#I’m just so hurt and angry the need to scream about what a rancid person she is is too strong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wallflowerimagines · 3 years

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Hi! I looove your posts! Thank you so much for sharing your writing!

I was wondering… could you maybe write about the Four Lords with a shy S/O that gets bold and defensive when someone insults the lords? or calls them names? And the Lord’s reaction to the S/O acting different? Dk if im explaining myself >.<

Again! Love your work! Have a great day!

We stan protective partners on this blog!!

Warnings: uh...insults? They're pretty over the top😅 Also swearing.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Honestly, Alcina is more than able to defend herself.

She's got a tongue like a viper, and the thickest skin imaginable. If you really want to hurt her feelings, you have to be someone whom she already respects to a certain degree, or she won't even be phased.

Still, when she leaves a room, there's always some idiot that thinks it's a smart idea to talk shit.

Maybe it's a maid, maybe it's a guest in the Castle, but either way you're not having it.

"God, you're annoying." There was a pause before they opened their mouth again, and you rolled your eyes. "No please, by all means, continue to share your lack of taste with the rest of us."

You disassemble this dumbass, starting small with comments about their personality (trying to keep it classy), but escalating the more they choose to double down on the comments.

Alcina comes back into the room to find you practically screaming at this asshole.

"Look, all you have accomplished here today is revealing that you are a fundamental disappointment on every possible level. My life is worse now that I've heard you open your mouth, you disrespectful, shit licking worm fucker."

Alcina is stunned. You do not give off "aggressive guard dog" vibes at all, yet here you are defending her tooth and nail. While she had seen brief moments of your inner strength and protective streak (mostly towards her daughters) she just...never thought you would do the same for her.

It's not because she doesn't trust you or love you! But nobody has ever done something like this for her before? Ever? She's never had anyone try to protect her--not physically, and not even verbally. She's been so independent for so long that it's... Strange to see you support her so openly.

She doesn't need you to do this for her, she doesn't even expect it, but you do it anyway for no other reason than the fact that you love her. You want people to give her the respect she deserves.

I'm going to be real here: Alcina has never been closer to swooning before in her life. You're overcoming your shyness because you believe in her so much-- it's not a gesture meant to be romantic, but Alcina can't help but see this as a massive statement of your commitment to her.

Seriously. This is such a massive thing for her that if proposals weren't already on her mind, she is mentally picking out a ring for you the minute this happens.

Then, of course, she glides into the room, kisses you until you're breathless and babbling, and smirks at the unfortunate peon who thought they could get away with insulting House Dimitrescu.

She's in such a good mood that she's considering going easy on the idiot. Maybe removing their tongue would be enough of a warning?

Donna Dimitrescu

You don't really know how it's possible but apparently some people don't like Donna Beneviento? Some people think she's scary and unpleasant????

Wild. Can't imagine what that's like.

The two of you are honestly the sweetest, most toothrottingly adorable couple-- blushing when you hold each other's hands, sneaking glances at each other across rooms, giving each other kisses and forgetting whatever was on your mind...

Honestly, anybody who's critical of your relationship with your girlfriend is just a hater. Fuckers can pound sand😤

Still, you are pretty shy, so it takes a lot for you to defend yourself if someone comments about you. It can take a lot of courage to stand up against rude remarks, and sometimes it's easier to walk away.

Defending Donna, on the other hand?

The minute someone even thinks about dismissing her, you are ready to throw hands.

"My lovely girlfriend already said no, meaning you're either deaf or too stupid to pick up on simple social cues," you purse your lips and give the rude and pushy Villager a patronizing once over. "You and your opinion are equally useless. Get the fuck away from us."

Donna blinks.

She... Was not expecting this??? At all?? You're so nice! You always tell her about your attempts to avoid confrontation! What's going on??? How did you get the guts to say what she's always wanted to say?

Meanwhile, Angie is LIVING.

The little doll chimes in to assist you with the verbal homicide, working as a tag team to absolutely murder this moron. She's half partner, half hype man, and is so excited to do this with you. Normally, she has to protect Donna all by herself, but she's relieved and reassured that you stepped in first.

'USELESS IS TOO NICE, THOUGH! THAT IMPLIES THEY AREN'T A POINTLESS, RANCID, LONELY FREAK. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY CRY WHEN THEY MASTURBATE.'

You high five Angie, still glaring daggers at the unfortunate villager.

The two of you continue to ream into the villager, while Donna hovers nearby.

As surprised as she is, she's also grateful. She's only really ever had Angie to help shield her from insults and disrespect (and occasionally inducing horrifying hallucinations that make people claw off their own skin), but having you in her corner makes her feel safe.

Not to get totally sappy, but you're like her knight in shining armor in a lot of ways. And the fact you two are so similar is really motivating-- She wants to one day be confident enough to return the favor. Until then, she's happy to watch her two favorite people have fun insulting some stranger ❤️

Salvatore Moreau

With you being so shy, Salvatore is surprised how often he takes the lead in your relationship.

He's not normally all that outgoing, but you seem to bring out a side of him that's very protective. Whenever you have a bad day he wants to bundle you up and keep you safe from the world.

If he so much as holds your hand you start stuttering and avert your gaze. It creates a feedback loop where you both get flustered, but Moreau has never felt steadier. Despite your shyness, you make sure he knows how much you love him.

You're sweet as pie and twice as kind--Salvatore is the luckiest man in the world, nobody can convince him otherwise 💕💕

So it comes as a total shock that when a passing fisherman spits in your path and calls him a freak, your entire demeanor does a 180.

Your posture straightens and you look the villager dead in the eye, "I don't believe anyone asked your opinion."

Salvatore: 😳

This is not the time, and he totally knows it, but, uh, something about your tone??? Really does it for him???

While he's attempting to process why exactly he's starting to short circuit, you proceed to verbally shred this person to bits with clinical efficiency-- nothing is off limits.

They might try to defend themselves, but it's useless. You do not let up.

"Ugly? Monster? Bitch your teeth are throwing gang signs, don't throw stones from your shining glass house."

You insult their appearance, what they're holding, their smell-- you get so fucking mean that you might even make them cry.

Moreau is just lost right now, trying hard to figure out how exactly you were able to gain all of this confidence so quickly.

He's not upset! In fact he's very flattered! But, he also doesn't want you to get into a fight with some unimportant stranger. (After all, if they so much as throw a punch, they're straight up dead. Moreau is a patient man, but he's not that patient. You do not hurt his partner and live to tell the tale.)

He may a healer but...

Eventually he steps between you and the fisherman in an attempt to deescalate the situation, but you just kiss him on the cheek and step around him, determined to make your point.

Blushing hard, Moreau lets you do what you want. What can he say? Fish man likes himself a protective partner 💞

Karl Heisenberg

Magnet Man is not the most social guy to begin with, so any opportunities you have to stick up for him are already pretty slim.

He mostly knows you as the shy, sweet, easily flustered partner that lets out a cute squeak every time he sneaks up to hug you from behind.

Karl's honestly happy just to spend time with you all alone in the Factory. It's not the best or healthiest mindset, but he'd be perfectly content to only ever see you for the rest of his life. Spending time with anybody else feels like a boring waste in comparison.

But occasionally, you do head out into town with him. Heisenberg wants you to be safe so he doesn't do it often, but running errands with you is a weakness of his. It's domestic in a way that he's never experienced before.

He likes it ❤️

What he does not like is the shopkeeper starting to give their opinions on the quality of your relationship with him.

Most insults Karl will let slide because he doesn't particularly care. However if anyone makes a comment on how scared (shy) you look around him, how you must be being threatened into being with him, how poorly Lord Heisenberg is treating you...he won't stand for it.

But before his fingers can even twitch towards his hammer, you snap.

"You're clearly the blindest cocksucker I've ever met--so wipe the cum out of eyes and mind your own fucking business."

Karl does a double take.

He's heard you curse before, but quietly. The words coming out of your mouth are WILD right now, he has NEVER seen you so angry. You're defending him with the aggression of a wild animal, and it's simultaneously HILARIOUS, but for some reason he's also getting a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest?

He doesn't need you to protect him like this, but seeing you blatantly argue how much you love and cherish him in public reassures him in a way he didn't know he needed.

Still, hearing you call the shopkeeper "shit for brains" is the funniest thing that's happened in years.

Heisenberg starts laughing, and the more you shout at the idiot, the harder he laughs. Is it weird how hard he wants to kiss you right now?

Eventually, he just has to drag you away, cackling as you continue to shout insults at the unfortunate shopkeep. There's got to be an alley around here for some good old fashioned privacy 💕

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #re8 #resident evil 8 #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #angie beneviento #karl heisenberg #angie the doll #swearing #insults

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obeymeluv · 4 years

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Random Spooky Thing

Something spooky I thought about. I don’t know what really got me thinking about it besides spooky season and the fact that the boys are 5,000+ years old and have probably made secret friends/lovers with a few non-RAD humans over the years.

This is pre-RAD program, post-fall. Boys are still probably at odds with their new demon instincts or have just barely settled into them.

Trigger warning for scary situation. Namely: almost being a legit sacrifice for a demon summoning.

I also have personal headcanons that the bros used to be Avatars in heaven, but for the trait opposite of their sin (Lucifer would be humility, Mammon would be charity/giving, Asmodeus would be love (I guess?), Satan doesn’t count because I don’t think he was in the Celestial Realm when it all happened (based on where I’m at in the game). Beel championed a good harvest/abundance. and Belphegor had the blessing of reinforcement/encouragement/inspiration/productivity)

Lucifer’s got unexpectedly long so this part will have Lucifer and Mammon only. I have to study for exams and stuff TT_TT

Lucifer:

The concept of being summoned by dark magic is very foreign and forceful. He hates it, and he hates that this is what his life is now

There was a certain beseeching vulnerability to humans when they prayed - it was soft and glowing and he misses it

This is a rough yank, like he’s nothing more than a petulant child that needs to be dragged around. Or worse, some dog.

He spills out into the human world and it smells of smoke and brimstone and ground ingredients he’s starting to get familiar with

Lucifer’s used to being intimidating in an angelic way, but he can feel the magic spill off of him here. He can feel his aura manifest into something dark and terrifying.

His eyes now glow in the dark; he can see a reflection of them in the humans’ eyes.

They give a very archaic, overdone address (”O’ great Lucifer...”) and he doesn’t even let them finish before he’s scoffing.

The fall may have broken his wings and shattered his reality, but he’s still fairly arrogant and ready to lash out

There’s a beautiful smell that makes his stomach ache something ungodly now that he’s a demon, and Lucifer realizes with abject horror that a wounded human is somewhere in this room

Celestial Realm or not, his eyes still have the ability to see human souls and intentions. There seems to be a lamb among these idiotic wolves

He sees that dagger rise, the muffled wail enough to pierce his ear and Lucifer snarls as he snatches that hilt in an iron grip

It’s enough to break the human’s grip and send his hands down the dagger, spilling rancid blood

“If you wish to summon me, do it with your own blood. Lay yourself before me and beg.” he says in a voice that is so grating and booming that it makes him flinch a little

His voice was never like this in the Celestial Realm and it makes him angry that it will never be angelically velvety again. Just something semi-twisted and possible of corruption

Perhaps because of the blood or the injustice, Lucifer throws out his wings and punishes the mortal for their insolence. Then the others who try to dogpile him and throw their books at him and shout words that have no meaning.

His grip now crushes things, and he forgets. Pinching is basically stabbing. A shove is basically a fracture.

You’re sobbing uncontrollably when he approaches where you’re being held and Lucifer realizes that he looks a sight. Truly frightening. He never had these murderous impulses as an angel and still surprises himself when he falls to them. They’re still so new!

“Be not afraid,” the words are comforting but fuzzy. They feel foreign on his tongue. He pets your hair. “I shall do you no harm.”

He has to remind himself that he’s so much stronger in this form, tugging and ripping at the rope while trying not to break your little limbs.

You have this resigned trust, this hope, this faith that he will keep his word and it makes him miss humans. Makes him miss Lilith and how he’d catch her and Belphie sneaking around to watch them.

You ask him if he’s really Lucifer, like that Lucifer. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is. Instead he says, “I am the Morning Star.” and insists on taking you home.

He will guide you home, the bringer of light.

You hug him and it’s the first burst of warmth--genuine warmth--he’s felt since the fall. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

He’s called back by a greater force--Lord Diavolo--and prefers to forget the whole thing happened. That he ate people. That they almost hurt you.

He secretly checks in on you from time to time but doesn’t have the courage to talk to you again.

Every time he looks at you, he’s emotionally drained for the rest of the day. He’s starting to understand what Lilith felt so strongly about and it just makes that gaping wound that much deeper.

He drowns his guilt in Demonus and damns his hypocrisy.

Mammon

He hates being summoned because it burns like when he fell

It reminds him of his body screaming in pain as he adamantly tried to hold onto his Holy Weapons during the fall. His body converted during the fall and Holy Weapons are sheer agony for demons.

The burns on his hands were deep and tender and took days to heal. He doesn’t even remember how he broke his wing, but he knows it drags and its lame. It can’t unfold as well as the other one.

Being summoned just leaves a bad taste in his mouth because he disagrees with being cast out, in general. Seems like some of those angels were morally corrupt, not them! How could what he and the others did be considered wrong?!

Mammon hates the fact that turning into a demon really ripped the veil off his eyes. He used to be a symbol of charity and giving, bringing joy to people, and now he just sees how nasty they are on the inside. Scummy, scummy people.

“What’s your business with the GREAT Mammon, hm? I’m a busy guy, ya know.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks disinterestedly around the room.

Dull souls, the lot of ‘em. Not a nice smell in the bunch! Some shiny bits and bobs he might take for his time, though.

Sometimes he bites his own tongue to try and fight off the demonic powers that converted him. To get his brain back on track. He doesn’t WANT to be so blunt and careless, so trained on shiny things. but it’s like he can’t help it!

It burns in his soul and sometimes he can hear his old self, his old ways, fizzling out like his wings as they disintegrated not long ago

The dumb humans start ranting about sacrifice and exchange and Mammon stops them cold, louder than them. It’s mostly the ‘older brother’ voice but he forgets that a demon is just scary to humans.

“Not really interested. What else ya got?”

No one expects that. He can tell. They take the thing off your head as if that will change his mind and something about the shininess of you catches his eye. Makes him feel kind of like a puppy.

Is it your soul? Your earrings? The genuine innocence of a human? How glittery your tears look?

He knocks them aside with his wings, stomps over to you, and picks you up (chair and all).

They start yipping about how he technically accepted the deal and how he needs to do their bidding or grant them a favor. “Hang tight, sweets,” Mammon sets your chair down before pointing out every technicality on how the deal wasn’t finished and the terms weren’t agreed upon.

Technically they just summoned him; they didn’t complete a pact ritual

“I’m takin’ that--he points to you--just because I can!” Mammon laughs at the dumb little humans. “You guys didn’t do your homework! I’m the Avatar of Greed!”

One of them tries to sneak around behind him and stab you (like that will change anything?!) and Mammon notices. He grabs the one in front of him by the face, throws him into the one by you, and just starts swinging

He doesn’t kill them, but he DOES raid their pockets of shiny things and interesting things.

Mammon takes the knife, the weird clasps off their ensembles, and breaks the chair to set you free. Debates on taking the screws, but tosses them over his shoulder (not good enough)

As an act of good will, you’re recruited to pillage this lame location they picked

He gets you home with a spell, some kind of homing magic, and just stands there looking at you quietly. He didn’t really look after humans like Belphie and Lilith did so he’s not sure what to do

The urge to comfort is strong but the genteel pat is corrupted by the desire to feel your earring between his fingers. Some guttural demon noise of glee comes out of him and it makes him embarrassed. He never used to make noises like that...

You unhook your earrings with a tentativeness that reminds him of the humans who left offerings at his alter, fretting over if they were good enough and wondering what they would bring.

You fold his big, tan fingers over the earrings and Mammon holds onto them for a while after he finds his way back to the Devildom. It’s his first gift as a demon.

He ignores getting yelled at and the little brothers pestering him about why he smells good, telling him that they’re hungry. and all their other little gripes.

Mammon never goes looking for you after that, trying to fill the ache in his soul with time and money and fame (oddly?) but he thinks of you often. He keeps your earrings in a special box at the front of his magic-locked hoard room. On his bad days, he’ll go sit in that empty room of knickknacks, open the box, and stare.

He picks up the little things, careful not to break them with his nails or strength. “You’re one silly human, aren’t you?” he smiles at the twinkling jewelry.

#Obey me!#Obey me! x Reader #Obey me! Lucifer #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Obey me! Mammon #Lucifer #Mammon

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 3

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Mortuary

There were always one or two friends in your life who you're never afraid will scold you or hang up on you in the early morning hours, even if the reason is because you had a nightmare about potatoes in your home growing lots of hair. Yin Zhou was this person to Lin Yan. He had two long strands of messy hair on his head, always wore unwashed shirts, and the eyes under his glasses could never focus because of how long he had spent gaming.

They grew up in the same neighbourhood, attended the same elementary school, middle school and high school, and they were each that "brilliant other child" in the eyes of both their parents. Since childhood, Lin Yan, regardless of how hard he worked, achieved the high grades that Yin Zhou could have achieved if he didn't skip class every day. No matter how good his grades were, his parents would praise Lin Yan for his diligent and hard work. After the college entrance exam, the two drank a glass of wine as a farewell and celebrated them parting ways. Unexpectedly, Yin Zhou missed half a page of questions while writing the math papers, but he still went to the same university as Lin Yan, so almost two. So the friendship continued with the constant cycle of loving and hating each other.

Later, they were divided by their majors. Yin Zhou studied electronics and Lin Yan studied history. From then on, there was little crossover with the two majors. Without the pressure of competition, the two of them became much closer, playing games, flirting with girls, talking about politics; there was no end to their activities.

The 'regular place' referred to the bar.

When Lin Yan walked in, he saw Yin Zhou shooting his shot with a girl at the bar unsuccessfully. Lin Yan called his name several times before he turned around. Yin Zhou opened a bottle of beer and his eyes widened: " Yo, you weren't responding to any of my calls or texts. Were you on a date?"

Lin Yan drank half the bottle in single breath, and said calmly, "I've got lost and was going around in circles."

"Got lost?!" Yin Zhou stared at him for a long time. Seeing that Lin Yan wasn't joking, he couldn't help but smile and said, "Are you feeling alright? If you're feeling sick, let this brother take you to the hospital."

Lin Yan was in a weird mood because of all the strange events that had happened. Now, his voice wasn't very strong either. He simply put down the beer bottle, put his hands on the table, raised his voice and shouted into Yin Zhou's ears: "I! Saw! A! Ghost!!"

His voice was so loud that most of the people at the bar heard him. They turned to look at him like he was crazy.

Yin Zhou hid his face behind his hand and muttered about how embarrassing it was. After thinking about it, he raised his head and said with a dazed expression: "Was it a female ghost? Was it pretty?"

Lin Yan was at a loss for words and the muscles on his face twitched.

Then Lin Yan explained all the night's occurrences to Yin Zhou in extreme detail, but he started regretting it halfway through. Yin Zhou obviously was eating it up, and a pair of unfocused eyes were shining with an excitement that couldn't be matched in ten thousand years. He rubbed his hands together and stammered when he heard the section of the figure under the street light: "This is too unscientific, or maybe it's too scientific. I'll apply to use one of the labs tomorrow, maybe I can figure this out!"

Lin Yan wanted to smash the beer bottle on his head.

"You seem busy, I'll head out first."

Yin Zhou caught him before he walked away and scratched his head: "Alright, alright. I'm just kidding. Have a drink first and we can go back to my place afterwards."

"Let's be optimistic. If that thing is a guy, then you've got to get rid of him immediately. If it's a woman, then she should definitely get down on her knees to see what is under your jeans."

Lin Yan was actually very grateful to him when he drove Yin Zhou all the way to his house. He thought that unreliable people would have unreliable benefits. No matter how weird things were, he would really listen to them, but he immediately regretted it once they reached his apartment. The reason was simple: Yin Zhou's room was dirty and no living person would ever be found in this room.

The sight that Lin Yan was faced with when he stepped in the door made him scream inside. It's better to go home and be scared to death by ghosts. God only knows how he lives like this. It was a 10-square metre rental with rubbish and clothes littering the floor. There were mountains of instant noodle boxes on the table. Some of them were being used as ashtrays and there were cigarette butts floating in the murky soup. He had no idea how long they were left there, but they were exuded a rancid smell.

The laptop was thrown on the bed, and there was a line of characters moving across the screen. Yin Zhou rushed to take a look, and groaned: "It's been going on repeatedly. The program has to be changed." After he was done talking, he didn't pay any more attention to Lin Yan. He leaned against the headboard, flipping through his notebook and clicked to stop debugging, tapping on his keyboard with his long fingers.

"There is food in the cupboard. If you get hungry, grab something to eat."

Lin Yan opened the cabinet and inspected Yin Zhou’s selection. Various brands of instant noodles, rice vermicelli, pickled mustard greens, a large number of ham sausages that were about to expire. . . If this guy croaks one day, the number of preservatives in him would help him survive for at least thirty more years. If ancient people had eaten things like this, it could've saved conservation historians so much time.

"Do you have any clean clothes? Mine are soaked from the rain. Could you lend me some dry clothes first."

"There's some on the ground. Grab those."

After feeling Lin Yan's murderous glare, Yin Zhou reluctantly got up and slowly opened the wicker basket at the foot of his bed: "Yes, yes, my mother comes to wash my clothes once a week, and the clean ones are here."

After speaking, he threw him a graphic t-shirt.

"You earn so much from your projects yet you live in such a shabby place. You don't even own a washing machine, and that quality of life is catching up with you. Aren't you afraid that your arrogant old man won't give you money to marry a wife in the future? Lin Yan took off his shirt, stretched the t-shirt over his head and put it on. With the shirt over his head, he asked in a muffled voice: "Help me find a pair of pants."

Yin Zhou threw his hands up and said with disdain: "You're being so picky. A person uses so much stuff when they are alive but when they're dead, they only need a coffin. Why are you being so particular about this?" After finishing speaking, Yu Guang looked at Lin Yan with a smirk. : "Xiao Linzi's figure is good, the fitness card is not for nothing."

He glanced at Lin Yan with his peripheral vision and gave a sly smirk: "Little Brother Lin is in good shape, your gym membership wasn't bought in vain."

"Don't you dare call me Little Brother Lin, I'll show you want a real man is!" Lin Yan picked up the electric kettle that was thrown by the bed, wiped off the ashes, and smacked his lips.

Lin Yan picked up the electric kettle that was thrown near the bed, wiped off a handful of cigarette ashes, and smacked his lips.

"Disgusting."

Yin Zhou ignored him and spoke to himself as he flipped through his suitcase. "I remember I had a pair of new jeans, where are they going. . . Huh? What's this? Did my mother leave her clothes in here?"

This was. . .

The body was made of red satin, black lining, with loose sleeves that hung down, and there was heavy embroidery around the wrists. Yin Zhou shook it out curiously. Just as he was about to hold it up to compare it to his body, Lin Yan cried out: "Put that down, don't touch it!"

Looking at Lin Yan's pale face, Yin Zhou also noticed that something was wrong, so he threw the red clothes on the bed.

"These are mortuary clothes. It's for the dead." Lin Yan said weakly.

Yin Zhou's face also changed.

"This thing doesn't belong here."

Yin Zhou looked around his room, as if to relieve the nervous atmosphere, he laughed twice: "Is it wrong? How about I call my mother and ask if she left it."

Yin Zhou looked around his room. Trying to break the tense atmosphere, he laughed twice: "Was this a mistake? How about I call my mother and ask if she put it in here?"

Lin Yan looked at the clothes and said dejectedly: "No need, I believe you."

He was getting angry, thinking that this thing was trying to provoke him no matter what, and now it was involving his friend. He was clearly trying to get a reaction out of him.

For a while, both of them were speechless. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Under the light of the bright light, the red clothes were laid straight out on the bed like paper. Despite its bright colour, it was gloomy and had a terrifying appearance. The ancient style and the luxurious fabrics exuded such a cold atmosphere that it was like the sun had never touched it.

Ten minutes later.

Lin Yan picked up the car key on the table. He sighed and said to Yin Zhou: "I'm going back home. This thing is coming after me, staying here will only hurt you."

Yin Zhou spat out: "Don't give me that bullshit. It would be stupid to go back by yourself, just stay here."

What Lin Yan wanted to say was interrupted by Yin Zhou: "We're close enough that you're wearing my pants. Won't I be the one that will have to explain what happened to your parents if there's an accident? Don't mess with me. We'll talk about this in the morning."

After talking, yin Zhou searched under the bed for a while. He found another notebook and handed it to Lin Yan: "Do you think a ghost would be able to scare us to death? Hurry up, let's get some kills on Dota!"

Lin Yan was silent for a while, opened his notebook, and said with a smile: "You asked for it, I won't go easy on you!"

The light flickered and dimmed, and the room became more and more gloomy. Lin Yan knew instinctively that something was staring at him somewhere in the room. Maybe it had a pale face, wrapped in a red mortuary, and said sorrowfully: Your death is approaching.

This must be the weirdest night in his 22 years of life, Lin Yan thought. Once the sky begins to get bright, things will be over by dawn.

The red mortuary was like a long, stiff corpse lying on the bed, the sleeves folded across the front as if to remind him that this was only the beginning.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #bl novel #danmei novel

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the-holy-ghosted · 3 years

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We’re In This Together

Regarding the path that led Breekon and Hope to become avatars.

another Early Days fic before they were avatars, some context for a few events in this comes from my other fic I Had Never Known Love so go read that too when you get the chance 👀

Hope is, in every regard, a monster. He is a murderer, inhumane and violent, and he is the love of my life. It's a funny thing, how natural it is to think now. He is unashamedly horrid, evil, and he is all mine. he is a killer, and I don't bat an eye when he proves himself to be so. I never really did, to be honest, it has forever felt like his true nature. however, there had to be a start, didn't there? And with that start some uneasy feelings, certainly. As much as it feels natural now, it was not always this way. His behavior started very early, of course. We'd been working together about... two or three years at that point. We were close, much closer than perhaps normal friends would be, we were a hell of a pair. I was quiet and cold, he was witty and loud, we were both giant and terrifying. Even when we were human, we preferred being seen as a whole thing together. It felt right. He was always so tough around everybody. He was snappy and harsh, quick to get violent. However, he was soft around me. He was gentle, a version of himself I knew nobody else would ever see of him. I won't say I was the balance, I never stopped him from doing so, I just helped him get out of trouble. It was funny how we worked like that, we had each other's backs without question. He did start to change at some point, though. who knows what it was, what whispered to him and told him to commit the atrocities he did. There was a hunger in him from the very beginning, I suppose it was only a matter of who fed it first.

We lived two doors down from each other in an apartment complex. It was a small room, meant to fit a normal-sized person, which neither of us was. Our overseers threw all the workers into the complex, everybody cramped together, forced to spend all our time with one another. It felt like a prison, except you could leave if you wanted to, yet everyone was too poor or too old to bother. He made it bearable for me, though. He was there, which meant I'd have a reason to wake up every day, a reason to laugh at his terrible jokes; he gave me someone to keep me warm on cold nights, and someone to love. I did the exact same for him.

As I have said, he was always violent with people. It was a defense, to be snarky and have an iron fist in everybody's face. This was not unusual, and I was more used to it than anything. He was never harsh with me, anyway, so what did I care if a few people got their teeth knocked in? I would have helped him hide a body if he'd ask me, and to my dismay, ask me he would. I remember the first time it happened. it was late, rainy, and cold, and I was likely the only other person awake in the building. I hadn't seen him since the late afternoon and was getting a little antsy thinking I should go check on him. Maybe it was too late to bother him, but I wanted an excuse to say goodnight. I forget what I went to ask him for, a blanket or a comb, or even just to sit with him near the fire. However, when I knocked on the door, it opened slightly. Peculiar, I thought, since he always had his door locked, but I took it as an invitation to enter. It was dark in his room and too quiet. there weren't any dying embers in the fireplace; he hadn't been in his room since the morning. It was then I felt something was very, very wrong.

A feeling of unease settled in the pit of my stomach, and I grabbed a jacket and an out of the building. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't know where to look for him, I simply moved in the direction that felt right. He wasn't out on a walk, he'd have told me. I doubted any of the other workers had seen him, they were all asleep, and they'd have been too afraid of him to ask where he was going anyway. As I wandered, the rain had soaked through my jacket. I'd thought at the last second to bring a little lantern with me, not that it would last in the heavy rain but it was at least something. I couldn't tell if I was shaking from the cold or from my nerves telling me something was wrong. I'm sure it was both. I scrambled around, peeking down alleys and wishing my light not to go out. As I strayed farther, I began to smell something rancid. It wasn't strong, unrecognizable yet. I paused in front of a dark alley. The smell was much more noticeable from there, and I realized it was the smell of blood. My heart dropped. Turning the corner, I jumped a little at what I saw. Hope was there, leaning against the brick wall, shrouded in darkness. I called out, asking what he was doing back there, but I fell silent mid-sentence as my eyes adjusted to the dark. He was standing, heaving, and I could just barely see his hands shaking. they were covered in blood so dark it looked black. It was spattered on the ground behind him, dripping into a storm drain with the rest of the rain. It covered his mouth, spattering in droplets as he breathed shakily and hard. That was the first time I saw that chilling glint in his eyes, one I've come to adore, yet frightened me in the moment... He looked like a wild animal and made my blood run cold.

I started to walk towards him, asking him if he was okay, but he cut me off with a harsh "Don't." His voice gurgled, sounding more like a growl than a command. I stopped in my tracks, terrified. He'd never sounded like that before. After a second of silence, I asked him again if he was alright. He still stood there, heaving, and his eyes bore holes into mine. He spoke slowly, blood still dripping from his mouth. He said he did something... very bad. Very, very bad. I asked him if he was hurt, he shook his head slowly. I was still concerned, and I tried to walk to him again, but he snarled at me to stay back. He told me I'd better not walk back there, not if I wanted to stay out of trouble. I just kept walking closer, his words not registering in my head. I got closer and timidly reached out to touch his face, to calm him down, to tell him I was there and he was okay, but he grabbed my shirt with one strong, bloody hand and slammed me against the wall he leaned against. He got angry real quick, snapping at me. He told me if I wanted to keep my head out of a noose I'd ought to get out of this alley right now. I stared at him as he spattered blood on my face and soaked my shirt, horrified but entranced somehow. I saw that the glint in his eyes was no longer a trick of the light, they truly did glaze over in a haunting, pinkish sheen. He looked me coldly in the eyes and said I looked scared. I didn't know how to answer that. I was scared, but I was also concerned, and a little enamored in the strangest way possible. His eyes forced a response out of me, and I nodded my head slowly. "Then leave" he growled, but I snapped back at him. Was I really supposed to just leave him there? Bloody and cold in the rain? Qhat was I going to do, *not* help him? Whatever he did, I wanted to help him fix it. I needed to help him fix it. He looked angry at that. He didn't want my help at all, he didn't want to drag me into his mess. he didn't want to put his trust in me to keep a secret, but I was already this far, and perhaps my help would be needed. He sighed, and let go of my shirt. Turning to follow the trail of blood, he half-heartedly threatened to kill me if I ratted him out, but I cut him off mid-sentence. I wouldn't dare.

I regretted offering my help when I followed him around the corner. the rain diluted and spread out the blood, making the scene look far more gruesome than it already was. It was the worst thing I had seen in my life. I held out my dying lantern to the disaster laying before me and I nearly collapsed. there was a man laying on the cobble alley floor, smaller than us, dressed unrecognizably from what little I could see underneath the red. His head bent back in a sickening position, his mouth open like he was screaming, and bone protruded out from his throat. His face was torn off, shredded flesh hanging off his cheeks, his eyes bulged in horror. The rain fell in his gaping mouth, pouring out from the corners and the open holes in his cheeks in dark red streams. He was practically beheaded, the only thing keeping his head attached to the rest of his mangled body was his splintered spine that spiked out from his throat. I looked further down and his ribcage was torn open, ribs splintered and snapped off, piercing through any remaining in-tact skin. His stomach was caved in, pooling blood and rainwater. Anything inside his body was torn to shreds, viscera were thrown everywhere, hanging out of his gaping stomach and splattered across the brick walls. The ground was red, trickling through the cracks of rock and staining my shoes. This didn't look human, no person could have done this. Yet, when I turned to look at hope, the look in his eyes couldn't be considered human anyway. The lantern light flickered as my hand began to shake. He huffed, finding my terror and regret humorous, and be walked towards the body. Alarms rang out in my head to run away, to scream, to throw up, but I looked at Hope, his eyes pleading for help, and the only thing I could bring myself to do was think of a solution. This was our mess now.

It was cold out, and the smell didn't travel far. It was unbearable in our corner of the alley, but from around the corner where I'd found Hope, it wasn't quite as strong. I thought quickly about our options; the night was still young, and the rain poured harder, drowning out my voice when I tried to speak. It already washed away most of the blood now, slipping between the stones and into the storm drain. It would take too long to dismember it and we couldn't start a fire, but if we moved quick enough we could throw it to the pigs. I motioned for him to grab the victim's legs and we quickly hauled in out of the alley. I pulled off my jacket and wrapped it around him to avoid more blood spill, subjecting myself to the pounding rain. We scrambled in the dark to the pens, where the beasts could smell us coming, and came running when we got close. carefully we dumped it out of my jacket and into the pen, the giant things went to work immediately. In less than ten minutes the body was gone, nothing of him left. We trusted the blood to soak into the ground or wash away and trusted the pigs to still be hungry by morning. I reached over to him and we walked to the bathhouse.

I let him get himself clean and ran back to my bedroom. I crawled through the window to avoid tracking blood and mud through the corridor, and I hurled his bloody clothes into the lit fireplace. I sloughed off my own and threw them in, there would be no point trying to wash the blood out. I changed and grabbed something for him; he could borrow my clothes for the time being, not that he didn't before, anyway. I looked at my bloody footprints scattered on the floor, the realization of what just happened finally setting in. He had just killed someone, and I, without question, helped dispose of the body. It felt strange, how inconsequential the incident felt. The only concern that weighed on my mind was if Hope was alright, and at that realization, I immediately exited the room. I would not analyze the situation too deeply just yet. Hurrying as silently as possible back to Hope. I found him staring blankly into the air, that glimmer still shining in his eyes. I snapped him out of his trance with a touch to his shoulder, asked him if he was hurt, to which he shook his head. he was lying, I knew that, but I didn't press him about it. I handed him my clothes and we walked back to my room in silence. We entered, he turned sharply and shut the bathroom door behind him. I moved to clean up the shoeprints I left and tossed the rag into the fire. I didn't care anymore, it didn't really feel like it mattered. Less evidence, I suppose.

I sat on the edge of my bed with the knowledge of what I'd just done. He was eerily quiet behind the bathroom door, and the shadow cast through the crack in the floor showed no movement. His stillness made me feel nauseous, and the rapid flashing of that poor man's face in my mind helped me none. I absent-mindedly picked at the blood still stuck underneath my fingernails and considered future outcomes. Either wed get away with it or we'd be caught and hung. Our plan wasn't foolproof, certainly, but considering the lack of police back in our young days, you'd be surprised just how easy murder was to get away with. I reassured myself half-heartedly; surely the blood would be washed away by morning, surely the ravenous pigs would still be hungry when they were fed later on, surely the smell had not traveled far in the biting cold, and surely our clothes were burned and the body unfound. But with my reassurances arose the vivid image of his face, smeared with blood, eyes gleaming and hungry. It should have scared me more, yet my face flushed at the thought. My back still stung from being slammed into a wall, and I could still smell his hot, bloody breath in my face. It should have scared me more, yet his animalistic appearance enamored me. I thought again about his hair, seeing the blood that soaked through the bright blonde, turning it pink. It should have scared me more, seeing him covered in the blood and viscera of another human being, yet it felt... almost normal to see him in such a way. It all should have scared me more. And yet I was more in love with him than I had ever been. I felt afraid again when he walked out of the bathroom. Very slowly he opened the door and stepped out, my shirt a size too big and exposing his bruised collarbone, his pants rolled up to expose his scraped knees, hair still dripping onto his shoulders. He walked slowly towards me, the light from the fireplace across his face. He looked neutral, now, not so vicious as before, but that terrifying glimmer in his eyes remained. He stood between my knees and reached up to hold my face in his hands. I'll admit, I was terrified, expecting him to tear off my face as he'd just previously done, but he only cupped my face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs against my cheekbones. I was tempted to break the silence and ask if he was alright, but something in the back of my mind said to stay quiet, so I did. His face softened when he stared at me, that glimmer looked loving rather than angry, but still just as hungry. I stared at him, face flushed red and eyes wide, not sure what to do. Gently, he pulled my head against his stomach and held it there in a strange hug. He wrapped one arm over my shoulders and ran the other through my hair, and I saw no other choice but to accept the affection. I wrapped my arms around his legs and we sat like that for a while. He didn't move to hurt me, and I relaxed underneath his touch.

He didn't stop after that. A few weeks later, he killed another poor soul, one he needed my help with yet again. A few weeks after that, he did it again. People were getting suspicious, though they couldn't place a killer. After the third time, the higher-ups opted to house us in pairs to avoid us getting killed. Of course, we were paired together, as in their eyes I was the only one able to keep him under control. It felt ironic, to keep together the most likely suspect of our small group of workers, and the only person he's been close to in his life. They should have seen it coming, the idiots they were. Despite their efforts to get everybody in bed by early nightfall and lock the doors, he kept slipping out to feed his hunger and I would follow suit to cover it up. the poor fools should have barred the windows or kept us off the ground floor of the building. but they didn't, and we would slip out of the window and do our thing, and we'd slip back in and they would be none the wiser. It was almost funny how easily we slipped past their radar. very funny indeed.

He tried explaining it once. I sat him down one night after one of his weird little feasts, after I had helped him hide his atrocity and cleaned him up without question, simply to ask... Why? Why does he do it? It's not like I would stop helping him with or without an answer, I was just curious. He was quiet. his eyes shifted like he was thinking, and his hands absentmindedly squeezed mine. He thought hard for a few moments, and when he spoke his voice hardly sounded his own. He said it was like a hunger. well, I was sure of that considering his questionable murder methods, but he said no. No, not like that hunger. It wasn't a hunger to eat their flesh, though that did happen, but much deeper than that. A hunger in his chest, he said. It was like he felt when they feared him, and it felt wonderful. He fed on their terror and agony like it was a life source. I didn't understand it but I nodded my head. I wasn't going to stop helping him and we both knew that. I suppose it was as good an answer as any, for the time being.

Surely, though, I had to come to my sinister senses at some point too, right? Of course, I did. There was a time once when Hope was knocked out cold by some blundering bloke who was tired of his nonsense. I was there after he was pulled away and I carried hope to the infirmary, one of the few times I had ever been truly scared for his life. After several worrying hours, he was doing alright, and I ran out to collect wood for the fireplace when I saw that bastard. He was lurking next to the woodpile, staring up at the full moon, bruised to hell and back. Quite honestly, I can't quite recall what really happened next. I think I spoke to him, I had to have spoken to him. He was my height, only an inch off, but he shrunk back when I stood straight and stared him in the eye. Something felt good about it, about the intimidation. Slowly my vision went red, my brain went to static, and the next thing I knew I was kneeling over a man beaten within an inch of his life. He was too bloody to recognize and shards of bone stuck out from his nose, teeth were knocked out and his eyes were swollen shut. I barely caught my breath as I got up and dragged him to the horse barn a few yards away. they shuffled a bit as I hurled him into an empty paddock; I didn't care about finishing him off. He could suffer. I stumbled back to our room, trying to avoid attention, but everybody had gone to sleep, and I could slip in through the door quietly. My heart and my head were pounding, screaming, and I turned to the bathroom door to fix myself. However, the moment I laid eyes on Hope I felt blissfully numb. He slept opposite the door, the fireplace crackled in between us, lighting his busted face in an orange glow. I'd have thought it beautiful if I didn't snap myself out of my trance and moved to wash my hands. I let them soak in warm water and I stared at my reflection. My nose was bleeding and a black eye started to show itself. My eyes looked... strange. For a split second, I almost didn't recognize myself, a faint glimmer discoloring them and changing my whole face somehow. I blinked and it was gone, I was still me, but the feeling didn't leave. I washed my face and picked the remaining blood from underneath my fingernails, and I left. I stopped before I crossed the room to my bed, glancing over at Hope once more. Before I could stop myself, I quietly padded over to him and kneeled next to him. he looked like hell, obviously, but looking at him brought me a strange sense of ease. Subconsciously I reached out to run my finger against his cheek, careful not to press too hard and wake him. I traced the lines on his face, gently eased the furrow in his brow, and rested my hand against his chest. The way he soothed me was unexplainable, but I sat there staring at him until the weight in my chest lifted and my mind wasn't screeching static. I supposed I was being creepy enough and I got up. Impulsively, I bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. I did not do that consciously. It hardly even felt like a forced movement, it was instinctual as if I'd done it a thousand times before. I startled a little, thinking he would wake up, but he still slept soundly. I dragged myself into my own bed and willed myself not to think about it.

The next few days were spent in nauseating fear. Nobody found the mess I made till the afternoon, and nobody was certain of how he was still alive. His face was busted to the point of no recovery, and he was incapacitated for a long while. Nobody except Hope seemed to notice the wrappings around my knuckles, which I was grateful for. Someone came into our room to inform us he'd been found bleeding out in a horse paddock, and I acted dumb and hid my hands. Hope said nothing. Of course, they suspected me to have maimed him, and once he was in a condition to speak properly I was sure id be in big trouble, but a few days later we were pleasantly surprised to find he didn't know who his attacker was at all. It made no sense quite frankly, the moon was full, the sky was clear, and there was no reason he shouldn't have seen his assailant. Yet, he could not place the face for the life of him. The lad could hardly remember his own name hed been beaten so brutally, or so I thought that was to blame. I would come to terms with what we were becoming a week afterward. Hope was alright, still unable to get back to work just yet, but his personality seemed to come back to him. The other fellow was in worse shape, but alive. We were standing in the same room, the three of us among a crowd, assembled for a meeting regarding our local serial killer. I stared him down the entire time, and I watched him writhe in discomfort. I felt his fear. I felt his unease and felt his terror when our eyes met. He didn't even remember I was the one that hurt him, he had supposedly no reason to fear me, and that fact made him feel even worse. It felt exhilarating. I loved every moment, every movement he made to squeeze himself out of my sight, every shifty glance in my direction to meet my unyielding stare. I loved it. I felt Hope shift next to me and I broke my gaze to look at him. He looked up at me in anticipation, waiting for me to say something. He knew what I was feeling at that moment, and I tried to tell him I understood. I understood what he felt now. I understood his desire and hunger for fear, and how invigorating it felt seeping out of that poor bastard across the room. Something clicked between us in that moment. There was a level of trust, a level of understanding built just then, our first real step towards what we would become. He looked so very relieved to know that I understood it now. He saw the glimmering hunger in my eyes and he smiled. There was overwhelming love in his eyes, and I'm sure there was in mine as well. We were in this together, now, there was no doubt about that.

I'm sure you can guess how the rest of this story goes. We didn't stop, exploring our hunger for fear until we were barely human, and here we are. We are still a unit, still one solid, murderous thing. He still does the dirty work, and I still cover it up. It's funny how we've always worked that way, synchronized in an unspoken understanding. We've been in this mess together all our lives, and I still love him endlessly, no matter how many faces he steals or how many unfortunate fools fall victim to his hunger. Hope is a monster, and so am I, and we're in this together.

#reatfics #tma #the magnus archives #breekon and hope #disease #disease tw #illness #illness tw #blood #blood tw #gore #gore tw #LOT OF THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS #last fic until i pump out my lonely breekon one or. another afterlife one #i have many ideas #again shoutout to erin for listening to ALL of my nonsense and helping me figure out what the fuck to write on this #on this fic*

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 9/11

So, this is one of the chapters that earned this fic its M rating. Those who read the original probably remember what’s coming, but just to warn the rest of you: this chapter contains attempted rape and graphic violence.

Now that I have those trigger warnings out of the way, this is also the chapter that finally gets around to the prompt that originally inspired this whole idea. The prompt was: “A child is kidnapped, and the monster under the bed isn’t happy about it.” Let’s just say, Killian is the monster and something happens that makes him very, very angry. You won’t like Captain Hook when he’s angry ;) Well, I do, honestly, but there are characters in this chapter who won’t.

Thanks once again to the @captainswanbigbang mods for hosting the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-Thon as well as my betas @shippingtheswann and @optimisticgirl - you both are the best!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: About 3k in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 23

Emma is on pins and needles all day long, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s such a bundle of nerves at her new waitressing job, that she spills coffee and breaks two dishes. She berates herself, thinking she’s going to end up her own worst enemy and get herself fired. But her boss is surprisingly patient, chalking it up to first day jitters.

It’s jitters, all right. Fear of the universe screwing her over again, for one. And then the more pleasant kind of jitters, the kind that has red creeping up her neck and butterflies doing a chorus line in the pit of her stomach. The memories of last night with Killian are making it incredibly hard to concentrate on the here and now.

Surprisingly, Emma makes it to the end of the day without any major catastrophes. Her bug starts just fine, and nothing looks amiss when she gets to Jackie’s. She unlocks the back door entrance to her rented room with her eyes closed. She isn’t sure what she expects. A fire? A flood? Neal? She chuckles ironically at that last thought. She spent two years looking, waiting, pining. Now Neal is the last person on earth she wants to see.

But when she opens her eyes, nothing is amiss. Yet her feeling of dread doesn’t abate as the night wears on. The mac n cheese she makes for supper sticks to her throat, imaginary sounds assault her in the shower, and her hands shake as she slips into her pajamas. (Though she doesn’t worry about dropping the towel – Killian is welcome to look now.)

She climbs into bed wide awake. If she was the type, she would read a book to pass the time. She wishes there was a TV. Instead, she lies there staring at the cracks in the ceiling. As time ticks on, she sits up and hugs her knees like she’s ten again and stares at the wardrobe. Could it be possible? Have she and Killian finally defied fate?

As if fate has a sick sense of humor, Emma hears at that very moment loud shouts from the main part of the house. Then crashes, things breaking, and a scream. Emma curses herself for her delayed reflexes; she’s entirely too off her game tonight. She leaps from the bed and grabs a poker resting against the fireplace and hoists it like a club just as two burly, tattooed men burst through her bedroom door. Emma swings the poker at them as they barrel towards her, but she may as well be swinging a toothpick at a grizzly bear. They sling her across the room, then lift her up and slam her against the wardrobe. The first of the two men, with a shaved head and biceps the size of boulders, squeezes her throat with both hands.

“Where are the drugs?” he demands, shaking her.

“I don’t know!” she gasps, clawing at the hands around her throat.

The second man begins to tear her room apart, opening drawers and flinging out their contents. He pulls her duffel out from under the bed and dumps it all out on the floor. Emma thinks of Killian and begins to kick her feet against the wardrobe door. It kicks her assailant, too, which is convenient, and one particularly hard kick lands right where it hurts most. He yells and drops her, and Emma scrambles across the floor on her hands and knees as she gasps in sweet air.

She’s just gotten to her bedroom door and grasped the knob when the second man grabs her by her hair and slings her across the room. She hits the side of her bed and slides to the floor. The man lifts her up, pinning her arms against her side, and shoves her onto the bed. He gets on top of her, his knees pinning her legs to the bed.

“Let’s have fun with her,” he snarls to his companion, “then I bet she’ll tell us where Jackie hid the stash.”

Emma thrashes, but he has her pinned. She looks longingly towards the door, which has swung open. Her heart plummets when she sees Jackie lying there in a pool of blood, her throat slashed. The bald man chuckles at his friend’s suggestion and comes over the other side of the bed.

“Sounds fun,” he sneers.

Emma panics and claws at the men as they pin her arms above her head. “Killian!” she screams, turning her head towards the wardrobe. “Killian!”

“Shut up,” the men snap, one of them slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. Emma turns and tries to bite him.

“She’s feisty,” the one on top of her says, his breath rancid, “this will be fun.” He pulls out a knife and holds it to Emma’s throat.

Just as the other man reaches down and rips at her pajama shirt, a blur of black leather comes crashing through the wardrobe with a feral yell. Killian yanks the man with the knife off Emma and slashes him across the throat with his hook before he can even lift his knife. Emma slides from the bed and to the floor, pulling her ripped shirt closed. The bald man flies over the bed towards Killian, and Killian spins out of the way. The man lands with a loud grunt, and by the time he scrambles to his feet, Killian has pulled a sword from a scabbard at his side. Before the man even realizes what is happening, the sword is plunged deep in his gut. Killian yanks the sword free, and the man crumples, dead in a pool of his own blood.

Killian spins towards her, his long leather coat swirling about his legs, his eyes a steely blue as he gazes at her with a tortured expression. She’s always been one to scoff at the whole damsel in distress trope, but at this moment, she has never seen anything more beautiful than this man. She swears he seems to glow like some avenging angel.

His face falls as he glances first at his bloodied hook and then at his bloodied sword. “You’re afraid of me,” he says.

Emma shakes her head, unable to speak as tears tumble down her cheeks. She knows how she must look, curled in around herself and shivering on the floor. “H-he ripped my shirt,” she says, hating how small and vulnerable her voice sounds.

Killian’s sword clatters to the floor, and he quickly wipes his hook on the bed sheets as he falls to his knees beside her. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

He then shrugs out of his duster and drapes the heavy leather over her shoulders. Emma clutches the coat closed and falls against his chest. He holds her as she weeps.

“Did I get here in time?” he chokes out, and she can hear that he’s crying, too.

She nods against his chest.

His hold tightens around her, and when his words come again, they are tight with righteous indignation, “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she whispers.

They fall silent as he holds her, running his hand through her hair. Eventually, his hand moves to cup her face and he gently tips her head back to look at him. “Emma, last night changed everything for me. For the first time since I was a lad, light filled my heart.” His thumb wipes at the tracks of her tears, and he smiles hesitantly at her. “Come with me, Emma.”

She looks long into those pools of cerulean and braces herself for him to say he’ll take care of her. It’s what men always say in these situations, at least in the movies, and while part of her longs for that, another part of her rebels against it. She doesn’t want to owe him or need him to the point she loses herself, like with Neal. Killian traces her jaw, then thumbs her chin, and she waits.

He smiles at her and says, “We’d make quite the team, I’m sure of it. And I have a feeling there’s a little pirate in you, love.”

Emma’s eyes widen in complete surprise. That wasn’t what she thought he would say at all. Even now, trembling in a ripped shirt, he’s still looking at her the way he did when she told him about kneeing Robby Eddleston in the nads. Like he believes that she can do anything.

Emma glances around the tiny room with cracks on the ceiling and yellowed paper on the walls. At the miniature table with only room for one lonely chair. What’s keeping her here anyway?

Then her eyes take in the gruesome scene of three dead bodies. She’s the only survivor of this little bloodbath, which evidently has something to do with drugs. The cops won’t believe she’s innocent, not with her past criminal record. No one will vouch for her, the court assigned attorney won’t see a need to fight for her defense. Case closed, neat and tidy. She’ll go back to jail.

Emma smiles up at her pirate in shining armor. “Why not?”

His grin practically splits his face at her answer, and he presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. He sheathes his sword, then before she knows what’s happening, he’s scooped her up in his strong arms. Emma rolls her eyes.

“Killian, I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

He smiles down at her with that crooked grin he’s always had, even at ten. “Never said you weren’t, love, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

The wardrobe begins to emit that familiar glow as he turns towards it. Killian toes it open with his boot, then steps through with Emma in his arms. Behind her is death and decay, but before her is a stately Captain’s quarters with a bank of bright windows. Killian puts her down and she turns in a slow circle, still clutching his duster about her frame.

“It's so . . . neat and tidy. I was expecting it to look more like the Black Pearl in the movies.”

Killian scoffs, “That git Jack Sparrow? I take far more pride in my ship than he does. And why does he get a movie, too?”

Emma laughs as she turns to him. “You don’t even know what a movie is. Or have you seen one since I saw you last?”

He scratches behind that ear again. “Um, no. But I like the idea of being famous even in your realm.”

He grins at her cockily, rocking back on his heels. She turns and sees the wardrobe behind her. Emma reaches out a shaking hand in wonder. “Unbelievable. It’s just like the one in my world.”

“Aye,” Killian remarks, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She turns in his embrace, wrapping her own arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.

“I’m so tired, Killian.”

“I’ll leave you then,” he tells her, “there’s a trunk in the corner of Milah’s old things. There should be a nightgown. I’m not sure if it’s your size, but we can stop in the next port and buy you some things of your own. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

He kisses the top of her head and turns to go, but she grabs his hook to stop him. “Don’t go. Please.”

He steps closer, eyeing her in return. “After what happened, I wasn’t sure . . .”

His words make her melt inside. How could he ever have been a villain? She takes his hand and threads their fingers. “I trust you,” she tells him, “and I just want you to hold me.”

He does as she asks, and his embrace combined with the swaying of the sea, lulls her into the deepest sleep Emma has ever had.

Emma and Killian: 23

When the sun shines through the small windows of his quarters the next morning, Killian feels content and well rested in a way he hasn’t in years. He knows that a large reason for that is the woman in his arms. He looks down at Emma, her back to his front. Her blonde hair is a riotous mess, tickling his nose and chin. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her cheeks pink. He remembers how she trembled the night before, how wide her eyes had been, how small she had looked curled in on herself as she attempted to cover her body. He wishes he didn’t know what that trauma was like, wishes seeing her didn’t bring back memories of recoiling from Liam’s touch after . . .

Killian presses his eyes shut, unwilling to go back to that place, even all these years later. Instead he presses a gentle kiss to Emma’s head and lightly runs his finger down her forearm. Sex is the last thing on his mind right now; he’s far too concerned with making sure she feels safe. He knows it may take her awhile to feel comfortable with more than platonic embraces, and some days, she may not want even that. He is determined to be whatever she needs.

She’s here with him; that’s all that matters now. Finally, after so many years, they can really be together. There’s no rush for them to figure things out, and he’ll wait as long as it takes. He lifts her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles before turning her palm up and pressing a chaste kiss there. His thumb runs over the inside of her wrist, and he stills.

Blinking, Killian leans closer to look at the design upon her inner wrist, and his breath catches in his throat. He’s seen that mark before . . .

“He has it, the mark that I found in my research,” Tink whispers to Killian.

The boy finishes the cup of water the fairies had given him, his brown eyes still wide and fearful as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth. When he does, Killian sees it - the mark. It looks more like a tattoo than a birthmark and is shaped like a small flower. The child sets his cup down, and Killian notices his hands are still trembling.

“It’s okay,” Tiger Lily tries to assure him, “no one will hurt you anymore.”

“Where’s John?” the boy asks. It’s the first words he’s spoken since Hawkins rescued him from Pan.

Killian exchanges nervous glances with the fairies. Tink’s eyes are struggling against tears as she kneels beside the boy.

“He . . . had to go away. He didn’t want to, but . . . he . . . “

Killian tosses aside the poultice Tiger Lily had put on his head wound and paces with nervous energy.

“Do you want that wound to get well or do you want to drop where you stand?” Tiger Lily admonishes him.

“Oh please,” Tink grumbles, pulling her wand from the pouch at her side. She snaps her wrist towards Killian’s head, and his wound is bathed in pixie dust. He touches it tentatively, and grins when he feels no pain.

“Tink!” Tiger Lily scolds. “Magic isn’t to be used to -”

“Ladies,” Killian hisses, gesturing to the corner where the boy is now cowering. “It may be best to limit the magic until he’s adjusted, savvy?”

Killian spies Michael’s old teddy bear in a basket near the rocking chair. He remembers Wendy sitting there darning socks, and his breath catches. Pushing aside the memory, he picks up the teddy bear and gets down on his knees before the lad.

“We only want to help you, my boy,” he tells the child, offering him the toy.

The boy inches forward, eyeing Killian warily. He snatches the teddy bear and

holds it close, burying his face against the bear’s furry head.

“Let’s start with introductions, shall we? My name is Killian. What’s yours?”

“Henry.”

In the present, Emma begins to stir in Killian’s arms.

“Hey,” she murmurs as she turns her face towards him, eyes blinking with the remnants of sleep.

“Morning, love,” he whispers back, his thumb still tracing over the pattern on her wrist as he attempts to pull his thoughts together.

Emma turns in his embrace and gives him a sleepy smile. “Thanks for . . . well, everything.”

“I wish it had never happened,” he tells her huskily as he twirls a piece of her hair around his finger.

“Hey,” she says, pressing her palm against his cheek, “are you okay?”

He swallows, unsure if this is the best time to bring up her birthmark. “Just worried about you, ‘tis all.”

Emma frowns. “You’re lying.” She sits up and leans back against the headboard.

Killian takes in every line of her face, amazed at the intelligence and strength that he sees. There will be no subterfuge where Emma is concerned, that much is clear. He lets out a long sigh and takes her hand, gently turning it to reveal the mark on her wrist.

“How long have you had this, love?”

She chuckles lightly. “It’s not a tattoo, if you can believe it. I’ve always had it. Martha - you remember her, right? - well, she said it looks like a buttercup.”

Every nerve in his body begins to tingle. It scarcely seems possible. All this time . . .

“Emma,” he says carefully, taking her face in his hand, “the son you gave up . . . “ He hesitates, searches her widening eyes, licks his lips nervously, “did he have this same birthmark?”

“Yes,” she breathes, “how . . . how did you know?”

He presses his forehead to hers, hoping to bolster her. “Darling, would you like to meet him?”

“What?”

“Your son. I know where he is.”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #soul mates #fate #angst #slow burn #childhood sweethearts

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madleeindifferent · 5 years

Text

Have Mercy On Me

Title : Mercy (Part One)

Pairing : Dean X Reader, slow burn

Word Count : 3632

Prompt : You have always had an unusual gift of foresight that has helped you become one of the best hunters in the region. When you started working with the Winchester’s everything was smooth sailing. Until you started catching a few feelings for the oldest brother and now, as new nightmares are haunting you day and night, you wonder if this is a sign or a warning of what is to come.

AN: sorry I’ve been inactive for a while, I’ve been writing for other things and this blog took a backseat. Anyway, here’s something to celebrate Halloween and spoopy season and *sobs* the end of supernatural. It’s inspired by the conjuring 2 so check out this scary scene to see where I pulled from if you dareeeee😈 lots of love to y’all! Hopefully this will be a pretty long, slow burn kind of series. Carry on my wayward sons and daughters!

You ran through the rain, your hair plastered to your face, your gun in your hand, as the wind tore at your skin. Your boots slipped in the mud and you caught yourself on one knee, scuffing it up and stumbling back to your feet without missing a beat.

“Help!” You heard the little girl scream again and it made you run faster.

I am coming! You wanted to shout it, but you were so close that you didn’t have the energy to waste on a word. You squinted through the rain and saw the dark shape disappear in the rain in front of you, hurrying down the muddy path that led toward the towering dark mansion on the hill.

“Help me!”

“No!” You took off down the path, your heart hammering and your lungs screaming for air as you ran as hard as you could.

“Y/N! Wait!” You heard the voices behind you but you didn’t slow down.

You burst through the front door with a grunt and the instant you were out of the rain you could hardly see. You raised your gun, the dark surrounding you.

“I know you are here!” You shouted, your voice echoing in the mansions dark halls. The creature was here, you knew it, you could feel it, dark and heavy in the silence. And all you could think was that you had to save the little girl.

You pushed your wet hair out of your face and took a step deeper into the dark.

“Y/N…”

You whipped to the side as the dark, raspy voice echoed in the dark beside you. “I see you...I know what you are afraid of…”

You whipped around the corner just as a black, clawed hand reached out and snatched you by the throat. You let out the start of a scream, but the sound was cut off when the hand closed your windpipe. You let out a grunt as the shadowy figure lifted you feet off the ground, your boots dangling uselessly. Your hands flew up to grab the wrists, clawing frantically but the skin was hot as coals against your fingertips. You whimpered in panic as the figure leaned close, too dark for you to see anything except for those two silver orbs of eyes inches in front of your own, unearthly and focused on your soul.

“I know what you fear the most…Y/N.”

You struggled in the grip of the monster as it turned your head to the side. For a moment, you had no idea what you were looking at, and then you saw a tall figure step out of the shadows. It took you a moment to recognise the broad shoulders and bow-legs in the dark. “D-Dean?” You ground out, your voice nothing more than a whisper.

Dean looked up, and the tiniest glow of light touched his face, lighting his green eyes. They were locked on you, teary and sincere. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Dean!” You clawed at the hand around your throat, kicking and coughing in desperation, struggling to get away.

“Y/N...”You felt the hot rancid breath of the creature on your face as you could only watch helplessly as Dean was thrown backwards into the dark with a soft thud. “Dean!” THe next moment you heard the rip of flesh and fabric as his entire body was torn down the middle by a huge, unseen spire.

“No!”

“Y/N!”

You woke up with a jolt, swinging a fist upward as hard as you could until it connected with something solid above you.

“Ow! Son of a BITCH!”

You felt a huge weight leave your body and you looked up in the dark to see a huge shape fall off the end of your bed. You lurched for the light at the side of your bed and flipped it on with a gasp. Dean let out a hiss of pain, holding his nose with one hand as he blinked up at you against the light.

“Dean? What the hell?!”

“What?!” He shot back just as loudly, jumping to his feet beside your bed, still touching his nose delicately. “You punched me in the face!”

Instantly you felt a wave of guilt and relief simultaneously wash over you. “Whoops.” You grabbed your hand and felt the throb in your knuckles. “Sorry.”

“Damn, Y/N…” Dean stood next to you and checked to see if his nose was bleeding.

“Maybe you shouldn’t shake me awake next time.” You snapped, climbing out of bed.

Dean let out a grumble, sitting next to you on the bed. “What was I supposed to do, let you lay there and cry in your sleep?”

You flushed and grabbed a drink from the faucet in the bathroom of the shitty motel you were staying in, trying to calm yourself. You glanced up at your reflection in the dirty mirror. You had to admit, you normally weren’t a huge fan of your appearance, but after the week and a half you and the boys had gone through with that Wendigo hunt, you looked even worse than usual, dark rings under your eyes, a line of healing scratches on your forehead and cheek and two long bruises on your throat where the monster had grabbed you.

“Hey…” You blinked up at Dean’s soft voice, as he stepped behind you out of the dark, his green eyes intent on yours in the mirror. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” You let out a sorry excuse for a laugh, your smile tired. “It was just a dream.”

Dean kept looking at you, coming up behind you until he was close enough for you to feel the heat of his body behind you. You swallowed hard and looked away splashing water onto your face to move your attention away from how tall he loomed over you in the bathroom, his breathing soft and steady behind you.

“Want to talk about it?”

You let out a soft breath, ready to shake off his compassion. He always was so quick to be at your side when you faced even the smallest inconvenience, and if you were honest, nightmares were not a stranger to either of you. He was your best friend after all, so it was not out of the ordinary for the two of you to sit awake on some nights with the lights on just to keep each other company and forget about the terrors of the night.

“Where’s Sam?” You asked, changing the topic.

You and the boys had a deal that you would switch off whoever had to share the bed every night out on a hunt. You and Dean had been the unlucky ones this time, but you did notice that the other bed was completely empty. Well, if you would call it unlucky. In fact, a part of you loved sleeping next to Dean. God knows it was the closest you ever would get to him.

The number of nights you would lie awake next to him, staring at the ceiling until you heard his soft snores fill the room next to you were too numerous to count. But you always loved how warm and safe you felt with him just inches away from you. Some nights you’d even turn in the middle of the night and just stare at him. He always looked so tense and angry when he was awake, but when he slept, all those angry thin lines carved into his brow would disappear and he’d even smile a tiny bit, completely relaxed in his sleep. It was a side of Dean that most people would never see.

“He went out for a jog. I guess he’s still a little on edge from that hunt.”

“We all are…” You sighed, running a hand through your sleep-battered hair. “What time is it?”

“Almost 8.”

“Jeez it’s late.” You turned to him with a tired smile. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because, you have a tendency to punch people in the face when they try.” Dean scoffed coming a few steps closer to stand next to you and examine himself in the mirror beside you. His hip bumped yours and you flushed, looking up at the two figures in your mirror.

Damn, how could one person be so attractive at all times? His hair was standing up at every angle from sleep and he had a long gash across his forehead and a bruise on his jaw but he still looked like he belonged on a JamesBond movie set. Your eyes flickered between the two of you and you felt yourself deflate at how the pair of you didn’t look like you belonged together. Different leagues.

You sighed and turned to him with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, okay? Let me see.”

Dean smirked as you turned and took his face in your hands and examined his nose delicately. He let out a tiny puff of a breath as your fingers ran lightly over the bruise on his jaw. “Sorry.”

You mumbled, and he stilled under your touch, his breathing slowing. You tsked softly and let him go. “You’re fine.”

“You aren’t too bad yourself.” Dean grinned widely at you and you rolled your eyes.

“Funny.” You hummed turning back to the sink to pull your hair up into a messy bun.

Dean chuckled and then you saw his eyes flicker up to yours in the mirror. “Are you alright?”

You looked down at your hand. “I mean my knuckles hurt a bit but--”

“I mean about your dream.”

You hesitated and took a deep breath. Dean was quick to take your dreams seriously. Both of the brothers were to be honest, too many of your dreams had been premonitions of the future for them to ignore any. You used to believe you were a bit of a prophet, but now you just thought that your dreams were a way of discerning spirits. It was one of the gifts you had that made hunting with the boys easier.

“I…” You turned and looked at Dean for a moment, and the vision you had of him, run through by a huge spike ran through your mind, sending chills down your spine. “I think we need to take a break.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What did you see?”

You almost said it, “I saw you die,” but at the last moment you shook your head. There was no need to scare him, especially since you had just wrapped up an entire week-long hunt. “I just think we need to stop hunting, just for a little bit. I can’t sleep anymore.”

Dean’s face changed, his features softening. “Okay. I think I can talk Sam into a mini vacation.”

You cast him a tired smile. “Really?”

Dean narrowed his eyes for a moment. “Well, actually, you should tell him, he’s more likely to listen to you.”

You let out a soft laugh and you felt your heart tug at how your voice still shook a little too much. Damn nightmares…

“Hey, come here.”

You looked up to see Dean opening his arms to you, his green eyes soft. You let out a soft breath and stepped into his chest, holding him tight. As you buried your nose against his chest, he wrapped his arms around you,breathing into your hair. You listened to the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

“It’s alright.” Was all he said, and it was enough. You closed your eyes and just stood there, holding each other in the dark of the room..

“I don’t know why…” You murmured softly, “But I am scared.”

“Of what?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling that something is going to happen and…” You shook your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll lose you and Sam.” Your voice came out more strangled than you anticipated and you had to swallow hard to just keep yourself from crying.

“Hey now, come on…” Dean’s fingers moved and you felt them under your jaw tilting your head up so you had to look up at him. He gave you a sweet smile, an expression that he reserved only for you. “Sam and I can take care of ourselves.”

You blinked up at him, unable to speak. “You’re my best friend, Dean.”

“You’re mine too, sweetheart.” Dean’s smile softened and his eyes flickered over your face. “We’ve got each other. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

You didn’t mean to, but your lips fell open in a soft sigh of relief. He was right. You had each other. Always, and no force of heaven or hell could take that away.

You looked up into his eyes, green pools of warmth that you could float inside of for all of eternity if he let you.

Suddenly you felt how close you were, where his hand was resting on the curve of your hip and your heartbeat jumped into your throat. He was so close that you could smell the scent of his aftershave mixing with the mint of his toothpaste. You hoped he couldn’t see you blush.

Dean’s gaze flickered, and for a moment you thought rested on your lips. Your heart was beating so loud you were sure he could hear it. He was so close but you couldn’t help it...you wanted him closer still. You felt yourself leaning forward just a tiny bit, his fingertips tracing the skin of your jawline, coming up close to your lips. Your heart was beating so fast that you could barely breathe as you felt pulled closer and closer into his warm chest, his fingers spreading across your back, pulling you towards him as your eyes flickered closed.

“Hey guys!” The sound of the door swinging open made you jump in surprise, almost helping out loud.

Dean pulled back, rolling his eyes so hard that his head literally whipped around at his younger brother as he stood in the doorway. “Come on, Sammy. You gotta be kidding me!” Dean grunted, scooting a few inches away from you on the bed. You chuckled to yourself, struggling to calm your thundering heart as the blush slowly worked its way off your face.

Thank God for Sammy, always bursting in at just the right time before you could say or do anything you might regret. You tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear as you looked back up at Sam, who just quirked his eyebrows at the two of you.

“Am I interrupting something?” Sam shot at his brother. He didn’t even flinch as Dean crumpled up his paper cup from the side table and tossed it at Sam’s head, missing by a few inches before it bounced off the back wall. “Mature.”

You almost laughed too loud at Sam’s question. You and Dean had always only been just friends. Now, there was a certain level of sexual tension, you had to admit, but that was because he was Dean Winchester. The man just oozed sex. The fact that you flirted every once in a while had nothing to do with the fact that you secretly adored him; it was just because you were a woman and he was Dean. Everyone had that same spark with him. The only difference was that you had been traveling together for almost a year now, hunting with the boys had become a regular part of your life. You may just be one of the billions of women attracted to Dean, but you were the only one who could say that he was your best friend.

“What’s up, Sam?” You asked, sitting up and pulling your hair into a messy bun,

“Well…” Sam sat on the end of your bed between you and Dean with his laptop open and you heard Dean grumble out loud as his brother bumped his shoulder.

“Sammy, I swear to god, if you are about to send us on another hunt I am gonna punch you in the eye.”

Sam let out a sigh and cast you a quick glance. You attempted a small smile but you had to admit you were glad Dean had jumped the gun on this one. He did take your concern to heart you had to give him credit.

“Look, I know we’re all tired…”

“Good, end of discussion.” Dean got up and sauntered to the duffle bag he had tossed to the corner of the hotel room and dug out your shared bottle of Tennessee Honey.

You and Sam watched him sulk away before you cast a quick look at Sam’s laptop. “What did you find?”

Sam gave you a sympathetic smile and you snuggled closer to him, reading over his shoulder. “It may be nothing, but I wanted to run this by you.” He turned the laptop toward you and you narrowed your eyes at the flashing headline.

“Woah…”

“Yeah. The media is all over this case.”

You looked at the report. “Ghost Terrorizes Family in Old Farmhouse.”

“Pfft.” Beside you, Dean flopped down with a groan of annoyance on the other bed, taking a quick swig of the whiskey. “Look, if they’re writing newspaper articles about it, then its not a real ghost.”

“But, get this.” You read the bold words on the laptop before Sam scrolled down and clicked a link.

At first it was a silent recording. Then an adult man spoke. “Is anybody there who wishes to communicate?”

You sat quietly next to Sam as the recording bussed quietly for a moment. Dean took another drink, uninterested. Suddenly the voice spoke again, “Jane, are you alright?”

There was a soft growl, like an animal growing agitated and then a soft voice, the voice of an old man came out of the silence, raspy and cold. “Jane’s not here right now. She’s asleep and I am talking.”

The voice sounded like a creature that had crawled out of a grave and still had gravel stuck in his throat.

You heard the reporter clear his throat uncomfortably. “What is your name then?”

“You…” The sickly old man voice spat out soft and slow, “don’t belong here.”

“What is your name?” The reporter asked, his own voice quaking a bit. You narrowed your eyes at the sound of discomfort in the man’s voice. “My name is Edward Bla--”

“Eddie Blake.” The old voice rasped out, cutting the reporter off with a savage chuckle. “I know who you are.”

“Well, then what do we call you?” Edward Blake asked, his voice quiet.

“Get out of my house!” The old man’s voice suddenly shouted.

It made you flinch and Dean turned on his own bed, shooting you both a confused look. He squinted up his lips and shook his head, “Touchy old shit, am I right?” He shot you a dorky smile, waiting for you to laugh but you just rolled your eyes.

“What is your name?” The reporter asked.

There was silence for a moment, and then, “Knock knock.”

“Very well, who’s there?”

“Bill...Bill...BILL.”

“Bill who?”

You and the boys sat very quiet, the recording was still except for static air. “My name is Bill Wilkens. And I am seventy-two years old.”

The recording cut off after that and Sam sat back.

“He sounds so confused.” You mumbled. “Is he senile?”

“Who do you think was speaking in that recording?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, a delirious old man? Gollum maybe.”

“That voice was coming out of an eleven year old girl...”

You looked up instantly, your heart stuttering in your chest. Something about that sent chills down your spine. You glanced over to Dean but he was staring at the floor, thinking.

“Apparently, they tried to get the church involved and a priest was sent to urgent care. After that the case became a media frenzy. ”

You raised a hand to your lips in shock.

Dean let out a soft sigh. “What do you want us to do, Sam?”

Sam let out a soft sigh before he cast his brother a sympathetic glance. “Look, I don’t think it's anything. I think it’s just a publicity stunt, the local papers are all over it, the house is basically a tourist trap. But, I think we should just check it out, just to be safe.”

“Sam, it really doesn’t sound like anything but a good ventriloquist act.” You mumbled softly.

“I thought so at first. But the thing is, this mother...she called Jody.”

That made all of you stop. Dean sat up a little straighter. Sam shrugged, “Apparently they are looking for help and she did some digging and heard of us.”

“That’s impossible.” Dean snorted. “No one’s ever heard of us.” He said, pointing between the three of you.

“Jody said we better check this case out. Despite what the papers are writing about, this family is really scared.”

You shot Dean a quick look. He was already staring at you. Part of you already knew that your argument from the morning didn’t stand a chance. You and the boys were never ones to shy away from a family in need, despite how scared you were deep down.

You let out a soft breath. “When should we head out?”

You saw Dean stare at you but you didn’t look at him.

Sam shrugged and handed his laptop to Dean so that the older brother could scroll through the article. “Look, it’s probably nothing, but I just think we should give it a quick sweep through. Just to be sure. If it’s nothing we’ll turn around and go straight back to the bunker. But if it’s not...then there is a family out there who desperately needs our help.”

End of part one

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stillness-in-green · 4 years

Text

The Remedy for Wrongs Is Forgetting (Revised)

I cleaned up and revised the fic I posted before for AO3, mainly by adding an extra 800 words to it. For those who would like to read it there, you can find my AO3 link via my about page. For those (like myself) who would just like to see it in the character tags, here’s the newly completed version, now featuring more highly vague references to Vigilantes canon and yet more details about how I imagine Shigaraki and Kurogiri’s pre-BNHA timeline.

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

He wakes to a harsh white light above him and a voice that reaches into his gut and says, Master.

What the voice actually says is, “Oh, you’re awake. How marvelous. Then it’s time for you to get started.”

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

Kurogiri is, according to the Doctor, not intended for fighting, but for rather for defense, service, and discretion. The Doctor’s experiments are taking up more of his time and growing more sensitive in nature. He will not run the risk of being caught at this stage—and it wouldn’t hurt to have someone around who can ensure he’s eating. Kurogiri is apparently something of an experimental model developed to serve the Doctor’s immediate needs and his streamlined functions compared to the Doctor’s other subjects made his construction comparatively simple.

“How do you feel about that?” the Doctor asks him with an intense stare.

Kurogiri considers the question. The idea of helping people seems—correct. A fact that curls up in his heart and rests there, warm and at peace.

“Lucky,” he answers. “Like I’ve been given a purpose I already meant to pursue.”

The Doctor chuckles.

“I knew I’d picked a good one.”

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

The Doctor shows him how to order food and look up recipes online, the basics of using any kitchen appliances he doesn’t already recognize, and some brief instructions about not mixing household cleaners. He’s prepared a spartan bedroom in which he spends his resting hours.

Truthfully, he spends most of his time in the lab, watching Noumu being sculpted into existence from broken people, growth acceleration quirks, and a battery of audio-visual conditioning that sings with familiarity from the very first time he overhears it. It’s comforting, in its way—a structure to lean on in the knowledge that he, too, must have been pieced together out of bewilderment and ruin.

They do say that art is an expression of pain, after all.

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

The Doctor experiments on children. This is a fact that sits, cold and hard, at the bottom of his throat. Kurogiri tells himself, The Doctor experiments on everyone.

Somehow, it doesn’t quite feel the same. Watching a wailing boy shy back from his mist leaves Kurogiri with an acute awareness of pain squirming over his shoulder, disembodied, disassociated, but inarguably present all the same.

It doesn’t, of course, stop him from carrying out his orders. But the dreams he has afterward—dreams of white clouds and laughter, and a familiar curl of warmth in his heart—leave him privately grateful when the lab is back to housing only its adult monsters.

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

The Doctor has a patron, it seems, a master of his own. Kurogiri is told in no uncertain terms that All For One is now his highest authority, a man whose orders are to be heeded as one heeds the laws of physics.

All for One is broad-shouldered and celebrity-handsome, with an easy, roguish smile and sharp, bright eyes. In photographs, he’s striking, but not, for the age of heroes, uniquely so. In person, however, the man is a force of nature, cloaked in a power that enters the room before him and lingers after he leaves, palpable as the mounting pressure of a thunderstorm.

He is affable, and charming, and promising the man his service is the easiest thing Kurogiri has ever done.

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

“You should see him trying to be good with kids,” the Doctor tells his patron as they amble into the kitchenette from the lab later that evening. “He’s downright chatty! It might even work, if it weren’t coming from—” He breaks off to gesture at Kurogiri, who gives them a shallow bow and holds out a cup of coffee towards All for One.

“Hah.” The man takes it, tipping it in Kurogiri’s direction in thanks, and sips from it with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Well, good manners are a virtue. Though, if you say he’s good with children…”

The Doctor quirks one heavy eyebrow at his patron, then the other lifts in realization as he begins to laugh.

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

Shigaraki Tomura is a quiet, sullen child of ten or so, a bundle of nervous tics and resentful neuroses, but he is not afraid of Kurogiri. It’s a pleasant change, and pleasant as well to have a place to exist outside the lab complex, though Tomura is a bit nocturnal for Kurogiri to see much in the way of blue skies.

He makes a project of cleaning up the wreck of a bar beneath the boy’s room. He dusts and polishes, sweeps, takes stock, disposes of wine bottles with rotted corks, and wrangles the space back into presentability. It takes the better part of a year—he’s only infrequently asked to watch Tomura, when All For One leaves on business he doesn’t deem fit for his ward’s attention, and much of the work of cleaning must be redone with each visit.

After three visits’ worth of circular exchanges and locked horns about basic upkeep, Shigaraki Tomura teaches Kurogiri how to steal.

That’s not entirely accurate. The act itself is simple enough, their quirks being what they are. It would be more correct to say that Shigaraki Tomura teaches Kurogiri how to choose to steal.

They make an exploratory foray into the drug store two blocks down at three in the morning. Kurogiri, on edge from the departure from the spaces he’s permitted to be in, stands at the counter, mindfully keeping a dark portal swirling in front of the security camera, and watches the boy work. He shuffles down the dim aisles, plucking snack foods, sugary drinks, magazines and toiletries off the shelves and depositing them into a shopping cart, two fingers of each hand always carefully raised. At the front of the store, the glass cases containing alcohol, tobacco products and video games—and thankfully Tomura is only interested in the latter—present Decay not even a whisper of difficulty. When he’s finished, he pushes the cart with all its ill-gotten gain back through a portal to the bar and gives Kurogiri a grin of triumph and satisfaction—the closest thing to a real smile Kurogiri has yet seen on his scarred face.

“See? Easy.”

It leaves Kurogiri in quite a thoughtful frame of mind and he and Tomura alike bask in the glow of All For One’s warm, proud laughter when he returns and listens to the story over the bar’s first official drink.

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

The Doctor, when Kurogiri returns, snorts at the tale and says with a tsk, “You’ll spoil him.”

“Shall I refrain next time, then?” Kurogiri asks, tilting his head. He hopes not—he’s come to a tentative arrangement with Tomura about the boy decaying his rubbish in exchange for meals that take longer than three minutes in the microwave.

“The little brat’s not my project; so long as you’re following All For One’s wishes for him, I don’t care how you treat him.” The Doctor waves one hand as he stands from his desk and turns towards the darkness of the lab. “Now come along; you know how the work piles up when you’re away.”

“Of course.”

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

Five years later, when All Might crushes All For One’s skull, all of Kurogiri’s arrangements collapse.

The Doctor works night and day, electric with his terror of being discovered, of losing his patron. He snaps and barks, refusing more than the most basic nutrition. On one particularly fraught occasion, when Kurogiri tries to pull him away from the sixteenth straight hour of staring at his computer combing through his archived research, he snarls a word that Kurogiri doesn’t even have time to consciously register before the blackout fells him where he stands.

Shigaraki Tomura takes it even harder, dissolving as Kurogiri watches into a seething, rancid, rabid creature fueled by spite and fury. He claws his skin until blood runs freely, mutters and paces and screams demands. His bedroom descends back into squalor; one evening after Kurogiri makes him particularly angry, he decays every single bottle of alcohol at the bar, leaving behind a reeking mess staining the shelves and pooling on the floor.

Kurogiri—who’s sent reeling by a nauseous wave of déjà vu every time he so much as looks at All For One’s bandaged head and still form—rededicates himself to his core principles of defense, service and discretion, and does what he must to keep the other two alive.

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

All For One stabilizes, though he’s weaker.

The Doctor stabilizes, though he’s more paranoid.

Shigaraki—stabilizes, though he’s considerably less stable than he was before a few months prior.

Kurogiri recalibrates to the new normal. It’s something like stability, he supposes.

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

“Kurogiri, I need you to look after Tomura,” All For One says, not long after he regains consciousness. “Indefinitely.”

The Doctor opens his mouth—The work piles up when you’re away, Kurogiri remembers—but Kurogiri is already nodding his assent.

“Of course, sir.” Helping Shigaraki Tomura will not be easy, but Kurogiri appreciates projects and the thought—helping someone—rekindles a little of the old glow, a forgotten sense-memory from whatever lost soul he was before being reborn.

“He’ll complain about the babysitting, you know,” the Doctor says, but his earlier protest has already subsided and his tone is one of resigned acceptance. All For One chuckles, then hisses in pain.

“Yes, I’m sure he will. Nevertheless. My timetable has just gotten more pressing.”

“That’s the broken ribs, old friend.” The Doctor sighs. “Kurogiri, go and pack your things, what you have of them. All For One and I have some private matters to discuss.”

“Of course, sir.”

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

He warps into the bar that night. Broken glass litters the floor and dust has begun to build up on the bar once more. The door to Tomura’s bedroom upstairs hangs open; sounds of video game violence crack and burst through the silence. Dancing light filters down the stairs, glittering and gleaming in the shards of broken bottles.

In its own way, it’s beautiful, unintended art in the expression of pain. But there’s such a lot of work to do, too, to make such craft sustainable.

Kurogiri sighs, turns on the lights, and gets to work.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #kurogiri #shirakumo oboro #shigaraki tomura #all for one #ujiko daruma #my writing #ficcing #bnha spoilers #bnha

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a-hurricane-came · 7 years

Text

Ghost In My Pocket

Figured it was time to get something up to help take your minds off of all the shit flying around. Finished this a couple nights ago, did a lot of checking over this morning, just needed the excuse to post it.

Summary: Despite being a first responder, (Y/N) has never lost a patient, and doesn’t have a lot of experience with death overall.

Even so, they’re pretty sure that when someone dies, they’re not supposed to turn whatever room you walk into into a personal haunting zone.

It seems, however, that Lin-Manuel Miranda lives to prove them wrong.

Or, he would, if he was still - you know - alive.

Warnings: Character death, blood, train crash, serious character injury, precarious driving, grieving, spirits, arguing, yelling/shouting, swearing, general lack of knowledge of medical procedures, medical equipment and medical lingo, etc.

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x Gender Neutral Reader

Note: This was a bit of a challenge for me, guys. First of all, I was trying to drag it out a bit (You can kind of tell… Sorry about that… Working on imagery.) Second, I was trying to make it gender neutral. (let me know how I did?)

Also, it moves kind of slow - especially at the beginning. Will be made into multiple parts.

I’m really excited for this series, guys! More so than any of the others! I have a lot of ideas for this and where it’s going, and I think if I play my cards right, it has a lot of potential. Special thanks to @timeforhamilton and @imaginebeinghamiltrash! Both of them were so supportive, and let me bounce ideas off of them a lot and run a couple drafts past them. Couldn’t have done it without you two! :)

(Y/N) grit their teeth as the ambulance rattled around another corner at breakneck speed, jolting their hasty prep before they reached the scene.

They might have gotten used to riding in the thing a long time ago, but by all means, they didn’t have to like it.

Conrad glanced up, and the two of them shared a look, both with feet planted firmly on the ground and one hand in a white knuckled hold on the metal handles on the sides of the doors, both fully prepared to throw them open and rush out.

“Ready?” He asked.

They nodded in response.

Blood roared in their ears and their neck began to burn in response - the adrenaline rush, yes, (Y/N) was quite familiar with the feeling.

It was one they got every time they were sent out.

They had no clue as to what they might be finding once they reach the scene of whatever disaster was waiting for them.

All the preparation they could’ve done, they already did.

All they could hope to do was be able to recognize what to do in the situation.

They glanced over their shoulder, dully noticing Conrad doing the same in the back of their mind.

“Carson? Minty?” Minty’s calm and collected nod send her dark, ponytailed cornrow braids rippling ever so slightly.

In what was visible of the rear view mirror, (Y/N) was sure they saw Carson purse his lips in grim agreement, before he responded.

“You know me,” his words became strained at the end of his brief statement, struggling with the wheel and a sharp turn that sent them all stumbling just a little bit before regaining their balance. “’M ready for anything.”

(Y/N) wasn’t so sure about that.

They’d never say anything, but they’d definitely seen Carson gag a few times when seeing their patients at first. Occasionally, his nose would crinkle at the smell of antiseptic or blood, and once in a while, he’d even allow distressed tears to flow at the rushed shouting in the back of the vehicle, not being able to see what was going on (perhaps that was for the best) and instead imagining something so much worse.

(Y/N) couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to gain a job as an ambulance driver, but figured that it might’ve been the next best thing to what he knew he couldn’t do - be a doctor.

It didn’t matter - the man was loyal, and had a good memory.

He knew the streets of NYC alike the back of his hand, and thanks to him and his shortcuts and knowledge of streets and addresses, they never lost lives by not getting somewhere in time because they were lost or stuck in traffic, even though all cars should know to move - it was still New York, after all. They couldn’t control the people.

Besides, (Y/N), despite knowing that there was much left to be desired about them as a whole - not just Carson - liked to think of their little team as the “dream team.”

They worked well together.

They understood each other.

They clicked.

And, most importantly, they saved lives.

Without Carson, things wouldn’t be the same. Maybe they were just being unreasonable, not completely trusting another driver, but they had a feeling that somehow, at some point, without Carson, something would go wrong.

Looking at Conrad and Minty exasperatedly as the three of them shared a look at the response, they knew that both would never tell, either.

If it was for one of their own, they’d take it to the grave, and Carson would be mortified if he found out that yes they could actually see his reactions to everything.

A faint, acrid smell entered the air.

“Smoke,” Minty muttered grimly, wrinkling her nose.

They were getting closer.

“Must’ve - must’ve been a pretty bad crash, I guess, huh?” Carson chuckled nervously, his foot stomped on the gas pedal.Conrad rolled his eyes - contrast to Carson, he’d always been a bit cynical, and while he considered the three of them his greatest friends, he often got rather annoyed with Carson or tried to scare him, which caused Minty and him to get into fights when she got angry or annoyed with him trying to freak out their driver, which meant that (Y/N) had to play peace keeper more often than not.

Nonetheless, in this instance, they could share both Carson’s worry and Conrad’s annoyance - yes, it would, quite obviously, have been a very bad crash.

It was not everyday that two trains collided on the MTA Long Island Railroad system, after all.

Their group was one of about a half dozen ambulances already rushing to be on sight.

(Y/N) always got impatient during the ride over, but Minty was probably worse.

That, at least, was something they understood.

It was a trait that they all shared to some degree - even Carson.

For every second they stood there waiting to reach their destination, they were loosing precious time.

People were dying even as they gunned it down the street.

For people who’ve been trained to save lives at the fastest rate they could move and work, anything delaying them doing anything anywhere for even a second could pretty much mean the end of their world.

They didn’t have time for anything else, anyways.

(Y/N)’s eyes did another scan of their work area - an anxious habit of theirs.

Was there anything out of place? Was there something they missed? Would that be the one slip up that caused them to make a fatal mistake?

As usual, the answers to all of these were no, but still, every thirty seconds of silence and nothing to do made them on edge, and at least checking everything over gave them something to think about.

There was only one thing they could really think of that needed fixing.

“Conrad,” they said sharply, causing his eyes to snap to them.

“What?” He asked curiously, honestly wondering what they could have to say to him at a time like this.

“Hair,” was all they needed to say for him to get the message.

A grunt of frustration was released from him, and (Y/N)’s hand clenched around the once-cool metal of the handle, feeling the plastic of their gloves shift and crinkle at the movement.

They could feel the cool metal of the support for the small table cutting into their leg as Conrad had to dispose of his gloves, grumbling, before slipping out a ponytail and putting up his shoulder length blonde hair so it wouldn’t be in the way, reaching for a new pair of the clean gloves as quick as possible as the rancid smell grew more defined and slipping the material over his digits with practiced ease they all seemed to have. (Well…except Carson.)

Carson honked his horn as the ambulance drew closer, adding to the noise of the siren. Leaning out the window, he shouted, “Get out of the way!” At some drivers or pedestrians ((Y/N) wasn’t sure which one it was) that weren’t moving fast enough for his liking.

His knee bounced up and down restlessly, and (Y/N) saw Minty’s jaw clench as the woman also forced herself to look away from Carson.

Although they were both trained to be calm in this position, both of them were beginning to pick up more and more anxiety from Carson as he got more and more nervous that all the hinderances on the street were going to make it so they wouldn’t get there in time.

In a way, sometimes his job was more important than all of theirs.

(Y/N) leaned their head against the cool metal of the door, instead, turning away from the sight of their coworkers dealing with their own destructive thoughts.

(Y/N) hated to see people in pain - it was part of the reason they’d gone into the medical field - to help people. (It was also part of the reason that for how much they loved their job, it also brought them immense discomfort.)

But this was always much, much worse: the waiting.

Whenever someone got hurt in books or movies, they always emphasized how horrible it was - the pain, the blood, the screams, the panic and sickness and death - but they never mentioned the waiting, never talked about those agonizing minutes or hours or days it took to get to their injured comrades, and, indeed, injured strangers, to see how bad it really was, and wonder if they were going to make it before they even got there. The mind could make up the darkest scenarios to haunt one if they’d let it - and waiting is a weakness in that it gives one more time to cave to the mind’s bittersweet persuasion of darker thoughts, and allowed more time for said thoughts to fester and grow.

Soon enough, the sound of other sirens reached (Y/N)’s ears, mixed with the wails of those both injured and frightened, and they sighed quietly, mentally preparing themself for the scene ahead of them.

(Y/N) was used to the horror painted crime scenes and accidents, was used to screams of those who thought their loved ones lost to them and screams of those who still had enough left in them to scream. Those things didn’t phase them anymore as they once might’ve.

Sometimes they wondered if that still made them human.

Every time they had to ride in that vehicle they had to make a point to remind themself that they were still human.

It was in the seconds before they reached the accident that it mattered most for (Y/N) to tell themself this as much as possible, because if they didn’t know who they were, then they didn’t know what they were doing, and if they didn’t know what they were doing, they’d end up killing someone with that type of carelessness.

“Up ahead,” Carson threw over his shoulder, leaning back a bit as his foot put further more pressure on the gas pedal. “ETA one minute!”

The sirens were getting louder, mixing and mingling with the sirens of other emergency vehicles on their way.

What seemed like only seconds later, the vehicle was skidding to a halt and Conrad and (Y/N) were throwing open the doors before it even stopped.

(Y/N) leapt out, trying to read the scene as best and quickly as possible.

“Gurney!” They called almost as soon as their scan began.

Chaos was the best word for it, really.

Both trains were sideways on the tracks, windows shattered and walls crippled.

Fires were everywhere, people were screaming to be let out, and a foul black smoke was filling the air.

In the back of their mind, they registered Minty and Conrad rushing past them with the gurney, going to the first person they saw who really needed it - a woman, struggling to breathe, but still managing as she let out pained moans when she could afford it, her torso caved in on one side.

Broken ribs, (Y/N) immediately deduced - lucky her lungs didn’t collapse, though from the looks of things, it was close, and they’d have to get her to the hospital as soon as possible to check for internal bleeding.

If there wasn’t any already, well, then, they wouldn’t need to spend much time with her in the ambulance itself, as long as they were careful not to jostle anything too much and kept an eye on her.

The multiple shallow cuts on her were bleeding profusely, but they could all be quickly and easily patched up - probably by one person if luck was on their side.

“Gurney!” They called out again, not wasting any time.

Minty came racing out of the ambulance with their other gurney, immediately picking up on where (Y/N) was going and moving to follow them, picking up the speed so they wouldn’t waste time and (Y/N) could help carry the gurney.

This one was a man, and they had to pull him out from a broken window.

(Y/N) wasn’t happy that there wasn’t another exit for him, because they’d had to waste time knocking some of the glass out so he didn’t get scraped up even worse, and pulling him through, but in these situations, nothing was ideal, and they had to work with what was given to them.

They hastily lifted him up, careful not to jostle anything, and secured him on the gurney.

As they raced back to the ambulance, (Y/N) mentally cataloged his injuries.

He had been much further up than the other woman, closer to the wreckage, and as such, had gotten much worse injuries.

His right arm was twisted at an awkward angle, his upper left ribs were caving in and he’d be one lucky son of a bitch if they hadn’t managed to puncture his lung - they couldn’t yet tell - his left ankle was swelling and bruised, and - oh.

Yikes.

That made things a lot worse.

A rather sizable gash in his stomach, standing out among the rest of his cuts and presumably made by the shattering window glass when the trains were caught in the accident.

Dust, scrapes, bruises and a little bit of blood scattered both him and the woman.

Conrad had leapt up when he saw them coming towards him, and as soon as they jumped in the ambulance, he dropped everything he was doing to help the woman and slammed the doors closed behind them, instantly going back to what he had been doing as Minty and (Y/N) started working on the other patient.

After the seventh time they rode together after getting Carson as their driver, they had stopped needing to scream phrases such as, “GUN IT, IDIOT!” “MOVE!” “START THE DAMN CAR!” etc., and he had learned simply to start moving as fast as possible as soon as he heard both the doors close, and that didn’t change this time.

Minty made quick work of getting getting the equipment she needed out, while (Y/N) completely skipped over the broken limbs and went to cut the fabric around his wound and staunch the bleeding in the man’s stomach.

(Y/N)’s body went on autopilot again, like it always does during these times, and they allowed themselves time to examine both the patients, something they had always liked doing.

As creepy as it sounded, it helped ground them, reminding them that somewhere out there, these people had families to get back to, friends, no matter how small or broken or in denial, and that their life was in their hands now, and it was up to them to get them home.

Distantly, they could hear Conrad trying to talk to the woman, seeing if he could find out what was hurting to see if he’d missed anything, if he could get her name, trying to keep her mind off the pain, and it registered in their brain that they should be doing the same thing.

Should they, though?

(Y/N)’s eyes flickered up.

Contrary to (Y/N)’s earlier belief, Minty wasn’t trying to stop the bleeding on the rest of his cuts, which were small in comparison to the one (Y/N) was watching, but would become a problem if left unattended, but cutting open the rest of his shirt.

Dammit, (Y/N), pay attention! They shouted in their head as they saw what was going on. Now is not the time to get distracted!

Their brow knitted in concern as the man gasped again and again, desperately trying to breathe, all the while the woman’s breaths were settling down.

Looks like he wasn’t very lucky with his lungs after all.

Damn. Traumatic Pneumothorax.

Well, that certainly made things a hell of a lot worse. (It also told them that no, they should absolutely not try to get him to talk, thank you very much.)

(Y/N)’s eyes widened as he seemed to get paler and paler.

He was getting less and less oxygen as the movement in his lungs only became more restricted.

“Minty!” They snapped warningly.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” She shot back just as sharply, her hands flying to try to set up the chest tube.

(Y/N) glanced down, grimacing at the sight - despite their hardest efforts, the blood didn’t seem to be stopping.

They pulled one hand away, the other immediately trying to pick up the slack, and turned their hand over, so they weren’t spreading the blood when they touched his hands.

They felt both to make sure it wasn’t just a coincidence, but the skin was cool to the touch and by all means clammy overall.

His eyes flickered from them to the ceiling, from Minty to Conrad to the woman on his right to the medical equipment surrounding him, never staying on one thing for long.

Lack of concentration.

“BP’s dropping!” (Y/N) shouted, bordering on frantic.

They’d never had a patient get this bad before. They put two fingers to his wrist - the lack of oxygen was getting to him, his heart rate was getting faster and faster.

His eyes fluttered as they rocketed around yet another corner.

(Y/N) could only curse at the movement, though they knew that Carson was doing the best he could.

The sudden movement would only be making the man more disoriented, and that was exactly what they didn’t need right now.

Not only would he be getting tired from the lack of oxygen he was getting, he’d also be getting dizzy from his rapidly dropping blood pressure, which would also add to the fatigue, and he was sure to be panicking about not being able to breathe.

Their free hand went back to fruitlessly trying to stop the gushing liquid life.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Minty was, somehow, able to stay calm despite the situation.

(Y/N) wasn’t sure how she did it, at first, but then they remembered that Minty had been doing this for a lot longer than they had.

(Y/N) hadn’t had any patients get this worse, but Minty might’ve.

Hell, (Y/N) had no idea how many people their partners had seen die over the years before they came along to join their little team.

It was their job to be calm in situations like this, for God’s sake!

Get yourself together, (Y/N)! You’re not going to be helping anybody if you’re uselessly panicking!

The man’s eyes slowly moved to Minty’s general direction when she spoke.

“You’re gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna get you home.”

Normally Minty kept her promises to people.

(Y/N) wasn’t sure if she could manage to keep this one.

Finally, Minty had managed to get the chest tube set up properly, and begin the process of draining the air between his lungs so they could expand properly, but even if that was one problem solved, he had fainted before she got far, a combination of the combined dropping blood pressure and prolonged time without oxygen.

(Y/N) was honestly surprised he had managed to hold on as long as he did.

If anything, he was resilient - they’d give him that.

(Y/N)’s hand flew to his wrist again, where his pulse was slowing down - most likely a result of beginning to be able to breathe properly again - and they let out a sigh of relief when they felt it steadying out.

But then it kept going - slower and slower and slower.

“Minty,” they glanced up sharply, meeting her eyes, before looking back down at his wrist, and then back at the injury on his stomach that just wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Her eyes followed their gaze, and immediately understood, one of her own hands flitting to take his pulse more accurately, by his neck, her eyes trailing back to look at his stomach as she did so, where she obviously saw the same problem as (Y/N) did.

“His pulse is getting weaker,” She confirmed.

“Conrad!” (Y/N) now had both hands on the stomach wound again, but was gesturing their companion over with his head.

As his patient was mostly stable, the injuries far less severe, he was able to drop what he was doing and move there quickly.

“He’s not breathing!” Minty observed.

“Ah, damn it…”

Conrad skipped the hands-only part of CPR, knowing it could only put him in a further critical condition with his lungs and ribs the way they currently were, and went straight to administering mouth-to-mouth.

As he tried to breathe life into him, Minty worked in tandem, trying to help inflate his lungs with the chest pump.

It didn’t seem to be working, and when Minty’s fingers again went to his neck, her eyes widened and she shouted, “I can’t feel a pulse!”

(Y/N)’s hands went to his wrist and waited for a second - they couldn’t feel anything either.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest.”

Needless to say, they didn’t waste any time in getting out the defibrillators were out.

“Clear!” Conrad shouted as he was charging them up.

Reluctantly, (Y/N) stepped back.

“Clear!” He yelled again when they were reaching the point where they were ready to be used.

Minty gave one last squeeze of the chest pump before dropping it and taking a step away.

“Clear!” Conrad yelled for the third time, as per protocol, before setting the paddles on his chest and sending the shock through.

In the back of their mind, (Y/N) registered Carson give a little squeak from up front, but they ignored it.

Minty once again checked his pulse once the shock had passed, and shook her head.

“Clear!” Conrad shouted again, and Minty withdrew her hand.

(Y/N)’s heart was pumping so fast they were afraid it would beat straight out of their chest, though they knew it wasn’t physically possible.

Come on come on come on…

Conrad brought the paddles down again, and again, Minty checked his pulse and shook her head.

Again and again they tried, always with the same results.

“Clear!” Conrad went to charge up the paddles again, refusing to let him go, but Minty held out a hand to stop him.

“Stop,” she said in a quiet voice. And then, grimly, “I’m calling it. TOD 6:52 am.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard.

While Conrad began to pack away the defibrillators and Minty began to extract the chest pump, (Y/N)’s eyes flickered to the woman a little to their left.

They locked eyes, and her chest heaved again, silently, and more and more tears ran down her face.

(Y/N)’s stomach dropped.

Distantly, they were aware of Minty and Conrad finishing putting away the equipment and beginning to look over obvious physical traits, trying to save some work for the coroner on identifying him.

They heard Minty ask what color his eyes were, and was sure that he was opening up his lids to check before they filmed over, but (Y/N) could only focus on the woman.

Not only had they let this man die, but this woman was still sitting here, in pain, but very much alive, and while (Y/N), Minty and Conrad might have to live knowing that while they hadn’t been able to save him, they had tried, she would have to live knowing that less than five feet away from her, a man had died, and she hadn’t been able to do anything for him at all.

An overwhelming sense of guilt and hopelessness overcame them in that moment.

They’d never lost a patient before.

It was somehow so much worse than they’d thought it would be.

Pursing their lips, they painstakingly broke the connection between them and the woman, managing to bring their gaze back over to the man.

While the other two had their attention turned away, they reached up, and with blood soaked hands, slowly slid his dark brown eyes shut.

Now, they supposed, he looked more like he was sleeping again.

When the four of them got off their shift that night, they parted silently.

It was almost as if, without words, they’d all quietly and shamefully admitted that somewhere along the way, they had made a mistake.

They might not know what it was - they might never - and there was a mistake in there somewhere, regardless.

And that was a thought that just about tore (Y/N)’s heart to shreds.

(Y/N) went home to their apartment, sat on their couch, and did what they hadn’t been strong or stupid enough to do in front of the others.

They cried.

Before the day had started, (Y/N) knew that there were risks in the job, knew that losing someone was a possibility, that they’d had to deal with it.

But before the day had started, (Y/N) had also prided themself on having never lost a patient.

(Y/N) didn’t have a lot of friends - Minty, Carson, Conrad, and maybe one or two others, though they didn’t see them often - and what family they had were few and far in between, scattered across the country - some of them in other countries.

They’d never had all that much to lose.

Death was new to them - a foreign concept.

(Y/N) didn’t think of it often, found it easier not to - they were less likely to make a mistake if their mind wasn’t thinking of the horrible result of it.

With how many people dealt with it around the world each day, and how most of them were still walking around with a strong face, they had thought it would be easier than it was.

God, they had gotten rid of the air in between his lungs, he was on his way to breathing again!

He was right there.

If (Y/N) could’ve just stopped the bleeding-

“Why so gloomy?”

(Y/N) couldn’t help it - they leapt up from the couch, letting out an almighty screech as they did so, and whipped around to see where the voice had come from.

“Wh - how -”

With their heart practically still in their throat, they didn’t seem to be able to form a coherent sentence.

“What?”

“What the hell?! I thought you died!”

And truly, (Y/N) did, but nonetheless, standing there in front of them was a man, with shoulder length black hair, a t-shirt and jeans on, a worn notebook tucked under his arm.

Dark, intelligent eyes met their own, and (Y/N)’s breath caught at seeing the orbs that they had last caught just before sliding them closed.

He gave them a deadpan look, which did nothing to help ease the terror rising inside of them or their rocketing heart beat.

“Gee, thanks. Nice to see you, too, buddy. How’ve you been?”

The sarcasm threw them even further off guard.

“I - you…what the hell?”

“You’ve asked that already.”

(Y/N) shook their head, ignoring what he’d just said. “What’s going on?”

The bright blue man - who the longer (Y/N) looked at, the more they were sure that this was definitely the man who had died in the ambulance earlier that morning - set down his notebook that they were sure wasn’t with him earlier on the coffee table, where it landed with a thump.

How the hell did it make a noise? It’s - what even was it, anyways? He was a ghost, they were pretty sure, but what were they supposed to call that? It wasn’t with him earlier when he died, but it looked to be the same color as him, and like him, ever so slightly transparent. That meant that it shouldn’t have been able to make a noise.

While (Y/N) was momentarily distracted, still staring at the journal and trying to figure it out, the man made himself comfortable on their couch, eyes surveying the apartment curiously.

“Nice place you’ve got,” he remarked, snapping them out of their thoughts.

They could only stare at him a little while longer, before asking the one thing really on their mind in this whole situation.

“What’s going on?” They repeated, their voice very small this time around.

They could feel their obnoxious heartbeat finally beginning to calm after the initial scare, but it was still faster than normal.

He blinked at them, and for a moment, said nothing, before he blurted out the words,

“Stop blaming yourself.”

“I need t-” (Y/N) cut themself off for a second before shaking their head again. “…what?”

He sighed.

“Okay, this could take a while. Have a seat,” (Y/N) rose an eyebrow at that. Their head still whirling from whatever the hell this was, they hardly noticed the irritation it was causing their eyes as the tears were drying.

A dead man they’d never met before that day was sitting in their living room, inviting them to sit down in their own home without even seeming to realize what he was doing.

How the hell was this their life right now?

Never mind, they decided. I really need to sit down right now.

“So here’s the deal,” he turned towards them. “I’m dead-”

“I see that,” (Y/N) muttered, but he seemed not to hear them.

“But I can’t get out of the In Between. According to this lady who is, apparently, a Grimm - in pretty sure that’s their slang for Grim Reaper, but I didn’t get to ask - and who calls herself Jerrah- really nice, by the way, awesome fedora, too, you should totally meet her sometime-” (Y/N) really hoped that they wouldn’t be able to meet her for a long time. “The reason I can’t move on is because I have unfinished business here. And, apparently, that unfinished business is you.”

(Y/N) blinked once, then twice at the silence, dragging their eyes to look at his face rather than at his emphatically gesturing hands, which had been distracting them the entire time he had been talking.

Realizing this guy was waiting for them to say something, (Y/N) quickly scrolled through their mind and tried to remember where exactly he’d left off.

“Me?” They finally asked, the words coming out more like a scoff. “I don’t even know your name. I was a catalyst in you dying. We’ve never been in the same room as each other for more than ten minutes.”

He shrugged. “Well, yeah, but according to her, you blame yourself and that’s something I have to fix.”

At his flippant words (Y/N)’s heart practically stopped. Gritting their teeth, they took a deep breath and breathed out through their nose, their eyes closed.

“Define ’fix.’”

It was going to be a long, long night.

#guuuuuuys i finally finished it #GMP #Part one #lin manuel x reader #lin manuel miranda x reader #lin manuel miranda #hamilton #hamilton imagine #hamilcast imagine #rpf #oneshot #gender neutral oneshot #gender neutral reader #gender neutral imagine #series #series fic

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swanqueenislove · 7 years

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Just decided I’ll post this whole one-shot here. It contains lots of smut. You’ve been warned! ;)

Emma’s eyes slid open to pure darkness. She sighed into the unfamiliar room of the castle, unable to find sleep. Granted, she was the Dark One now, and Dark Ones didn’t need sleep. But that didn’t stop her from trying. The whispers in her own mind grew stronger and she clamped her hands over her ears.

The action caused Hook to pull her closer into his suffocating embrace. Emma stiffened against him but didn’t try to move.

“Long night, Dearie?” Rumpelstiltskin’s demented giggle cut through the air. Even in the pitch blackness, Emma could see him clearly. It must be some connection between Dark Ones. Either that, or it was because he was a delusion created by her own fucked up subconscious. Only she could make him disappear.

“What do you want?” Emma asked with a touch of annoyance in her tone. “Do you hear that?” Rumple asked.

Emma grit her teeth and glowered at him. She knew exactly what he was talking about. The man stepped forward and smiled, baring his yellow teeth. “How sweet. The Dark One turns to a one-handed cocky pirate to protect her from the darkness within. Her True Love.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that!” Emma snapped, freeing herself from the man’s arms. “Is he everything you ever dreamed of, Dearie? Does he hold you close and keep away the monsters? Cherish your body when he jabs you with his mighty sword?” Rumple snarls.

“Stop!” Emma cries, magic lighting up the palms of her hands.

The feeling is intoxicating, the dark magic flowing through her veins soothes her like a twisted lullaby. She craves more of it, needs more. But the need to protect Hook overpowers it, and the magic fades away.

“He doesn’t satisfy you and he never will. He wasn’t your first choice, you didn’t want him. But you force yourself to be with him because you’re afraid that if you don’t, you’ll be alone forever. Because who could ever love a sad little orphan, especially now that she’s the holder of all evil?”

Emma looked down at his sleeping form, tears filling her eyes. It upsets her to know that this is herself thinking these things, to know that some part of her believes them. She wants Hook to be good enough, she wants to feel like he fills her broken edges, but he just doesn’t.

“No, Dearie. The pirate gives you too much control. You’re in charge of everything. He dotes on you hand and foot, day and night, without a complaint. Even in bed you top him. Pathetic. And your parents, well they just want to please their perfect little princess. A little second-child guilt phase they’re still working through. Only one person has the audacity to defy you, to make you second-guess yourself, make you feel small.”

Emma closed her eyes, willing the demon out of her mind. She jumped as she felt his hot, rancid breath on her ear.

“You know exactly who that is. And you know exactly what to do. So do it. Give into your darkness.”

Before Emma can think, she’s up on her feet and creeping down the hall. The whispers lead her on, the only light coming from a flickering candle held in front of her.

She pushed on the heavy wooden doors, wincing slightly at the loud creak emitting. Rumpelstiltskin had beaten her inside and was now holding the box that undoubtedly held her precious dagger. The blonde stepped forward and swallowed thickly as the whispers stopped.

“Take it,” Rumple hissed, lifting the lid.

Emma’s hands shook as she reached forward to grab the dagger, eyes glued to her name glinting on the shiny metal. As soon as she touched it, a shock ran up her arm, paralyzing her. The box clattered to the stone floor, echoing in the large room. Rumpelstiltskin had disappeared, leaving her alone with dirtied hands like a child that had stuck his hand in the cookie jar.

Magic. Regina had protected the box with magic. Of course. Rumpelstiltskin knew that; he set me up.

“Emma?” Regina’s voice rang through the darkened room.

The spell wore off, allowing Emma to turn and face her friend. Guilt shone on her face, and as she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out. Regina’s eyes flicked downwards to the box then up at the blonde.

“It’s late.”

The observation surprised Emma. She expected Regina to yell at her, chastise her for sneaking around and trying to take back the dagger. She almost felt disappointed.

Her disappointment was short-lived, however, when Regina strode over and picked up the box, snapping it shut and poofing it away. She was pissed; she could see it in her eyes. That got her heart racing.

“I can’t believe I trusted you to keep your word. You gave me this dagger to protect you, to reign in your darkness. And here you are, waking me up in the dead of night because the temptation was too much. I thought you could behave long enough for us to get back home. Apparently not!” Regina said, her voice rising with each word.

Emma bit her lip, staring down at the floor. Oh, how Regina’s words affected her. And not just her words; the woman herself affected Emma in such a way that had her purposefully getting into trouble with the Mayor just so she could lie in bed each night and touch herself whilst thinking of the argument they had had earlier in the day.

Regina didn’t put up with Emma’s shit, and that turned her on to no end. When Emma had first come to Storybrooke and Regina had screamed at her underneath her apple trees, Emma had run back to her motel room and well, it was the hardest she had cum in her life. Emma just craved negative attention, simple as that. It was practically the only attention she was given growing up alone in the foster system.

Unfortunately for her, now that dear Emma had a family, she didn’t get that kind of attention anymore. Even when she was a straight up brat, everyone treated her like a freaking saint when all she wanted was for someone to smack some sense into her, tell her to straighten up. Except for Regina, of course. But Regina was happy with Robin, she had found her happy ending without giving Emma the time of day. And that hurt. So Emma had made it her personal mission to annoy the woman as much as possible. Turn in her paperwork a few days late, return Henry home full of sugar and caffeine, ‘accidentally’ order her green tea instead of chamomile, borrow a shirt and never give it back. She had at least 5 shirts she had ‘forgot’ to give back.

It seems that Regina had turned into a mushy, love-sick fool though, because the woman didn’t utter a peep about any of those things. She simply gave Emma a pat on the head or a friendly smile and invited her and Hook to dinner or offered to buy lunch. It was so god damn infuriating that Emma had resorted to trying to cause drama between her and Robin. And it worked, until Emma felt bad seeing Regina so unhappy.

“Look at me.” Emma’s eyes widened as Regina grabbed her chin and roughly yanked it up so she was forced to look at the woman. “Do you not think I’ve noticed what you’ve been doing this past month? Do you think I’m so naïve that I don’t see what’s been going on?”

Emma tried yanking her chin free, but the older woman held it tighter. “Answer me. Now.”

The blonde refused; instead making her stare distant and her mind blank. Regina sighed and let go of her.

“Do you not see I’m trying to be a good friend and protect you? I’m trying to be supportive, but when you act out you- you infuriate me and- “Regina’s fists clenched and her eyes slid closed.

“That’s the problem,” Emma finally spoke up.

Regina’s eyes opened a crack. Emma began pacing, faster and faster as she worked herself up.

“Everyone acts so fucking nice all the time. You were the only person who put me in my place and told me when I was being stupid. But now that you’re with Mr. Fucking Forest Hobo you’ve become like a fucking garden fairy or a Disney princess or something. You don’t get angry anymore and- “

Tears sprang to the blonde’s eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. “It’s like you don’t care.”

Emma yelped as Regina latched her hand onto her arm, holding it in an iron grip. She stumbled along as the woman pulled her towards the small loveseat and positioned herself on it before forcing Emma over her lap.

“If I didn’t care would I have woken in the middle of the night to check on you and make sure you were okay?” Regina demanded.

Emma cried out as a hand came down on her ass.

“If I didn’t care would I have come to Camelot to save you?!” Regina yelled, bringing her hand down once more.

“If I didn’t care would I have taken that dagger for safe-keeping?” Two smacks. Emma wiggled over Regina’s lap, her skin burning yet feeling that familiar dull throb in between her legs.

“I’m sorry, Princess, that I don’t have time to deal with your temper tantrums and petty jealousy. I’m sorry I’m trying to keep you happy, that I’m trying to be a better person for our son!” Regina yelled, punctuating each word with a smack. Emma took a ragged breath, lungs feeling like they were on fire. She hadn’t realized she had been screaming quite so loudly. Tears stained the front of her gown, her hair was a mess, her lip was bleeding, yet she felt… satisfied. This was the first time in a long time she had Regina’s undivided attention.

“I meant- “Emma panted, trying to catch her breath, “cared about me like I do you. You don’t love me, you love Robin.”

“You love Hook,” Regina pointed out.

Emma scrambled off the woman’s lap, standing on her feet and whirling around to face her. “No I fucking don’t! I love you! You are the only one that can keep me under control, that corrects me when I’m wrong, makes me feel small and weak but safe and comforted all at the same time.”

The blonde looked at the ground, tears spilling down her cheeks. “When I’m with you and Henry… I feel like I’m home. It’s like there’s no place I’d rather be. Even when you act like a complete bitch- “

Regina’s eyebrows raised at that statement.

“Which you can be, I love it. I love your dark side and your caring side, and just you,” Emma finished, tentatively looking up at the woman.

“Are you finished?” Regina asked, speaking to Emma as if she was a small child.

To be fair, she kinda was acting like it. Emma nodded, and her heart lifted as Regina held her arms out to her. She crawled into them, wincing as she put pressure on her reddened and sore ass.

“We are going to have a long discussion about what we are going to do. Because believe it or not Emma, I love you too. I just chose to be with Robin because you were acting all doey-eyed and bushy tailed with Hook, which I’m beginning to think you were doing to make me jealous,” Regina chided her with a boop on the nose, making Emma blush.

“And you should have told me your feelings sooner, Miss Swan. Instead of throwing your childish tantrum and causing me to injure myself disciplining you.” Regina held up her red hand to which Emma placed a soft kiss on before healing it.

That earned her another smack, and a soft groan escaped the blonde’s throat. “You know you’re not supposed to be using your powers… ah, I see what’s going on now,” Regina said with a knowing grin. “You just need someone who can punish you properly. Give you a firm hand now and then. That’s why you gave me the dagger. You want me to control you.”

“And give me kisses sometimes,” Emma said in a whiny voice. “And let me sleep in your bed. And maybe sex?”

“Emma Swan!” Regina gasped, fighting to hide a smile. Emma noticed the woman’s playful demeanor fade a bit.

“We do need to sort things out, Emma. I know Robin cares about me a lot, and Hook does you too. Even if you don’t believe so, he was adamant on coming to Camelot to save you,” Regina said. “I can steal some of that memory dust from Arthur’s study and solve our problems,” Emma said with a cheeky grin.

“You do that and I’ll make sure you can’t sit for a week,” Regina threatened. “Promise?” Emma dared to ask.

A yawn broke the playful mood, and Emma was quite surprised to feel her eyes growing heavy.

“I thought Dark Ones didn’t sleep,” Regina said. “They don’t need to… I’ve been trying to for days. Guess I found myself a pair of arms I feel comfortable in,” Emma said with a sated smile.

“Well, I think I have just the thing to make sure you get a good night’s rest,” Regina whispered in her ear before pulling her to her feet.

Emma followed along blindly, grasping at the older woman’s hand as they made their way past winding corridors and drafty rooms. Regina finally stopped and pulled Emma into what looked like a bathroom. Emma immediately looked around in confusion. The bathing area looked more or less the same as they did back home, but she had no idea how it would work without running water. Regina must have taken her confusion as disgust however, as she placed a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow. “What? Is the royal treatment not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just, how am I supposed to take a bath without running water? Won’t it be cold? I mean, it’s better than a river I guess, but...” Emma asked cluelessly.

And for the first time since getting to know Regina, she actually heard her giggle. Like a 12-year-old laughing over the word ‘butt’.

Emma looked so crestfallen that Regina laid a hand on her arm. “Oh, Emma. I forgot you don’t know much about the old world. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun, but you are just so…” Regina broke down into a fit of laughter just as a servant arrived with a bucket of steaming water.

Emma rolled her eyes and tried to play off her stupidity as best she could. It’s not like she didn’t make fun of Regina for modern things that the woman didn’t know about. Like just last week, Regina had called her in a huff because every time she texted ‘I love you’ to someone it would auto-correct to ‘I like big butts and I cannot lie.’

Okay, so maybe that had been Emma’s fault. It had been one of many ways to piss Regina off and hopefully come between her and the forest fairy just a little bit. Luckily, Regina had just thought it was a phone malfunction. It was still funny to see her reaction though. Totally worth it.

The servant came forward and attempted to pull off Emma’s gown. The blonde stepped back, a sudden wariness coming over her. The servant glanced over at Regina in confusion, and the Mayor stepped forward to explain.

“She’s new to this world,” the brunette said to the servant. “Would you mind making us some tea?”

“Yes, Miss.” The servant curtsied before leaving the two alone.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbled, watching Regina pour in some scented oils and light a few candles.

The older woman beckoned her forward, and Emma was surprised to find herself shedding her clothing without the faintest feeling of embarrassment. She was usually very self-conscious about her body since her whole life people constantly cut her down. As she got older and grew into her body, men started looking at her like a piece of meat. Even some of her foster fathers and brothers acted inappropriately towards her despite her being underage. She never quite shook off the feeling of being worthless.

“Emma? Emma dear, wake up.”

The blonde opened her eyes to find she had fallen asleep in the bathtub. Odd, since she didn’t even remember getting in. Regina handed her a soft towel, respectfully turning her head away as she exposed her body.

“I’m so tired… you sure know how to draw a good bath,” Emma complimented her friend as she followed her back to her room. “Yes, well the tea had fairy dust. That helped you a bit I’m sure,” Regina answered quietly.

Emma slowed her footsteps until she was standing still in front of the room she was sharing with Hook. “What? I don’t remember drinking any tea.”

Now it was Regina’s turn to stop and stare. “You don’t remember the bath? Or the conversation we had just a few minutes ago?”

Emma slowly shook her head. “I remember taking off my gown, then the next thing I knew you were waking me up.” Her cheeks flushed as she forced her eyes to meet her friend’s. “I didn’t try to come onto you or anything like that, did I?”

“No, dear.” Regina came forward and rested the back of her hand against her forehead. “How long have you been having these blackouts?”

“Since I arrived here. Maybe it’s a Dark One thing.” Emma shrugged and looked down at the ground. Regina gently lifted her chin up. “What aren’t you telling me, Emma?”

Tears filled the blonde’s eyes, and she found herself wrapping Regina in a tight embrace. “I’m seeing things, and hearing voices. I feel like I’m going crazy. I only went after that dagger because he wanted me to... because he knew it would upset you. He knew you were my weakness.”

Regina gently pulled back, and a tight smile appeared on her face. “Well, I’m sure we can fix all this when we return home. Now, try to get some rest.”

Emma didn’t move as her friend turned to go. She bit her lip and shuffled her feet, not wanting to go back into the room and pretend with a man that she didn’t love. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep without Regina.

The older woman turned back as she realized Emma wasn’t intending on going back to bed. “Emma…” she groaned, her eyes betraying her own exhaustion. “I told you we can’t do this.”

“But- “Tears filled Emma’s soft, green eyes as her lower lip began to tremble. Regina pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare, Emma.”

Emma blinked, causing a few tears to sneak out and roll down her cheeks. Henry used to do the same to both of his mothers when he wanted something. Emma saw through his charade, but it always worked on the Mayor. She shrugged and turned towards the hallway.

“I guess I’ll go spin straw into gold or rip out the servants’ hearts then. I’m not gonna be able to sleep anyway.”

Before she could take a step, the blonde found herself being embraced tightly by Regina once more. “I’m sorry, Emma,” the brunette whispered.

Then she was being forced into her room by the familiar pulse of light magic coming from Regina’s hands. Emma tried the door to find it had been locked. She tried to use her magic to open it, only to have an invisible wall block her. She growled and stamped her foot as she saw the magic-restraining cuff adorning her right wrist.

“Get some sleep, Em.” Regina’s muffled voice came through the door. “That’s not fair! You can’t just lock me in my room!” Emma whined back.

A pause. Then, “My job is to get you home safe. I promised your parents, and I promised our son. I won’t have you beheaded or hung by these royals because you decided to play Operation with their people.”

Emma tried the door again. When the door didn’t budge, she began to cry out loud like a child denied candy. She wailed and dropped to the floor, hugging her knees.

“Poor little baby…” Rumpelstiltskin interrupted her little tantrum. He loomed over her, seemingly pleased with her actions. “Get the hell away from me!” Emma snarled, raising her hand to attack him.

An irritated growl escaped from her throat as she realized her predicament. “We both know what you want,” Rumple said casually, examining his grotesque fingernails as if he had just left the spa. “And you’re the Dark One. So do it.”

The door to Emma’s new house slammed open, nearly ripping off its hinges. Emma waited in the kitchen with a knowing smile and a bottle of strawberry cream tequila, one of Regina’s favorites. She took a swig as the Queen rounded the corner, her eyes burning with rage.

“Regina, glad you could join me. Don’t you know it’s customary for you to bring a housewarming gift when coming to visit someone’s new home?” Emma said, her ruby red lips curling into a smirk as the older woman’s eyes darkened. Regina stepped forward, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You know what I said I would do if you went through with that smart ass comment.”

Emma widened her eyes in an act of mock innocence. “What did I do?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Refresh my memory.”

Emma gasped as Regina slammed her against the fridge. The woman’s hand squeezed her throat, digging her nails into her soft skin. Even though the blonde was taller, Regina still managed to intimidate her and make her heart race.

“Robin doesn’t remember me. Nobody remembers him besides Roland. And judging by the pirate shoving his tongue down Ruby’s throat behind the bar, he’s a blank slate as well. Zelena is pregnant and she doesn’t know how nor does she remember who impregnated her. I am the only one who remembers anything that happened in Camelot, and the poor inhabitants there got dragged into Storybrooke!" Regina yelled.

“It sounds like you’ve got a full plate as the new Savior,” Emma commented. Regina removed her hand from her throat and slapped her so hard across the face that the blonde’s lip split open. Emma watched in silence as the woman grabbed the tequila from the table and chugged it until it was halfway gone. “You ruined my life. Again.”

Those words hit Emma directly in the heart harder than Regina’s hand had struck her. She was only trying to make things easier. Regina wanted Emma, and Emma wanted her, or so that was how it seemed. She thought that by erasing the obstacles in the way, it would give them a straight shot to happiness. “Leave.” Emma stepped forward, feeling her heart break even as she spoke. She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes.

Regina’s head whipped around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Emma ripped the bottle from her hand and threw it against the wall. The bottle exploded, causing liquid to fizz out and run down the cupboards and glass to embed itself in Emma’s exposed skin. She didn’t even flinch. “No,” Regina said, her eyes glinting dangerously. It reminded the blonde of when she had traveled to the Enchanted Forest of the past and had the pleasure of meeting her evil counterpart. It caused a familiar heat to settle in between her thighs.

“No?” Emma asked carefully.

“No.” Regina grabbed her wrist and slapped the magic-restraining cuff onto it before poofing them to her house.

Emma glanced around her to see they were in Regina’s bedroom. “When I told you to leave, I didn’t mean take you with me.”

“Shut up, Miss Swan,” Regina growled, tearing off the blonde’s no longer white ball gown that was now stained with her blood. The brunette sighed as she examined the little nicks in the blonde’s skin from the tequila bottle.

She then led her to the bathroom and sat her down on the edge of the tub before grabbing the first-aid kit. Emma winced and tried to pull away as she took after the glass with tweezers.

“Stop squirming.”

“It hurts!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have thrown a fit like an insubordinate 3-year-old. You’re worse than Henry was, I swear.”

Emma shoved Regina away from her, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her exposed body. “Just leave me alone. You obviously don’t care about me.” Regina rolled her eyes and plucked another few pieces of glass out. Emma shoved her so hard this time, the brunette landed on the floor with a hard thud.

“Leave me alone!” Emma yelled, tears beginning to spill out of her eyes. Regina’s mouth fell open at her outspokenness. No one dared to treat her like that. Never had she felt so enthralled. Not since she and Emma had fought in the graveyard years ago. Her heart broke at the look on the blonde’s face, however. She looked so… lost.

Regina crawled over to her and began dabbing her bleeding legs with hydrogen peroxide. Emma sniffled but didn’t fight. When the brunette was finished, she placed a soft kiss on her knee. “All better.” She flashed up a smile. Emma didn’t return one.

“Hey.” Regina gently cupped her face in her hand. “I- “

“Please,” Emma interrupted her.

Regina cocked her head in confusion. “What?”

“Control me,” the Dark One answered in a near whisper. She spotted a flash of movement in the corner of her eye and glanced up to see Rumpelstiltskin leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied smile on his lips. She blinked hard, willing him away. For once, he was gone when she opened her eyes again.

Excited at her newfound freedom and regaining her confidence, the blonde leaned down and captured Regina’s lips within her own. They fit together perfectly, like the very last piece of a puzzle. As soon as Emma attempted to be bold and slip her tongue into the older woman’s mouth, Regina broke the kiss. “Bedroom. Now,” the new Savior commanded in a stern tone.

Emma was all too happy to comply. “On your back,” Regina commanded, pointing to the bed.

The blonde fidgeted and shuffled her feet, suddenly nervous. She jumped as she felt Regina’s hand on her shoulder.

“Do I need to use the dagger, Dark One? Or are you going to listen?”

The brunette’s eyes glittered maliciously. Emma found herself obeying, sinking into the soft bedding beneath her bare skin. Regina grinned and sauntered toward her closet. She returned with a black leather flogger in hand.

“You have caused me an awful lot of trouble, Miss Swan,” Regina purred, lightly trailing the strips of leather over the younger woman’s body.

Emma’s back arched and her nipples hardened. Regina’s response to that was to flick the flogger down hard. The blonde yelped in pain.

“I seem to remember that I am punishing you, Em-ma,” Regina spoke, accenting the woman’s name with two hard flicks of the weapon.

“Fuck me,” Emma boldly demanded, feeling her arousal drip down her thighs and stain the bedding.

Regina flicked the leather weapon down right on her pussy, eliciting a scream from the younger woman and turning it a nice shade of red. While Emma gasped in pain and tried to reign herself in, Regina slid a slender finger beneath slick folds, ghosting over her clit.

“What a mess you’re making, Miss Swan. I never knew you were such a slut. I seem to forget that you’re not much older than our son.”

Emma lifted her head up off the mattress and glared at her friend. “When I get my magic back- “

“You’ll what?” Regina taunted, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Punish me? Force me to fuck you like you need it?” The brunette proved her point by twisting a hardened nipple beneath her fingers.

Emma bit back a groan of pleasure. It had been so worth it, using that memory dust. She could tell her reaction was affecting Regina; her pupils were dilated, her nipples were hardened beneath her tight pantsuit, and from the way she kept biting on her lip… well, it was obvious. Regina wanted to fuck her, too.

“Maybe I’ll never take that cuff off. I’ll use that pretty little dagger locked up in my vault that you purposefully allowed me to have and keep you under my thumb until I feel you’ve learned your lesson.”

“What lesson is that?” Emma hissed. “That Hook is a man whore and will fuck anything in sight? That Robin was too much of a coward to give you what you really want?” The blonde leaped forward and gripped the brunette by the collar of her shirt, smashing their lips together and causing her to drop the flogger.

She felt Regina’s heart race beneath her fingertips as she lightly grasped the woman’s throat. “The lesson here, Regina, is you’re not the one who is truly in control, and you know it.” That was a lie, and Regina saw through it right away. “Alright, Miss Swan. I think you just answered my next question.” Regina’s chocolate eyes smoldered with rage despite her level tone.

Emma found herself pinned on her stomach with magic, the scent of it hanging in the air. Her hands gripped the headboard and her legs were bent so her pussy was on full display. Without warning, Regina plunged two fingers in and pumped them furiously. A yelp mixed with both pain and pleasure came from the blonde’s mouth. She would have collapsed had her body not been held in place by the more experienced holder of magic.

“What’s wrong, Dear? Don’t you want me to control you?” Regina crooned. Emma’s hips rocked backward to meet Regina’s thrusts. The woman curled her fingers upwards, hitting her g-spot just so that it caused the younger woman’s body to quiver beneath her. The blonde wanted to beg her to stop, yet the words that came out of her mouth were just the opposite.

“More. Harder, Regina. Fuck me. Control me. Own me!”

That was when all movement stopped. Emma growled in frustration, turning her head back to look at the woman. The reward for her insolence was sharp teeth biting down on her ass followed by a sharp smack. Regina’s eyes glittered mischievously as they flicked up to meet hers.

“I think it’s time we had ourselves a true conversation, Emma.”

The magic restraining her released its hold and with one more hard smack to her cheek, Regina flipped her over onto her back. She smirked at the silky wetness in between the blonde’s thighs. Emma’s breathing hitched as the woman crawled up her body and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Why do you feel the need to be controlled?” Regina asked.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Gee, Regina, I didn’t realize you were the new host of Dr. Phil.”

Leave it to Regina to bring up real issues in the middle of having hardcore, kinky sex. Her next sarcastic retort was swallowed as the woman slid two fingers within her as deep as she could. Her eyes widened as the brunette’s thumb pressed against her ass.

“What’s wrong, Emma? Never had anything in your ass before?” Regina remarked.

“Well excuse me, your majesty, that I’m not a kinky sex god who has done everyone under the sun.”

“I think you mean everything.”

“I know what I meant.”

A gasp escaped Emma’s mouth as Regina pressed into her ass. “No- Regina please…”

Regina paused long enough to leave a noticeable bruise on her neck. “Then answer my question. Please.”

Emma fought not to tense up as she fought to think. “I’m just tired of people being so nice.”

The brunette’s thumb pressed in even further, and the woman shook her head at the squeak that filled the electrified air between them. “Wrong answer. We’re going to work out some of your problems, Emma.”

“It’s just- no one ever bothered to give me rules growing up. I was my own boss. And I just wanted someone to care enough to tell me what to do. Of course my parents won’t do that, they’re still guilty about the baby… and Hook didn’t worry about problems like that. He solved everything with sex.” Emma refused to look at Regina.

The reward for her honesty was Regina’s thumb pulled out of her ass. Immediately she felt empty. The feeling didn’t last long however, as another finger joined the two pressed into her dripping cunt.

“Why do you need me to control you?” Regina asked, gently rubbing her inner walls now.

Even so, it caused fireworks to explode behind her eyelids. “More,” the blonde whimpered.

Regina leaned down and nipped on her bottom lip hard enough to leave indentations. “Answer.”

“Because you know how to make me feel small. And you’re not afraid to tell me when I fuck up,” Emma obeyed. “I mean, look at Henry. He’s a good kid. Because of how you raised him.”

Regina chuckled at that. “Do you really want me to treat you like I do our son? Eat your vegetables Emma, brush your teeth Emma, go to bed Emma.”

The blonde hissed in pain as Regina squeezed in a fourth finger. “I think I’d much rather have you under my thumb this way,” the older woman hummed. “And I think as part of this punishment, I’m going to push you since you have done nothing but to me this last month.”

Regina’s magic pinned her down again as she pushed her thumb in and began to fist her. Emma tried to bring her thighs together to no avail.

“I’ll answer another question Regina just please I can’t take this!” Emma pleaded.

“What happened to ‘more, harder, fuck me, control me, own me!’” Regina teased.

Angry tears filled Emma’s eyes. “What happened to ‘You ruined my life. Again.’?”

Knuckle-deep with Emma’s muscles contracting around her fingers, Regina stopped. Emma sighed in relief as she pulled her fingers out before hot tears spilled down her cheeks. Regina kissed them away.

“I didn’t mean what I said. I was just… I would have preferred it if you would have been courteous and patient enough to talk it out like a mature adult,” Regina said softly. “It’s not fair to them. Or my sister.

Emma couldn’t help but chuckle at that. It served Zelena right. The bitch shouldn’t have gone after Regina’s man in the first place. Although she did do her a favor in the long run, she supposed.

Regina slapped her in the breast hard. “Not funny.”

“Hey, at least we now get what we both wanted in the first place.” It was a weak argument, but it was the truth. She gave the woman her best pouty look. “I’m sorry. Now please fuck me?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” Regina kissed her hard, tongue claiming every inch of her mouth while one hand pressed into her pussy.

Emma broke the kiss and gasped for air. “I thought- “

“Just because you apologized doesn’t mean you get away Scott-free, Miss Swan,” Regina scolded.

Emma whimpered and grit her teeth as her pussy was stretched well past its limit. Regina nipped and sucked wherever she pleased to try and add some pleasure into the mix, but unfortunately for Emma it wasn’t working.

“I can’t,” the young woman admitted defeat.

Regina released the nipple in her mouth with an audible pop and slid upwards to meet the blonde’s eyes. The whine that filled the space between them was like music to her ears. Emma may not think she was aroused and gaining any pleasure from this, but Regina knew the true answer.

The brunette whispered words of encouragement as her hand slid in just past the knuckles. Tears streamed down Emma’s face, and the older woman knew this part was the most uncomfortable. She wasn’t a stranger to fisting and remembered her first time had been particularly difficult as well, mainly because she was with a drunken King who worshipped her body only for his pleasure. Although Emma was hurting, she could feel her muscles contracting around Regina’s fingers, silently urging her to push in further. If she would move forward just an inch, it wouldn’t be so painful. And then, it clicked. This was how she was controlling her. Keeping her on the precipice, on the brink of free-fall. A low moan of arousal escaped the blonde’s throat. Just a little bit further…

“One last question, Em-ma,” Regina spoke softly, wiping away the tears that had fallen. “Who controls you?”

“You,” Emma answered immediately.

Regina knew the younger woman was answering simply because she was at the height of her peak. “So, if I were to demand you to move in here, always be on my schedule and at my will, what would you say?”

Emma shut her eyes. Regina leaned down to whisper in her ear. “if I were to buy you a pretty little necklace engraved with my initials and forced you to wear it every day, made you come work for me at my office and leave the police work to your father, fuck you and punish you as I see fit… would you give in? Would you worship the ground I stand on?”

“I would do anything! Just please- “Emma cut off with a cry of pleasure, unaware that she had screamed Regina’s name until she had come down from her high. Regina removed her fingers and forced them into Emma’s mouth, which she sucked like it was the only thing keeping her alive. The woman then climbed off her and went to the bathroom, coming back with lotion and a damp washcloth. Emma sighed as the woman cleaned off the insides of her thighs before rubbing the lotion into the red marks on her skin like a personal massage therapist. She was so gentle with her body compared to just a few minutes ago. She almost felt like she could drift off. Of course Regina wasn’t going to allow that.

“Now that you have taken your punishment and your reward for being honest, how about you show me how much you are going to worship me?” Regina spoke, slowly taking off her clothes. Emma licked her lips.

First came the heels. Then the top of her pantsuit. Then the silk shirt underneath it until only her bra remained. She shimmed out of her tight black pants and slid the dark, nylon stockings from her legs, revealing gloriously tan skin.

“I think you can do the rest,” the Queen whispered, stepping to the blonde’s side and canting her hips forward.

Emma stared up at her pitifully, finding her arms still pinned to the bed. Regina graced her with a knowing smile. “Your mouth still works, doesn’t it, dear? You didn’t pull a muscle screaming my name when I made you cum?”

Emma stupidly shook her head. “Then get to work.” Regina tilted her hips upwards toward the blonde’s mouth.

Emma finally got the hint and tilted her head down to grasp the black, silk underwear between her teeth. A pang of arousal shocked her body as she smelled just how much her punishment had affected the Mayor. She was about to comment on it, but bit back a retort.

The brunette smiled proudly at the speed at which her panties were removed. She slowly stepped out of them before straddling the young woman’s waist. She grinded against her exposed skin for a minute, biting back a moan at how her wetness seeped out and coated the pale tummy beneath her.

Emma’s eyes flashed fear as Regina climbed even further so she was above her face. “Take a deep breath, Miss Swan,” the Queen ordered before lowering herself down onto the blonde’s face.

Immediately, a moan broke the silence. Emma hadn’t been prepared and had awkwardly held her tongue out, which then slid deep within Regina’s soaked pussy. She had never eaten a woman out before, but judging by Regina’s movements, it was pretty simple.

She dipped her tongue in a few more times before pulling back, savoring the musky flavor of the other woman coating her taste buds. She then lapped at the liquid on each side of her labia, giving a slight tug to her lips with her teeth. “No biting,” Regina hissed, her hand curling into the blonde’s tresses and nails digging into her scalp.

Emma moaned which in turn caused the woman above her to do the same as it vibrated through her body. She finally found the tiny, pink pearl nestled within its hood, just barely exposed. She sucked on it hard, and a coat of juices ran down her chin.

The wet sounds of tongue against pussy caused Emma’s pussy to clench in want. She gasped against Regina as she felt the woman dip a finger inside of her. It was gone before she could blink, however, and the brunette began rocking against her face in earnest.

“Cum for me,” Emma mumbled against her.

Regina immediately pulled back, yanking her hair and tilting her chin. “You don’t give me orders, Miss Swan. I own you, not the other way around.”

Emma’s mouth fell open but no words came out as Regina stood and plunged three fingers inside of herself, the other hand twisting and squeezing her hardened nipples beneath her black bra. She came with a ragged cry, panting and only looking at Emma once she was fully recovered.

Then she left without a word, leaving Emma helpless. Aching. Wanting. Owned. Controlled. As Emma looked down at her wrist to see Regina had removed the cuff a while ago, she realized that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

#swan queen #swanqueenoneshot #swan queen fanfic #once upon a time fanfiction #ouat

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grapeinacape-blog · 5 years

Text

The Fuzz

“You are a selfish, awful person! I hate you. And so does everyone else.” He paused then, a malicious sneer spreading across his face as he stepped closer to her. She could smell the pungent breath before she heard his final words. “You disgust me.” He had walked out after that and she had been abandoned with a sense of seething rage, confused at his words.

All she wanted was revenge. Delicious, burning revenge. Secreted behind a plethora of pill boxes were a pair of scissors, which she took. As the hours passed, she waited. Stomach tight, teeth clenched, the anger did not fade.

When the moment came, it was glorious. Screams filling her ears, as she stabbed and tore and ripped and sliced, until the room was deafened with silence.

Hands stained red she could barely look at the mess she had made. Insides decorated a once pristine room. Tears rolled across her cheeks, hands trembling.

Running. Painfully aware of the way her legs ache and whine as she pushes further on. A gap in the wall catches her eye. Able to worm her way through it, she is now secluded in a small alleyway between two buildings, littered with cigarette butts, stained newspapers and faeces. The smell invaded her nostrils; a mixture of sweat, eggs and rotten potatoes. With every breath it attacked the back of her throat, tearing at the flesh and churning her stomach. With the few trembling breaths she takes, she is thankful to finally have gotten away. For now. She’s not sure how she’ll do it; spending the rest of her life running. For the time being she is winning, unable to see the other competitors. But they could catch up with her at any moment- fear keeps her from looking back. The dread fills her as she gasps for breath, resting her forehead on her knees. They won’t find me here. They can’t. I just need a moment to think. The sounds of horns fills her ears, blaring their way down the strip. Over confident youths revving engines, drunken singing and the hubbub of gossip. She was able to make out a word or two, but they were gone quicker than they’d arrived.

Closing her eyes, she is hit with the realisation that this is just a moment of respite. A fleeting stop before she’s on her way again. But she needs a plan. Rummaging in her bag frantically, she watches the buses- flashes of blue and white. She counts the money slowly and the thought of being able to rest gives her legs a second wind, so that she can stand. Stretching them in front of her, she takes the opportunity to survey her surroundings. Pulling her coat tighter around her, she is hit with the stinging bitterness of the weather. There’s a light at the end of a tunnel now. Looking out from the gap she has hidden herself in, all to see are miles and miles of giant, stone monsters towering above her. Accompanying them are cameras, sitting on the shoulder of a giant, keeping its eye on everyone as they walk past. Scrutinising as it moves from left to right and from right to left. She pulls her hood up. In such a busy area, bustling with people and revving engines, she’ll fit right in, and there is bound to be a hotel along the street.

Taking a deep breath, she throws herself back into the street. Unfamiliar faces, unkind words, being so scared she couldn’t feel her legs, her heart in her throat. Thoughts spun around her mind, clouding her view as she stumbled along the pathway.

She is snapped from her reverie by shouts behind her. They were getting louder; they were getting closer.

“Hey! You! Hey!”

Fear struck. Heart in her stomach, she ran. Hands trembling, throat tight. Running, eyes glancing inside windows as she passed, hunting for somewhere to rest. Somewhere safe.

“Where have you been? Oh my god, it’s been so long!” The same voice screamed and she slowed to a walk, relief flooding over her in vicious, rough waves.

She didn’t know when or where she’d be caught. There was no way to prevent the inevitable. Stomach turning, she stared at the ground, willing her lunch to stay down. Then it hit her. The billowing chest of a man at least a foot or two taller than her. She froze. It seemed to take an age for her eyes to finally make it to his face.

Ketchup stained the creases of his mouth, dribbled remains of coffee lingered in his unkempt beard and when he smiled, she wasn’t sure whether he’d just eaten a large amount of dark chocolate or whether his teeth really were just black. Those that were left, that is.

“Sorry. I wasn’t-” She began quickly, before he cut her off and placed a greasy, fat hand on her shoulder, practically pressing her down with the weight. She was frozen to the spot.

“Can I help ya, sweetheart?” He asked, leaning closer to her face.

The rancid stench resembling expired milk dripped from every pore, leaving her speechless. She wasn’t sure her food would stay down if she opened her mouth. Shaking her head quickly, she managed to free herself from his grasp. She didn’t run, he looked the type to follow.

“’Ere! Come back! Can’t be lettin’ a girl like you go alone.” He shouted after her, but the words fell upon deaf ears.

Soon enough, he was just a speck in the distance; another competitor had bitten the dust. She stopped where she could, leaning along the flat, grimy stone, stained with moss. Running a hand through her hair, she shook her head.

I should just go back. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have… Is it too late? She stared at the contents of her bag, chewing on her bottom lip.

She stayed there for a couple of minutes. Unmoving, uncertain and scared. This wasn’t the type of life for her. She’d never done anything like this before, now was certainly not the best time to start.

Eventually, she was able to move again. Slow, baby steps, as though scared of what the next hurdle may be. She had lost all thoughts of a plan and found herself struggling to string together a coherent thought. For now, she is just putting distance between herself and the others.

Oranges and yellows saturated the sky. Puddles sparkled in what was left of the sunlight and the wind whistled a low and melodious tune. Breathtakingly beautiful as the clouds danced across the sky, waltzing with the birds.

She entered the next building she came to; a hotel. Cream coloured and pristine, she felt like an ant. Making her way to the front desk was no different. The woman looked to be mid-thirties. A wide, unwavering smile plastered itself across her face.

“Oh darling, do you have a room here already?” She peered over the desk, glasses resting on the end of her nose as she looked down at the other.

“No. I would like a room for the night, please.” Remembering her manners, she put the bag on the desk, flipping it and spilling the contents before the woman, whose face flashed with… something. Confusion maybe? The smile returned to her lips as quickly as it had left.

A couple of coins fell to the ground, rolling under the desk. Falling to her knees she managed to rescue them, placing them upon the desk in the crumpled heap.

“A room. Just for tonight.” She reiterated. “Please,” was added as an afterthought.

The receptionist opened her mouth, as though wanting to protest the booking arrangement.

“Of course, darling. I’ll just have to sort that out. I might need some details, hun. Is that okay?” She seemed to make quite a few clicks on the mouse, as though sporadically clicking a black screen.

There was no answer. Staring at the receptionist, she waited. Something was coming. She felt it, from the core of her stomach, scratching at her throat, warning her. She didn’t listen.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Lizzie Masterson.” The thought of lying didn’t cross her mind, though she knew now she probably should have.

“When’s your birthday?”

“17th of June.”

“And what year were you born, darling?”

She didn’t answer.

“Where are your parents, honey?”

“I’m in trouble. I just need a room.”

“Come, sit down back here with me. We’ll fix it together, won’t we?”

“No. I have enough money- I counted. A room. Please.” Desperation drenched her voice.

“They’ll be here soon, babe. How about I get you a drink?”

“No!” Taking slow steps back, she abandoned the heap of money and the small bag, hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to- it was an accident. I was angry and… I’m in trouble. They’ll be so angry.” Wringing her hands, she continued to shuffle backwards, knees weak.

Run. Run. Run. She couldn’t move.

“Hey now, don’t panic. It’s okay. They’re on their way and they’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Don’t come near me.” She warned, holding her hands up.

“Come on, we’ll get you nice and calm for when they get here.” Arms outstretched, the receptionist took steps twice the size of the other girl.

“I said, don’t touch me!”

The sharp ringing of a phone shook her out of her staring and the girl turned her gaze to the phone on the counter, holding her breath.

The receptionist stood completely still for a couple of moments before snatching the phone from the desk and bringing it to her ear. She did not take her eyes off Lizzie, afraid the girl would take her chance and run.

“Hello?” She took a pregnant pause and Lizzie was frozen, a deer in headlights. A shiver ran down her spine, her skin crawling as the cold held her in its icy grasp. “Her name is Lizzie. Brown hair in pigtails. Blue eyes.” Another pause.

“What are you doing?” At this, the girl took a step forwards; a bold but silly move.

The receptionist grabbed Lizzie’s wrist. Like a vulture, she held her prey, just waiting for the last fight to fizzle from its eyes. There was no risk of escape.

“She’ll be here. See you soon, Detective.”

“Stop it! Let go of me. I can’t be here when they come. Stop it.” Lizzie wasn’t thinking anymore, words spilling from her mouth as thoughts bounded around her mind, stabbing and pricking and hurting.

“Elizabeth!” The thunderous boom came from behind and Lizzie’s blood ran cold, throat tightening as she gasped for breath. He towered above her, turning his cold eyes to the back of her head. She felt it burning into her, tearing her heart into pieces.

“Daddy, I didn’t-” She was interrupted before she could stammer out an excuse.

“Where did you go? Come here. You scared us. Why would you do that, darling?” He took the child from the receptionist’s arms, cradling her as though she was a porcelain doll.

“Peter was horrible. I was so angry. And his teddy bear…”

She remembered when the moment had come. Screams from her brother filled her ears, as she stabbed and tore and ripped and sliced into the stuffed bear until the room was deafened with silence as Peter’s tears rolled down his face relentlessly. Catching her thumb and staining her hands red, she focussed on her brother’s grief stricken face. White stuffing strewn across the room as she began to bawl.

“Lizzie. We were so worried. You are in so much trouble, but for now… You need to apologise to your brother, don’t you?” Wrapping his arms around his youngest, he held her close, pressing his face into her hair. She smelt of Parma Violets.

Lizzie glanced to her brother, who clutched a headless bear to his chest, bottom lip stuck out as he eyed his sister.

“I’m sorry Peter. I shouldn’t have hurt him.”

Peter joined them with no hesitation, clasping his baby sister close; He’d never let her go again.

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tessatechaitea · 7 years

Text

Justice League of America #6

How are new readers going to know they should pick this up because Lobo is in it? This is a poor choice of covers.

Remember the good old days when every drop of Lobo's blood could regenerate into a full Lobo? How did that never become the explanation for Twat Lobo and Magenta Timeline Lobo? Seriously missed opportunity.

Meanwhile on some more pages without Lobo therefore they're wasted pages, Killer Frost saves some civilians by freezing a terrorist's arm off. The civilians are ungrateful wretches who can't see the humor in a terrorist who just threatened the lives of their children losing his arm. Killer Frost is all, "Um, whoops? Don't tell Batman?" The Ray refuses to tear out Lobo's heart for some reason. I bet it's because he's in loOoOoOoOove with Lobo! I mean, who isn't? But The Ray doesn't want to hurt the person he loves. I'm using "love" in the way all people who don't believe in love use it: to camouflage from romantic types that we're actually saying "Please give me oral pleasure until I humiliate myself in front of you with my satisfaction noises." The Ray does cut out Lobo's heart after Lobo yells at him the way his mother used to yell at him when he tried to peak out of his dark bedroom window. After reading so many DC Comics for so many years, I have to wonder why I don't have super powers! My mom was the most paranoid and manipulative person and my dad left when I was two to become a giant drunk absentee bastard! Where is the justice that I get all of the Mommy and Daddy Issues and none of the super powers and hot trim?! Lobo collapses because he doesn't have a heart anymore. It's not that he dies at that moment. It's just that he can't do much without any blood pumping oxygen to his brain. He just has to wait until his undying cells that can't die repair the damage and get the overall system back up and running. It's like a city that stops functioning because an earthquake destroyed most of the infrastructure. The people are still alive even though the city has come to a halt. They just have to get to work fixing it up again. Until Lobo regenerates, I guess I'll just have to suffer through a bout of being bored by this comic book. This story is called "The Heart of a Bastich." Is bastich Latin? Do you conjugate nouns in Latin? Bastich. Basteres. Bastard. Basteremus. Bastarent. Um, anyway, I don't think the title refers to Lobo referring to himself (because of the conjgation! Duh!). I bet it turns out to be Ryan Choi who shows himself to be a real bastich because he's the only one currently facing off against Aegeus. Everybody is probably thinking, "Oh no! The poor little grad student in the nerdy glasses can't stand up to a great big charismatic terrorist who probably has a huge, thick penis! He's going to die!" But instead, he's going to be all, "I'm gonna fuck you so hard Aegeus!" Then he'll grow really small and everybody will be all, "Where is he?" Then Aegeus will get a weird look on his face. Everybody will recognize that look as the one where you suddenly feel your asshole get itchy due to physical exertion, sweat, and a rancid dingleberry you hadn't know was stuck up in there. Then you contemplate how to deal with it. Do you unsatisfyingly scratch the itch through your clothing as people nearby make disgusted looks and judge as if they've never done that before. Or do you go all in and shove your hand down the back of your pants and stick a finger way up there so that it feels like you're scratching the inside of the front of your skin, after which you remove your hand and then stall for a few moments as you glance around at who might be watching before you casually pretend to scratch your nose so you can sniff your fingers. You know that look? That's the look Aegeus will have just before The Atom expands to full size and explodes Aegeus's colon all over the room. Oh. It doesn't happen that way. I can't say I'm disappointed though because Atom's life is rescued this way instead:

Yay Lobo! My penis rejoices at your renewed vigor!

Lobo and The Ray are merely a distraction so that The Atom can prove himself in battle. He turns tiny, avoids Aegeus's butthole, and turns big again, using the power of density or mass increasing or quantum hullabaloo to knock Aegeus out in one nerdy punch. Lobo instantly takes credit for Ryan's newfound ability to commit violent acts. Some people don't like Lobo but that's probably because they've read versions of Lobo written and drawn by people who either don't like Lobo or don't understand Lobo. Nobody would be surprised how many writers used Lobo in the 90s simply to get a boost in sales while hating themselves for using a character they despised. And it's less surprising than that even that they would treat him as a joke and make him look as idiotic as possible. But sometimes a writer gets the character and my heart sings. Other times, an artist really gets the character and a part of me that got me banned from all Popeye's restaurants sings.

Andy MacDonald, you make my anal sphincter sing!

You don't need to hear the story about my banishment from Popeye's. But if you want more details to help create the scenario in your imagination, here are a few keywords: spicy chicken, dare, Tubgirl reenactment. Let me say goodbye to a few followers of my blog right now since I won't get the chance after the next sentence. I'm not sure what Lobo is threatening to do to Aegeus at the end of the above scan but I know it doesn't have anything to do with rape because that would be wrong and never funny. Especially when Lobo knows the humiliation of being married and raped by a Gothamite pervert super hero. If Lobo learned the opposite lesson, you wouldn't know it because it's not like Lobo said in the panel before the scanned panels, "I got something ta finish up. Ya might want to avert yer eyes. Also, do we have a wedding dress and a camcorder?" I mean, he said some of that! But probably not all of it. After whatever just happened to Aegeus in the space between pages happens, his army's flying steeds turn back into salt. Without scary steeds, the army surrenders to the angry citizens of Penn City. The next day, Batman lets everybody know that "Aegeus' injuries are being treated." I would have said "Aegeus's injuries" but then I'm just smarter. Anyway, what could those injuries have been? Nobody goes into detail! Batman warned Lobo against maiming and Batman hasn't one-punched Lobo into being a better person yet, so I'm guessing Lobo just beat the guy with a tube sock stuffed with a bar of soap. Incidentally, that's the exact turn of phrase a person would use t describe a Czarnian penis. The citizens tell Batman, "You know, thanks for, like, stopping that jerk. But he was, you know, paying us money. So now were broke and shit. What are you going to do about that, asshole?" Before Batman can break the dick's jaw, Vixen pipes up. She's all, "I'll set up one of my non-profits here and you can all get jobs!" Then a bunch of the dumber and Republican residents are all, "How are we going to make money if it's a non-profit?! Get out of here with your communist bullshit! I'd rather starve!" But Vixen, undaunted, continues, "People notice my shit. More businesses will move in. Wealthy businesses! The totally for profit kind! The kind that probably has a big 'W' in the name, if Batman gets my fucking drift!" Then everybody cheers at the good news without realizing that they're just going to go back to making weapons in a few months when WayneTech moves in. Later, Lobo gets me all teary eyed because I'm a pusstich, I guess.

Forget the cutesy-wutesy bonding bullshit! What did Batman promise Lobo?! I bet Batman promised to build him a glory hole portal into a sexy dimension!

I hope nobody ever shows Lobo a copy of The Cove. Japan thought the ending of World War II was awful? Wait until Lobo tattoos Fat Man and Little Boy onto his left and right fist (respectively) and wades onto their shores. Xenos moves into The Sanctuary to help build weapons and polish Silver. That wasn't a typo; Silver is the name of Ray's penis. I'm so happy that this comic book currently exists! Steve Orlando seems to understand and love violent psychopathic characters as much as I do! I know Twat Lobo was last seen in Larfleeze's trophy case but I hope Real Deal Lobo gets a chance to murder the fuck out of him. Multiple times even!

#Justice League of America #Lobo #DC Comics #Steve Orlando #Andy MacDonald #Hi-Fi

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