#cw: graphic violence
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Devil in Disguise- part two (Steddie!My Bloody Valentine)
Part one here (read this first)
Rated E • read on ao3 • cw: blood, blood kink, graphic violence, smut • tags: no UD, serial killer Steve & Eddie is into it
Steve pulled open his door and a very familiar mask fell to the ground.
They both stared at the mask for a long heart-stopping moment. Eddie gathered his composure first and looked around the parking lot to make sure no one else had seen them.
He quickly bent and snatched it up, throwing it into Steve’s open door. “Watch out, Harrington, don’t you know there’s a killer on the loose? Maybe you should follow me back to mine, to be safe.”
Steve gaped at him for a long moment before giving him a curt nod and putting his bag of groceries in the front seat.
“Uh. You’re sure?” He mumbled, not looking at Eddie.
“Yeah. Positive.”
At the shop, he pulled his own car out front and waved Steve into one of the service bays after he opened the garage door. He ducked under the door and locked up.
Steve was leaning against the door of his truck, looking down fidgeting with his hands and he watched him for a moment. The perfect swoop of hair falling down over his eyes, the exact cut of his broad shoulders in his coat, even the ways his fingers moved. He tried to memorize every detail.
He walked the handful of steps towards him and wrapped his own fingers around his.
“Hi there, big boy,” he teased.
Steve gasped but then his face broke into a wide beautiful smile. “You knew?”
He gave a tiny shake of his head and Steve’s face fell.
Eddie cupped his jaw and leaned in, looking for any flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Not until now. But I wanted it to be you.”
Instead, Steve closed his eyes and pulled him closer, giving him a more gentle kiss than Eddie expected. Steve pulled back to gaze into his eyes again before walking him backwards and pushing him against the wall, meeting in a much rougher, hungrier kiss. That was more like it.
Eddie groaned as a thick thigh shoved its way between his own. He pulled at the hair at the base of Steve’s skull and reveled in the groan he received. But he didn’t want them to come in their pants again. He needed more.
“Steve,” he tried, but breaking the kiss sent a hot wet mouth down his jaw and throat and he gasped. “Please. Need you to fuck me.”
The answering moan would’ve made his knees buckle if it weren’t for the leg between his and the body pressing him to the wall.
“God you’re fucking perfect, baby. Stay right there.” Steve moved away from him, dragging his fingers down his chest as he backed away. Eddie dropped his head back against the wall and tried to suck in some breaths.
“So good for me,” he rumbled when he came back, tugging Eddie’s belt open making him look down at his big hands. He finally clued in that he should lend a hand and kicked his shoes off as Steve slid his zipper down. Together they got his jeans and underwear off, and Eddie went to turn around, but Steve stopped him. “Wanna see you. I got you.”
Eddie gasped as he was lifted up, his legs wrapping around Steve’s hips and his hard cock rubbing between them. “Oh fuck,” he breathed as Steve trapped him against his body and the wall.
Steve captured his mouth just as big wet fingers slid over his entrance. He quickly slid a finger up to the knuckle and Eddie’s thighs tensed around him, dick leaking freely now onto his shirt.
Eddie broke the kiss to look into his eyes and let out a whimper.
“I know, greedy. We’re getting there.” Steve seemed completely nonplussed by their position or anywhere near as desperate as Eddie felt. His head fell forward and he smiled against Steve’s throat when he located the mark he had left the previous night. Steve finally groaned and his hips jolted into his when Eddie bit into the mark.
Eddie panted as a second and third finger were added in quick succession, wanting his cock inside of him already.
“C’mon, want it to hurt. Fuck me down on that big cock.”
Steve hissed as he sucked a bigger mark into his neck, but continued preparing him and added more lube.
Finally he pulled his fingers out, unbuttoning and unzipping his fly to pull himself out. Eddie felt the blunt head rub against him, crying out as Steve teased him with it for an excruciatingly long moment.
“All the attitude gone already? Should I give it to you now? Or carry you upstairs first?”
Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head and his stomach swooped at the sudden visual of Steve manhandling him up the steps to his apartment.
“Oh, he likes that, huh? Want me dragging you around wherever I want? Should I make you come on every surface in your house?”
He nodded and panted but had to fight back a little bit. “What makes you think you’d be the first one to do that? But I do like how mouthy you are without the mask.”
Steve growled and his dick twitched hard between them. “Oh, I’m mouthy? A murderer breaks into your house and you teased him and told him to leave the mask on while he fucked you.”
“It was you!” He leaned back to look into his eyes, and was met with a cheeky smile.
“Well yeah, but you didn’t know that at the time. You were just being a little whore.” Steve took that opportunity to slide into him finally, fucking away any argument Eddie had been about to make. “That’s it, huh baby? Just need someone to come shut you up with a cock. That’s all you need, right?”
“Oh, oh, oh,” Eddie chanted as he was shoved up and down on the huge intrusion. He hoped he had bruises on his hips.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, we both know it’s true. See how quiet and content you are now?” His sharp condescending tone was doing something to Eddie’s insides and he was already so close.
His head flopped back into the wall and Steve’s mouth attached itself to his throat. A twist of his hips sent his cock over Eddie’s prostate just as he scraped his teeth down his pulse point. Eddie dug his fingernails into his coat as he came hard between them.
“Fuck, baby,” Steve huffed as he fucked him through it, Eddie’s walls clenching around him.
“So fucking good, oh my god,” Eddie sighed, barely aware of where he was until the world spun around him. “Shit! Steve!” He clung onto him and moaned in spite of himself when he realized Steve had pulled away from the wall and was walking him across the garage to the steps. Steve was still hard inside of him. Fucking him with his coat and boots still on.
“I’ve got you,” he chuckled against him, even letting go of him with one hand to turn the doorknob.
He shook his head a bit wildly, but then could only whimper and pant as he was fucked silent while carried up the stairs.
“You gunna make it, honey?” Steve teased as he again opened the door while holding him, fucking him down on his cock.
Giggling deliriously, he could only shrug and bury his face into Steve’s shoulder.
“Mhm. What do you think? Bed? Or should we start checking rooms off the list?”
“You are such a- ah!” His eyes rolled back as he was pushed against the wall in the kitchen, Steve rolling his hips and mouthing down his neck.
“I’m a what, baby?”
Eddie could still only whimper as he was fucked within an inch of his life. How was Steve so unaffected by all of this?
“B-bed, please, omigod,” he panted. But then he was carried down the hall, bumping along on the huge dick still inside of him. “God, I’m keeping you,” he sighed. He held on as Steve kicked his boots off and pushed his jeans down and off.
“I’ll hold you to that, Eds.”
Steve grinned at him as he sat back against the pillows, helping Eddie get his legs on either side before shrugging out of his jacket. Eddie pulled his own shirt off with some helpful hands untangling it from his hair.
Now that they were on more equal footing, Eddie rolled his own hips down and smirked as Steve’s mouth dropped open.
“Can you come more than once, big boy?” He planted his hands on his shoulders and went up on his knees.
“Big talk from the person who literally passed out when I made him come twice.”
Eddie swatted at his chest, “Would you shut up, oh my god.” They both laughed and Eddie needed to kiss him. Maybe to shut him up or maybe just to kiss him.
Steve raked his hands through his tangled mess of hair but the handful he pulled made him moan and rock back.
He was so close again but he didn’t want this to be over. Steve wrapped a hand around his dick and he pulled back with a hiss.
As he was about to argue again, Steve flipped them and pulled his tshirt off by the collar. All thoughts of arguing left his brain as he was staring at the expanse of his broad shoulders and chest hair over him.
He scratched his nails down the center of his chest and Steve sucked in a breath.
“How are you real,” Eddie breathed.
“I was about to ask you the same.” Their mouths collided and his legs wrapped around Steve’s back again.
He cried out again and again as he was pounded into, trying to pull Steve closer and closer until they could become the same person.
A big hand snaked between them to wrap around his leaking cock.
“Come with me, Eds. Oh fuck, I-“ Steve looked at him with wild eyes as they both panted through their completion. “So good for me.” Steve pressed kisses down his face before slowly pulling out.
The next morning, he was woken up by Steve pulling the hair away from his face to press kisses on his cheek and down his shoulder and back.
“Good morning sleepyhead. C’mon, food’s done.”
Eddie cracked an eye open to try to see his face. “You cooked breakfast?”
He felt his smile on his shoulder and Steve hummed affirmatively. “Well, I did the best I could with the meager supplies you had.”
“Well someone distracted me before I could get any shopping done last night. We’ll have to go today, I guess.”
It wasn’t until much later in the day before they could make it back down to the grocery store, a shower leading to an even longer distraction.
“Ooh, do you like pork chops? We could do that for dinner.” They were alone in the aisle so he didn’t think he needed to worry, but once they got to the only open register they didn’t receive a warm welcome.
Instead of one of the teenagers or Sarah who usually ran register in the evenings, it was the owner Mr. O’Neil who greeted them with a sour look on his face.
“Didn’t figure you for a queer, Munson,” he spat as they unloaded their groceries in front of them.
Eddie raised his eyebrows but didn’t feed into it. However, he could feel Steve stiffen next to him.
With a humorless laugh, Eddie forced himself to hold eye contact with Mr. O’Neil and asked, “Where’s Sarah tonight?”
As the man started scanning the items and dumping them in bags, Eddie almost asked him to watch the carton of eggs but just decided to ignore it when the man stared him down, almost begging him to crush them completely.
“She had to go home to deal with her sick kid, made up something like a 103° fever or some nonsense. I’ve been having to deal with the place all by myself all day because none of the other asswipes I hired were home or had some other excuse. I’m fixing to close up here, no one’s been in the last hour or so. Other than you two.” He looked them over again, eyes hard when they found the almost identical marks on their necks. “Shame, really. Guess I’ll have to take my truck over to Jefferson now.”
He could almost feel Steve vibrating next to him. After Eddie paid the total, Mr. O’Neil stomped back towards his office without another glance towards them.
Eddie finally looked up at Steve. He gulped when he saw the look in his eye as his gaze followed Mr. O’Neil down the aisle.
“Steve-“
Keeping his voice low and his eyes turned to the back of the store, he said, “Go to the front and lock the door. Stay hidden.”
Eddie knew better than to argue so he took their bags of groceries towards the front door, swapping the sign to closed and locking it. He ducked behind the service desk counter by the door.
A few moments later, he jumped but thankfully didn’t make any sound when all the lights suddenly turned off. The emergency lights clicked on a few seconds later.
“What the hell?” Mr. O’Neil shouted from his office and footsteps thundered into the store.
Eddie had no idea where Steve had gone, but he hoped he had a plan. He slowly peeked up over the counter in front of him, trying to stay low enough to keep out of sight but he needed to know what was happening.
A crash echoed out from the other end of the store and he watched the shadowy figure of Mr. O’Neil go to investigate, and the corresponding figure of Steve heading the opposite way on the other side of the aisles.
There was another bang towards the back of the store and he yelled out, “Who’s there? I swear-“ before an even louder slam of a door drowned him out. Steve was ping ponging around the store, keeping out of sight and making the store owner follow the eerie noises around in the darkness.
Eddie had never witnessed something so calculated and haunting. It was like watching a tiger stalk its prey, and the anticipation of the pounce was unbearable. Eddie’s heart was beating out of his chest but his dick was throbbing in his pants.
Suddenly next to his head at the counter, the telephone rang sharply and Eddie stared at it unblinkingly for a torturously long moment. Jumping into action, he scrambled to unplug the phone line from the base, but doing so brought him into view of the store. His shaking hands couldn’t get the push pull of the connection right, and he swore under his breath as he fumbled with it for a heart pounding moment.
Mr. O’Neil whipped around the end of the last aisle just as Eddie stopped the phone from ringing.
“You!” He hissed, face red and veins bulging from his neck.
He thundered towards him but Eddie could see someone quickly approaching from behind.
Mr. O’Neil took another couple steps towards the service desk while Eddie stood frozen.
“Stay away from him, motherfucker,” Steve growled, making a shiver run down Eddie’s spine as he watched the store owner quickly turn to face him and a baseball bat smash into the side of his head.
Blood shot across Steve’s intense face, and they both watched as the man’s body dropped to the floor with another skull cracking sound.
But Steve didn’t let up, raising the bat above his head, he brought it down into the man’s already mangled face, spraying blood again and again.
“Steve,” Eddie breathed. When he didn’t stop, he cleared his throat and managed in a louder voice, “Steve, baby, stop.”
As if he had only remembered he was there, Steve sucked in a breath and turned to look at him. With a final grimace down at the mess on the floor, he did a quick wrist spin move with the bat before letting it fall on top of the body. Spitting out a gruff, “See you in hell.”
Then he turned and hurried towards him. Eddie was finally able to move and went around the counter to meet him.
“You okay? Nice work with the phone.”
Eddie answered him by pulling him into a heated kiss, swallowing Steve’s gasp and deepening the kiss as he responded.
Steve pulled back sharply and took a step back, looking down at his bloody clothes and hands. “Stop, I don’t want you to get-“
“I do,” Eddie panted, stepping closer again and cupping his blood-stained jaw. “Want all of it. Please.”
Steve looked at him appraisingly for a long moment, before a smirk appeared on his face. “You like this, don’t you?”
Eddie could only nod, letting his gaze drag down Steve’s blood splattered clothes. “Please touch me.”
They both moved at the same time to shrug out of coats and kick out of shoes.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Eddie whispered as he watched Steve’s bloodied hands unzip his jeans. He’d gone without underwear after their shower and Eddie groaned as he caught a glimpse of his cock.
“Take your pants off and get up on the counter.” Steve’s eyes darkened as he followed his instructions, hissing as his bare ass hit the cold wood. “Stay there. Gunna give you what you want, baby.”
Eddie pulled his shirt off over his head quickly and leaned back, watching to see what Steve was about to do.
“Catch,” Steve warned, before tossing a box at him.
He snickered as he opened the package of lube he’d snatched from the store shelf.
Steve picked up the baseball bat from the floor and gathered blood from it, looking up from under his lashes at Eddie as he did it.
“You’re fucking perfect, honey. Look at you. Drooling for it, aren’t you?”
He could only lick his lips and nod at him, watching him slowly walk back over with his drenched hands. As he got closer, Eddie spread his legs unconsciously.
Steve groaned, catching the movement. “Oh yeah? That what you want, dirty boy?”
The jolt of humiliation and shame only added to his arousal, especially since Steve was staring down at him like he wanted to devour him.
“Yes,” he managed, staring at his reddened hands.
Steve spat into his hand, mixing it with the blood and smirking as Eddie watched entranced.
“Let me see, Eds,” he murmured, looking pointedly down between him.
Eddie spread his legs wider, pulling his legs back towards him to give Steve the access he needed.
“Oh fuck,” he whined as Steve rubbed the filthy concoction across his hole. “Please, please hurry.” He knew he wasn’t going to last long and he needed him inside.
Steve hummed and pushed forward with two big fingers, Eddie’s rim giving in to the pressure after being stretched earlier.
“So good for me,” he breathed, wrapping his other bloodied hand around Eddie’s hard length and making him cry out. “Come for me and then I’ll fill you up again.”
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie swore past clenched teeth as another finger shoved into him and crooked up to find his prostate, his eyes never leaving the hand smearing that asshole’s blood on his cock.
“Give me some of that slick, baby. Need something else.”
Eddie groaned as he fumbled around for the small tube next to him, still watching Steve’s hands. He managed to squirt some into both outstretched hands before dropping it next to him.
“That’s it, gunna come for me? Make an even bigger mess,” Steve smirked at him as he continued his stroking and pushed his fingers back inside of him.
As soon as the fourth finger joined the rest and Steve flicked his thumb under the head of Eddie’s cock, he was crying out, his eyes rolling back as he came hard over his hand.
Steve pulled away, stepping back to wiggle out of his jeans. Making sure Eddie could see, he swiped up another handful of blood from the growing puddle on the floor. Finally as he walked back towards the counter he stroked his messy hands down his own hard length. Eddie’s dick twitched on his belly.
“Fuck, how are you real?” Steve groaned.
“Get over here already,” he demanded, deliriously reaching out for him.
“So mouthy,” Steve tsked at him but came closer with a shit eating grin. “Here, baby, you need something to shut you up?”
Eddie opened his mouth to continue to argue and received three large fingers covered in various bodily fluids and lube in his mouth.
“There you go. Always gunna give you what you need, greedy boy.”
The head of his big cock pushed roughly past his rim and he wrapped his legs around Steve’s back, pulling him in even closer.
Licking and sucking around the fingers in his mouth and trying to meet the hard thrusts into him, he lost himself in the back and forth for a bit. His own cock was sliding deliciously between their bodies, quickly hardening again. The zing of copper in his mouth reminding him what Steve was capable of, the adrenaline still pumping through him heightening everything.
Steve pulled his fingers out roughly and chuckled at his sad noise. “Oh you’re okay,” he cooed. “Love all of your holes filled and bloody, huh? Like you were fucking made for me. Fuck, baby. Come with me.”
Eddie saw stars as he came untouched between them, holding on desperately to Steve’s shoulders as he pounded into him. His hips stuttered against his ass as he finally came inside of him.
“Don’t fall asleep on me, we gotta get out of here.”
The bell above the door jingled as Jeff walked into the mechanic shop the next morning, a grim look on his face.
Eddie immediately put his hands in the air, widening his eyes. “I didn’t do it, Sheriff, I was just an accessory.”
Jeff huffed and shook his head, helping himself to the coffee pot in the corner. “That’s not funny, man. Sarah found Mr. O’Neil dead this morning… it was a whole mess.”
“You’re kidding,” Eddie said, hoping it came off as genuine.
“I wish. This has been a day. You’re the last on my list, I was-“
“Huh? What list?” Eddie’s heart was in his throat. He rubbed his hands on a towel and came closer as Jeff shook sugar into his cup.
“Ed, I think this was Steve Harrington. And the people in the mine. I got a call last night, I was going to go talk to him today. And now…” Jeff shook his head again, sighing. “He broke out of a mental institution. When they told him his dad died. He’s not who you think he is, man.”
Eddie gulped. “What do you mean?”
“I know you guys hung out at the bar the other day. Benny said you guys were really chumming it up. Did he say anything to you? About where he’s been? Anything weird at all?”
Eddie silently sighed in relief. Okay, this they could handle. “No, man. Reminisced about high school, just talking shit, you know. That’s wild. What are you going to do?”
He was relieved that Steve had left that morning, saying he had to pay up at the motel and run some errands. Eddie had had some paperwork and cars on the books today so they’d agreed Steve would come back to his place later. Otherwise Steve’s truck would’ve been in the garage right behind where they were standing.
“We picked him up at the motel this morning, he’s not said a word to anyone since. Staring off like we’re not there. Spooky shit. The institution people are coming to pick him up tomorrow. Keep him safe while we gather evidence.”
Eddie’s stomach hit the floor. “Oh.”
He didn’t know what to do. He’d assumed they’d have more time, but Steve was already in custody.
Thankfully Jeff read his panic as something else. He walked over to put his hand on his shoulder. “I know this is hard, Ed. We all felt like we knew him, but that’s not him. Not really. But yeah, let me know if you think of anything. See you around.” He raised the paper cup of coffee at him with a nod.
Eddie sunk down into his desk chair as he watched Jeff drive off. What the fuck was he going to do?
As he cased the parking lot of the police station, he tried to calm his pounding heart. He knew Jeff was at the diner, had passed his cruiser and two others still at the grocery store.
The sun had set a few minutes ago, leaving just one dim light above him.
He walked quickly towards the group of cars in the middle of the lot, pulling tools from his jacket.
It took everything in him to touch the wires together that would set the alarm off intentionally, going against all of his instincts. But this was for Steve.
Once the car alarm blared, lights flashing, it set off the alarms of the cars around it. Eddie quickly grabbed his stuff and darted to the side of the building, watching and counting everyone who had ran outside.
“Eddie, baby,” Steve gasped when he saw him, jumping up and reaching an arm out through the bars.
Eddie stayed back just out of his reach. “Is it true?”
Steve nodded dejectedly, dropping his arm.
“Do you want to hurt me?” Eddie asked after another long moment.
Steve’s head shot back up, his jaw dropping for a moment before he could speak. “No, never, I swear. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. I’m sorry I-“
“I really care about you, Steve.” He took a step closer, looking into Steve’s eyes.
He looked a little shocked, but then he smiled and looked a bit more hopeful. “I care about you too, so much Eds. I lo-“
“Don’t.” Eddie stopped him with a head shake, finally closing the distance and reaching through to cup his face. “Not like this. Tell me later.”
Steve laughed lowly, reaching his arm out to pull him closer and putting his other hand over Eddie’s on his face. “I don’t know if I’ll see you later,” he argued sadly.
“Oh, about that,” Eddie said, pulling back. Steve frowned at him, reaching back for him. Eddie pulled a pouch out of his back pocket. His lock pick set.
When he pulled out two thin metal pieces and eyed the lock in the door between them, Steve laughed incredulously. “Where did you come from?”
Eddie grinned at him. “Keep an eye out for me, okay?”
“Always, beautiful.”
He knelt down, throwing a filthy smirk up at Steve who could only stand there looking at the door behind him.
The lock finally clicked under his tool and Eddie turned the handle, slowly opening the door so it didn’t make a sound.
Steve met him in a ravenous kiss. “How are you so perfect?”
“You can thank me later, big boy. Let’s get out of here.”
Steve frowned at him as they got into a dark SUV that was waiting for them at a side door. “Eds, whose car is this?”
Wincing, he put the car into drive. “We’re, uh, borrowing it? We can’t run from the police in our own cars, can we?”
“Fuck, I love you,” Steve laughed.
Eddie grinned at him. “I love you too. Happy Valentine’s day.”
Tag list: @nuggies4life @cherry-bunnyyy from part one 😘 thanks for waiting like forever
Ty @cafekitsune for the dividers 💕
#steddie#my bloody valentine#mine#Steve x eddie#dark fic#cw: blood#cw: graphic violence#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things fic#stranger things smut#steddie smut#STVillainousValentines
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UGLY human NATURE
a WITCH story
Word Count: 2.5k+
CW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, supernatural themes, body horror, depictions of graphic violence, witchcraft, description of digging up a body, owls (listen, don't judge, those things are freaky little fucks)
Nicholas panicked as he tried to assemble the pieces of what had once been his best friend.
Tears streamed down his face as he tried to remember what his Granny taught him about healing, but this seemed to be way beyond the healing point. This was probably at the Resurrecting-The-Dead point, and he knew that there would be nothing in Granny’s vast knowledge or hex books about this.
“What’s dead should stay dead,” Granny had once taught him, in reference to what went on in the woods behind her house. “Those who die in these Woods don't tend to stay dead.” But Granny didn’t know that his best friend, his brother, had been lost to that curse, and Nicholas was not going to lose Noah again.
But it looked like he was going to anyway.
He hadn’t meant to unleash his magic on Noah, but it had acted as a defense mechanism. And Noah… well… he still couldn’t figure out what had happened.
Nicholas had heard the sound of his name being called by a voice he hadn’t heard in a year. That should’ve been his first warning. You don’t go responding to voices coming from the Woods; that was practically Rule Number One in the Appalachian Mountains. Except he would raise hell and haint if it meant bringing Noah home. So he crawled out the guest room window of his Granny’s house and ran into the Woods.
He didn’t call out for Noah. That was a rule he wouldn’t break. But after several minutes of walking, he didn’t need to. There stood Noah, all six foot three inches of him, probably twenty feet away, looking like death. Noah smiled in relief when his dark eyes met his.
They both had taken a step towards each other when Noah had doubled over, crying out in pain, and then something cracked in him. Cracked multiple times as Noah seemed to grow even taller. His limbs snapped and elongated, like he was a tree growing in fast motion. An old nursery rhyme came to Nicholas’ mind as it tried to comprehend what was happening right before him.
The Towering Man will lure you from your home
And into the Woods where deep he roams
He’ll snap your bones like brittle sticks
After drawing you in with his clever little tricks
If you’re good and listen to your mama
You’ll have no worries, you’ll have no drama
Best keep your eyes upon the beaten path,
Unless you want to taste the tree man’s wrath.
Nicholas tried running, but he knew that his legs were no match for this abomination’s long appendages. Before he knew it, he was pinned to the ground, fighting for his life to get free. He managed to get a hand behind him, and suddenly his eyes were blinded by a bright light, and he was assaulted by a splitting headache. The pressure on him disappeared, and he scrambled up onto his feet.
But when he turned around to survey what he had released, he fell back onto his knees.
The creature was back to being Noah, but everything was wrong. Broken limbs, some twisted and snapped clean off. Instead of bones, there were sticks. But that was undoubtedly Noah’s face, staring up at him with lifeless eyes. Play with fire and you’ll get burned; another of Granny’s lessons.
He didn’t know why he was trying to put Noah back together like some kind of twisted puzzle or broken doll. All he knew was that he had to fix this before anyone found out. Tears dripped from his face and splashed onto the mix of skin and bark of his friend.
“Please, come back. I can’t lose you again,” he said. He tried to summon something, anything, to get his friend back. And the Woods answered.
Something was shining on his face. It wasn’t until it dripped down onto Noah’s body that he realized the light was coming from his tears, and where they landed, they quickly dissolved into Noah’s skin. The tears on Nicholas’ hands started to glow as well, and then his hands began glowing. He scrambled to put them on Noah’s chest.
The light spread through the veins in Noah’s chest and through his limbs. With cracking and rustling sounds, the skin mended together, but retained the bark texture. Noah’s iris’ glowed gold, and suddenly his head twisted with a snap to look at Nicholas. His arm shot out, grabbing a fistful of Nicholas’ short hair to pull him closer.
A yelp left Nicholas’ mouth, and for a second he thought that he had made a mistake; that he had let Noah’s quest to kill him continue, but Noah stopped pulling when Nicholas was hovering only a few inches over him. If someone happened to see them, they would probably think that they were about to kiss. Memories of what happened between them a few years ago came unbidden to Nicholas’ mind, and he had to fight the rush of heat to his face.
“You… idiot,” Noah gasped out.
Nicholas laughed as the golden light left Noah’s eyes, and then he fell over, passed out cold.
And that was how Nicholas Ruffilo became the Witch, the practitioner of the Shenandoah Valley.
Nicholas had only ever set eyes on one haint in his life, and that was Noah. The Black Stag didn’t count because it had been a god. So meeting Nick and Joakim was unnerving.
Especially when one was a large, mangy-looking wolf and the other was a literal naked corpse.
“I… uh… hope I’m not too late,” he said, looking nervously between the two.
A few hours ago, he had been mindlessly sketching some tattoo designs for a client, when he felt like his brain was getting lobotomized. At first, it was just one word:
HELP.
It was easy to ignore at first. Just his mind playing tricks on him, probably from the combination of lack of sleep and the blue light of his tablet. But then he heard the voice again, with less pain and more familiarity:
NICK NICK NICK HELP NICK PLEASE HELP.
And with that, he jumped into action.
If that really was Noah talking in his head, then the first place he should look was where he last saw him: in the old oak grove.
Nicholas practically sprinted into the woods, then doubled back because he realized that he might need a shovel, and then he was back on the task at hand. He felt reassured when he saw two figures in the hollow, because why else would two random people meet in this place? Then again, why would these two particular… beings be there at all?
That’s when the dog shifted into a teenage boy, and Nicholas’ heart stopped.
“Nick Folio, at your service,” the boy said, grinning. His teeth were too long and sharp to be normal, but that’s not what unnerved Nicholas.
Judging from the sudden tilting of his head, Nick must’ve been close to knowing why. “Have we met before?” he asked.
“I… Umm…”
“We have a task at hand,” the walking corpse said, though it looked like he had been perfectly fine to let the wolf do all the work.
“Do you even know why we’re doing this?” Nick asked, turning back towards the man.
“I do,” Nicholas said. The two haints looked at him. “There’s someone you need to meet.”
Between Nick’s claws and Nicholas’ shovel, they made quick work of the dirt. Nicholas didn’t have a clue how deep they would have to dig, but after a few feet, he had his answer when a dirty hand broke through the dark earth.
Nicholas threw aside the shovel as Nick shifted back into human form once again, and the two grabbed ahold of the hand and pulled. Eventually, another body emerged and crawled out. It was completely caked in mud, but Nicholas couldn’t help but gape at its head.
For immense branches were sprouting from it, giving the appearance of antlers.
“W… Water,” the man gasped in a familiar voice.
Nicholas was dreading this meeting.
He was tired of Granny trying to set him up with women. Didn’t matter where they were, she would ask anyone that looked even slightly close to his age if they were single. And at the old age of thirty, it embarrassed him to no end. He was also unfortunately raised to be a gentleman to strangers, so when Granny said that there was a “poor girl living by herself who needed help,” he couldn’t help but internally scream at his nice guy heart.
But he was more interested in the fact that this girl had moved into Noah’s old house, despite the warning signs that were placed around the property and told throughout the town. Hell, Granny even told her about the offerings, and who wouldn’t run after hearing someone tell you to chuck a few animal bones into a tithing plate?
So either the girl was stupid, or she was brave - which was another word for stupid, in his mind.
As he got out of his car, Nicholas could sense a familiar presence on the edge of the property. To the unknowing or untrained eye, it might feel like a chill going up the spine, or as Nicholas’ family would say, “like someone walking over your grave.” But he was trained and knowing of what crept through this neck of the woods.
He knew in his soul when his eyes met the creature’s, and he leveled a look that said behave. He could hear a chuckle in his mind, one that would unnerve even the bravest hiker.
GOOD LUCK. THEY’RE SOMETHING ELSE.
Noah’s voice was, of course, no comfort. Of course Noah would’ve spied on the newcomer. It used to be his house, after all. But that use of pronouns at least shed some light so Nicholas could be polite.
Nicholas knocked on the door, acknowledging the silver platter that was neatly arranged to the left of the doorway, and waited. And waited.
And then the door opened, and he realized he might need Noah’s warning.
Their dark blonde hair was half up in a bun, the lower half barely reaching their shoulders. It left their angular face on full display, big brown eyes staring up at him. He couldn’t help the thought of how much those eyes reminded him of Noah’s.
He managed to find his words before he could choke on his tongue. “I’m Nicholas,” he said. He punctuated his words with a small lift of the corners of his mouth.
They looked like they were surprised by his appearance as well. “Taylor.”
Something was off with the Woods, and with Nicholas as well.
His body lurches, causing his eyes to pop open. He gulps down a lungful of air to still his racing heart, though he knows it’s no use. Not this again…
Taylor stirs underneath him. "Nn… Nick? What's wrong?” they ask, their voice clogged with the sleep of the dead.
Another nightmare, he wants to say as he sits up, but his mouth is dry and his tongue sticks to its roof. He scrubs his face with a tattooed hand and then rips the hair-tie out of his half undone ponytail. He feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin. He wants to scream. “I need a smoke.”
“Nick, wait–” He doesn’t hear the rest of Taylor's protest as he scrambles out of the bed, pulls some joggers on, and all but runs out the door.
It was chillier outside, despite the sweats and hoodie he managed to pull on over his bare skin. Probably should've put on shoes, he thinks as he lights up a cigarette with shaky fingers.
Normally he would say that the off-ness he was feeling was because of the Woods, but a part of him says that it’s different. He can feel the pull of the Hollow calling to him if he closes his eyes long enough.
It’s only been a few months since the events with the reformed Cult of the Black Stag. Only been a few months since his grandmother was killed. Only a few months since… since he died as well.
A shiver rolls down his spine. He pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he could rid himself of that thought. He had died, but he came back. He was okay.
“Those who die in these Woods don't tend to stay dead.”
He shakes his head vigorously. No, not because of some weird curse like what happened to his friends. Because of his own soul magic, safely stowed away in his partner's own soul by random happenstance. That was different. He was fine.
Ever since that night that Taylor went into the woods and Nicholas healed them, he felt like something was missing from him. He thought it would've returned when Taylor brought him back to life, but he still felt off-kilter. Like a piece of him was still out there in the Woods. And of course, there wasn't anything in Granny's hex books about why he was having these nightmares.
Nicholas looks down at the tattoo of an owl on his right arm. Owls were considered guardians of his family, and so he had gotten one tattooed on him pretty early on; before he knew about his grandmother’s practice. Granny had tutted about it, mad that he had “made a mockery of their protector”, but eventually she acquiesced.
“Really wish you were here, Gram,” he mutters to the tattoo, as if Granny was really a part of him now. She would probably have known what his problem was, let alone how to help him.
The sound of a scream from the Woods snaps Nicholas out of his head. His eyes dart to the trees, but his brain soon catches up, recognizing the sound. He sighs in both relief and annoyance. Just another barn owl; something he's heard plenty of times growing up out here.
But this time, the sound stirs something in him: something akin to familiarity, but unlike the nostalgia of days past. He tilts his head, trying to get a better sense of what direction the call came from, because what if it came from the Watcher's Grove? What if something was going on with Noah while he was–
"NICK!"
He snaps out of his trance, and he quickly realizes he's no longer on the porch. He's standing on the edge of the property, one foot in the woods. And he has no idea how he got there.
He turns around and looks back at the house. The porch light is on now, and Taylor is standing on the steps, Jerry in their arms. Even from where he is, he can see the panic in their eyes.
He quickly jogs back to the house. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he says, quickly kissing them on the forehead. Except now he's slightly even more shaky than before. Jerry squirms as he’s pressed in between them, and meows angrily. Nicholas pulls away.
They both go inside and Nicholas locks the door behind him. Taylor looks up at him with dark, worried eyes, and he groans internally.
There was no way he’s going to be able to keep this from them.
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens rpf#bad omens au#nicholas ruffilo fanfiction#paranormal au#horror au#fic: the grove of secrets#series: lost in the labyrinth#cw: death#cw: supernatural themes#cw: buried alive#cw: body horror#cw: witchcraft#cw: graphic violence
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A Letter to Non-Jews re: Israel
Jonathan Jaffe
22h
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A Letter to My Non-Jewish Friends,
Dear Friends,
Please forgive me as I act so boldly as to speak for our collective Jewish community. I am writing in the fear that you may not know what your Jewish friends are currently going through. Surely you have heard the news of violence in Israel and some of you have even been so kind as to express your condolences. In this very lonely time, I cannot thank you enough.
Your Jewish friends and neighbors have spent the weekend in shock, misery and mourning. We are traumatized. Our families are under attack; some are missing and feared dead. Saturday morning began in dread and from there cascaded into frantic WhatsApp texts, panicked calls and constant scrolling through social media. We are not Ok.
If you are accustomed to receiving your news through the heavily sanitized Western media, please know that you are not living in the same world that we currently inhabit. You are not seeing what we are seeing: kidnapped children, naked bodies massacred and dragged through streets, parents murdered in front of their children, the elderly dumped into the back of pickup trucks; pages and pages of images of missing young adults, feared dead or taken hostage in Gaza to be tortured and paraded in the streets. Many young adults were attending a “nature party” music festival, as if Coachella was suddenly infiltrated by dozens of masked gunmen, arriving on machine-gun laden trucks, motorcycles and descending in hang gliders, thirsty for blood. Parents are posting pictures of their children, asking if anyone has seen them to please call them. There are dozens and dozens of such posts. You have not seen the video of the frightened Jewish young boy, mocked, abused and taunted for fun by his terrorist captors. You have not seen people dancing in the streets and handing out candy to celebrate the news of Jewish blood. You missed the Tik Tok videos and live streams of armed gunmen slaughtering parents in front of their children. You don’t know about the houses set afire to burn alive the families huddled within their safe rooms. We have seen all of it. And we know those who filmed it wanted us to see it and shared it with glee. And there is a world in which these videos are distributed in joyful celebration.
Moreover, you might not understand the historical lens with which we receive these images, a history of mutilated Jewish bodies and killing Jews for sport. To say that Saturday was Israel’s Pearl Harbor underestimates the sorrow and rage of the moment. At least the Japanese attackers had the dignity to focus upon military targets. They did not celebrate the animalistic torture of children and families. Candy was not passed out on the streets of Tokyo when the news of dead Americans was received. To see these images of tortured Jews invokes ghosts passed down from our great grandparents and beyond. We bear both the guilt and shame that it has happened again.
Our friends in Israel grieve. I can say without a doubt that there is not a single Jew in Israel who is not connected somehow to someone who was murdered over the weekend. The same goes for many Jews here in the US. Our Israeli contemporaries have been called into reserve duty, to put their life on the line once again. I received a picture from a friend of mine, a 50 year old father of four, with a sheepish look as he once again donned his military fatigues. My nephew is currently sitting on the border, somewhere under a bush, waiting for the enemy to come. Our family is heading into war. We pray for their safe return.
Here in America, your Jewish friends are under siege. Many of us spent the High Holy Days dealing with bomb threats. Did you know that many synagogues had to be evacuated last month? And that this happens to us all the time? Did you know that Anti-Semitic attacks are soaring by double digits each year, with a 36% increase just last year? Do you perform regular bomb sweeps of your preschools? We do. Are you forced to employ professional security teams to protect you around the clock? We do. And each time we do, we need to find the resources or cut from our programming to find the proper funding. Sometimes, it's not enough and we have to call in the police as well. When violence erupts between Russia and Ukraine, neither Russian nor Ukrainian churches must solicit professional protection for fear of attack. But we do. We are threatened by the far left and the far right, those who hearken to Hamas’ call for the destruction of world Jewry and those who march alongside the Proud Boys. We have seen our synagogues attacked and our congregants killed. We do not feel safe.
Today in New York City, those demonstrating in support of Israel were met with a fierce counterprotest of those celebrating Jewish murder. This happened today, in 2023, in our country. Nazi signs were held aloft. Last week, a speaker was invited on to my child’s high school campus, to spout Anti-Semitic tropes of Jews killing Palestinian babies and perpetrating genocide. Many of our political representatives offer infuriating words of moral equivocation in defense of murdering Jews. We hear the whataboutisms and the disinterested shrugs for a region inconveniently stained with blood. But worst of all, so many of our representatives remain utterly silent. Surely a raucous outcry will come when Israel inevitably defends itself. But when Jews are murdered for simply being Jews, and when we American Jews are targeted for the same, the silence is deafening. There are certainly those who have spoken out with empathy and clear denouncement of such cruelty. We are thankful for the light they provide in this time of darkness.
I wish I was in the mood for peace - but I am not. How can one talk peace as children are murdered over Tik Tok? In this moment, we are reminded that unlike our ancestors, we live in a time in which Jews have gained the ability to defend themselves. This power was not given to us but was won through blood. We no longer need to beseech the local feudal lord nor prove our worth to the ruling monarch. We will do it ourselves. On Saturday morning, the UN neatly packed up its tanks and vacated the northern border, lest they come under untidy fire from Hezbollah.
The Jewish state is now beginning to surely, unapologetically defend itself. Vanished is the false security that a racist, ruthless threat can be endured through the occasional skirmish. You cannot make peace with those who distribute candy to children in celebration that yours have been murdered. And now, Israel will act like any other country would if it was invaded by a blood thirsty neighbor and its citizens murdered, tortured, kidnapped and mutilated. It will do whatever it needs to make sure this can never happen again. And when the world inevitably protests the Jewish use of force, we won’t care. We will sadly disappoint those who long for the centuries of meek, defenseless Jews. We are no longer looking for the world’s approval and a condescending pat on the head.
If you want to demonstrate your support, you can simply ask us how we are doing. And if we don’t feel like speaking at the moment, you can sit with us in silence and we will know that you are here. Just know that we are experiencing trauma and that the sights we have witnessed will never be forgotten. We pray that all is done so that such things are never seen again.
On behalf of a mournful Jewish people,
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
#rabbi jonathan jaffe#israel#israel palestine conflict#israel palestine war#israel at war#jumblr#jews#we are not okay#how to be an ally#explanation#cw: graphic violence
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(Made on July 3rd, 2023)
"Argent Plasma...The power of The Void...
I AM THE MASTER OF BOTH."
#artists on tumblr#pokemon#creepypasta#pokepasta#shaded#gardevoir#pokemon creepypasta#oc#necrolie#genesect#maverick#cw: gore#cw: graphic violence#cw: blood#cw: death
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I think I was kinda unwell when I drew this
Hunt and hunted
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Happy writing. Heh. *nodnod*
**This prompt contains gore and some graphic violence. Please proceed with caution**
I Want to Hold Your Hand
Two dark pools filled with wicked promises was the first thing she saw when she came to. She was sitting in a chair, tied and gagged and feeling a bit disoriented. The strange man who had pulled her over earlier stood before her covered in blood. As her eyes started to adjust, she realized she was in a dimly lit room, and there was a dead body on the floor off to her left, lying in a pool of blood. A scream began to form in her throat, but before she could release it, however muffled it may have been due to the gag, the man dressed in a sheriff's uniform shushed her.
"No screaming, pet," he said, his voice low. "Now's not the time for that. Not yet..."
She could feel herself starting to panic as she struggled against the bonds that held her to the chair. The sheriff, if he even was a real cop, gazed at her for a moment, his teeth flashing in a subtle grin that hinted at something foreboding. He looked pensive, as though trying to decide what he was going to do with her. She swallowed thickly, her heart racing in her chest. Her eyes continued to dart around the room, but her only way out, if she could even manage to get free of her bonds, was blocked by the towering man in front of her.
"Now, now, pet," he murmured, stepping closer. "You don't need to struggle. I promise you'll be released soon enough."
The man reached out to stroke her cheek, leaving a smear of blood on her face. She jerked back, almost tipping the chair in the process. The man grabbed her and settled her back in place, then turned on his heel and left the room. He returned a moment later with his hands behind his back, an almost feral grin on his face now.
"Time to play, pet."
She stared up at him with fear in her eyes as he brought his hands out from behind his back. In them, he held what look like some type of saw. Her breath caught in her throat, and she began to hyperventilate. The man moved to her side and placed the blade of the saw just above where her wrist was bound to the chair. His eyes lit up with sick pleasure as he began to move the blade back and forth, cutting into her skin. Blood began to spurt, and her muffled screams filled the air.
"Music to my ears," the man muttered as he continued to put more pressure on the saw. "That's it, pet. Scream for me. I love to hear it."
Her vision began to tunnel as she struggled to suck in air through her nose. The pain was overwhelming, and she knew she was going into shock. It was then her mind brought forth a memory, something she had seen on the news a few days prior. There had been reports of a serial killer on the loose. Someone who had been going around cutting off the hands and feet of his victims before slitting their throats and leaving their bodies dumped in the woods. The last two victims had been a young, twenty-something blonde woman and her boyfriend. She realized now that she was about to be the next victim.
"There we are," the sheriff said. "One down, three more to go..."
He picked up her severed hand and brought it to his lips. He moaned softly as he sucked one of the fingers into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed. A look of ecstasy crossed his face before he slipped the digit from his lips and set the hand aside.
As he moved around to her other side, preparing to slice into her other wrist, she jerked herself backwards with as much force as she could, tipping the chair to the floor.
The sheriff wasn't fast enough to catch her, and her head slammed against the hard wood. A growl came from above, and then she was being lifted into the air. She could feel his hot breath against her ear as he righted her, and he sounded almost disappointed as he whispered, "I didn't want to have to do this yet, but you've left me no choice."
The sheriff set the saw down and disappeared again, returning this time with a small scalpel. He tsked as he held it to her throat. With sudden force, he stabbed the blade into her skin and ran the blade across her throat from ear to ear. As the blood began to spray, covering his face, the last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was, "I only wanted to hold your hand."
#my writing#picture prompt#ficlet#horror#cw: gore#cw: death#cw: blood#cw: graphic violence#uncanny8ellen#serial killer travis hackett#I'm sorry!
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Our Stars Still Shine Together: Chapter 1 by tansyuduri
Ship: Merlin/Arthur
Main Characters: Merlin, Arthur
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence
Major tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Violance, Beginings,
Summary: After saving the modern world, Arthur and Merlin realize Magic has returned to it.
#bbc merlin#merlin bingo#participant reblog#tansyuduri#rating: e#merlin/arthur#cw: graphic violence#format: fic
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Rogue realized too late that she should have reached for Johnny’s cyber arm. She knew that thing could grip better than any ‘ganic hand could. It’d be more likely to rip her own arm out of its socket than slip down her forearm like Johnny’s right hand had.
She looked away from his face for a fraction of a second and realized that his hand was slick with blood. Rogue wasn’t sure whose blood it was; it could have been Johnny’s, it could have been one of Saka’s agents, it could’ve been Blackhand’s. For all she knew, with the chaos this mission had turned into, it could have been her own.
Before she could register it happening, Johnny’s bloodied palm had slipped too far down her forearm. With a perfectly timed reflex, she gripped Johnny’s palm with her gloved hand hard enough for all the muscles in her arm to scream in pain. She wasn’t going to let go for anything. She would have tumbled out of the chopper before she let go of the rockerboy. He seemed to understand this because the look of shock on his face turned into determination, and they both knew he needed to get inside the helicopter’s cabin. The longer he was hanging there, the longer he was a sitting duck–
There was an explosion; sparks and smoke burst to Rogue’s left. She felt the chopper throttle awkwardly as the sound of a motor struggling filled her ears. Rogue lost her footing, causing her to land hard on her knees. She felt a firm hand grip the back of her belt, keeping her from tumbling forward as more explosions (gunfire, she realized, it was high caliber gunfire) erupted around the side of the chopper.
Rogue understood too late that her fist was clamped around nothing. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream after the man she had been holding onto a millisecond before. Johnny realized he was falling after Rogue had, and she watched absolute terror fill his face. He didn’t have time to throw up his walls or hide it behind vulgarity or aggression.
Rogue put absolute blind faith in whoever was holding onto her belt and tried launching herself after Johnny, stretching as far as she could to reach him– It was futile; Johnny was already halfway to the rooftop. She exhaled sharply, watching him land hard, feet first, before collapsing backward and knocking himself unconscious. Rogue already knew he wasn’t walking away from this, even if he came to. With Shaitan down for the count, she and Spider would have to hoist him back into the helicopter.
Only Rogue realized too late that she was no longer looking at Johnny on the rooftop of Arasaka Tower. She was staring down the barrel of a heavy machine gun, which looked like it had been ripped off of a military-grade turret, complete with a tank of a man to wield it.
She couldn’t breathe when she realized why Adam Smasher, Arasaka’s pet cyborg, hadn’t continued his assault on the chopper, despite having a clear shot of her hanging out of it. He didn’t take his shot because Rogue had lost Johnny. It was because Rogue hadn’t reached for Johnny’s metal arm instead.
#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk 2020#johnny silverhand#rogue amendiares#2023 rogue#johnny silverhand/rogue amendiares#working title: rogue dropped johnny#happier than ever#hte#fanfiction#wip wednesday#this has been stuck in my head for over a year#i finally have access to the ttrpg books...#so i think i'ma start working on this again#i know this is a false memory but still#cw: blood#cw: graphic violence#cw: injury
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FFXIV WRITE 2023 Prompt 5: Barbarous
(Character: Snapdragon, Tatiava Eir Arctah, Timeframe: Before the Seventh Umbral Calamity CW: Graphic Violence, Extreme cruelty)
“Agent Arctah, in position. Ready to receive orders.” Tatiava lowered her visor and lifted her rifle to her eye. The scope revealed a simple camp of the Order of the Twin Adder. The target in question was a rank and file soldier of the Adders. A runaway member of Castrum Oriens, a soldier with little military intelligence. A simple mission really. He wasn’t even trying to hide. Tatiava had her sights already leveled on the man.
The linkpearl chimed. “Agent Arctah, you have been given clearance to execute. He is not worth bringing in. No witnesses either, Agent… And make it brutal.” the calm male voice ended the connection after that last word.
“Understood.” Tatiava frowned, shifting over to the Adder talking to the turncoat soldier, discharging the first ceruleum round into the soldier’s skull. Chambering the next round, she flicked her sights to the next soldier, eliminating him efficiently.
Over the next thirty seconds, and fifteen rounds later, only the turncoat remained. The man was on the ground quivering in fear. Tatiava took two quick shots, kneecapping him. He screamed in pain and started to crawl away. Tatiava shouldered her rifle and slid down the hill she was on. A quick jog to the camp later, and the turncoat had crawled several fulms away from where she had left him.
She sighed, and did not disguise her approach. The pleas started, but as she stepped on the crying man’s lower back, they quickly ended with a squeak. She then took one of her tonfas to lift his head up by his chin, arching his back in a painful contortion. He started to plead again, seemingly earnestly. It fell on deaf ears. Tatiava did not want to hear what he was saying. It made her role in this harder.
Tatiava took her other tonfa, slamming it into his right shoulder, breaking the shoulder blade and causing the man to flinch and scream in pain. Pressing deeper into his back with her boot, she dropped the man face down into the dirt. She spun her tonfas in her grip and slammed both down hard into both of his sides. He almost leapt forward in the pain, his left hand trying to grip the dirt and rock to pull him away from his pain. Tatiava pitied him. But a turncoat is a turncoat. And this barbarous act was over. The sniveling man was so broken and defeated. The brutality her superior had requested was done.
She stepped off the man, watched with disinterest as he redoubled his efforts to crawl away. She pulled out her small pistol and finished the job she had started. The man crumpled so quickly it was almost comical.
“The job’s done, sir. Should we leave this camp as a warning, sir?” Tatiava sounded her linkpearl as she left, the carnage now starting to stink of death.
“Leave it. The higher ups want the warning to be loud and clear to any other deserters.”
Tatiava ended the connection, looking one last time at the camp. Orders were orders. A sour taste in her mouth started to form and she turned away and started to make her way to Oriens. Maybe soon she could get that promotion she was seeking, the hidden agent in Eorzea’s heart. The role she felt she was born to play. Not this… barbarity.
They were supposed to be the civilized ones.
#the snapdragon#ffxivwrite2023#ffxivwrite#cw: graphic violence#was a little hard to write this...#this level of violence is just out of my norm#Word Count: 567
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Comparing-&-Contrasting the fight scenes of Jason Aaron & Mark Millar's respective Wolverine runs
So here’s some stuff that I can't help but find rather interesting in retrospect...
Jason Aaron’s run on Wolverine primarily started with him serving as a fill-in writer in-between other author’s runs, but his work quickly gained so much popularity that he gained his own titles like Wolverine: Weapon X and Wolverine & the X-Men. In addition Logan’s son Daken from Daniel Way’s run taking over the main Wolverine solo-title following Issue #75, then-rebranded as "Dark Wolverine" which ran co-currently to Aaron's Wolverine: Weapon X series, Mark Millar’s famous Old Man Logan storyline was nestled directly in-between two storylines. No seriously… the 4-part Get Mystique storyline which officially kickstarted Aaron’s run took place in Wolverine (2003) #62-65, Millar’s Old Man Logan storyline then took place in Issues #66-72 (plus a Giant-Sized one-shot for the conclusion), and Aaron then immediately returned with two back-up stories for Issues #73-74.
Additionally, another element I find really fascinating is the contrast in how Aaron & Millar portray the more graphically violent elements surrounding Wolverine’s fight scenes. For instance, while Aaron’s fight-scenes in Get Mystique got incredibly bloody, there was greater emphasis on speed and quick slashes through Ron Garney's artwork, and it never got overly gore-y aside from Logan slicing off a 1920s gangster’s fingers in a flashback scene.
Conversely Millar’s Old Man Logan is extremely excessive in not just the amount of blood spilled, but the sheer amount of gore that's on full display. Like, Steve McNiven actively to showcase the most brutal violence imaginable during the fight scenes, ranging from dismemberment, decapitation, to even outright cannibalism with the Hulk.
Like geez... I might still personally enjoy Old Man Logan overall due to having some strong character moments with Wolverine, but this storyline definitely emphasizes Millar's edge-lord shock-jock tendencies to a t! My best friend even once told me that the more she looked at Old Man Logan, the more shocked she was that it wasn't part of Marvel's 18+ imprint, "Marvel MAX" (despite there already existing a Wolverine MAX title at the time). Both the TPBs for Old Man Logan and Get Mystique share the exact same "Parental Advisory" rating, even though the former is far more unrestrained in its blood and violence than the latter (Marvel's rating systems are honestly very weird as Kamala Khan's Ms. Marvel series which is aimed at younger audiences has a "T+" rating, whereas FREAKING Ultimatum also shares "T+" instead of a "Parental Advisory" rating despite it also including cannibalism just like Old Man Logan does).
Anyways, I just thought it was interesting to compare Jason Aaron & Mark Millar's approaches to portraying violent fight scenes in Wolverine: Get Mystique & Old Man Logan respectively. Especially since both stories were released back-to-back!
#wolverine#james logan howlett#jason aaron#mark millar#ron garney#steve mcniven#get mystique#mystique#raven darkholme#old man logan#hulk#bruce banner#cw: graphic violence#graphic content#marvel comics
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“You Got What You Wanted (but lost what you need)”
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TW: graphic violence
#genshin impact#Scaralumi#LumiScara#scaramouche#the wanderer#Lumine#cw: graphic violence#Grim’s writing
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CW: Graphic violence, assault, death.
Over a month since I’ve posted. The name of my blog really is my truth. I’ve been writing a lot lately, but for competitions that don’t allow me to post the stories for X amount of time after submission. Here’s a short story I wrote for NYC Midnight’s short story competition. This piece received 8th place of ten, and got me into the next round.
Genre: Historical Fiction | Subject: an apprenticeship | Character: a door-to-door salesperson.
A Sale to Remember
In which twelve-year-old Jack Waybury learns from his father, David, what it truly means to be a door-to-door salesman.
Jack Waybury always thought his father looked great in a suit. The charm that surrounded David Waybury when he tucked in his shirt and donned a wide-lapelled jacket was something that Jack aspired to have in his own right someday. His mother must have been out of her mind to leave them, as women always seemed to flock to his father. David spent a lot of time with these women, often spending several nights away from their apartment, leaving twelve-year-old Jack alone.
Jack didn’t think it was all bad, though. Twelve years old, all but on his own, in Philadelphia in 1975. His father kept the kitchen stocked with plenty of soda, microwavable pizzas, and TV dinners, which Jack enjoyed while watching reruns of Happy Days. Before his mother left, Jack and his father would watch the show together, laughing at the shenanigans that Ritchie, Potsie, and Ralph would get into. David would tell him about the pranks and tricks that he and his friends would pull when he was a kid. Jack often thought of the friends he used to have when they lived in Lahaska, before he and his father moved into the apartment in Philly. Nowadays, with his father gone most of the time, Jack identified more with Fonzie, and thought to himself, how cool would it be to be a bad boy?
He awoke one morning to the apartment door handle slamming against the wall behind it. Having fallen asleep on the couch the night before, Jack was disoriented as his father burst into the apartment, disheveled as though he too had spent the night on someone’s couch. David roused his son quickly, tossing clothes from the floor onto the ratty couch as he shoved some of his own into his briefcase.
“Get up, son,” David said, “today is your big day! You’re coming to work with me!”
After the initial shock of being awoken so quickly, Jack took a moment to observe his father as he picked his previous day's clothes from the living room floor. His father’s suits were normally well kept, flat with ironed precision, immaculate, and free of stains. Jack noticed that his father didn’t actually look like he slept on someone’s couch, rather that he hadn’t slept at all. If he had, it may as well have been on the street..
“Dad, what happened to you?” Jack asked.
“If you would believe it, yesterday I was stepping off the bus on my way to my first customer of the day when I saw a woman that looked just like your mother,” David spit the words as if they were poison in his mouth, “I tripped off the bus step and fell right into the mud on the curb! Now get dressed, we have to go get you a suit. Can’t have my son looking unpresentable on his first day on the job!”
Jack pulled one sock on and reached under the couch searching for its mate. “Wow, dad,” he said, “what did your customers say when they saw you?”
“Uh, I didn’t make it to the customer’s house,” he stammered, “I took the rest of the day off.”
“Oh.”
David dashed through the apartment, stuffing various items into his briefcase. He pressed his weight on top of it to latch it closed. David removed his soiled clothing and retreated to the bedroom to change. The blazer that he had flung across a kitchen chair was flecked with stains, and though Jack couldn’t see well enough from across the dimly lit room to know for sure, he thought to himself that it didn’t quite look like mud on the fabric. As they hurriedly finished getting dressed, Jack told his father how excited he was to get his own suit.
“Are you gonna teach me how to be a salesman, dad?” he asked.
“Everything I know, son,” David replied, “Call it an apprenticeship.”
They rode the city bus downtown and Jack gazed out the window as they passed by apartments and bodegas, his head jostling against the glass with every bump in the road. He daydreamed about going back to Lahaska with his dad and going door to door to sell whatever goods they had to peddle that day. He would sell squirt guns and stink bombs, and when he rang his friends' doorbells they would answer and see him standing there in an immaculate suit. They would be so impressed with him that they would buy his entire stock! The windows rattled in their frames as loudly as Jack’s daydreams, and he didn’t notice that his father seemed to be speaking quietly to no one in particular. On a city bus in Philly, however, this wouldn’t be an extraordinary sight to anyone else if he had.
The bus rattled to a stop and David and Jack moved to disembark. “Watch your step, dad,” Jack warned, jokingly.
“What? Oh, right,” David recalled and made a dramatic showing of stepping carefully off of the bus for his son. “I won’t be tripping off the bus again, that’s for sure!”
At the Men’s Warehouse in downtown Philadelphia, Jack and his father waded through racks of suits as David searched for just the right one for his son. Jack pulled a purple tweed blazer from the children’s rack excitedly, but his father insisted that was too much flair for a new salesman. “You have to earn a jacket like that,” his father told him. David settled on matching solid navy blue suits for the both of them. He spoke to the salesman as they were fitted, and declined tailoring when the salesman pushed for it.
“We will take them as is,” he said, “and we will wear them out.”
Jack noticed that the suits that they had on were not as fantastic as what his father normally wore. As they rode the bus, he didn’t feel as good as he thought he would wearing the suit either. That clerk was probably right, Jack thought, if we got it hemmed it would feel better. He wondered if this would still be the exciting, glamorous day he’d hoped for.
Jack wished they were going to Lahaska, but his father said Leonia was where they were most likely to make a sale.
“What are we selling today, dad?” Jack asked, hoping it would be something interesting, like water balloons or fake rubber bugs.
“I’ve got my hands on a nice set of kitchen knives that any one of these little housewives is sure to enjoy,” his father replied, gripping the briefcase tightly.
“Oh.”
Jack thought he heard his father whispering, but the noises of the bus engine overwhelmed the sound, and he wasn’t sure. Then, as they paced the neighborhood sidewalks, David taught his son the art of the sale.
“Just follow my lead, let me do the talking,” he said, “You’re still cute, so we’ll use that to our advantage. Housewives love the natural charisma of a kid in a suit. If I ask you a question, agree with me, and do everything I say.”
Jack nodded. He would do his best to be a good apprentice to his father, even if he didn’t feel like the million bucks he thought he would.
The afternoon sun shone brightly on the facade of the ranch style house they’d chosen. As David rang the doorbell, briefcase in hand, he reminded Jack one more time of his first lesson.
“Don’t be nervous. Just listen to me and follow my lead.”
A blonde woman answered the door. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said, smiling at Jack, “How can I help you?”
“Hello, ma’am, I’m so glad we were able to catch you before dinner!” David started, “My name’s David and this is my son, Jack. I just know that a woman in a home this beautiful only cooks the freshest fruits and vegetables for her family. We’ve got a marvelous set of knives we’d love to show you. May we come in?”
“Please do, I’ve been telling my husband that I need new kitchen knives. I’ll warn you, though, he’s a bit of a tough sell!” she laughed.
David and the woman, Cheryl, made comfortable small talk while they waited for her husband, Frank.
David sat on the edge of his seat, “You folks have a lovely home.”
The grandfather clock tick-tocked while David made himself comfortable. The click of the lock hitting the briefcase as it opened was jarring to Jack. His father hunted through the papers and clothing he had hastily packed inside, doing his best not to show the haphazard mess to their customers. From within he pulled something that appeared to be the size of his fist. He raised his arm quickly and threw it at Frank’s head. The sudden trauma to his temple knocked him unconscious, and Cheryl screamed. David unsheathed a pistol from the case and pointed it at her.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” he snapped, “Another sound from you and you’ll both be tasting bullets.”
David kept his eyes and the weapon pointed at Cheryl as he rummaged through the case with his free hand. He tossed a handful of zip ties to Jack, most of which fell to the floor.
“Put their wrists together and thread the end of the tie through the loop,” he directed, “pull it as tight as you can. Start with him.”
Jack was stunned. He couldn’t move.
“Now!”
The shout stirred Jack back to life. He had never seen this anger and malice in his fathers eyes. His legs felt gelatinous and his hands shook as he shifted the heavy man forward in the recliner to bind his wrists together behind his back.
“Good,” David praised, “now her next.”
Cheryl tried to plead with Jack, “please, baby,” she whispered, “don’t do this. Run and get help.”
David stepped across the room and stuck the gun to her cheek. “Shut up! Another word and this goes through your skull.”
She relinquished herself for Jack to bind her. The ties closed much tighter around the thinness of her wrists.
David reached once more into the case, procuring a large kitchen knife. He handed it to Jack. “Hold this carefully,” he said. He turned to Cheryl and reassured her, “Our knives are very sharp, but Jack has been taught very well how to safely hold the tool.”
Jack held the weapon in trembling hands. “Steady yourself,” his father snarled, “keep a firm grip. If your hand is too loose, you’ll drop it.”
Jack gripped the knife as instructed. Surely his father wouldn’t hurt his own son, should Jack disobey him in these terrifying moments. Then again, Jack never thought his father was capable of what they were doing, so who really knew what could happen?
David ordered his son to keep watch on the couple, gagging them with dirty socks from the case before stepping out of the room to see what valuables he could find. Jack watched Cheryl’s eyes as they pleaded with him to stop this and save them. He didn’t know how much time he had, if his father came back and he was helping them escape, he would hurt them all.
The room was quiet, only the stifled sounds of tears filled the air until Jack heard an engine cut off, then a car door slam. Cheryl’s eyes widened. Someone else was here. Jack panicked and hid next to the door behind a thick-leaved potted plant.
A young woman entered the home and closed the door behind her before seeing the horror that was in her living room. Her jaw dropped as well as her purse as she saw her parents bound and gagged. Cheryl screamed through the gag in her mouth when she saw David return with the pistol in one hand and a fistful of jewelry in the other.
Jack leaped from behind the plant and stood facing the young woman with the knife in his grip. David pointed the pistol at her and whispered something unintelligible to himself. He stepped towards her slowly. Placing the valuables in his blazer pocket, he reached toward her. She stood motionless, paralyzed in fear. Jack could hear his heartbeat pounding louder than the ticking of the clock. David grabbed the woman and wrapped his arm around her neck, changing his orientation to point the pistol at Cheryl once again.
“Do it, Jack,” he pleaded, “use the knife. Right there, in her stomach.”
The woman screamed. “She’s squirming, but I’ll hold her tight for you. She’s not going anywhere.”
Jack hesitated.
“Do it!”
The insanity boiled from his father’s eyes as he turned the gun to point at his son. “Do it, Jack. We need to go. If you don’t do it, very bad things will happen. To you, and to all of these people. Now, tighten your grip and stab her!”
Jack wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle of the knife and screamed as he plunged it into her stomach. Blood poured from her torso as she cried out, twisting her entire body beneath David’s grip. Jack removed the knife and blood spurted against his blue blazer. He screamed just as she had.
David threw her to the floor and stole the knife from his son. He tossed it back into the briefcase and snapped it shut before pulling Jack by the sleeve out of the front door. Jack didn’t know how his legs could move after what he’d done, but once he started running alongside his father, they didn’t know how to stop.
They ran several blocks away before David stopped and removed the bloody jacket from his son. He tossed it over a fence and they continued to flee to the bus stop. It seemed as though the bus had been there waiting just for them. They rode in silence back to the city. Jack heard no small whispers from his father, who appeared to be calm and at peace. Jack was unsure what was next for them.
9 years Later
Jack, now twenty one years old, the same age of the young woman that he and his father had murdered in cold blood, stood at the bus stop half a mile down the road from the reformatory. He had in his possession only a plastic garbage bag containing all of the clothing he owned and a cream-colored folder. With the bag at his feet, he opened the folder and gazed over the newspaper clippings and photos for what seemed like the millionth time. He had always thought his father looked great in a suit, but orange suited him better than blue ever had.
This fictional story is based on the actual murder of 21-year-old Maria Fasching in Leonia, New Jersey on January 8th, 1975 by Joseph Kallinger and his son, twelve-year-old Michael Kallinger. The pair gained entry to several homes across Philadelphia, Maryland, and New Jersey by posing as door-to-door salesmen, where they assaulted several families. May she rest in peace.
#writing#fiction#short story#writers on tumblr#writeblr#nycmidnight#short story competition#round one#creative writing#cw: graphic violence#cw: death#cw: assault
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chapter ten: DOWN in HELL AFTER ALL
Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.
CW: supernatural themes, alcohol consumption, bodily injury, body horror, graphic violence, religious trauma, blood, physical assault, minor character death
Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.
A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know.
I breathed in, eyes slowly opening, feeling warm and…. enveloped. It was the only way I could describe the fullness I felt. Wrapped in a sweet, earthy scent, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes fully was a tattoo of an eye, a spiderweb, and a rose on a tan neck. And that’s when I realized I was naked. In my bed. With a man.
No, not just a man; Nick. And I was… happy?
The anxiety and unsureness crept in. Barely two weeks had passed since I met him, and last night just… happened. Were we moving too fast? I mean, I sure as hell had no regrets, but… what if he did?
My eyes fell to his chest, where I finally could get a proper look at the lonely tattoo. It was a simple circle made of thorns with occasional gaps, done in a golden ink that somehow looked like liquid gold. I gently traced my finger around it.
Nick made a noise, stirring at last. I tried to snatch my hand away, but he moved the hand that had been tucked up above his head to take my hand and place it back on his chest.
“G’morning,” he groaned, his low voice raspy with sleep.
“Morning,” I said quietly.
“You doing okay?” he asked. His thumb started running circles on my hand, and I felt his other rub circles on my shoulder. I practically melted into his touch.
“Mmhmm,” I hummed.
“Good, good…” His voice trailed off. I felt him shift under the covers.
My eyes were pulled back to the circlet. “You’ll have to tell me about your tattoos sometime,” I said, my finger tracing the golden thorns again. I could see a trail of goosebumps left in its wake.
“That one… That’s for the Court,” he said. He chuckled quietly. “We used to call ourselves the Bad Omens, y’know?”
“No. Why’d you call yourselves that?”
“Because it’s considered a bad omen to see the others. Y’know, like a black cat crossing your path?” Nick said. “Needless to say, we don’t go by that name anymore.”
“I don’t know, it sounds kind of neat,” I admitted.
“Well you’re the only one.”
I swatted at his chest, and he chuckled again, squeezing my shoulders and kissing my forehead. My anxiety from earlier melted away.
Nick slowly trailed kisses down my face until he reached my lips, where he hovered for a few seconds before lightly pecking once, twice. On the third time, he lingered, licking the seam between like a plea for entrance. I had just opened my mouth when he let out a groan of frustration.
I pulled away. “What? What is it?”
“Noah… is out front,” Nick said, slightly out of breath. His lips crashed back down onto mine before pulling away again.
“If he’s going to keep interrupting, then we might as well see what he wants,” I said.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Nick sighed forcefully. Noah was about to get an earful.
Nick scrambled to pick up his clothes and put them on as I picked through my dresser for some shorts and a tank top. After I was done changing, I turned around, catching him staring. The way he was looking at me, I was certain he was about to make Noah wait a little bit more, but he then tore his gaze away and walked out.
Noah was indeed waiting on the front porch, drinking the now-warm beer I had left for him last night. To my surprise, Folio was with him. Of course, no Jolly.
Before I could ask, Folio sniffed. "You smell like sex."
Nick sighed as Noah choked on a sip. "You must be a delight at parties," I said.
"I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never been to one." He grinned.
Shockingly, Noah has remained quiet, which I thought was odd since he was so insistent that we got up. I couldn’t tell if he was conversing with Nick in his mind. Which was mildly infuriating, to be honest.
But as Nick pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket, he spoke aloud, “Spit it out. What’s so important that you had to drag us out of bed?”
“Well, I was going to tell you last night, when we were supposed to meet up. But you guys sounded busy,” Noah said, peering over his shoulder at the last word. My face grew hot.
“Well, you’re here now,” Nick said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. Noah’s eyes flashed, but it was only for a fleeting moment as he turned back around.
I glanced over at Folio, who had just glanced over at me, because when our eyes connected, he just made a face and shrugged. Yeah, that made two of us.
“We searched through the valley last night, but found no trace of any cult activity… or anything, for that matter,” Folio said.
“So if they are meeting, it’s not in the forest,” Noah said.
“They might be meeting in town,” Nick said. “They might’ve learned from their predecessors that they can’t exactly do their dirt work out in the woods.”
My gaze wandered up, and my eyes caught on my security camera. “Fuck! I forgot about that!” I exclaimed. I ran back into the house to grab my phone. I mindlessly scrolled through the app’s footage as I headed back to the porch.
“What are you freaking out about now?” Noah asked. I shot him a look and then pointed above my head to the doorway.
“I might’ve gotten a shot of the people who came to my door yesterday,” I said, going back to scrolling through footage. “Nick, you wouldn’t happen to know the person if I showed you, would you?”
“I mean, probably, yeah,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke.
“Granted, I don’t know how good it’ll be, since there were a few nights when it would go offline and—“
“That was me,” Noah said.
My head shot up. “That was—“
“Well, couldn’t have you spying on me while I snuck onto your front porch now, could I?” Noah stated.
“Hold up.” Nick grabbed my arm, bringing me back to my phone. “Yeah, I know them.”
I scrolled back the footage until two men’s bodies walked up to the door. And one of them—
“He was the guy at the restaurant last Sunday!” I gasped.
“Should’ve realized something was up when he babbled about the Watcher,” Nick muttered. It was then his turn to go indoors. He came back out with his keys.
“You’re not gonna fight him, are you?” I asked incredulously.
Nick gave me a “don’t be ridiculous” look. “No, I’ve got to get back to Granny’s anyways. I forgot to let her know I wouldn’t be back last night,” he said.
“Dude, you’re 30,” Folio said, making Nick roll his eyes.
“Yes, I know that. I’m also a respectful grandson.”
“Hold on, I’m coming too,” I said.
“Relax, I’m not gonna fight the guy. Once I smooth things over with Granny, I’ll be back.” He kissed my forehead. “Don’t let them bully you.”
With that, he hopped off the porch and walked to his car, which the three of us watched drive off. I then turned to the two men.
“Would you like to come in?”
Folio was the first one in, bounding in and immediately lying on the couch. A part of me wanted to scold him for putting his muddy feet on my couch, but I immediately realized that this was probably the first time he’d been on a couch in ten years. So I let it slide.
Noah didn’t linger. His long strides took him immediately toward the back of my house. Confused, I followed.
“Your family lived here?” I asked.
“Just me and my mom,” Noah said, nudging open my bedroom door with the toe of his boot.
“There’s not a bomb in there,” I said.
“No, something else is in here—“ he said, waltzing in. He made a beeline for my dresser.
“Dude, what are—“ I winced as he easily moved my dresser away from the wall, the sound of scraping wood like nails on a chalkboard. He then pressed on the wall, partially lifting up a section of the wood paneling. “What are you doing?”
He inserted long fingers into the gap and pulled the panel free. Like he’s done this before. “Relax, little rabbit, I’m not ruining the property value of our house,” he said.
“I told you, don’t call me that,” I said, holding my arms over my chest. I watched as he shoved his whole arm into the hole; my mouth popped open when he pulled out a small lockbox. “How long ha—“
“I put it here when I had my doubts about Elin,” Noah said. “I didn’t even tell Nick about this.” He flicked the latch open.
Inside were papers: notebook pages, sketchbook pages, pages torn from books. There was also some little trinkets and ephemera, stuff I didn’t get a good look at before he scooped them up and shoved them into his jacket pocket. He set the empty box on the floor.
“Come on, Folio. We’ve got what we needed,” he said.
“What?” Folio and I said at the same time. Noah unfolded himself and drew up to his full height before he strided out of my bedroom. “Where are you going?”
“Nothing that concerns you, little rabbit,” Noah said.
“Yes, it does!” I shouted. “If… That’s technically my property! Everything in this house technically—“
Noah stopped dead, and I ran right into him. It was like running right into a tree; he didn’t seem that broad with all those layers of clothes. In a semi-dazed state, I was barely aware of him turning around and grabbing me by the throat.
“Hey, No—“ Folio started.
Noah growled, spitting out words that sounded similar to those he had used to command Folio earlier. They must’ve been the same, because Folio stalked outside, but not before he shot me an apologetic look.
“Wh-What are—“ I choked out.
“Listen, just because you fucked Nick once doesn’t mean you’re a part of our little club,” Noah spat out. “So do us all a favor, and keep out of our business, because it’s about to get very, very bloo—“
Noah’s words stopped dead, and he let out a choked noise. He let go of me, and I dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.
Just then, Folio rushed back in. “What? What happened?” he demanded.
“Nick. Something happened to Nick.”
It was like a living nightmare at Granny's. The rainy, late morning on the street was wrecked by flashing lights of cop cars, ambulances and whatever else. The only car I had eyes for was Nick's, and it was motionless in the driveway.
The block was cordoned off by tape and the policemen, so there was no way I could get close to see the damage.
ANYTHING YET?
I gritted my teeth together. I had sped as fast as I could in my car, while Noah and Folio ran through the forest. Something about they couldn't get in my car; not that I wanted them to, not after the shit that Noah pulled. And now, despite hurting me, here he was trying to get a vantage point from me.
HEY. ANSWER ME.
I tried to remain focused on the scene before me, though my dark thoughts were a mess in–
ANSWER ME.
A sharp pain pierced behind my eyes at his command. Fuck you, I don't answer to you!
GET OVER YOURSELF. THERE'S MORE AT STAKE HERE.
God, you think I want anything to do with you? First you pretended to be nice to get inside my house, then you tried to kill me, and now you're all buddy-buddy because Nick might be in trouble? Fuck you.
There was a presence behind me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I peered behind me and nearly jumped. "Jesus!" I hissed.
"A lot of people say that when they see me," Jolly said. He was wearing a shirt now, and sunglasses blocked his translucent eyes.
"I thought you couldn't leave the river," I whispered. We were in the middle of a crowd after all.
"Rain."
"Really? That's how you can leave the river?"
"Well, this is a really good reason to be away, ya?"
I turned back to Granny's house. "They haven't come out of there yet. I can't tell if Nick's in there or not."
OH, YOU'LL TELL JOLLY WHAT'S GOING ON, BUT NOT ME–
Quiet! I snapped at Noah. Out of the three of you, Jolly hasn't tried to kill me!
HILARIOUS, CONSIDERING HIS BODY COUNT.
I brushed aside that comment. "Is there a way to shut him out?" I asked.
Instead of answering me, Jolly lightly gripped my chin and turned my head to face the house. Where they were bringing out a stretcher. And a covered body.
"Nick–" I jolted forward, but Jolly grabbed my arm. His grip was cold and clammy, and it made my mind reel.
"That's not Nick," Jolly said.
"Then–" Oh god.
Granny.
My stomach plummeted. Possibilities ran wild through my head, but I kept my eyes on the door, half-expecting Nick to also walk out. But my eyes were drawn back to the body as the EMTs loaded the stretcher into the ambulance. They then closed the doors and drove off. Surely Nick would've gone with her if he–
NICK'S NOT IN THERE
There was a terrifying edge to Noah's tone. With how he'd treated me, I had forgotten that he could care for someone other than himself. Granny had probably been a family member to him, as much as she was to Nick.
That's when I saw something flash in the corner of my eyes. Little eyes reflecting light under nearby bushes. With all the doors opening, they must've escaped while no one was looking.
“Come on, vännen. Let's go. There's nothing for us here," Jolly said. Which couldn't be true. Granny was the first person in this town to take pity on me. There had to be something I could do–
“Shit. Hold on,” I said practically leaving Jolly in the dust. I managed to sneak past the few policemen, which wow, they sucked, and crouched near the bushes.
“Jerry... Lydia... c’mere!” I said quietly, and making the cat-attraction sound. It took a lot of coaxing, and maybe the recognized me or the slight scent of Nick, but eventually I managed to make my way back to Jolly with an armful of cats.
“Okay, let's go."
With Lydia and Jerry safely tucked away in my room, cuddled on the side of the bed Nick had slept in, I came out of my room to see only Folio in my house.
“Taylor, I'm sorry about–”
“You couldn't help it,” I muttered. “Was that word he used a command you had to follow?” He nodded. “Then forget it. We have more important things to worry about.”
Suddenly Folio shoved his way in between us. “Seriously? Fuckin’ fighting when something bad might've happened to Nick?" he shouted. “His grandma is dead, he's nowhere to be found. We need to find out where he is.”
I trekked outside, where the rain was absolutely pouring, and Noah stood on my front porch.
“How long have you loved him?" I asked.
“I'm not dignifying that–”
“Answer the question, Davis,” I spat out venomously. “Don't fuck with me right now. I've seen how you look at Nick. Just because you're jealous–”
“Jealous?” Noah hissed, towering over me. “Jealous of what, you? You've barely known him for a week! You think you know Nick? I've known him for fifteen years."
“And you think killing me was going to... what? Clear the way? You were the one trying to get me to stay. You were the one who told me he was lonely. So tell me.. what do you want?" I angrily demanded.
“I wanted you to stay, I didn't say fuck his brains out,” Noah hissed.
“Well guess what? He was the one who initiated. And you know what? It was the best sex I've ever–"
“Jolly,” Noah said, tearing his eyes away from mine. Jolly, who had been sitting in front of the porch this whole time, turned his head towards Noah, “see if you can find anything. You're free to search as long as the rain holds.”
Jolly nodded, standing up and taking off into the woods. I was sad to see him go, as he was the one I didn't feel like was going to kill me in the future.
"Why would he be in the woods?” Folio asked.
"This has the cult written all over it,” Noah said.
My stomach churned. “Why would they want Nick? It's way past the Summer Solstice,” I said.
"That's one thing I can't figure out," Noah muttered. “Granny's death was definitely not natural; Grannies can live way past a hundred years old.”
“Wait, Granny wasn't just a nickname?” I asked.
"No, Granny is a title in their practice. She just happened to be Nick's grandmother as well." Noah said.
“Can't you just... see where he is? Through your mind-talking power?” I asked.
Noah sighed. “I tried. I can't get a feel for him. Which is another reason why I don't think he's okay.”
Something in my stomach fluttered. It’s been hours since Nick left. If something happened to him, it could already be too late. For what though, I had no clue. I was absolutely stumped.
Maybe Noah was right. I barely knew Nick. What claim do I really have over him? I was just someone who stumbled into their territory unwillingly. I hadn’t grown up scared of the townspeople possibly coming after me. I was a stranger.
I was lost.
I leaned back against the house and slowly crumbled to the ground, folding in on myself. What could I even do? I didn’t have magic powers or the ability to change into a form more suited for this. I was just a regular human, someone who couldn’t even decide what gender they wanted to be.
“Hey.”
That’s when I felt hands on my shoulders. I looked up, Folio crouched next to me, but it was Noah who was talking. “We’ll find him,” he said.
“Not for me,” I muttered.
“Maybe not," he said, shrugging, “but let's handle this one problem at a time.”
“We can find the guy who was in the footage," Folio said.
“I don't know where he lives,” I said.
“I do,” Noah said. “And he has easy access to the forest."
“You should... probably stay here,” Folio said, patting me on the shoulder.
“Why?" I demanded.
"I told you it was going to get bloody, didn’t I?” Noah said, standing up. And I’m not going to hold back with Nick's life on the line.”
I swallowed. At least he was warning me. “Fine. Do what you do," I said.
“Oh, we fully plan on it," Noah said, grinning. I swore I could hear twigs snapping with the movement.
Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens rpf#bad omens au#noah sebastian fanfiction#nicholas ruffilo fanfiction#jolly karlsson fanfiction#nick folio fanfiction#horror au#paranormal au#tag: non binary character#fic: lost in the labyrinth#series: lost in the labyrinth#cw: supernatural themes#cw: alcohol#cw: bodily injury#cw: body horror#cw: graphic violence#cw: religious trauma#cw: blood#cw: physical assault#cw: minor character death
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Title: weight of the heart
Author: iriswords
Fandom: Batman
Rating: E - Explicit
Category: Gen
Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Child Abuse, Character Death (Implied/Referenced)
Word Count: 8,583
Summary:
Damian is born with an identity already carved out for him. Heir to the al-Ghul line and the Demon’s Head title, assassin in blood and training, strength and intelligence incarnate. He has been raised to wear those titles like a crown; they are what makes him a prince rather than a commoner. They are what make him worthy.
They are a burden. On some days, Damian thinks he was doomed to fail from the start, unloved and unlovable.
#fic rec#batman#Rating: E#Category: Gen#Word Count: >5K#cw: child abuse#cw: graphic violence#cw: character death
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[[A/N: time for another dream. Be warned, this one is substantially more disturbing than episode one.
Content warnings: graphic violence, blood]]
SUBCONSCIOUS NEWSREEL, EPISODE 2: PHOENIX
The darkness into which you stepped was primordial. Its ancient tongues spoke a long-extinct language through which one could understand certain things, if one knew where and how to listen. Not many did. You did, but only fleetingly, like the smoke of a dream slipping between your fingers, into your nostrils and breathed out again.
Listing left – or was it right? – you looked for semblances of light, finding nothing. The darkness was all encompassing and it enveloped you within. You felt both comfort and claustrophobia in its embrace, though the oscillation between them became a hazy line. Your legs tingled with anticipation as a feeling of impending action surged through your nerves.
A voice forced your fall from the darkness and onto a cold, concrete floor. Face pressed onto the firmness, you attempted to understand the sudden, piercing light dilating your pupils and flooding your brain with painful stimulus. The voice continued, but it took a long time – too long – to discern the voice from the ringing in your ears. The words came through on broken rafts of ice floating along the churning sea of your mind. Broken. Guards. Innocent enough. Recommendation.
Your limbs were heavy, as though soaked through with lead, and you attempted to raise yourself from the concrete. A shoe pressed into the space between your shoulder blades slowly. It was not a motion made in haste, but one made as a show; proof of control, of strength, of confidence. You could not harm them, nor fight back. Not whilst under the shoe pressing into your skin.
Muffled conversation continued to float around you. Talk. Too dr…up. You continued to try to push yourself up, but were held in place. Twenty. Neutralize. No…pressing. You felt a presence in the room leave. A distant sound of a heavy door shut with finality. A sudden pain thrust into your stomach, blunt and shaped like the toe of a boot. Again and again the pain bloomed and expanded. You coughed, black-red sludge dripped from your lips. You felt the prickle of wings at your back.
A hand gripped into your hair at the root and hauled you onto your knees. The light blinded you further as it edged closer to your face. The sludge oozed from your mouth, dribbled down your chin, probably spattered onto the floor, though you couldn’t see it. A shouting face pressed into the blur on your left. Are…rest! Me…easy? The glint of silver shone in front of the face. You coughed up more sludge. A sharp pain sprang into your chest, between the ribs, into a lung. You gasped around the intrusion.
The world became clear. Your limbs returned to you, featherlight and strong. The face that had been inches from yours was screaming in pain and fear. A wrist was gripped within your hand, you tested the bones underneath your fingertips, squeezing with curiosity. The structure collapsed without resistance, and the body owning the wrist screamed again.
What the hell are you?
Your breath stuttered. The intrusion in your chest made pain radiate outwards. You dropped the crushed wrist and pulled out the intrusion: a small knife, coated in your blood. You felt your chest forget to inflate. You drew a breath, but still only half of you puffed out and full of air. You tried to cough more sludge, but a weak wheeze was the only response. The flutter of wings at your back tickled the air behind you. They would not hide any longer. They unfurled from within, no longer full, but they would do.
The screaming face had stopped screaming and was grunting now, backing away from you, trying to stand. You approached with the knife and pressed it slowly into the chest attached to the face. The screaming came back. The face coughed a curse. You’re a monster.
You stood at full height and your wings stretched as though roused from sleep. Maybe they had been. You walked to the door, wheezing. Blood, a dark black-red trickle down your torso, tracing the skeleton of your hips, down your leg. A footprint made of blood followed you as you left the room, leaving behind the screaming face.
Entering the cool night air, you heard doors, radios, cars, but no animals – where were they? You shivered with the effort to breathe. Your wings expanded, light radiated within you. Screams sounded around you.
The light within suddenly dimmed and pain surged from your chest. Dark, black-red blood collided with the ground in a scattershot of flight. Your wings contracted. Pain again, starting from your back, between your shoulder blades, and through your body, ejecting onto the pavement in front of you. You fell onto your hands and knees and wheezed. The light dimmed further. Darkness crept into the edges of your vision.
You were pushed onto your back, the bones in your wings shattering as they bent and twisted under your body. You choked on blood. The screaming face stood over you, gun pointed at your chest. It wasn’t screaming anymore; instead it looked weary, sweating. It maintained a frown even as the body attached to it swayed.
Fucking monster.
Three more shots pierced into your chest and you writhed, feeling each one burst from your back and lodge into the concrete beneath you. The light within dimmed, the darkness surrounding you primodial…
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Happy Trans Day of Visibility! This year I wanted to celebrate by showing you what Lunar Boy, our upcoming middle grade graphic novel, means to us as queer Indonesian representation: the thought process behind crafting a sci-fi Indonesian future that embraces queer history.
Pre-order Lunar Boy or add it on goodreads! Support QPOC creators and stories!
#tdov#trans day of visibility#queer#trans#longish post#trans books#qpoc#cw queerphobic violence & discrimination mention#lunar boy#graphic novel#my art#did I whip up a 7 pg comic in a day for tdov? maybe#I've had the idea to draw this comic for a while now though. tdov felt like a good time for it#lgbt books
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