napkin. Gul laughed and passed me an iced drink. It was filled with a light brown substance.

“What is this?” I asked, turning the cup in my hand. Gul choked on his bagel.

“Allah save us… You don’t know what coffee is?” I shrugged.

“We never had it in the Glade… is it good?” Gul hid his face in his hands. He mumbled incoherently in Dari.

“It’s not for everyone, but go ahead and try it, I think you might like it.” Rob said, taking a sip of his own drink. I raised the cup to my lips and tasted it.

“WOW!” It was a liquid with millions of subtle threads pulling together to make one smooth flavor. I tasted bitter, burnt toast, citrus alongside caramel, dark chocolate and cream. Yet it worked to create something new and—

“Shuck! You slintheads kept this from me? Why?” I yelled, staring at both of them between gulps of the stuff. They were both shaking with laughter at my outburst.

“Hey, slow down, that’s got caffeine in it.” Rob said, holding up his hand.

“Caffeine? Is that why I feel like I can lift a truck!?”

“Oh, I can’t wait to introduce this kid to alcohol.” Gul wheezed.

“Gul… he’s underage.” Rob pushed Gul’s shoulder.

“Hey, can I get more?” I asked, showing them my empty cup.

“I’ll get more!” Gul said, cackling.

“Gul—” Rob started, but he was already gone. “You’re not drinking anymore coffee, young man.”

“You’re such a shank, Rob…”

“Yep. Now get some rest.”

“Now? Did I mention the “lift a truck bit”? Can’t I at least get out of this stupid bed?”

“Sorry. Doctor’s orders.” I grunted and sat back on the pillow. “Hey… While you were asleep, I, I didn’t mean to overhear… But, you kept repeating the same names over and over. That boy Chuck, but also Minho. Did he…” Rob trailed off and gestured to my wound.

“Yeah.” I said, clipped and closed off. Rob paused and waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t.

“Do you want to talk about—”

“No.”

“Son—”

“Leave.” I clenched my teeth, my voice dangerously close to fracturing.

“Gally… Why won’t you talk about it?” The question was so plain. So unassuming. My hands started trembling, I curled them into fists.

“Because…” I took a shuddering breath. “Because then it will be real.” I crossed my arms over my chest, like a shield against all the meaningless shit Rob could say: It's already real, Gally. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Just know I’m here for you. He’ll expect me to cry on his shoulder and spill my guts like a shank. But Rob surprised me.

“Yeah. I get that.” Then he left. The room was quiet. I could only hear the beeping of my heart monitor. As if reminding me that I was still alive. Chuck wasn’t. My horrible nightmares reminded me of that every time my eyes closed. But, if he was kept there, in my dreams, it almost didn’t feel real. Like his death, his murder, was just another nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was real. I pulled up my shirt and stared at the clean, white bandages. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to heal, not while Chuck’s body rotted away on that linoleum floor. I took a fistful of the gauze and started viciously ripping it apart. My wound started to bleed, too burn and it felt so good. I ripped at the exposed flesh with my fingers, feeling my stomach shrink and shudder from the pain I was inflicting. The monitor heart screamed in harmony with my fast beating heart. My breath came in short, excited gasps. My fingers were dripping with my own blood.

“Ya Allah…” I turned to see Gul standing slack jawed, coffee splattered all over the floor. His face immediately melted into determined disappointment. He opened the medical cabinet and took out gauze. He started toward me.

“No! I don’t deserve it!” I yelled, twisting my body in the blankets, trying to get away.

“I don’t care. You’re getting blood all over the blankets and you made me drop my coffee.” He flipped me on my back and started wrapping my stomach in bandages. I fought him, but he held me down.

“Let me go, Gul!”

“No. I’m going to wrap you up and show you a better way to deal with your emotions, slinthead.” He said this with so much venom I shut up and complied. “Okay,” he said, tying a knot in the gauze. “Now follow me.”

I followed him out of the med wing and through a maze of corridors. He stopped at a door. “I’m going to show you this. But you gotta promise, as long as I’m around, no self harm. Okay?” He turned to me.

“Yeah. Okay.” I mumbled. He opened the door. Bright light streamed in from outside, temporarily blinding me. I stepped through the door and it was an alleyway. It went on for a while, but that wasn’t what I noticed. There were scratches all over the walls. Up and down, sideways, stark white against the gray concrete. They overlapped, cross hatching and digging deep into the wall. I could almost make out letters, but no words. It was intelligible gibberish, if gibberish screamed at the top of its lungs. If gibberish so clearly could tell me what this place was. This was a place for when grief and regret are too much. When you can’t stand it anymore. When you don’t want to feel the storm of emotions in your gut. When you can’t breathe from guilt. “Who…?”

“Me. All me.” He studied the walls, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why?”

“Afghanistan. I was studying in America when the Scorch hit. I remember watching the Afghan news underground. All the bodies, Gally, were burned black. You couldn’t tell who anyone was. That didn’t stop me from seeing my mother, my sister, in every shot. She was fifteen. My baby sister.” He stopped. He scuffed his boots against the cracked concrete.

“What was her name?”

“Amena. It means “safe”, that’s all Māder wanted. To keep her child safe.” He was silent for a moment, then handed me a knife. “Here. I'll get you for lunch.” Then he left. I slumped on the ground and curled into a ball. I didn’t have it in me to defile this monument with my own blood stained hand. Gul grieved blamelessly. I caused my grief. I let the knife clatter to the floor. This wouldn’t be my way to grieve. No, I needed to do something to earn my forgiveness. I needed to take down WICKED.

#

Four weeks. That’s how long it took to convince Lawrence to let me go on a mission. Two more to actually prepare for the shucked thing. I was going with Gul and Rob, my “babysitters”, as Lawrence coined them. Gul didn’t dispute it, the slinthead. I strapped a holster to my thigh and quickly slid a gun into it. My hallucinations haven’t let me hold a gun long enough to shoot. I blacked out every time I tried at the artillery range. I’ve gotten really good at throwing knives because of this. I tied a belt to my chest and slid three of them in their sheaths.

“Hey, are you okay?” Rob gripped my bicep. “You’ve got that look on your face.” I quickly tried to arrange my face in a more neutral position.

“He means you were glaring, Gally. Remember, our mission is to get in, disable the security system, and get out. No casualties.” Gul was crouching and tying up his excessively tall boots.

“Why do you wear those? They can’t have any practical use.” I looked down at my own durable work boots. “These actually make sense…”

“What? You don’t think these make me look sexy?” Gul struck a supermodel pose. Rob whacked the back of his neck. A shadow of a smile flicked on my face. Gul wiggled his eyebrows to make me laugh, but I quickly busied myself with tightening my laces. An awkward silence filled the room. Gul loudly cleared his throat and started packing his satchel with tools to infiltrate the security system.

“Gally, I need to rewrap your wound before we head out. May I?” Rob gestured for me to sit down. I obeyed and clutched the arms of my chair. Rob carefully unwrapped the bandages and started cleaning the wound. I tried to relax, Rob said it keeps the wound from bleeding. But then Rob swabbed it with alcohol. That sent a stabbing pain to my spine. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. “Please try to relax, this is the only way you’ll be able to go on this mission, son.” I bit back a scathing remark and breathed in and out deeply. Rob slowly, carefully, started cleaning again. I thrust my chest out to keep from bending over my wound, I could feel my stomach clench and unclench in waves. I took quick gasps of air. It felt like slowly, Rob was setting my entire wound alight with poisonous fire. Tears squeezed out of shut eyes, though I tried to hold them back. “Son, try to rela—”

“Stop, Rob! Can’t you see the kid is in pain? Let him scream for Allah’s sake! STOP!” Gul shot out of his chair and snatched the rag from Rob. “You’re hurting him.” I slumped against the chair and felt tears stream from my eyes.

“Gul—” Rob began, flabbergasted. Gul crouched next to me and started lovingly wrapping my stomach with gauze.

“Kid’s gone through too much for you to tell him to keep his emotions bitten back, Rob. You’re a good doctor but…”

“But what, Gul? You put yourself on a higher pedestal as his guardian, don’t you? Or something more? His mentor perhaps, his fathe—” Gul whipped around.

“And what of it? I’m doing a lot better than you. I actually understand him, I’ve lost people! Unlike you, Rob you—”

“I’ve lost people! Everyone’s lost people! You just can’t get over it. You mope while the rest of us move on. Isn’t that a better lesson to teach him than, than scraping up a wall?” Gul stepped back. He looked betrayed.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the first time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gul’s voice was wavering, close to cracking.

“It was your choice to tell me. It’s a vulnerable place.” Rob stopped. “I-I’ve gone there. Just a few times. I’m sorry. I—” But Gul already had him in an embrace. Rob held there, tears stark against his pale skin. After a moment he fiercely hugged Gul back.

“Barâdar, barâdar, my brother, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…”

“Sh, don’t explain.”

“D-dostat daaram, b-barâdar.” Rob said, slowly sounding out the words as if he’d practiced. Gul started and looked at Rob. He smiled as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“Man ham dostat daaram.”

They held there. Hugging with tears streaming down, intense emotion on their faces. It was a picture of love. Beyond friends. They were brothers. It was a covenant love. A promise to always hold each other, lift each other, love each other. I released a shuddering breath. I wish I had that.

“Gul…” Rob gestured to me. And immediately they broke apart only to tag team hug me.

“Is the slinthead feeling lonely?” Gul crooned as he noogied me.

“Hush, Gul.” Rob knelt down and over carefully wrapped my bandages.

“I can take it, Rob. I’m not a sissy. Even though Gul—” Gul cackled at that.

“So I cried on this shank’s shoulder for nothing?” he said, pointing to Rob.

“Guess you did. I cried too, though, so we’re both, um, shuckheads.” Rob tied a knot in the gauze.

“I like barâdars better,” I said, “but…”

“God, Gally, I need to teach you and Rob proper pronunciation. You guys are killing me.”

“We’ll do it when we get home. First, let’s take down WICKED.” Rob cocked his shotgun. Gul grinned and grabbed the car keys. I rose to my feet and unsheathed my knife.

“Let's do this.”

#

“Oh, no way we can do this.” I was staring from an alley at the wall. It was huge, taller than any building on our side of the barrier. But that wasn’t the problem. A quarter mile of no man's land stretched between the cover of our rundown buildings, and the “safety” of the wall we needed to break into. Lawrence told us cameras were trained on this no man’s land 24/7, ready to shoot the monstrous rockets at any minute. The four rectangular launchers were more than one hundred feet in length. They had a five by five layout for its hangars, where inside each, a rocket lay primed to set off. That was the security system we needed to evade and then disable. I turned on my walkie talkie.

“There’s no way we can do this. We’ll get blasted right as we leave our positions, copy.”

“Aram shoo, you think we’re shanks? If you’d been listening to Lawrence instead of brooding, Gally—” Gul’s joke was cut off and I heard rustling and muted voices.

“What Gul means, son, is that Lawrence found a spot where there’s more cover, train your binoculars to the far left corner, over.” Rob’s voice cut off and I dropped my walkie talkie. I rustled through my knapsack and found the binoculars. I hesitated, and made two Ls with my hands. For a second they both looked like an L, then I realized and swooped the binoculars in the correct direction. When my binoculars focused I saw a toppled skyscraper, its roof close to the wall, but not close enough.

“There’s still at least six hundred feet of no cover, you guys won’t make it in time, over.”

“We’ll have too, over,” Rob said.

“Where are you now, over?”

“Right at the edge of the skyscraper, why? Uh, over.” Rob’s voice was edged with concern, like he could read my mind.

“Give the walkie talkie to Gul, over.”

“Gally—”

“Now, Rob.” Static. Then…

“What do you need, shuckhead?” Gul sounded tired, like he knew he wouldn’t like what I was about to say.

“I need you guys to start running right when I sign off, over.” Static. “Gul?” Static.

“Where will you be?” Gul’s voice was flat, expressionless.

“I’ll meet you guys in the security room.”

“Where. Will. You. Be?” I hesitated. “Gally?”

“Gul, please. I’ll meet you.”

“You slinthead! I can’t…!” He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t lose you, pesar.”

“Pesar?”

“It means ‘Gally is a shank’,” his voice got quiet, gravely. “Don’t you dare, don’t you even think of sacrificing yourself. Whatever you’ve done, it’s not worth dying for.”

“Gul—”

“No. No last words, I’ll see you again, over.”

I paused, savoring the deceptive safety of the static. “I-I’ll see you. Gul—”

“Zahr e maar, I love you, you slinthead. Over and out.” Static. I dropped the walkie talkie. My hands were shaking. But I didn’t have time to be paralyzed with fear. I steadied my hands and stepped out of the alley.

Instantly the guns were on me. Their barrels watched my body like they were a sentient creature. They clicked and scanned me. They reared their ugly, mechanical necks and emitted a screech like metal on metal. I went into overdrive. My jaw was slack, my chest convulsing in its need for air. I was watching the launchers with crazed, cornered prey eyes. Every time the guns twitched my body flinched, ready to jump out of the way. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. Oh God, I didn’t want to die. I still didn’t want to die. The guns dipped and pointed directly at my chest. I curled my fingers into fists and felt my nails cut into flesh. The launchers clicked loudly, the barrels glowing red with fire. My body froze. It felt like concrete was injected into my biceps, my legs. I was going to die. But I didn’t think about Chuck. Or Ben. Or Alby. I didn’t feel a crippling, terrified guilt for their deaths. For his death. I felt an overwhelming drive to live. Because of Gul, Rob. Because of a promise. I promised I’d see them again. Oh God, I wanted to live. My heart sped up again. My nerves buzzed and I bounced my legs to shake them awake. I unclenched my fists and could feel blood dripping down my palms. I stared down the launchers. I wouldn’t die. No one else would die.

The guns growled and puffed smoke. Yellow light made the barrels glow with golden light. Like eyes. His eyes. No. I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t. I needed to live. The launchers deafened me with a whirring, static sound. Like an automated wind. The yellow glow mixed with a red fire, flickering inside the barrels. The sound grew louder and I tensed my body. The guns clicked and focused, pointed directly at my heart. I shut my eyes and waited to hear the guns fire.

Nothing. I strained for any sound. I held my breath. My muscles slowly relaxed and I tentatively opened my eyes. The guns hung down, the barrels dark. It was as if someone had turned them off. Like someone didn’t want me to die. Like someone knew who I was. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain on the back of my neck. It was as if I’d been branded. I reached to touch it and I could feel a raised symbol. I traced the lines and felt three overlapping diamonds. WICKED knew I was here. I hugged myself and kicked the sand. WICKED. Who caused everything. The first domino in a toppling that now is my life. WICKED. Who made my home. Made my family. WICKED. Who ruined my home. Ruined my family. God, I couldn’t face them. But I had too. To see my new family. I wouldn’t let them ruin that too. A clicking sound snapped me out of my thoughts. The gun rotated and pointed at me. “Oh shi—”

BOOM! The missile exploded right at my feet. My head snapped back and the blast propelled me backwards. A high, sharp sound whined in my ears. Smoke and dust curled around my body as I flew through the air. My head hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt gravity yank my body and I slammed face first into the ground. I spit out a mouthful of sand. My head hurt. I opened my eyes and everything was hazy. I coughed and choked on the smoke around me. My legs trembled as I tried to stand. Through the whining in my ears I heard a whistling sound. Adrenaline spiked my heart beat and I forced my legs to run.

BOOM! The ground shook under me as another missile detonated behind me. I forced myself to pick up the pace. I couldn’t see where I was running, the ground was so thick with smoke. I knew the door was a little less than half a mile away. If I could get there before—

BOOM! I fell forward. It was right at my heels. I scrambled to my feet and—

BOOM! God, I couldn’t make it. I ran faster. My feet barely touched the ground. I pumped my arms and pushed my body into high gear.

BOOM! The smoke was clearing now. I could see the door. It was too far away.

BOOM! My trembling legs twisted over each other, my knees slamming against the scorched ground. Pain laced through my body. I tried to stand but my weak legs couldn’t hold me. No. I needed to live. I forced my shaking legs to stand. I took a step and smashed my chin against the ground. My vision was tinged with red. I saw the door. Less than a hundred feet away. I started crawling. I clawed my hands over the ground, my fingernails clodding with dirt. My feet scuffed against the sun baked crust. The whistle of an oncoming missile screamed in my ears. I curled into a ball. Maybe heaven would look like the Glade.

BOOM! Burning heat washed over me. I felt my body skip over the ground, like a flat stone on water. I slowed to a stop and tried to breathe. I couldn’t see. My eyes were open but I could only see. bright yellow light. Big splotches throbbing in time. with my pounding head. Slowly my adrenaline died down. I could feel pain. It was everywhere. My skin felt raw. scraped. Burned, vulnerable. My abdomen throbbed. I touched it and my hand felt a wet, warm liquid. blood. My head hurt. Thoughts came slower than they used to. It was like my pain had a lag. Like my body couldn’t. process it. My leg hurt. Something was in it. i should be dead. Why was I alive? I strained to remember. why.

Gul. Rob. they’re important. Who are they? They are my.

Family. But there were others. i killed them. I should be.

dead.

why.

am.

i.

alive?

Gul and Rob.

My vision started to clear. My brain hurt. It’s lag smoothed. I could think. A little better. Without so many… walls. I looked around. I uttered a cry of relief. I was at the door. I stood, with shaking, bleeding legs. My vision was peppered with little yellow spots, but I could see. I opened the door.

Cool, sterilized air washed over my tortured body. Bright blue fluorescent light illuminated a staircase. I started to waddle up the steps when—

“Erg. Whozzat?” I reached for my knife and slowly turned around. In the corner, half hidden by the open door, sat three men. They were tied up. Two of the three only had undershirts and leggings, while the other had full armor. The man’s helmet had a sticky note on it. Gripping my knife I harshly ripped the note off. The helmet was reflective. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I did feel him flinch. Smirking, I studied the note.

Hey shuckhead,

Neither of us forgive you for almost dying. Rob is royally pissed at me for “letting you do such a thing” . Don’t tell Rob, but thanks. The armor is a gift from us. You won’t get through the multitudes of guards up here without it. Don’t be stupid. Put it on and don’t start any fights. You’re like a gorilla in a china shop or whatever the idiom is. Be careful. Don’t you dare die.

Dostat daaram pesar,

Gul

I exhaled sharply. Half a laugh, half something else. Something I’ve never felt, only imagined. Who was Gul to me? Who was Rob? I felt tears well up in my eyes. No. I wouldn’t go there, not today. I would see them again. I stared intently at the man and nonchalantly unsheathed my knife. WICKED wouldn’t get in the way. The man pressed his knees to his chest and shook his head. His chest was rapidly rising and lowering.

“Give me that armor.” He shook his head slightly. I gritted my teeth. My knife shone in the fluorescent light. “Okay.” I growled. I rushed up to him and tore off his helmet, my knife raised.

I gasped and staggered back. The helmet dropped from my hand. It made a dull echoing sound. He was just a kid. My age or less. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His skin was pale, sickly. He looked terrified. Of me. My knife clattered to the floor. “I-I wasn’t gonna kill—”

“Please, please. I don’t want to die.” He whispered it, reverently. Like it was a prayer to a merciful god I didn’t know.

“Give. Me. The. Armor. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. WICKED took everything from me. Do you know what you’re a part of?” My voice was laced with venom; yet it was so close to dissolving into blubbering. I inhaled sharply and tried to look mean, dangerous.

“Finding the cure. Saving the world. WICKED is good.” He said it like it was a mantra that’d been shoved down his throat. I gripped his shoulders. His head lolled down. I grasped his hair and slammed his head into the wall.

“Look at me! WICKED has killed people. WICKED killed Alby. Ben. George. Those were people. People I loved.” The boy shut his eyes. “LOOK AT ME! I killed a boy. His name was Chuck.” My voice grew raspy. “I killed him blaming another boy for WICKED’s sins. Don’t do what I did. WICKED needs to be destroyed. But I don’t want you to die with it.” I was desperate now. Flecks of spit splattered on his face. I must’ve looked crazed, inhuman. I released him and stepped back. His head stayed raised. He sat there for a moment. Slowly he opened his eyes.

“Beth. Did you know her?” I shook my head. He nodded. “WICKED took her. For their experiment. To find a cure. She’s probably dead.” He looked at me. “She was so little. Mom got the Flare. It was just me and her. Then WICKED took us. We separated. WICKED told me it was for the greater good. So no one would get what Mom had. I never saw Beth again.” He said all this quietly, distant. Like it was a sad fairy tale. Not what he experienced. I knelt down and started untying him.

“Go across this no man’s land. Ask for the name Lawrence. You’ll be pointed toward a building. Say you're with Rob, Gul and me, Gally.” He stood and started to take off the armor. “No. You’ll need that to get across. Ditch it once you get to the buildings.” I handed him his helmet and awkwardly stood there.

“This—” he started. I heard footsteps on the floor above us, and shots. I gripped his shoulders.

“Go.” Then I turned and ran up the stairs.

It became strangely silent as I climbed the steps. Only now did my body remember it was in a critical condition. My lungs burned, my body felt abused. I looked down and saw tiny burn holes all over my clothes. I looked like a boiled lobster. My skin was peeling, especially on my hands. My leg throbbed like crazy, but I didn’t look at it. I’d probably throw up at the mess of blood I could feel dripping down my thigh. I reached the end of the stairs and stumbled down the hallway. There were so many doors. Which—

Shots. Third door on the right. I took a step and slumped on the ground. My leg wouldn’t move. More shots. Voices. I leaned against the wall and excruciatingly got to my feet. I took a step. Then another.

“GUL!”

Rob. That was his voice. It was anguished. No. I forgot my pain and broke into a run. I kicked open the door.

No.

Later I would remember the details of the room. An overturned table raked with gunfire. Security technology with monitors, dark and littered with bullet holes. Flickering blue lights. WICKED guards with their guns pointed at Gul.

But the only thing I saw that day was the bullets ripping into his chest. Blood splattering on his cocky, mischievous expression. His eyes locked on me. A smile flickered across his lips. ‘Pesar’ means son, shuckhead. He mouthed. Then he fell backwards, his body obscured by the table. No. No no no.

“NO!” I shouldered my way through the WICKED guards. They didn’t even notice me until I spun around and grabbed my gun. I shot like a madman. Bullet after bullet lodged in the guards. Guard after guard slumped. Dead. The survivors tried to run, but I kept shooting. I wanted everyone dead. Body after body fell, until the dead blocked the exit. The rest were trapped in a cage of death, a prison created from their own comrades. I didn’t drop my gun until every guard shared the same fate. To die at my hand. The roaring in my ears stopped and I could hear quiet weeping. Oh God, Rob.

I jumped over the table and— Gul.

No.

I knelt next to Rob. Rob was clutching him. Sobbing over him. Over and over he mouthed the word: Why? Rob’s med kit lay forgotten by Gul’s head.

No.

Pesar means son.

No.

But what about father?

What does father mean?

Gul.

How could he? How could he die? The shucking slinthead!

I covered my face with my hand. Slinthead. Shuckhead. Shank. He used those. Because of me. For me. He used to. What I wouldn’t give for him to call me a slinthead again. I sat back. I didn’t want to see the body. I didn’t want Rob to confirm that he was dead. Oh, God. I didn’t want to see the other bodies. I dropped my gun like it was hot. God. I shakily stood up. I had to see them. Slowly I waded through the bodies. I took off their helmets. Men. Boys. Woman. Gently I removed the helmet of a smaller figure.

No.

No no no. I told him. Tears wet my cheeks. They stung my burned skin. It was the boy. I fell on my knees, guilt steeping my heart in lead. I didn’t even ask his name. Tenderly I lifted his body. He felt light, empty in my arms. I walked over to Rob.

“We need to bury them.” Rob looked up. He didn’t even blink at the body in my arms.

“Okay.” His voice was raspy. I turned away, terrified he’d try to talk about…

“Let’s go.” My voice sounded so neutral, so uncaring. I was scared Rob would hate me. Would think I didn’t care. But I did. I cared too much. I was too close to breaking. I couldn’t even look at Rob. I knew he was carrying Gul. I couldn’t see him limp in Rob’s arms.

“Okay.” Rob followed me through the sea of bodies. To his credit, he didn’t say anything. Or maybe I just couldn’t hear him over my thoughts.

#

We buried them. We went back to the base. Rob went to his room. I went to the alley. Gul wasn’t here to stop me. I took out my knife. In the Glade we would banish anyone who attempted to murder or actually killed another Glader to the Maze. They would never survive the night. I’ve broken that rule ten times over. I wouldn’t survive this night. I only felt bad for Rob. Maybe one day he’d forgive me. Or he wouldn’t. I deserved that much.

I leveled my knife to my wrist and cut into my skin. One for Chuck. It stung, but it wasn't enough. Not for everything I’ve done. I slit my other wrist. for the boy. Three more quick cuts down my arms. For the guards. Then I raised the knife to my neck. For Gul.

I inhaled air. It seemed so sweet when I was about to lose it. I wonder if Chuck thought about his last breaths when he stepped into my gunshot. When the boy joined his comrades. When Gul tried to single handedly fight off WICKED. I wouldn’t see them again. With all my sins I was destined for Hell. If it was even real. What did Gul believe about death? I never got to ask him. I pressed the blade against my neck. I closed my eyes.

Instantly I was back. Back in the void. My body didn’t burn. My abdomen didn’t ache. The cold metal of the gun felt soothing against my healed hands. I was pointing the gun at Chuck. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew he was already dead. But I still resisted. I tried to drop the gun, move it away from Chuck, but my arms were frozen. My finger slowly, deliberately pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out the barrel. Leisurely it spun in slow motion. Second by second drawing closer to Chuck. I tried to move, flinch, scream, anything.

Chuck didn’t react when the bullet lodged in his chest. His face was frozen in an angelic, loyal, quietly courageous expression. Still he had golden eyes.

CHUCK!

He fell backwards. But that wasn’t the end. Behind him the bullet continued. It lodged in the boy’s throat. His expression froze in a pleading, terrified state. His eyes reflected a golden light I couldn’t see. Guilt washed over me, if my body wasn’t stuck I’d have collapsed.

No.

The bullet continued through the guards. Guard after guard it shot through. Face after face frozen in shock, disbelief, fear, grief. Over and over I saw these last expressions, each ripping into me. Each weighing me with more guilt than I could handle. It went on for too long. How many have I killed? Too many. Oh God, too many. The bullet tore through the last guard. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried to hold them in. I didn’t want to cry. It felt so wrong to cry for people I consciously killed. But I did. Tears streamed down my face as I silently sobbed.

But the bullet wasn’t done. It hovered in front of one last person.

Gul.

He had that same stupid smirk on his face, his mouth open in calling me a shuckhead. Only his eyes ruined the picture. They were golden. No. His eyes are blue. No. He can’t die. Not here. I didn’t kill him. Yet the bullet didn’t stop. Did I kill him? Was it my fault? No. No no no no.

I had to wake up. Would I have dreams like this when I was dead? Was this Hell? Would I dream of the bullet tearing into me? No. No. The bullet pressed against Gul’s chest. I could hear the skin breaking apart, the blood starting to flow—

“Gally!” I was back. I felt the concrete against my back. My body in pain. My hand closed over a knife that wasn’t there. My eyes flew open and Rob was kneeling next to me. My knife in his hand. I sat up, deranged. I flung myself toward Rob.

“Rob,” I said, clutching his arm. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Give me the knife.” I was breathing heavily, drool dripping from my mouth. Rob studied the knife. And, without his expression changing, he threw it down the alley. “No!” I tried to rush past him for the knife but he held me back. I scratched and clawed but he stood firm. “Rob—”

“Don’t even try. Don’t even try to explain why I saw you convulsing on the floor with a knife to your throat. I know why. You feel guilty. For something you didn’t even cause. Stop struggling Gally!” Rob’s voice was so filled with emotion I stopped immediately. For a second me both sat there. His arms wrapped around my stomach; My body stretched over his kneeling legs. We both were sweating, breathing heavily. After a few more seconds Rob stirred.

“Oh God, you're bleeding.” Rob turned me over and considered my abdomen wound. “I’m going to rebandage this. Let’s get you to the med—”

“No.”

“Son—”

“No!” I slid off his legs and sat up. “You don’t get it. I feel guilty, but it was for something I caused.” I was practically shaking with emotion. “I killed Chuck, Rob. The boy who was lying next to me at the WICKED compound. I murdered him.”

Rob didn’t speak.

“I murdered all those guards, too.”

Rob started to argue but I stopped him.

“Do you know how young some of them were? Did you know I talked to one of them? Did you know he lost his sister? Did you know they’re all brainwashed to believe WICKED is good? Do you know how many I killed?”

Rob opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it.

“I’m too dangerous, Rob. I destroy everything I touch. Maybe Gul would still be alive with you if you’d have left me to die.” I gestured to the knife. “That would’ve been the only good thing I’d done with my life.” I looked into his eyes. “Rob, please let me die.”

Rob stared at me open mouthed, silent tears streaked down his cheeks. “You poor, poor child. You’ve been lugging that since we met you? Oh son, I can’t lose you too.” He held out his arms, but I recoiled.

“Rob. I killed people.”

Rob dropped his arms. He traced a word on his leg. “You regret it. Guilt is overwhelming you with every day that passes, am I right?”

I nodded.

“Gally, can’t you forgive yourself? Wouldn’t it be better to grieve these people as friends rather than the mistakes you made? Can’t you respect them enough to do that?”

“Respect? I’m ready to kill myself to avenge them and you talk about respect?” My voice practically shrieked. Rob was silent for a moment.

“Gally, do you need to avenge them? Or is that just a coward’s way to get out of facing your mistakes and moving on?”

It was my turn to be silent. I wanted to feel offended, wanted to hurt him back. But instead I clutched my knees to my chest and whispered: “Yeah Rob, I’m scared. I’m scared to move on. What if I forget… them. What if I just become an asshole again. What then?”

Rob pulled me into a hug. I went limp in his arms. “You won’t. In my eyes you’ll always be a shuckhead.”

“Oh haha, laugh at the Glade slang. You’re so original.” I said into his sweater.

Rob laughed. “Gally, you’re already growing into a wise young man. I’m so proud of you.” Rob gripped me tightly, I wrapped my arms around him and let myself sob into his sweater.

“Rob, Rob I’m so, so sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Rob cupped my tearstained face in his hand. His own eyes were wet with tears and reflecting the golden, setting sun. It was beautiful.

“I love you so much.” He embraced me again. That feeling washed over me. The feeling I felt in Gul’s arms. That love. That love I could only get from a dad.

Pesar means ‘son’.

#

One year later…

“Rob! Look!” I stumped into his room, running my hand over my newly shaved head. Rob glanced up from his book and made a face. He quickly tried to cover it up with a wavering smile, but I’d already seen it. “You hate it.” I pouted.

“No… it’s… Gally, you didn’t… you went against the flow of your hair!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I scratched the back of my neck.

“Gally, where’s the razor? I’m just going fix up the back, and… a… a couple of other spots…”

I crossed my arms. “Gul would’ve thought I looked sexy.” I joked.

“You will be, just let Barber Roberto fix it up, monsieur.” Rob said, gesturing for me to sit down in front of his chair.

“Fine.” I handed him the razor and sat down, crossing my legs. Rob pressed the blade to my head and carefully buzzed around my ears.

“You have that scout mission to do, right?” Rob asked, continuing to fix up my hair.

“Yeah, just a ride around the square, really. We wanna spread word about the revolution.”

“Have you talked to Lawrence recently?” Rob said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Not since…” I couldn’t say Gul’s funeral. My voice couldn’t force the words.

“Yeah.” Rob got quiet, maybe thinking about the service. I was.

“He kinda hates me now.” I picked at the carpet, pulling at the loose threads.

“You punched him.”

“Yeah.”

Rob was silent. I could only hear the dull buzz of the razor.

“I just… the way he implied that we’d lost Gul on a mission that was basically crafted so I would stop whining…” I stopped. “It’s already hard enough to forgive myself,” I whispered. Rob giggled. “What?” I asked, self conscious.

“No, it’s not you, it's just,” he snorted. “Gul’s sides would’ve been splitting open at you punching Lawrence in the middle of his funeral…! And throwing the cracker platter…” He burst into laughter. I giggled too.

“Gul would’ve loved it. And he’d have let me drink the wine, Rob.”

“I���m guilty of being a responsible adult, how novel.”

I snorted. “Hey, you almost done? I actually gotta get going…”

“Oh, yes, of course, turn toward me for a second, I just need to fix up your hairline.”

“What the f— heck is a hairline.” I corrected.

“Nice save, shank.” Rob said, rolling his eyes. I turned toward him and Rob smoothly shaved along my forehead. Little bits of hair dusted my cheeks. “There. You’re good.”

“I was before, what do you mean?” I quipped.

“Get out of here, slinthead.” Rob said, trying to keep a straight face. I jumped up and raced to the door. In the doorframe I turned around.

“I love you Rob.” Rob looked up from his book. His eyes were wide, gooey, with understanding.

“I’ll be here when you get back, Gally. You don’t need to say it just in case—” I shut the door. I did need to say it. Who knew when a goodbye might be the last thing you’d ever say to someone?

#bwahhh #yeahhh #i did do that #hope you like it #I’ll post it on ao3 soon #the maze runner #tmr gally #gally tmr #fanfic writing #tw sui attempt #tw self blame #tw self destructive thoughts #tw self destruction #tw violent death #tw violence #tw violent imagery #tw ptsd #tw intrusive thoughts #tw nightmares #tw needles #tw gun mention #tw gun violence #tw grief #tw sucidal ideation #tw murder #tw violent thoughts #tw bl0od #tw swearing

[univvrse]

the coven (chapter 4)

tw: graphic depictions of violence, character death

previous parts can be found on my masterlist

reader x bakugou x shinsou x kaminari x kirishima

Coven- a formation of at least three or more vampires He told you they were dangerous- why didn't you believe him?

on my ao3 if you'd prefer

1.4k words

A 58 year old man named Haruto Manaka was at home, about to go for his morning run. His doctor had suggested it to him after his heart attack last Christmas. A Christmas he had spent alone. Haruto Manaka lived a lonely life, not many friends apart from the ones he saw at work. His parents had died two years ago, 6 months from each other; and his ex-wife, well let’s just say she wasn’t his biggest fan.

He had dark eyes, with deep purple circles under them taking up a good half of his cheeks. He hadn’t been able to sleep lately, he had been afraid though he was not yet sure what of. He had pin straight black hair that flowed just below his ears. Manaka had been quite the looker back in his day, he still was now though no ladies he had met recently seemed to think so.

Anyway, the man was about to go on his morning run, clad in his black cotton shorts that stopped just below his knee and grey t-shirt. He didn’t bother taking his phone, he was sure no one would need him in the hour or so he would be missing from his home.

As he jogged across the familiar streets of the neighbourhood he had lived in for half of his life, he felt the presence of somebody following him. It was still incredibly early- most people probably weren’t awake. He kept an old Casio, digital watch on his wrist that read 5:29 AM.

It was still dark outside and so he didn’t see the brief flashes of 2 people overtaking him, running impossibly fast only a few metres from his face. At least he didn’t see them until they stopped, 5 metres in front of him. Manaka frowned- he had never seen these people before, and more importantly, what were they doing in the forest at 5:30 AM. They were both blonde, attractive but with piercing eyes that shot through the darkness and shot through his soul, an undeclared order to run.

He swallowed back a wave of anxiety, "this is a safe area." he thought to himself; a desperate attempt to soothe his nerves.

The runner stopped suddenly, looking around to find any sort of route that would divert him from these eerie strangers. He opened his mouth to ask them to move, but closed it immediately when he felt bile crawl up his throat.

The streets were dark. Had the moon not been near full, it would have been almost pitch black outside. A cold shiver ran down his spine and through his nervous system as he realised they were just far enough from any houses that no one would hear him scream.

The two boys disappeared from his Manaka's line of vision. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. The man put it down to his mind playing tricks on him. Perhaps his medication had sent him delusional. He would arrange a visit with his doctor about it tomorrow, for now he would turn back. He'd simply have to run slightly further tomorrow to make up for the lost few hundred meters.

Turning around to jog the way home, Manaka stopped dead in his tracks. He was now face to face with the young men he swore he'd been hallucinating. "Don't be crazy." he thought sternly, "You just need more sleep." But the boys' eyes didn't move from his neck, no matter how many times he blinked.

They disappeared again, however this time the unfortunate runner didn't even have time to sigh before they appeared at his side. The slightly taller one grabbed Manaka roughly, dragging him by his shoulder before he opened his mouth. The moon glinted against his disgustingly sharp before he drove his head into his victims neck, sinking his needle-point fangs into the carotid artery there.

Pain ripped through Manaka's body as he felt his neck being ravished with no remorse. His own blood soaked his clothes, drowning his shirt in the warm redness. It was spraying from his neck like the most magnificent fountain you have ever laid eyes on. He could feel his body being drained of blood and the pain was searing. Manaka let out a guttural cry, feeling the blood drench his face as his attacker pulled back to lick his lips.

He seemed to have had his fill as the last thing Manaka saw was the sadistic smirk playing across the man's lips before his body gave up on fighting and he fell to the ground, limp and useless, but still bleeding, rapidly expelling all blood from his body. His head had hit a rock as he fell and he could feel it begin to drown his thick, dark hair in blood. He was sure he was nothing but a puddle of dark red liquid at this point. The crimson streamed down his face, blinding him and and filling his throat with its coppery taste. He gurgled, choking.

He fought off the invasion, gagging and coughing with all his might, but the blood had found itself in his airways and he began to slowly drown as he bled out there on the road he'd run down so many times. Why couldn't he have just gotten a gym subscription like everyone else who was trying to keep fit? He gagged one last time before gurgling out an unearthly noise. A sort of mixture between an anguished cry and a dying croak. Then he was dead.

“Katsuki, I thought the next one we saw was mine to kill”, Denki complained. “And he would’ve been yours if you hadn’t been so slow”, Katsuki replied, crushing the skull of the dark haired man with his shoe until he had no clear face, making the body unrecognisable.

The vampires had been thirsty, likely exaggerated by hanging out with a human for most of the day. All four of them had been hunting in a forest, not so far from the one they had met you in a day before, about an hour in a car but only around a 10 minute run for them all. They picked up unlucky civilians who had just happened to be going out so early in small teams of two.

They had about 9 victims all together, two each apart from Katsuki who had now beaten Denki to his second kill and now had three murders under his belt that morning.

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

Meanwhile you woke up suddenly. It was dark outside, your duvet wrapped around your comfortingly, hang on. You were in your bedroom? What? Crazed thoughts flickered through your mind; had you dreamt it all? Was your subconscious mind playing tricks on you?

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, trying to think clearly about the mystical world you had been in seemingly moments ago. No. That wasn’t possible, you would be the first one to admit you had a few screws loose but, this was something you couldn’t make up. Besides, you were still in the clothes you had remembered putting on 24 hours ago before you found yourself hanging out with the undead.

You could feel your phone in your pocket, uncomfortably pressed between your leg and mattress. Grabbing it without a second thought you checked the time, 2:30 AM. Way to early to be waking up, yet you had still slept a very long time, your throat was dry, and you were in desperate need of a shower. You pulled yourself out of bed and drowsily shuffled towards your shower.

You sat around for a few hours in your living room, mostly full of boxes you had meant to unpack the day before, before you had gotten side-tracked. Other than that, your living room had an old sofa- left there by your apartment’s previous owners and a television that you had brought with you from your childhood bedroom that sat on boxes a few inches in front of your face.

You lazily flicked through channels, not interested in actually watching anything just distracting yourself by pressing buttons and fidgeting with the remote control. As the sun began to rise you heard a knock at the door. You raced to the door, hoping it would be one of the immortals you had spent all morning thinking about.

Through the semi-transparent glass of your door, you could see the shape of spiky red hair through the glass at the window. Your jaw fell as you opened the door. It wasn’t a dream!

Noticing your surprise, Eijiro looked you in the eyes, a small falling upon his lips and said; “What you didn’t think that we would just drop you of here and forget about you. Did you?"

#no beta we die like- read the chapter to find out #bakugou x reader #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #shinsou x reader #bakugou #kirishima eijirou #denki kaminari #my hero academia #vampire au #vampire

[ao3feed-superbat]

Sickness of waiting under your thumb (sickness from you)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/PCaectl by Only_The_Queerest_Gods_Hypnos_and_Apollo Bruce Wayne convinces himself that the best way to save the world from Superman, and the Kryptonians, after the events of Black Zero, is to eliminate any and all Kryptonians. Including Superman. Just another one of his contingency plans. Routine. Straightforward. But there was nothing routine or straightforward about accidentally falling in love with Superman along the way, outside of his Bat Persona, all Bruce- Nor will there be anything straight-forward or routine to have to kill him for his goals, his ideals, his planet. Especially as Superman is still so in love with him. For anyone who had wondered if things had gone a slightly more wrong angle during the Superbat love stories when Bruce had intended to kill him originally: a what if of hope, terror, betrayal, love and, inevitably loss, and the reality he has to face along with it. Words: 3157, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel (2013) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Rao (DCU) Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Holy shiit I made myself cry whilst writing this, no like seriously a tear jerker, I wrote this all in one evening, After drinking, and after a sad dream, so I am so sorry this is soo sad, if you can't handle it right now please don't read it right now, Sad Ending, Sad Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Acts Like a Sad Wet Cat, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Protective Bruce Wayne, clark kent straight up dies i don't know how else to tell you this, Dying Clark Kent, Euthanasia, but like no not really at all, but bruce almost convinces himself it is, I am so sorry, Kryptonite (DCU), injections/ needles : TW, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred is Bruce's dad and no I will not apolgise, whilst listening to 'woke up' from Marceline in Distant Lands, loving clark kent, Oblivious, CLEARLY TOXIC RElATIONSIPS : TW, Bruce Wayne convinces himself it's 'for the world', ha yeah right, Paranoid Bastards, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, but they're not and he is, so suck it Bruce, DEATH : TW, PARTNER ABUSE : TW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, References to consensual sex, brief - Freeform, brief vague description of a corpse at the very end, sorry - Freeform, Love, Not a great one though, PURPOSELY NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP : TW, Lies and Deception, love everlasting, from one party, CLARK that is, goddamn i'm going to cry again, I'm Going to Hell, vague extra-terrestrial religious references, Rao (a god of Krypton/ a heavenly body/ star ) - mentioned, mentions of a/slight description of a seizure, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, I love him for it, normally love bruce wayne, but seriously here fuck him in this story, he's trying, not good enough though, Vomiting read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/PCaectl

#ao3feed #superbat #world's finest #Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

[killemwithkawaii]

Announcement: Goretober2022 💌🔪💘

[EDIT 10/19/22:

-A few minor edits were done to posts to correct errors and add missed tags. Thank you for pointing those out to me, anon! 🤗💖

-'tw corpse' has been added to the tag list and will be used from this date forward ]

Hello, my darling kouhai! 💕

Spooky season is just around the corner, which means it’s almost time for all the fresh new kouhai to find out that I don’t call myself “Killemwithkawaii’ for nothing…~ >:3c

I will once again be participating in Goretober this year. This is your official heads-up about the change in content: 

The majority of content posted on this blog during October will depict graphic, violent, disturbing and/or grotesque situations. I won’t be posting any screamers or jump-scares and will be tagging things appropriately, but only very long posts will be put under a ‘read-more,’ so please look through the blog at your own discretion. I WILL NOT BE OFFENDED IF YOU UNFOLLOW OR EVEN BLOCK ME TO AVOID TRIGGERING CONTENT!! I know many of you follow my blog to find a distraction, and I completely understand if you need to skip all of this stuff for your own mental well-being.

Disclaimer: All my content is a work of fiction. For any of my followers who may become concerned for my mental health or physical safety during this time, please rest assured that I am in no way a danger to myself or others and am not encouraging the actions depicted. The events that will take place on this blog during October are all in good fun, so please rest assured that your Senpai is safe and sound! ^^

The following is information about the event and a list of trigger warnings (in alphabetical order) for things I might be posting about during this event, though triggering content not included on this list may appear and tags will be added accordingly. All of my goretober art will be tagged as #goretober2022 and all event-related posts will be tagged as #the staycation 🏡💙. Please block any of these tags that may trigger you, and let me know if you see I’ve missed a tag or if you would like to request a tag to be added to the list. (all tags will begin with ‘tw’):

-Abuse

-Animal death 

-Blood

-Body horror

-Bondage

-Cannibalism

-CNC (Consensual Non Consent- any scenarios with this will have a lot of mentions of it being pretend, having a safe word, previous discussion of limits, the participants having fun, the dom checking in, etc. ex: two willing participants acting out a kidnapping, roleplaying being hunted down by a 'slasher’, etc)

-Corpse

-Death (including homicide, suicide, accidents, natural death, etc)

-Degradation 

-Disembowelment

-Dismemberment

-Disordered eating

-Drug use (including tobacco, alcohol, marijuana, sedatives, psychedelics and hard drugs, implied or explicitly used)

-Dubcon

-Eye trauma

-Gaslighting

-Impalement

-Injury (major and minor)

-Kidnapping

-Mental illness

-Necrophilia

-Needles

-Organs

-Police violence

-Religious sacrilege

-Self-harm

-Somnophilia

-Stalking

-Suicide

-Surgery (major and minor)

-Teratophilia

-Torture (Physical, emotional and mental)

-Unreality (feeling you are unreal or doubting the truth of reality, trouble with memories, mentions of multiple realities or universes, etc.)

-Unsanitary (bodily fluids, unwashed hands, dirty environments and generally not-clean things… just anything that might be considered kind of gross)

-Violence

-Vomit

-Weapon (including knives, guns, improvised weapons, etc.)

-Yandere (Generally unhealthy behavior toward a love-interest. These posts may contain dubcon and other more extreme yandere themes I don’t usually post about)

🍴💌🍴💌🍴💌🍴💌🍴💌🍴💌

>Thank you in advance for your participation! My goretober events wouldn't be a fraction of what they are/were without you guys sending in asks and helping to build the story, and I'm so grateful that you take the time to do it!!! I hope this year will be even more fun and entertaining for all of us (I've been working hard to make it happen)! 🤗💖💖💖 (note: due to the time restriction of the event, it is likely that not all asks that are sent in will be answered)

>If you enjoy my content and would like to treat me to a little something, you can support my redbubble shop or buy me a ko-fi here c:

>If you’d like to catch up on my previous goretober events (i.e. the ongoing 'Meet The Fishers' AU), please go to my archive and read the posts in order during the following dates (relevant posts will be tagged with the event title):

October 1st-December 1st 2020- 'Kewks Kidnapping' and 'Sally Stays'

October 1st-November 1st 2021- 'The Do-Over'

Please note: All previous events are 99% improvisational (so please excuse the plot holes lol) and may not reflect my current writing style. Some posts have been edited for continuity. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re forward to having some 'killin’ with your 'kawaii’ very, very soon~

#k.e.w.k. speaks #IM SO HYPED AND I HOPE YOU ARE TOO #but srsly guys block those tags and let me know if you need any added 👍

[elliepassmore]

Wildblood review

3.5/5 stars Recommended for readers who like: fantasy, magic, adventure, magical woods, healing stories Big thanks to Netgalley, Wednesday Books, and the author for an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review! TW rape (mentioned, brief non-graphic flashback), abuse I'm disappointed because I really wanted to like this book. I really liked the concept of blood magic and venturing through a sentient, magical, vengeful jungle. Unfortunately, while I do think Blackwood did a good job bringing the forest to life, I don't really think the rest of it hit the mark. There's also the issue with the instalove. The summary makes it sound like Victoria and Thorn grow to respect and care for one another when in reality they see one another and instantly start drooling. Some of the book is also predictable, but predictability can be more easily forgiven. I will say that I really liked the depiction of the forest. Blackwood promised us a forest full of spirits and deadly magic and then delivered. I felt the magic and the danger from the get-go and really believed Victoria's warnings that even the forest road was a dangerous place to be, let alone the heart of the woods. I liked the different fantastical elements/creatures that were brought in. I enjoyed that we got 'traditional' dangerous creatures (i.e., insects) as well as the more 'mystical' ones (i.e., the burning bull, River Mumma, etc.). I was very happy that most of the book took place in the woods because it was such a fun, rich setting. While the jungle provided a good backdrop for the story, I don't really feel like the plot was all the way there. We're presented with this challenge of getting to the heart of the forest in order to get gold...yet from the outset we already sort of know that's not going to happen. Victoria says it, the forest says it, and there are too many adversaries for that to be the true plot. And yet most of the book is spent with that as the 'goal'/plot. It's only toward the ending that the plot pivots and we get into the new idea that the system has to change, and even that is resolve fairly quickly. Victoria's transformation is a big thing, but in order for that to be the whole plot, there needed to be more introspection throughout the entire book, and there's not. The wildblood magic was a little confusing to me. I understand that the magic is pulled from the blood, and you need some sort of blood source in order to make it work (though it also sounds like you can pull blood out of people or animals via their pores or mucosal areas, so...). However, I would've liked a bit more description or explanation in terms of how it manifests. At first it seems like it just involves forming weapons of blood since Dean and Victoria both make needles, daggers, etc. Then later on Victoria mentions she has lightning? I don't feel like I got enough of an explanation of the magic to understand how magic manipulating blood results in electrokinesis. Some additional information in this department would've cleared things right up, especially since it's an interesting concept you don't really see that much. In terms of the characters, I think Victoria works as a protagonist. She's got an end goal of keeping her brother, Bunny, safe and getting him away from the tour company. She wants to move up the hierarchy in order to achieve that, but is otherwise content to stay on the sidelines, away from the brutality of the boss. Her transformation over the course of the book is largely subtle and has more to do with how she transforms inside herself than anything else. This change feels believable and has a couple of natural triggers. Thorn is an interesting character for me since I think he's written a certain way on purpose. He's very sweet to Victoria, and very chatty. He's an easy character to like for most of the book, but there's definitely a moment when my perception of him sort of...slipped sideways. He's still likeable, but looking at it from a different angle there are times when you go, 'okay, I don't think you're as nice and accommodating as you make yourself out to be,' and I definitely think that was purposeful on Blackwood's part. I do like that about the character. It gives a depth and complexity to him that I think is very interesting. Of course, with Victoria and Thorn there's a very instalove-y thing going on. I've mentioned before in reviews that I don't like instalove but can tolerate it so long as it feels believable (i.e., you get a build up of trust and respect first and without the love aspect). Unfortunately, we don't get that here. Thorn and Victoria run into each other very briefly inside the boss' office and immediately get heart eyes, and it's all 'I'm attracted but shouldn't be' from there. If there had been a slower buildup I think it would've worked better, but as it is I have this sense that Victoria feels very deeply for him (and vice versa), but there's such a short history there that it almost feels like a betrayal. Dean is another major character, and is Victoria's vicious, cruel ex-boyfriend. This is definitely a case where a character is made out to be terrible and then actually is. He takes nearly every opportunity to make Victoria feel small, even when she's right and being helpful and, you know, trying to make sure they don't all die in the magical jungle. In the last 30% of the book it does feel like there's a major personality change for his character and, to be honest, I don't believe it (and neither, I think, does Victoria, not completely at least). I think there is definitely complexity there that could be explored, but it happens too fast and isn't explored enough. Additionally, I feel like Dean gives so many different excuses for his past sins that they all just feel like lies. I can't really tell if this is on purpose or if Blackwood genuinely struggled with why this character would do some of the things he did. Bunny is Victoria's brother, a 14-year-old who is in a terrible situation and uses his magic to try and gain some control over his life, despite the detrimental effects it has on him. While he can be annoying and dismissive at times, I do feel like Bunny is written to be his age. He's very teenager-y, which fits. Despite him brushing off Victoria's concerns, he genuinely cares about her and her wellbeing. Samson is another brother-like figure for Victoria and has known her for basically her entire time with the tour company. I liked Samson's character and that he looked out for Victoria. He's definitely got his own flaws, but overall he's a pretty enjoyable, jovial character. One of the issues with this book is that none of the characters that are close to Victoria actually look out for her fully. They may worry about certain things and warn her and try to protect her, but none of them manage to achieve the full outcome. Thorn does a good job worrying and protecting, but he doesn't heed her advice about the forest and he doesn't truly listen when she talks about taking the gold as a form of violence. Samson cares for her and protects her, but he doesn't apologize when he's wrong. Yet these people are, by and large, presented as viable, good options. I did like the ending, and I'm glad that's the direction the author went with it instead of the one it seemed like it was going. I think it's true to Victoria and the message of the story. I was worried for a bit since it seemed like Blackwood was going to go a more traditional route, either HEA or something else ((view spoiler)), but the one she went with works perfectly. It does actually deal with some of the stuff I'd worried about as I was reading and the kinds of things I'd thought didn't fit well with Victoria, so I was pleased about that as well. Overall, I went into this book wanting to like it more than I did. The premise is good and I think there are definitely aspects of it that are promising, but it just falls flat. For one, the plot isn't really where it needs to be, which is recoverable if the characters and magic are where they need to be, but they weren't. I did like the setting, though, and I think the ending really hits the mark.

#book #booklover #book blog #books #booksbooksbooks #new books #bookish #bookaddict #bookaholic #ya fiction #ya fantasy #ya books #wildblood #netgalley #netgalley review #netgalley read #book review #lauren blackwood #characters of color #fantasy #fantasy book

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Sickness of waiting under your thumb (sickness from you)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/rU806eu by Only_The_Queerest_Gods_Hypnos_and_Apollo Bruce Wayne convinces himself that the best way to save the world from Superman, and the Kryptonians, after the events of Black Zero, is to eliminate any and all Kryptonians. Including Superman. Just another one of his contingency plans. Routine. Straightforward. But there was nothing routine or straightforward about accidentally falling in love with Superman along the way, outside of his Bat Persona, all Bruce- Nor will there be anything straight-forward or routine to have to kill him for his goals, his ideals, his planet. Especially as Superman is still so in love with him. For anyone who had wondered if things had gone a slightly more wrong angle during the Superbat love stories when Bruce had intended to kill him originally: a what if of hope, terror, betrayal, love and, inevitably loss, and the reality he has to face along with it. Words: 3157, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel (2013) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Rao (DCU) Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Holy shiit I made myself cry whilst writing this, no like seriously a tear jerker, I wrote this all in one evening, After drinking, and after a sad dream, so I am so sorry this is soo sad, if you can't handle it right now please don't read it right now, Sad Ending, Sad Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Acts Like a Sad Wet Cat, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Protective Bruce Wayne, clark kent straight up dies i don't know how else to tell you this, Dying Clark Kent, Euthanasia, but like no not really at all, but bruce almost convinces himself it is, I am so sorry, Kryptonite (DCU), injections/ needles : TW, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred is Bruce's dad and no I will not apolgise, whilst listening to 'woke up' from Marceline in Distant Lands, loving clark kent, Oblivious, CLEARLY TOXIC RElATIONSIPS : TW, Bruce Wayne convinces himself it's 'for the world', ha yeah right, Paranoid Bastards, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, but they're not and he is, so suck it Bruce, DEATH : TW, PARTNER ABUSE : TW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, References to consensual sex, brief - Freeform, brief vague description of a corpse at the very end, sorry - Freeform, Love, Not a great one though, PURPOSELY NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP : TW, Lies and Deception, love everlasting, from one party, CLARK that is, goddamn i'm going to cry again, I'm Going to Hell, vague extra-terrestrial religious references, Rao (a god of Krypton/ a heavenly body/ star ) - mentioned, mentions of a/slight description of a seizure, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, I love him for it, normally love bruce wayne, but seriously here fuck him in this story, he's trying, not good enough though, Vomiting read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/rU806eu

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

[sadistsenpaiandco]

TRIGGERS:

All tags are using the tw: trigger format. There may be triggers present occasionally that are not listed here. I'll try to keep updating things as new triggers are made clear or appear.

If you follow or interact with me first while having DNIs for any of these, that’s on you. Read pages first.

All tags noted as being prevalent on other blogs are also tagged universally, though they are more common to the blog noted.

Serious violence, sexual, and drug content will be filtered using tumblr’s hiding featured. If it’s not, it’s either not serious enough or not working.

Violence. Untagged.

Serious damage. tw: gore

Vague or unassuming disfigurement. Untagged.

Serious disfigurement or eldritch shenanigans. tw: body horror

Descriptions of food. Untagged. Pictures of Food: tw: food

All sexual or highly implicated content. lime;

Descriptions of surgical/serious medical processes; tw: medical

Depictions of pointy things, tw: needles

Gross stuff, sometimes medical; tw: unsanitary

Some blogs have tw: incest (Rung and Unicron)

Complete and utter apathy and inability to identify with others. Untagged. (Unicron)

Nonsexual, vague vore. Untagged. (Unicron)

Graphic, nonsexual vore. tw: vore (Unicron)

Grief. Untagged.

Poor familial relationships. Untagged.

Graphic depictions of feeling starved. Untagged.

Sexual trauma. tw: rape (Rung, mostly)

Lasting emotional and mental trauma due to people putting sharp things near brains. Untagged. (Rung)

Religious trauma, tinted in a Catholism inspiration. Untagged. (Rung)

Body Dysphoria of various origins. Untagged. (Maxie, Rung, prob Simon)

Things that might have me turned to salt; tw: blasphemy (Rung)

One dude being a terrible therapist and diddling his clients. Untagged. (Rung please)

Trauma related to a prior relationship. Untagged, unless overt; tw: abuse

#text #rp stuff

[unmakxr]

TRIGGERS:

All tags are using the tw: trigger format. There may be triggers present occasionally that are not listed here.

If you follow or interact with me first while having DNIs for any of these, that's on you. Read pages first.

Across All Blogs:

All tags noted as being prevalent on other blogs are also tagged universally, though they are more common to the blog noted.

Serious violence, sexual, and drug content will be filtered using tumblr's hiding featured. If it's not, it's either not serious enough or not working.

Violence. Untagged.

Serious damage. tw: gore

Vague or unassuming disfigurement. Untagged.

Serious disfigurement. tw: body horror

Rung and Unicron being eldritch as a base. Untagged. May be tagged as above for particular depictions.

Descriptions of food. Untagged.

All sexual or highly implicated content. lime;

Descriptions of surgical/serious medical processes; tw: medical

Depictions of pointy things, tw: needles

Gross stuff, sometimes medical; tw: unsanitary

The deeply fucked and unavoidable situation that is being a Creator of all life on a planet that you also live on and do the ditty with: tw: incest

Also twincest.

Specific to Unicron:

Complete and utter apathy and inability to identify with others. Untagged.

Nonsexual, vague vore. Untagged.

Graphic, nonsexual vore. tw: vore

Primacron's grief. Untagged.

Primacron and Unicron having a not so good familial relationship. Untagged.

Graphic depictions of feeling starved. Untagged.

Images of food, tw: food

Unicron is ace. However, mun is hypersexual and sex is extremely funny to them. No disrespect aces: you're stronger than me. Untagged beyond lime;

Specific to Rung:

Sexual trauma. tw: rape

Lasting emotional and mental trauma due to his brain being messed with. Untagged.

Religious trauma, tinted in a Catholism inspiration. Untagged.

Body Dysphoria due to being separated from Cybertron. Untagged.

Explaining his omnipresence as being a mental condition where one breaks from reality and treating it as such. Untagged.

The repeated usage of the word 'God', singular, as a descriptor for Rung, usually in a humorous manner. May be upsetting to the faithful sort. Untagged. Occasional tag might be tw: blasphemy

Rung being absolutely god awful at his job. Mostly in the 'rule 1: don't fuck the clients' way. Untagged.

Specific to Tailgate:

Gender dysphoria. Untagged.

Lack of trust after an abusive relationship. Untagged, unless overt; tw: abuse

#text #mobile; #profile; #last updated: #april 29th 2024

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Caged Little Bird

by Lunar_Supernova12

Prompt 6: Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams From Across The Hall

The siren frantically felt for a pulse on Tommy's arm, not feeling anything.

“Dad! I-I can’t find a pulse!” Wilbur exclaimed frantically, hearing his family pause their sacking of the place and rush over to them.

Phil fell to his knees beside Wilbur, Techno guarding them. Phil had tears in his eyes as he looked at his youngest son’s abused body, but he stayed focused on the more pressing problem at hand.

Or; I make Tommy go through it, but this time it’s hybrid edition. Tw for light torture, dehumanization, blood, and just general violence. Read the tags please!

Words: 1668, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Whumptober 2022

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson | Philza, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade's Chat (Video Blogging RPF), Original Characters, theyre the bad guys dw

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags: Collars, Its a shock collar, Cages, Kidnapping, Dehumanization, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Phil Watson is Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit's Parent, Needles, Mentioned Drugging, Avian TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Avian Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Siren Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit Nearly Dies (Video Blogging RPF), Torture, its not horrible; just the shock collar stuff, Physical Abuse, that too, Self-Worth Issues, Murder, Hybrids, Alternate Universe - Magic, i guess? It could be in Origins if you want, Blood and Injury, Blood

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

[swift-creates]

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Relationship: CC-1010 | Fox & CT-7567 | Rex

Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, CT-7567 | Rex

Tags: Fox suffers, Again, Hurt CC-1010 | Fox, Rescue Missions, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, Fox gets stabbed, Fox is in so much pain, Tw implied needle mention, Head Injury, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips Malfunction (Star Wars)

Summary:

Whumptober day 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

Whumptober day 5 EVERY WHUMPEE’S NEEDS Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

@one-happy-silent-geek-girl @fierreth-who just tagging y’all once so you don’t get a load of notifs every time I post for this shdbjdbdjd

#whumptober2022 #No.4 #no.5 #Hidden injury #Can’t pass out #Blood loss #The Clone Wars #fic #Blood #Stabbing #Needle #Swift writes #Swift creates #Commander Fox #Coruscant Guard #The corrie guard #CT-1010 #Rex #Captain Rex #Commander Rex #Star Wars #The 501st #sw tcw #tcw #star wars #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #star wars the clone wars

[ofdamages-arc]

roleplaying profile meme.

PLEASE REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG!  Feel free to add to any of your answers! The purpose is to tell your partners about the way you write!  For the multiple choice ones, BOLD all that apply and, if you want, italicize if it’s a conditional answer!

– b a s i c s –

NAME : spence 

ARE YOU OVER 18?  Yes / No    IS YOUR MUSE?   Yes / No

ARE YOU SELECTIVE ABOUT WHO YOU WRITE WITH ON THIS BLOG? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes / Highly / Private (mutuals only)   ARE YOU SELECTIVE ABOUT WHO YOU FOLLOW ON THIS BLOG? No (anyone) / Semi / Yes / Highly

IF YOUR MUSE IS CANON, HOW MUCH TO YOU ADHERE TO CANON? Not at all / A little / Some / Mostly / Strictly / (OC) I write my own canon.   WHAT POST LENGTHS DO YOU WRITE? One Liners / Single-Para / Multi-Para / Novella

DO YOU USE ICONS AND/OR GIFS? No / Gifs / Icons / Gif icons   DO YOU WRITE ON OTHER PLATFORMS? No / Yes.

WHAT LEVEL OF PLOTS DO YOU WRITE? Unplotted / Open Ended Plots / Semi-Plotted / Fully Plotted Epics   HOW QUICKLY DO YOU USUALLY RESPOND TO THREADS? Very Slow (more than a month) / Slow (3-4 Weeks) / Average (1-2 Weeks) / Fast (Less Than One Week) / Very Fast (Less Than Three Days)

WHAT TYPES OF THEMES DO YOU LIKE? (feel free to add!) Fluff / Angst / Smut / Action / Tragedy / Domestic / Family / Conversational / Hurt-Comfort   WHAT GENRES DO YOU LIKE? (feel free to add!) High Fantasy / Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical / Horror / Comedy / Romantic / Drama / Action / Adventure / Espionage / Everything

ARE THERE ANY THEMES YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WRITING ON YOUR BLOG? (not triggers) No / Yes  (r*pe/non-con, inc*st) DO YOU HAVE ANY TRIGGERS? No / Yes (needles, self-harm, graphic depiction of eating disorders) HOW DO YOU REQUEST IT TAGGED? “trigger” tw (ex: needles tw)

– s h i p p i n g –

WHAT TYPES OF RELATIONSHIPS ARE YOU OPEN TO? Romantic / Platonic / Familial  / Physical/Sexual   WHAT TYPES OF PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS ARE YOU OPEN TO? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / Physical/Sexual

DO YOU HAVE OTPS? No / Chemistry only / Yes DO YOU HAVE NOTPS? No / Yes / I don’t know

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WRITING SMUT? No / Selectively / Yes   HOW EARLY IN A RELATIONSHIP DO YOU SHIP ROMANTICALLY? Autoship / During Plotting / After A Couple IC Interactions / Several IC Interactions / Slow Burn / Depends on partner & muse

ARE YOU OPEN TO TOXIC SHIPS? No / Selectively / Yes / Never Tried It

ARE YOU OPEN TO PROBLEMATIC SHIPS? (canon history, age difference, complicated, etc.) No / Selectively / Yes

ARE YOU OPEN TO POLYSHIPPING? No / Selectively / Yes

ARE YOU AN EXCLUSIVE SHIPPER? No / Sometimes / Yes

DOES CRACK SHIPPING EVER HAPPEN? No / Sometimes / Yes

DOES CROSSOVER SHIPPING EVER HAPPEN? No / Yes /  Depends

Tagged by: no one

Tagging: whoever

#dash things #ooc.