#cw: minor character death
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Christmas Eve Will Find Me
(cw in tags if you wish)
Five: Sirius
Athens, Greece
Sirius wasn’t reckless. He thought before he did—probably too much sometimes. He kept himself in line. Maybe it was a product of a strict upbringing. A smack on the cheek or hand at one wrong move. He used to think it was what made him so good for the agency. Salazar liked strict. They liked obedient. James, therefore, hadn’t quite made sense to Sirius as a candidate, at least not in the beginning. Not until he showed Sirius that it wasn’t just about following orders. It was about heart, too. Camaraderie. Remus had shown him that, too. Still, Sirius couldn’t always shake that rule-following kid.
But if Remus was on the rooftops getting shot at by Jack Archer, who had just been holding a gun to Logan and Finn’s heads, all bets were off.
Jack was smart though. He took Sirius right through the now bustling Christmas market. Small children strapped the the chests of fathers. Women in groups laughing and catching up over coffee. Carolers by a central fountain. Sirius caught glimpses of alarmed eyes as he ran, always keeping the back of Jack’s head just in sight. He tried not to add to the mess on the street, narrowly avoiding the cart Jack had carelessly rolled into his path. He sprinted past the pissed vendor. He knew he should hide his gun. Lights blurred beside him and the sun came out from behind a cloud, then went again. His feet pounded the pavement. The streets narrowed. Jack stumbled on the stones in front of a cafe, sending cups shattering to the cobblestones and making a shop owner run out and shout at him. For a second, Sirius thought he was going to catch up. He swiped forward at the fabric of Jack’s shirt, but Jack rolled and then was up on his feet again. Sirius lunged. He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care if they saw his gun. His arms wrapped around Jack’s waist and they both hit the cobblestones hard, rolling into another table. Sirius felt something hot splash against his neck, something sharp dig into the skin of his wrist.
Jack was up again in a moment, using a hard kick to Sirius’ ribs to knock the wind out of him. Sirius gasped, coughing as he scrambled up from the ground and away from the alarmed onlookers. He yanked the shard of ceramic out of his arm. Jack slipped around a bend in the street—but this was one Sirius recognized. He’d chased Remus—or the ghost of Remus—right into this corner.
When he held his gun up on Jack, Jack’s hands were around the bars of the very gate Sirius had run into their first day here.
“Dead end, Archer,” Sirius said. “Now tell me why you’re here.”
Jack at least knew when he’d been caught. His shoulders moved quickly, breathing hard as he rested his forehead against the gate.
“Did you know?” Sirius could hardly say the words. “Did you know they were alive?”
“Sirius—”
“Get the fuck down,” Sirius said, striding closer until they were both hidden in the alleyway. He risked a glance behind him. “On your knees.”
Jack went, knocking the damp hair out of his face with a jerk of his head. Sirius could see both of their breath fogging between them. “We didn’t know. Not until Leo found Remus.”
“And you want them dead.”
Jack’s mouth formed a thin line.
Sirius didn’t have time for this. His mind kept skipping back, trying to figure out who had been shooting from the roof. RemusRemusRemus.
“Why?” Sirius asked. “Why do you want them dead? They’re our own, what changed? And I swear to God, answer me, or I’ll bring you to James.”
James was sweet. James was funny. James was relaxed and kind and easy-going.
James could also get information out of anyone. He was their top interrogator, had been since the academy. How do you do it? Sirius had once asked. Sirius had never liked seeing terrified faces up close. James had gotten a sad, faraway look on his face. I pretend they have Lily. And Harry. And then I don’t feel so guilty. I just want them to talk. I make them talk.
Jack seemed to have heard the rumors because he paled. “Listen. This is Salazar. You’re here to find them and bring them in. That’s all I’m here for, too.”
Sirius thought briefly of telling Jack about Logan’s memory, but Remus’ careful hazel eyes filled his mind. Unsure. Untrusting.
“Why pull the gun?”
Jack’s eyebrow arched. “Tremblay was holding a gun on his own husband. Who, by the way…” Jack made a scornful sound. “Should not be here.”
It was Sirius’ turn to stay silent. It was a sensible response, but that didn’t mean Sirius believed him.
“What,” Jack laughed a little. “You think we wouldn’t know?”
“I couldn’t stop him.”
“Liar.”
“That makes two of us, then,” Sirius said. “Why are you here?”
“Is he turned?” Jack asked in a hushed voice, eyes dark. “Is Lupin?”
“Turned where? By who?”
Jack shook his head slowly. “Liar.”
“I’m not.” Sirius swallowed over a dry throat. At least, not entirely. Pascal. Pascal, whoever he was.
“You don’t want to get on our bad side, Black,” Jack said. His hand twitched, maybe towards a knife, and Sirius stretched his gun forward. Jack’s smile was tight. “I think Tremblay’s enough proof of that.”
Sirius stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as though his words had frozen in his mouth. He snapped his lips shut, then a strained cough escaped. A twitch went through his body, almost like a pulse of electricity, and he sat back against his heels. Sirius hesitated, watching Jack blink fast at the cobblestones before raising his eyes to Sirius.
“Who the hell are you?” Jack asked, eyes darting between the two guns. He scrambled backwards, the gate rattling when it hit his back. “What the hell?”
Sirius froze. He clicked the safety off on his own gun. “Don’t bullshit me, Archer.”
Jack blinked at him, eyes unfocused. “I…”
Another twitch, a strange pulse through his body. Jack gasped. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. He swayed where he was, and his hands went to his head. “Ah—” Sirius watched his face screw up in pain. Jack stared up at him. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Jack—” Sirius began to say, but then Jack fell against the pavement, as suddenly as if someone had pushed him, with a harsh thud.
Sirius felt something cold squeeze around his throat. Dread, maybe. Adrenaline. Slowly, he lowered the guns, tucking one into his belt and swinging the other behind him, doing a quick scan of what little of the street he could see. He raised it up towards the roofs, then crouched in front of Jack.
His eyes were open, lips parted, blood quickly drying on his skin. He was dead.
“Jesus,” Sirius whispered. “Jesus, fuck—” His hand went for his radio, and then he paused. It was Salazar’s radio.
If anyone had told Sirius just a week ago that that would make him pause, he would have laughed.
Sirius checked Jack’s pulse—nothing—and then cursed as he heaved his body up against the wall as best he could. There was no point in trying to move him, not with the city waking up. Someone would have to find him like this. Sirius turned Jack’s collar up, closed his eyes, and took the wires off of him. He took his knives—all the ones he could feel anyway—and the second, small gun he found tucked into his boot.
He walked in the opposite direction of the cafes, towards the still mostly sleeping residential streets. There had been no blood, not that much anyway, but Sirius checked his hands and front before calling out to a man sweeping the steps in front of his house with a cigarette between his teeth.
The man didn’t put up much of a fight, just handed Sirius his cellphone before waving him off and going back to the chore.
The line picked up immediately.
“Lion den,” Sirius said into the tone. It was their secure line. If Salazar knew about it, they’d be dead, but Finn’s tracker wasn’t the first illegal backup Leo had set up. James hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t seen what they’d ever have to hide any comms, but Leo had insisted. Now, Sirius was glad. After Archer and Remus and Logan, he didn’t know who to trust. A headache was building at the back of his skull.
“We’re not at the house,” Leo said instead of hello. “After Archer, I didn’t think we should go back there.”
“He’s dead,” Sirius said.
He heard Leo’s sharp inhale. “Sirius—”
“It wasn’t me,” Sirius said. “We were running, I got him. And then he didn’t recognize me all of a sudden. A minute later, he was dead.”
Sirius’ heart was going so hard he had to press a hand there. The sweeping man didn’t even look up. The gray light hurt his eyes.
“Where are you?” Sirius asked. “Leo. Are you all together?”
“He’s dead?” Leo asked. “But—how? And what do you mean he didn’t recognize you?”
“I don’t know, I thought he was fucking with me, because maybe he knew Logan—but how would he know Logan couldn’t remember? I…” Sirius pressed at his eyes. It was as though someone was shining a spotlight right in his eyes. It ached. “I don’t know, Le. Where are you? Where are you?”
“Sirius,” Leo said. “I can’t find—I can’t find you.”
“What?”
“I can’t find you—Jesus, here, I’m dropping this number our coordinates—but Sirius, your tracker’s offline.”
Sirius felt the phone vibrate with the incoming text. He looked, memorizing quickly. It would disappear entirely in a minute, erasing itself.
“He didn’t recognize you?” Leo asked. “He didn’t…”
“Leo,” Sirius said, and then dropped to a knee. God, his very bones ached. His skull.
“Oh God,” Leo said faintly, and then, a little farther away from the phone, he shouted. “James!”
Sirius ducked away from the gray light. The cold wind. His head was killing him. “Fuck.”
“Eh!” The man stopped sweeping, looking at him. He said something fast in Greek, but Sirius was hopeless to translate just then.
“Sirius,” Leo said, voice closer now. “You’re tracker. Cut it out right now.”
“What?” Sirius asked.
“Cut out your tracker right now,” Leo shouted. “You said Jack forgot and then he was dead, there’s nothing that would cause that except—” Leo cut off with a short cry.
“Leo?” Sirius said.
He heard Finn’s voice in the background. Leo! Oh my God—
Then Leo’s. Cut it out, Finn. Right there, remember, feel it? Finn, stop fucking staring, do it, do it, it’s going to kill me and James—
“Finish?” the man asked him, alarmed. He was holding out his hand for his phone, but didn’t look like he wanted to get much closer to Sirius. “Hey, finish? Finish?”
“Help,” Sirius said. “Please—” He pulled the Greek out but he didn’t know how. Autopilot, maybe. “Sir, please may I use your bathroom? It’s life or death.”
The man began to shake his head, but Sirius didn’t have time—he shouldn’t have even asked. The man shouted as Sirius hauled himself up and stumbled past him. He shouldered through the small, wooden door and found himself in a living room—tidy and smelling of cinnamon and coffee. It connected right with the kitchen, not unlike their safe house. The dim lamp by the sofa stung his eyes, glaring as if it were a sun. Sirius blinked hard, looking for something sharp, anything.
“Hey!” The man tried to grab his shoulder, but Sirius shook him off easily. There was a knife, small, laying beside a sliced lemon. Sirius grabbed it and all but fell against the sink. A small vase on the window sill above slipped and shattered into the basin.
The man’s protests was no more than a ringing in Sirius’ ear as he groped at the back of his own neck. What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Are you sick? Hey, my wife and children will be back soon, come on, brother, don’t scare them. Put the knife down, put the knife down—
There. Sirius felt the bump. Was he imagining that it was hot to the touch? It didn’t matter.
He didn’t even feel the pain of the blade. His adrenaline was so high that it felt like nothing at all. Butter. A slip. Only the red on his hands let him know that he had succeeded. That, and the small, pill-like chip clutched between his fingers.
The pain evaporated and Sirius drew in a ragged breath.
No sooner had he dropped the tracker into the sink than did it let out a high-pitched sound and crack itself in half.
His hearing returned. He blinked his vision back to normal. He worked the pressure out of his jaw. The tracker released a thin trail of smoke.
Sirius, he tested. Sirius Black. He knew himself. He knew the coordinates.
When he turned, breathing hard and sweating, he grabbed an old, dirty looking cloth and pressed it to his neck. It didn’t look like anyone would miss it. The man was simply staring at him, eyes darting between his face and the device in the sink.
“Thank you.” Sirius breathed the words out. Greek, or at least half way there. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”
Without another word, Sirius raced out the door.
+++
The coordinates were an abandoned building right on the coast. Sirius could smell the salt. The cold air was made colder by damp. He had stopped the bleeding of his neck and turned up his collar to keep the rag in place. Everything felt wet and slippery now. Recent rain on the rocks beneath his feet as he walked up an old pathway.
There was nothing inside, it was merely a somewhat reasonable roof of their heads. Shelter, nothing more. Just broken down boards and stone walls now.
To anyone else, it looked empty.
Sirius whistled two notes.
Two notes returned from his left where the sea and horizon bled into each other, framed by a still standing window. It could have been a painting. A TV.
James appeared in front of it, wild hair haloed by the light.
“Fuck,” James said, and then they were hugging. Sirius face ended up near a slightly pink bandage on James’ neck, and he sighed his relief all over again.
“Fuck me, we had a bomb in our head the whole time, Si.” James reached up and brushed the bandage with light fingers. “Just an average day on the job.” His eyes went to Sirius’ neck. “What did you do it with?”
“Fucking kitchen knife, man. You?”
James’ laugh was shaky. “One of my daggers on Leo and I. Finn did it. Think he’s a little freaked, but he did it.”
“Oh Jesus, I should have…” Sirius shook his head. He had his own and he had Jack’s. “Didn’t have to traumatize this…God, never mind. I fucking broke into someone’s house.”
James laughed again, but he looked pale. “It’ll be fine. I was so scared I didn’t even feel it.”
“Same.”
James raised his eyebrows. “Jack?”
“I left him,” Sirius said. “Took everything off him. People will think…I don’t know. But there’s nothing to lead back to Salazar or us.”
James nodded, taking that in. “Salazar’ll be looking for us now that they can’t find us.”
Sirius nodded. “I know… I know they will. We have to move.” They began walking towards the sea window. “How did you end up here? Where are the others?”
“Finn and Leo are with Logan.”
Logan. God, Sirius hadn’t forgotten, of course he hadn’t forgotten, but what a strange thing to hear. After all these months, just a simple Finn and Leo are with Logan.
No sooner had James said it than did the Leo appear. He had an identical bandage to James and held one out to Sirius, along with an alcohol packet.
“Clean that,” Leo said.
Sirius tossed the bloody rag away. “Did yours smoke, too?”
“Yeah,” Leo said. “The second I started to get a headache—Finn said that’s what happened to Logan, too. Said he fell down in pain. But…” Leo frowned in the way he did when he was thinking something over, when something was so entirely perplexing to him that he was sure to pull an all nighter. Sirius had seen him many times after those. Blond hair a mess, coffee mugs lined up besides the water and the electrolyte packets.
“Where…” Sirius began to say. He’d only gotten a glimpse of Logan and it was beginning to feel more like a dream. His slack face. There had been blood? Hadn’t there?
Leo moved aside, revealing a half-collapsed hallway. No, it was more like an nave. Sirius looked up and realized that the remnant of a vaulted ceiling remained, stone and precarious. This had been a church.
Wind whistled through, a high note off the sea, when Sirius saw them. Finn and Logan were at the other end, a corner mostly intact and protected from the cold. Finn was awake, staring down at Logan’s face like he couldn’t stand to look away, not even for a moment. Logan was—asleep?
“Knocked out.” Leo filled in his thoughts. “Finn said he remembered him in the alley, but he’s been out ever since.”
“And his tracker?”
“It’s gone,” Leo said. “I checked.”
“But if Salazar wanted him dead…”
Leo nodded, already there. “Then whoever took it out probably saved his life."
“But he can’t remember us,” Sirius said.
Leo rubbed a hand through his hair, then pressed his fingers to his mouth, thinking. There was blood beneath his nails still, a crust of red even smeared along his jaw. Sirius had the sudden urge to wipe it away for him.
“You said Jack forgot who you were a second before he was killed,” Leo said. “I’m guessing—and this is only a guess—that this is some sort of…kill code put into place in Salazar’s tracker hardware. A memory wipe in case we get captured, and then a kill switch if there’s no hope or if we might crack and tell all.”
“Jesus,” James whispered.
“I’m guessing whoever took out Logan’s didn’t do it in time to prevent the memory wipe. And that’s calling it real close, I don’t know…”
Remus. Sirius could hardly breathe. If he hadn’t seen that footage for himself, he’d be on his knees all over again, desperate and afraid.
“Can you reverse it?” James asked. He was chewing on a thumbnail, looking down the hall. “God, please say you can Leo.”
Leo let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” He looked down the stone archways towards Finn. As the three of them watched, Finn reached out a hand and brushed Logan’s hair back from his eyes gently. “I don’t know.”
#cw: minor character death#cw: blood/wound mention#Christmas Eve will find me Lumosinlove#winterfic lumosinlove 2023#wolfstar#sirius black#remus lupin#amnesia au#spy au#ficmas#Leo knut#finn o'hara#Logan tremblay#o'knutzy#finnlo#lelo#lionfish#sunfish
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LOST IN THE CONCRETE JUNGLE
CHAPTER SIX
Bad Omens x Star Wars
Pairing: Zebastian (Noah Sebastian) x F!Reader
CW: ⚠️‼️THIS CHAPTER TURNS DARK- PLEASE USE YOUR DESCRECTION WHEN READING‼️⚠️
drugging, graphic descripions of murder, post murder fuck, anal sex (male receiving), blood, blood kink
Summary: You are the perfect senator's daughter- next in line to become his aide to learn everything about the Galactic Senate. But on your 21st birthday, your perfect life changes forever when the mysterious masked man you met at the nightclub was not who you thought he was.
A/N: POV switching from second to first occurs often in the story. Shout out to my amazing beta team @mysticdoodlez, @roley-poley-foley, and @nerdraging4point0 your insight and cheerleading has been invaluable.
Word Count:2k
Crossposted: Wattpad & A03
Cast list
Master list
May the Force be with you✨
“Leave me alone!”
You sprint out of the warehouse. It’s all too much. You gasp for air as your legs give out. You cry out at the pain searing through your legs. Your head slumps into your hands as uncontrollable heartbreak consumes you. Your chest heaves against the tops of your knees.
A warm hand on your back startles you. “Go away!” You try to push the body away but they step back from your grasp. When your blurry vision clears, a large figure crouches beside you.
Zebastian.
You scramble to your feet and stumble aimlessly into the dark alley. You can’t see what’s in front of you but it doesn’t bother you. You just need to get away. You stagger further into the alley until your body crashes into something cold and hard. A concrete wall halts your path of despair. You slump back into the wall for stability as its rough texture somehow grounds you.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Zebastian’s voice is low as if he is trying to soothe a scared animal that escaped the Coruscant Zoo. Footsteps crunch against gravel.
“Liar,” you bite out. His footsteps stop.
“I mean you no harm. Not anymore.” Zebastian puts his hands up in defense. “I needed answers.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I needed to know why my father was murdered…” He trails off. He clears his throat. “I’m sure you need answers to…” His voice is soft and sincere.
“I don’t need answers, I need a distraction.” You cut Zebastian off. “I don't want to think right now. I don’t want to think about my father and especially you.”
You bite out the last word and it strikes Zebastian just as you intended. You don’t know what Zebastian wants. One minute he’s trying to hurt you then he’s trying to help you. It’s all too much.
“I can help you with your distraction.” Zebastian makes one step closer to you. Even in the dim light, you can see his jaw clench. His face still surprises you every time you see him without his mask on. He’s strikingly handsome.
“You swaying in tempo with the music.” Your body freezes as he takes another step.
“Bodies pressed against without a care in the world.” You suck in a breath as he closes the distance between you. He slams both of his hands on the wall; caging you in.
“The dancefloor beckons,” Zebstian’s hot breath against your ear sends a shiver down your spine.
You should push him away.
Should decline his invitation.
But you don’t.
The beat consumes you and takes your racing thoughts with it. Despite the dense air and body heat, you can finally breathe. You sink deeper into the bliss as the tempo picks up. Closing your eyes and raising your arms into the air you release all abandon into the void. You are safe. The bodies pressing against you on the dancefloor don’t care who you are. They don’t ask questions. They just want to feel the freedom of music just like you.
A warm arm wraps around your waist followed by a cool metal one. Nash. The memories of him in the alley flood your mind. His metal hand holding you still so Revan can violate you. You should run, but his earthy scent and body heat flood your system making your head spin.
His cybernetic arm pulls you closer to his chest holding you to him as his other hand roams the side of your body. Through the soft fabric of your dress, you can feel the heat emanating from his fingertips. You roll your head back against his firm chest, your body swaying to the beat.
You could get lost here in the Concrete Jungle.
Without warning, Nash grips your wrist with his metal hand and pulls you off the dancefloor. You try to protest but he can’t hear you against the loud music. His hand grips you tighter as you stumble through the crowd. Nash leads you through a dark hallway and up a flight of stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” You ask between pants. He doesn’t answer you, instead abruptly opens a door and pushes you inside. “What the-” you stagger into the room as Nash slams the door shut leaving you in the room.
When you turn from the door you lock eyes with Zebastian. Your breath leaves your lungs as your mouth drops open. He is lounging in a leather chair behind his desk. His feet are propped up on the desk and crossed at the ankles. The top few buttons of his black shirt are popped up and the sleeves are rolled up exposing his tattooed arms, chest, and neck. His hair is slicked back into a small bun with no mask in sight. He looks so different; comfortable, and confident.
“What’s going on? Why am I here?” Your voice comes out more breathy than you would like.
“So many questions,” Zebastian says lowly. “Please sit down.” He gestures to the leather couch. You don’t know why you comply, but you go to the couch.
“It seems like your father has sent his pet to come get you.” Zebastian takes a sip of what looks like wine. Your brows knit together in confusion.
“Pet?” You echo.
Zebastian just chuckles. “Come over here.” Zebastian gestures to the window behind him but you hesitate. He lets out a breath. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
This time you believe him. You make your way to the window behind his desk, tugging at the hem of your dress subconsciously. His intense gaze makes your stomach tie up in knots. Your eyes go wide when you see Mikkah.
“W-what’s he doing here?” You stammer.
Zebastian takes a sip of his wine. “Your father’s dirty work.” Zebastian’s says nonchalantly. “He’s here to come get you.” Your mouth falls open again as your thoughts spiral out of control.
“Do you want to go home?” Zebastian’s unusual question rips you from your thoughts.
“I can’t go home, not after what my father did to me…what Mikkah did to me.” You watch as Mikkah is being dragged down by a group of men.
“Mikkah? What did Mikkah do to you?” Zebastian asks in a low husky tone.
“I-I- can’t say.” That’s all you can muster as you pull yourself away from the chaos.
“Did Mikkah hurt you?” Zebastian says through clenched teeth.
You don’t have the words or the courage to admit what happened to you. You try to turn away from Zebastian, from the embarrassment and shame about to bubble and overflow; but a hand grabs your wrist, freezing you in place. His hold on you is surprisingly gentle but a spark manages to cut through you when you look up at him.
“Stay,” Zebastian says softly. “I will not hurt you and neither will he.”
Lost in your spiraling thoughts you did not hear the door open. When you follow Zebastian’s gaze you find Revan in the doorway. You pull out of Zebastian’s grasp and take a few steps back until you hit the wall. The memories of that night in the alley flash into your mind. Your heartbeat quickens and your shoulders tense.
“You,” You breathe out staring at Revan. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears now.
“He will not hurt you, not ever again.” Zebastian turns to you. “He only did that to you because I asked him to. It was the only way.”
Zebastian buttons up his shirt and grabs his coat and mask from his desk. He makes his way to Revan as he puts on the mask, but stops and turns to you again.
“Go with him, now.” Zebastian’s eyes turn dark and menacing.
You will never understand how quickly he can change from quiet and comforting to stern and dangerous. Before you can probe more, Zebastian storms out the door.
“Would you like a drink before we go?” Revan smiles softly.
When you hesitate he adds, “It’s not tampered with. It’s from Zebastian’s personal stash.” Revan gestures to the bar in the corner of the room.
“I’ll even let you have the expensive wine if you’d like.”
You watch as Revan pours himself a glass of whiskey. It couldn’t hurt to calm the nerves. Could it? You nod your head and Revan pours you a drink. You close your eyes and knock it back quickly. The warm liquid burns the back of your throat making your eyes water but it settles your nerves almost instantly. Revan reaches out his hand for you to take. Reluctantly, you take it.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, gripping your hand tighter. Your brows knit together in confusion, then all at once your vision blurs, and your legs give out.
I slowly descend the dimly lit concrete spiral staircase leading to the basement of the nightclub. Lights flicker on with each step I make. I revel in the sound of slapped skin and grunts of pain. Mikkah should have never stepped his polished boots in my territory.
Mikkah’s screams get louder as I near the bottom of the steps. The Senator is going to pay for meddling in a place he doesn’t belong.
Mikkah is in the center of the room tied to a chair as Nash and Jax flank him. Jax pours water over the hood on Mikkah’s head while Nash lands punishing blows to his bare chest and side with his metal arm. When they hear my approach, Nash goes to perch on an Imperial crate against the wall while Jax brings over the cart of knives.
This is going to be fun. My heartbeat pounds in my chest as I rip off the hood. Mikkah’s eyes go wide and he tugs against his restraints, spurting out muffled pleas through his cloth gag.
I glance over Mikkah’s surprisingly toned chest now marred with red and purpling splotches. He is bigger than I imagined. I watch as his shoulders tense to my gaze. He could have easily held her down with his weight alone.
Anger flashes through me and I can’t stop myself from smashing my fist into his ribs. His ribs crunch against the impact; sending Mikkah screaming and gasping for air.
I turn and snatch a knife from the cart. The blade glints in the low light as I tower over him. I cut the gag and yank it from his mouth. Before Mikkah can spout a syllable I knick his collarbone with the blade. He winces as blood starts to bead at the incision.
“What are you doing here?” I stalk around him watching his shallow breathing. His jaw clenches shut and he glares at me.
“Loth-cat got your tongue?” I chuckle to myself.
I get right up in Mikkah’s face and press the tip of the blade onto the delicate skin of his neck. Mikkah leans his head back as I press the blade harder. Mikkah spits in my face. It takes every ounce of willpower not to slit his throat right then and there.
In one swift motion, I slice off his nipple. Mikkah howls in pain and I dig the tip of the knife in the other nipple.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
“T-the senator sent me-.” Mikkah sputters out between shallow breaths. I press deeper. “To get his daughter.”
Mikkah sighs when I remove the knife. Blood is starting to drip down his torso. Mikkah’s eyes gloss over as adrenaline sets in.
“Was she everything you hoped for?” I drag the blade up his torso collecting his blood.
“W-what?” Mikkah stammers.
I plunge the blade into the wound. “The senator’s daughter.” I clamp down on his shoulder with my free hand and twist the blade inside the wound. Mikkah shrieks in agony. “Was her pussy that good?” I step back, examining my handiwork leaving the blade in his body as he processes the pain and the question.
“Y-yes,” Mikkah chokes out.
Before he can finish the word, I yank the blade from his chest and slice his throat.
Blood gushes everywhere, spattering my clothes. This only makes my cock strain harder against my pants.
Fuck.
The light drains from Mikkah’s eyes as his head slumps over. Adrenaline and arousal course through my veins.
The bloody knife slips from my hand as my head begins to clear. I hear footsteps nearby. Jax is getting to work cleaning up the body.
A body shuffles in the corner of my vision. Nash. His eyes are full of primal lust. He loves blood as much as I do. He takes a swig from the flask he keeps in his jacket pocket before loosening his belt.
Our post-murder fuck.
Nash has his boxers and pants around his ankles in an instant. He leans over an Imperial crate for leverage. Fuck the Empire. I unzip my pants and free my hard cock from its confines. Spitting on my hand to add more lubrication to the blood already there, my core ignites with every stroke from my hand.
Without warning, I plunge my throbbing cock into his ass. Nash grunts at the invasion. I grip his hips and drill into him further.
“Fuuuuuck, Zeb,” Nash groans as his walls adjust.
I slowly withdraw from him until it's just the tip. He whimpers with anticipation and it makes my heart skip a beat. I dig my nails deep into his hips, scratching his skin. He pushes against me practically begging for more. I thrust into him without mercy. Clenching my teeth, I fuck him through my orgasm until cum has nowhere else to go but down his thigh. When I pull away from him Nash dutifully drops to his knees to lick and clean my softening cock.
Jax’s monotone voice cuts through the haze of my mind. “It’s finished.” After I’ve adjusted my clothes, I turn to find the basement completely free of any evidence a murder occurred.
“I need a drink,” I say dryly.
tysm for reading❤️🗡️
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December 2023/January 2024 Contest Submission #1: A Piece of Me Left in You
Words: ca. 4,400
Setting: modern AU
Lemon: no
CW: some violence, plane crash, minor character death, nudity
Day-0: Fifteen Seconds
It began with a shudder.
A low-pitched mechanical whine rousing Anna from her mid-flight nap. Raising the shades, a gasp escaped her lips as she observed the sky blackened like dusk. The increasing vibration failed to wake the other passengers, nor did the seatbelt sign - its ominous chime echoing their fates.
Her eyes widened at ash drifting from the sky, grey clumps streaking past the window. The PA system crackled a pre-recorded message:
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten-”
A violent lurch evoked gasps of terror. Anna fumbled with the buckle. Right before a muffled thwump reached her ears. Flickering flames reached her eyes a split second before she could comprehend the plane’s engine spewing fire, right before it gave one last mighty belch.
Then, silence.
Anna’s limbs flailed as they plummeted like a brick. Her ears popped from the descent, doing nothing to deaden the screaming around the cabin. Frantic commands on the loudspeaker competed with the passengers’ panicking cries in volume.
Brace! Brace! Brac-!
In the instant it took for Anna to lean forward, she’s torn from her loosely buckled seat belt by the impact. A tidal wave sucked her through the gaping fuselage, along with whatever was tangled around her wrist. The current dragged her downwards with her flimsy yellow companion as seawater filled her insides. Her face turned blue fighting the unmet urge to breathe. Someone’s hand closed around a fistful of her hair, before yanking the ripcord. The life jacket’s sudden ballooning dragged her to the surface, and her lungs strained as she swallowed mouthfuls of saltwater and air in a desperate bid to survive.
“Fuck, fuck,” Anna swore, clinging onto the life jacket. Waterlogged eyes unable to comprehend the smouldering devastation. Nostrils burning with smoke. Ears ringing from the noise and pressure. A sudden surge sent her into another flailing panic, only for the figure’s firm hands to pull her away from the swell.
“Stay still!” the voice commanded, dragging her onto a fuel-soaked foam plank.
Lungs heaving, Anna gasped a sputtery no no no as the other woman darted back beneath the waves. Seconds ticked by like hours, before she surfaced again, muttering, “Everything’s fucked off to the deep end-”
Anna stared at her with an open jaw, similar blue eyes dilated in shock, seaweed clumped onto her blonde hair. Chest pulsating with exertion. Two solitary figures bobbing on an ocean littered with burning fuel and shredded wreckage.
“We’d better leg it before the sharks come,” the other woman pointed towards distant shadows meandering in the water, “I don’t think we can get past the surf but it’s worth a shot.”
Her words shot through Anna’s deafened ears.
“Can you swim?”
Anna shook her head.
Without warning, she’s hauled off the plank towards what appeared to be a landmass in the distance. A visceral scream of terror vacated Anna as she’s dunked beneath the waves again, but this time she found assurance in the woman’s steady strokes. Clutching onto her belt for dear life, Anna allowed the tides and her swimming to pull her onto the shore. It’s not until she spat out a mouthful of sand, that Anna realised this stranger might’ve saved her life.
The adrenaline wore off like a steep fall from a cliff, and she slumped face-first onto the black sand.
Day-1: A Day
The acrid stench of smoke still burned in Anna’s lungs when she woke. Pale sunlight filtered through the sparse jungle canopy, and a distant rumble shook the ground beneath her. Every muscle and joint within her screamed once she tried to get up, and there was that voice again.
“Slowly, love-”
Groaning, Anna pinched her forehead, “This isn’t real.”
“Oh, this is very real,” the english-accented voice insisted, “this is as real as it gets now.”
Anna turned to the blonde woman, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans. Tending a makeshift fire pit with smouldering coals adding to the smoke in the air. And that awful smell.
“What is that stench?” Anna complained, sniffling at its source.
She pointed at the smouldering volcano, rumbling in the distance, “Plane must’ve sucked in all the ash and died. Were you with anyone?”
Anna’s eyes widened, before she shook her head, “No - how about you?”
The woman stared at the coals for a good twenty seconds.
“My parents,” she whispered, tossing a branch into the flames, “My brother, his wife and his children.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-”
Her voice shook, “Well it’s no use now, innit? They’ve fucked off to the bottom of the ocean!”
The blonde bolted up, wielding a pole with a sharpened tip. Her eyes were reddened, but there was a gritty determination in her stoic face that lent strength to Anna’s bones.
“I’m off to score some fish, no idea how long they’re going to take to find us,” she snarled, before pointing the stick at Anna, “there’s a rock pool with fresh water nearby, make yourself useful.”
As the woman stomped towards the beach, a sudden surge of helplessness welled up within Anna, like she was tethered to the only lifeboat on a sinking ship; about to be severed from her.
“Wait, wait - I didn’t catch your name!” Anna called out.
The voice called back, barely audible over the rumbling volcano.
“Elsa!”
Limping through the trees with a Garoupa impaled on her makeshift spear, Elsa gawked when she saw Anna weaving a basket on the jungle floor.
“Wait, what on earth did you do with this place?”
In the few hours Elsa was away fishing in the surf, Anna had transformed the sparse camping ground. She’d thatched together palm fronds with vine, creating a makeshift canopy. There was fresh water brimming in a broken, hollow log. Still clad in her soaking white dress, Anna sat cross-legged on a bed of palm fronds, while lengths of vine lay coiled beside her. And, what was that fragrant smell? Her mouth watered at the sight of skewered yams cooking over her coals. The sweetness in the air barely beset the looming stench of sulphur.
Anna rose to her knees, face clouded in worry.
“Did you see anyone coming to get us?” Anna asked.
“It’d be a miracle if I could see anything beyond a mile,” Elsa mumbled, laying her fish to roast, and wringing seawater from her blonde hair.
“That means they can hardly see us either,” Anna lamented, cupping her head in her hands. The silence after Anna’s words seeped with despair. A snivel reached Elsa’s ears, and it was all it took to soften her heart.
“C’mon, love, don’t give up,” Elsa whispered, kneeling by Anna’s side, “look at everything you’ve done while I was gone-”
The uncertainty clouding over Anna’s head sent a tremble through her mudstained hands. She looked at the woman’s blue eyes narrowing with grief. Despite the unfamiliarity, the untamed roughness of their surroundings and the violence they’d endured. The prospect of comfort from another stranger proved too much to resist, and Anna found herself slipping into Elsa’s embrace. Immediately, the sheer comfort of being held swept away all their fears into the ocean. If only for a moment.
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you,” Anna whispered into the damp fabric of Elsa’s shirt, “for saving me.”
“You saved yourself,” Elsa retorted, pointing at Anna’s deflated yellow life jacket, torn apart and fashioned into a water carrier, “but I will accept your yams as gratitude.”
Famished from a day in the sun, Elsa watched as the girl carefully scraped charred bits off the yam and smashed it onto a banana leaf. She mixed in flaked pieces of Elsa’s catch, and the steaming meal presented a tempting sight - even if they were starving. Devoid of cutlery, Elsa couldn’t help but reach out with bare hands.
“Wait,” Anna quipped, reaching for an empty coconut husk, into which she had ground some berries, “these are pepper berries. I fed some to the squirrels just to be sure.”
“You had the time for all this and to pick spices?” Elsa wondered, watching her sprinkle pepper on their meal, “I spent half a day out and caught one fish.”
“Fair trade, since I can’t fish for fuck. Dig in!”
Accustomed to a lifetime of mild English cuisine - the sudden rush of tropical spice spreading through Elsa’s mouth turned her face red. It’s hot, but at the same time it left her salivating, and it made her want more.
“Mm, spicy,” Anna commented, quenching her lips with coconut water, straight from a smashed-in husk. She handed the coconut to Elsa, and in that brief second, their fingertips touched. Their eyes met, reddened lips revealing the exact same unspoken words between two strangers, caught by sudden adversity.
What would I do without you?
Day-2: Thirty minutes
“We’d better keep an eye on that thing,” Anna whimpered, eyes lofted toward the smoking volcano in the distance. Even from the beach, they saw the craggy black summit spewing flames and spreading its soot across the sky.
“I am keeping an eye on it,” Elsa remarked, “the only question is - what happens when Mount Karen inevitably explodes and rains burning lava on us?”
“Assuming they don’t come for us, we’d have to get off this island in a hurry then,” Anna said, her voice trailing off as the realisation dawned upon her: only one of them could swim.
“Well, even if we made it past the surf, what then? If the volcano doesn’t finish us off, the sharks will.”
Anna’s voice broke under the strain, her words sputtering quicker and quicker, “I’d rather get mauled then roasted. Besides, there’s probably a better chance of getting rescued from the sea than a burning island-”
Alarmed by the growing intensity of her voice, Elsa spun around and grabbed her by the shoulders.
“I’m not leaving without you, Anna.”
Shaking her head, Anna found enough presence of mind to mutter, “Don’t do this, I can’t ask anything more of you.”
“But I can,” Elsa smirked, cradling Anna’s elbow, “And right now I’m asking you to learn how to swim. At least you’ll stand a chance against the sharks.”
Without waiting, Elsa motioned for Anna to follow her to the waterline. The girl took a few cautious steps into the tide, its calm coolness threatening to expunge what little she ate. She shut her eyes, and the memory of seawater entering her lungs stole all the colour from her face.
“What, now?”
“Yes, now,” Elsa ordered, unbuttoning her clothes and draping them upon some driftwood, “C’mon, love. Just thirty minutes, and we can call it a day.”
Seeking a distraction, Anna’s attention fell upon the pale, radiant skin undressed before her. Blood rushed back to Anna’s face as her eyes roved along Elsa’s curves. Black sports bra and panties. Toned muscles hinting her past life as a university swimmer. She bit on her lip as thoughts surfaced in her mind, “D-do I have to take off my clothes too?”
“Unless you want to end up soaking wet again.”
Anna hesitated, before pulling her dress over her head and laying it next to Elsa’s clothes. The sight of her naked, lithe figure didn’t go unnoticed. Elsa’s glance dipped, following the unbroken trail of freckles running down her collarbone and along the sides of her breasts.
“Staring is rude,” Anna sneered, drawing Elsa’s attention back to her eyes, “I have a husband back home, you know-”
Fishes swam around their ankles as they stood knee-deep in the water. Elsa frowned, trying to shake off that simmering feeling in her chest, “W-why aren’t you wearing a bra?”
“Where’d you think I got the wire to make your fish hooks?”
“Right.”
“Right, you have thirty minutes, then.”
Day-4: An hour
That was how long they took in a chorus of frenzied squealing and scurrying about before Elsa finally caught that wild chicken.
“No, no wait!” Elsa shrieked, as the squawking bird flapped feathers all over them, “What do I do with this thing now?”
Giggling at Elsa’s exasperated face, Anna yelped, “Kill it!”
“I don’t know how to kill a chicken!”
Stepping forward, Anna ended its life with a swift tug at its neck, and the bird flopped dead in her arms.
“Oh my god,” Elsa panted, heaving from the exertion, “that took us way too long.”
“At least we don’t have to worry about dinner today-”
Having ventured far inland pursuing the chicken, the sun had sunk over the ash-draped horizon when they reached the beach. Elsa watched closely as Anna methodically stripped its feathers and drained it for roasting. She took care to stud clove buds all around the meagre bird, and stuffed its end with a handful of floral-smelling spices. As the bird cooked over coals, the smouldering fragrance was like walking into a perfumery, a tea house, and a barbeque - all together.
Looking up from tending the fire, Anna remarked, “Sky looks like it’s clearing.”
A few rays of golden sunset peeked through the soot-lined clouds, but Elsa’s eyes were fixed on the girl crouched before her. Without realising it, she’d completely forgotten her usual routine of scanning the horizon endlessly for ships and planes. For the first time in four days.
“Where’d you learn all this?” Elsa asked.
“Grew up on a farm in Texas,” Anna answered, portioning the chicken with leftover fish and yams, “I learnt about spices from a college botany course.”
Elsa stared at her smoky-charred meal wrapped in a banana leaf. She couldn’t resist stuffing her face the moment the smell of roasted meat hit her. A medley of flavours flooded her mouth. At the tip of her tongue, she detected Cardamom, Clove, a hint of Anise and copious amounts of pepper. More fragrant than spicy, the taste sent her head into a spin.
“I think I like this blend better than yesterday’s,” Anna remarked, chicken juices running down her hands.
“And I could hardly care, after everything you’ve done for me so far-” Elsa scoffed.
“For us.”
Elsa turned to the girl, red hair fluttering with the sea breeze and gleaming in the dim sunlight. Her heart clenched when she saw Anna wipe a tongue over her lips, but told herself it was just the spice’s heat. The sky darkened again. Anna paused her chewing. The flickering flames lent an otherworldly glow to the girl’s freckled features, and Elsa found herself drawn deeper into the unusual silence which had befallen her. Alarmed by the sudden tear trickling down Anna’s cheek, Elsa shifted closer, placing an arm around her.
“No, no it’s alright, they’ll come get us soon-”
“It’s not that,” Anna argued, curling her fingers into Elsa’s, “oh god, it’s so stupid, I’m going to sound like an idiot if I say another word.”
She could feel the quickening throb of Anna’s pulse in her palm. Her own heart raced. Burying her face into Anna’s hair, she inhaled the scent of her copper hair, a mix of the sea they’d been forced into, and the spice that knit them together. Squeezing Anna’s hand tight, Elsa searched her mind for something that could coax more words out of Anna.
“We might be dead tomorrow anyway, so you might as well-”
Anna looked over her shoulder at the Volcano, which had fallen silent. Her lips trembled, words perched on the precipice.
“I’m stuck on an island, god-knows-where, no hope of rescue,” Anna sighed, wiping her cheeks, “but I haven’t been this happy in a long while.”
The words flew through Elsa’s ears as she pondered a response, before realising she really knew nothing about this girl.
A deep breath, before Anna confessed, “I discovered my husband cheating on me a month ago-”
“Oh my god, Anna.”
“It sounds so petty and trivial, telling this to someone who’s lost her family-”
Anna’s words brewed a potent mix of grief, empathy, and desire, manifesting as a thumping noise behind Elsa’s ears. She brought the girl’s fingers to her lips, and kissed them, savouring the taste of spice on her skin.
“It’s not until you’ve lost everything, that you’re free to do anything.”
Day-6: A Week
A muffled boom jolted Anna awake. Lurching upright, she snapped her eyes to the Volcano’s peak spurting glowing lava upon its slopes, before resuming its smouldering fury. Seconds ticked by as she watched in the dawn silence, as though the slightest breath would trigger an eruption.
“Mount Karen looks grumpy today,” Anna whispered towards Elsa’s sleeping spot.
Her heart sank at the silence answering her.
“Elsa?”
A feeble whine. Before Anna lurched over, outstretched arm falling upon the shadowy mound of Elsa’s sleeping body. She gasped as it came away with cold sweat.
“Oh my god, Elsa,” Anna shrieked, pressing a palm to her forehead, burning like the volcano.
She strained to hear the murmuring, before making out the words, “I don’t feel so good today-”.
Fumbling with a coconut shell, Anna spilled water on herself as she brought the husk to Elsa’s lips. A groan escaped her as she struggled to sit upright.
“I got stung by an urchin while fishing,” Elsa whimpered, in between sips of coconut water, “felt like shit but I thought I’d get better-”
“You should’ve told me,” Anna chided, cradling Elsa’s warm head to her bosom.
“What good would that’ve done?” Elsa whined, “I’m so terribly sorry, Anna. But y-you’ll probably have to take up fishing today.”
In an instant, all the buried fears within Anna’s chest boiled over. The fear of being stuck alone; or even worse, the fear of losing this woman - the singular source of comfort and life and hope to make it out. It all crashed upon her head. Instead of tears, this time - there was only a fierce determination to set things right.
“Wait, just wait, I’ll be back-” Anna assured, before scampering into the dawn mist. Hours crawled by as she combed her memory and the forest floor for anything that could alleviate Elsa’s illness. All the while circling back repeatedly to ensure Elsa hadn’t passed out.
“Stop, please stop,” Elsa complained, powerless to stop Anna from forcing down another mouthful of coconut water, “Stop whatever you’re doing, I’ll be fine.”
Despite her frail pleading, Anna refused to let up her intense search, until the sun was high in the sky - and the volcano resumed its grumpy fireworks.
“I knew this tea grew wild in the Pacific,” Anna muttered, breaking ginger roots into a coconut set upon coals, already simmering with a floral fragrance. She sprinkled more buds, before stirring the brew, bringing to life a spicy, woody scent. Elsa’s eyes widened at the smell. She shifted closer, inhaling the steam, and letting the aroma spread across every aching muscle in her body.
“Drink while it’s warm,” Anna whispered, wrapping a leaf around the husk. It only took a sip for the spicy, soothing warmth to fill her insides, touching her every pore with a golden glow.
“That’s some good stuff,” Elsa murmured, ginger tingling on her tongue, “try some-”
“No, it’s meant to help you get well,” Anna cooed, pressing a damp hand to Elsa’s head.
Her bones still ached with fire, but she pulled Anna’s palm against her cheek. Rough, calloused skin rubbing against the pale smoothness of her own. She blinked once, trying to suppress the aching hole in her heart this girl so easily filled.
“M’love, I feel better already.”
Day-7: An Eternity
“Elsa, Elsa! Wake up! Now!” Anna screamed, shaking Elsa awake. Sweat bathed Anna’s face as a forest fire swept towards them like a typhoon, driven by the morning breeze. Ash and burning twigs rained down, and a towering wall of flame blazed around them, threatening to cut them off from the sea.
“What-” Elsa murmured, watery eyes unable to comprehend the inferno. Unwilling to wait for an answer, Anna yanked her upright, hauling the woman onto her feet. They took two steps before tripping over onto the blackened jungle floor.
“C’mon!” Anna shrieked. Driven wild by the maddening fear of losing Elsa, she scooped her into her arms. Staggering with a warm body, Anna made a bare-footed dash through the undergrowth, barely reaching the tree line before her strength gave out. As she dropped Elsa on the sand, Anna turned and recoiled from the sight of Mount Karen’s slopes scrawled cherry red with lava, spewing flaming brimstone on the jungle.
A sputtering noise caught her attention. She took a few seconds to comprehend something as alien as a helicopter hovering over the beach.
“Hey! Hey!” Anna screamed, hoarse voice drowned by the blades and the raging inferno. She started hopping and waving her hands, white billowing dress sticking out before the smouldering carnage. A rescuer descended from a rope, holding out a harness.
“No, no! There’s another woman, she needs out now!” Anna insisted, shielding her eyes against the downdraft blowing sand everywhere.
“We can only fly one person at a time, we’ll come back for you-”
Without hesitation, Anna directed him to Elsa’s body, still mumbling incoherently. In the seconds it took to hitch her up, Elsa stirred awake, reaching for Anna. Amidst the maelstrom of sand, smoke, ash and fire, their fingers found one another.
“Don’t go,” Elsa pleaded, right before the helicopter whisked her away, tearing apart the fragile bond they’d found in catastrophe, and the chance connection of two distant souls. Hands clasped together, Anna watched as Elsa’s body disappeared into the horizon, leaving a void in her heart, and the burgeoning doubt if she’d ever see that blessed Englishwoman again.
Epilogue: A Year
The bland meal of fish and chips tasted like nothing in Anna’s mouth, and she resisted the urge to douse it with more malt vinegar. Still, she feigned a smile when the shopkeeper cleared her plate.
“Hope your meal was fine, love.”
“It’s lovely, thanks,” Anna lied, pointing across the street, “which house is she at again?”
“Number seven. You can’t miss it, there’s a lavender bush out the front.”
She thanked him, pausing at the door when he mumbled, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Stepping outside, Anna pulled up a scarf as wind bit into her face. It’s a long walk beneath the darkened sky, and she flinched each time thunder rumbled. But eventually she’s standing before the lavender bush with her heart in her throat; Dr E. Williams neatly engraved in gold on a red letter box. A deep breath, and her eyes fluttered shut, before she retrieved a box from her satchel and laid it at the doorstep of the brick townhouse. She’d barely turned to leave when a voice stopped her.
“What’re you doing here?”
Anna froze at the sight of Elsa approaching, stethoscope peeking beneath her grey coat, paper bag filled with groceries. Dark rimmed glasses. Her blonde hair had been tied back into a bun, and she looked a year younger than before. The sight spilled all the words of the English language from Anna’s brain.
“I…I came to leave you a gift-”
“No!” Elsa exclaimed, voice crackling with fury. Her jaw clenched with rage, “You don’t get to do this to-”
“I’m sorry, ok?” Anna pleaded, raising her hands, “I know you’re the private sort, you’ve never granted any interviews, just disappeared off the planet and moved on, while I’m just - look, I just don’t want to forget what you did for us alright?”
Elsa’s gaze softened, she looked at the cobblestone pavement, waiting for Anna to continue.
“And this sounds terribly selfish, but I don’t want you to forget me either.”
“It’s not that,” Elsa interrupted, hefting groceries in her arm, “I just - wait, can we talk inside? It’s freezing.”
The fragrance struck Anna the second she stepped into Elsa’s modest apartment. Immediately, she traced the source to a collection of tiny bowls on her mantlepiece, each filled with clove, anise, pepper, cardamon - all spices she’d used on the island. Another picture frame mounted scraps of her life jacket, fish hooks, the torn hem of Anna’s white dress she’d used to bandage her wounds. Above that was a photograph of the iconic moment they reunited on the Oprah show, and a Daily Mirror tabloid cover with the gaudy headline:
FREAK AIR CRASH DUO ESCAPE FROM HELL ISLAND. “IT WAS BLOODY AWFUL” - SAYS YORKSHIRE NATIVE.
Worse still, covering the walls were portraits of Elsa’s parents, her nephew’s watercolour paintings, photos of her brother and herself as children holidaying. The crash robbed more from Elsa than Anna could imagine.
“I hope you understand,” Elsa commented, watching Anna’s eyes rove the walls, “after all the funerals and lawyers and moving away, I tried so hard to forget everything that’s happened. After a year of trying I realised it was impossible. So I gave up trying to forget. And I focused on remembering.”
Anna turned to see Elsa’s lips shuddering, trying to hold back the tears. The woman came within a foot of her.
“I can’t forget,” Elsa’s voice shook, chest heaving beneath her white blouse, “I can’t forget someone like you.”
“Oh my god, Elsa, you should’ve said something-”
“What was I going to say?” Elsa complained, rifling a hand over her hair, “You seemed fine with all the interviews and book deals and lectures and-”
“What do you think I was trying to do?” Anna argued back, “All these months I felt I left a part of myself on that island. A piece of my heart that could never be mended no matter how much I tried to help other people with my experiences. What I was really missing, was-”
“-You.”
The gravity of her confession sent Anna tiptoeing forward and crushing her lips into Elsa’s. She staggered backwards beneath Anna’s weight, colliding with the kitchen table and crushing Anna’s gift packaging, revealing a humble spice rack, with jars of the same spices on her mantlepiece. Lost in the urgency, Elsa’s hands toppled a jar, spilling ginger powder upon her tear-stained fingers.
Shaking from venting her pent-up desire, Anna cupped Elsa’s face in her hands, heart clenching from the utter longing filling her eyes. The woman touched a quivering finger to Anna’s lips, before surrendering to her desires and leaning in once again.
Amidst the heat of their kiss, and the gentle breaths on each other’s spice-lined lips, Elsa heard Anna whisper.
“I don’t think I could ever forget you either.”
#elsanna#December 2023 contest#prompt: spice#submission#cw: violence#cw: plane crash#cw: minor character death
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'photographs' was the sixth fic posted for 'dark star - an izch anthology.'
Discussion of single parenthood, past spouse death, canon-typical bullying and quirk discrimination, general misogyny themes as they relate to canon BNHA, and age-gap romance, and other triggering content below this cut. There will also be spoilers for the fic, if you want to read it for yourself first.
Fic stats:
~21,000 words
One-shot
E rated (explicit sexual content, age-gap romance, past minor character death and grief/mourning)
Archive Warnings (AO3): None
Canon Setting AU
'photographs' is a one-shot, concerning a canon AU where Izuku 'Deku' Midoriya is childhood friends with Ochako 'Uravity' Uraraka, after their respective mothers meet each other by chance. She becomes his inseparable companion for several years of his life, before she eventually moves back to the western part of Japan with her parents. Now, he is trying to work up the courage to ask her on a date. There's just two problems: Ochako Uraraka is twenty-seven years old, and Izuku Midoriya is twenty years old, and Ochako Uraraka is now Ochako Nakano, widowed by the death of her pro Hero husband a few years prior.
Bit of an odd duck, this one. 'What if Ochako had been Deku's childhood friend in addition to/instead of Bakugou' is one of the most enduring ship-specific AUs for izch fandom. It makes sense, it's a very obvious extrapolation of the themes of the series in my opinion. Despite basically never interacting, Ochako and Bakugou have a lot of thematic contrast going on, and the basis of shipping them, casting them as 'love rivals' for Deku, or casting Ochako as 'the good friend' in contrast to Bakugou as 'the bad bully' all are natural conclusions to draw from their writing in my opinion.
This particular rendition of it was inspired by a piece of fanart by a JP izch artist that has now unfortunately moved on from izch. They now largely draw Deku/Bakugou and 'Dekubowl' content, which I still follow them for! But all their izch art has been functionally obliterated from the internet, which is a huge shame. They drew a specific piece of art that showed Deku, seven years younger than Ochako, and the progression of their lives from him as a baby, to her with him as a young boy, to her in Hero school seeing him in middle school, to her seeing him in the 'Dark Deku' arc of the manga, to him finally coming to her to ask her out. 'photographs' is actually a blunt, direct adaptation, almost beat for beat, and I've been told by a mutual friend that the artist is flattered I enjoyed her work enough to write a fic adaptation of it.
There's other elements, though. At the time this fic was written, the now-famous 'loser Deku's idea of a good first date' manga panel, where he describes taking a girl to an amusement park to hold her hands and split a crepe, was a sensation in fandom. Of course, it was instantly cannibalized for basically any Deku ship, and this fic uses that idea in what I felt was a very thematically entertaining way given their age gap.
I wouldn't really call this fic problematic. It's problematic in the sense that if I knew Deku and Ochako as real people in the situation laid out by the fic, I wouldn't tell them it's a good idea to date. But objectively there's no express power imbalance - she's not his babysitter, teacher, or boss - and both are now adults. It's just a mildly inappropriate age gap between two people who've known each other for years. I think the way we react to age gaps depending on who is involved is very fascinating, and it's funny to me that I could've just posted this fic to my main profile, and I doubt anyone would've even blinked.
It's part of 'dark star' because I wanted people to consider the implications of it all, though. The way Ochako lived a happy life, had a happy marriage to a man her own age, and had a child with him, and now in the ruins of that comes Deku, being a little selfish as he asks her out. The way that Ochako was this incredible person for Deku, and she's never really seen him as his own person, now seeing him come to her 'all grown up,' and how she buys a little bit into this fantasy of his that she probably shouldn't.
It's a little bit inappropriate and toxic, isn't it? Yet it's also romantic. I think these things can be true at once. One goal I had for 'dark star' was for izch to feel 'messy.' Other ship fandoms routinely write fairly brazenly fucked up content of their own ship, often thematically nasty even in a way that mistreats other characters or even marginalized identities (i.e. misogyny, homophobia, etc.), and those ship fandoms will eat that stuff up. Now, personally, I don't really want to write 'thematically nasty' content, per se, but I do want to write thematically challenging content that is reasonably open to interpretation. I would find it very reasonable if someone read 'photographs' and came away thinking 'I don't think these two should've dated, probably.'
There's other things, too. The reality of 'the canon plot' sneaks in at points. Sometimes this fic feels like it has almost no relationship to canon at all, then One for All will creep in to rear its ugly little head. I say that, but I do love One for All and the canon plot of BNHA. BNHA's manga largely collapsed under the weight of bad calls on its side plots, but I think its main plot has generally always been pretty good. I think this shows in this rendition, where the side plots have been largely obliterated to laser focus on 'Deku.'
Without Ochako, there is no Hero named 'Deku.' This is a statement that I would like to tattoo to the forehead of most of BNHA fandom. In 'photographs,' there is a 'Deku,' in the positive sense, but his distance and emotional removal from Ochako has left him more damaged. He presents a strong front, but he eventually admits to Ochako that he hasn't lived a very happy life. He's only twenty, but he's gone through so much no one of his age should, while Ochako has lived a fairly normal, well-adjusted life for someone of her occupation.
There's a moment where Ochako is trying to convey to Deku that she must remain focused on her child, as she is a single parent now. She's successful enough that she can afford that, which is a luxury. And she's self-conscious of her age and of the sexism of Hero society, so acutely aware that 'her life is over' now that she's over twenty-five, a widow, and has a kid. Deku doesn't see her that way, but she sees him as naive, basically like another kid.
Through the date they go on, she sees another side of him. She sees how he's amazing, just like canon Ochako does, but in the transit of Venus-type of way where she goes from seeing him as the little boy she always loved, to a remarkable young man reshaped by One for All. This is both good and deeply inappropriate, and you can feel her fighting with herself through the fic to try and convince both herself and Deku that he should go for someone of his own age, a peer who will see him for what he is.
But nobody else cared about quirkless Deku. No one sees his value. They only see One for All. Only Ochako loves Deku for Izuku, not for One for All. So he clings to his love for her, up until the moment he's ready to let her go, and she finally pulls back, realizing that she can't possibly let him go when she needs him.
I think there's some really good romantic beats in this fic, which I was fairly proud of to read back through in editing this year. I've referenced the famous 'amusement park date' a few times since in other fics, but this fic ironically is the only on-screen direct rendition of it that I've written. It's a little bit perverse in that regard, but I think it's a very mature, textured, difficult take on the subject matter that asks the audience to think critically of the ship, while still asking them to root for them in the end.
Incidentally, this fic borrows a plot point and some general tone elements from ss3dj's (@marcuskay-ss3dj) famous 'Green Tea Rescue.' That fic is probably the most popular and famous rendition of 'izch as childhood friends,' using the common trope of 'Ochako transfers to Aldera Middle School in her last year.' 'photographs' does not use that format, but it does borrow my absolute favorite plot point from GTR (namely 'who is Hisashi?'), and it serves as a sort of soft homage to the early parts of GTR.
I think there will be a handful more fics in 'dark star' that are these sort of light 'breather' affairs. Some of them have very fucked up, dark conceptual themes, like sibling incest or teratophilia, but the actual tack and tone they take with those themes is comparatively light (i.e. as dark comedy rather than drama). It's necessary for me to write these 'breather' episodes, mostly because you can only make so much awful stuff before it begins to feel overwhelming, at least to me. Still, 'photographs' is part of 'dark star' and not just a regular fic of mine because I wanted the audience to think carefully about its theme and message, and to draw their own conclusions.
If you have thoughts about challenging themes, age-gap romance, childhood friend AUs, and other related material, I'd love to hear about it! So if you enjoyed 'photographs,' please let me know! Or if you didn't, I don't mind hearing why. I hope you have something intelligent to say, rather than boring pro-/anti- discourse stuff or 'your ship is bad,' though. These fics are for adults, and I expect you to engage with them like adults.
Have a nice day.
#izuocha#izch#dkch#izuku midoriya#ochako uraraka#bnha#mha#bnha fanfic#mha fanfic#dark star - an izch anthology#photographs#fanfic#cw: age gap#cw: minor character death#cw: grief
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Chapters: 23/34
Fandom: Tatort
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Leo Hölzer/Adam Schürk, Leo Hölzer/Original Female Character
Characters: Leo Hölzer, Adam Schürk, Esther Baumann, Pia Heinrich, Rainer (Tatort Saarbrücken), Caro (Tatort Saarbrücken), Barbara Hölzer, Dr. Henny Wenzel, Roland Schürk, Heide Schürk, Original Characters
Additional Tags: lehrer au, Enemies to Lovers, Time Skips, Teen Hörk, First Kiss, Secret Relationship, Toxic Relationship, POV alternate, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical child abuse, mentions of child abuse, Minor Character Death, Grief
Summary:
Adam ist für Leo da, wenn er ihn braucht. Und auch wenn Leo es manchmal nicht will.
#spatort#tatort fanfiction#cw: minor character death#head the tags and warnings#!!!#lehrer:innen AU#writing tag: Spatort#leo hölzer#Adam schürk#hörk#my stuff
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Mise En Place by s0mmerspr0ssen
Ship: Merlin/Arthur, Gwen/Lancelot
Main Characters: Mordred
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No archive warnings apply
Major tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Parent Arthur Pendragon, Childhood Trauma, Minor Character Death
Summary: Chef de Cuisine Arthur Pendragon lives for his craft. With obsessive care, he presides over his star-rated kitchen, controlling even the most minute detail. But when a fateful accident leaves his nine-year-old nephew Mordred in his care, Arthur’s life begins to come undone. Forced to bring in help at the restaurant, Arthur soon has to accept a new sous chef in his kitchen: the cocky Merlin Emrys, who has big ideas and little respect for Arthur’s vision… (Based on the 2001 film Bella Martha)
#bbc merlin#merlin bingo#participant reblog#s0mmerspr0ssen#rating: e#merlin/arthur#cw: childhood trauma#cw: minor character death#format: fic
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Hey all, It's another stand-alone paragraph of angst!
Consider, Jaskier who spends a full winter at the keep after the whole Ciri gets possessed and they all nearly die nonsense. The witchers are, quite frankly, grieving, no matter how hard they try to hide it, and none of them are in the mood to try and make friends with a bard who's too loud and too bright and just too much. And it's fine, Jaskier's always been too much, he's used to it. But Yennefer is busy with repairs and raising Ciri, none of the new witchers he meets are willing to give him a chance, and Jaskier is well aware of how easy it would be to have Geralt push him away again. And Jaskier, Jaskier can't take it if he loses the last bit of his friend that he still has, he can't. And somehow, to top it all off, he doesn't even have his lute with him. He has Yennefer to thank for the lack of long-term damage to his hands, but he can't play if he doesn't have an instrument. He's lonely, but everyone else is going through so much worse, the least he can do is give them space.
#the witcher#the witcher netflix#jaskier#i am very sorry jaskier#angst#hurt/no comfort#cw: injury mention#don't mind me over here just making the bard sad again#i promise i do love him#edit: forgot to tag a warning#cw: character death mention#cw: minor character death#cw: death mention#edit: edit: the title felt off so i fixed it
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"Tim was out there, taking my place in life and then in death."
#i think#batman#tim drake#bruce wayne#my art#fanart#dc#bruce & tim#cw blood#cw major character death#okay okay. so i know within the issue in question. that couldnt have happened. (I think?)#but sometimes you need to make minor changes so you can do cooler art#also. i think bruces should be allowed to hold his child
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I Don't Know Which Way's Home
Chapter 2: Figuring Things Out
ao3 link, Part 1
cw: implied child abuse and grief
October 1986, One week prior
Julie wakes up to a loud bang followed by some crying. Followed by some yelling about being too loud from crying. She rolls over in the bed that isn’t hers and tries to fall back asleep, but when the blankets are yanked off of her, she’s forced to face reality.
“Get up you lazy shit,” Janice Radburn, her foster parent, mutters at her. She isn’t much of a parent, probably why she never had her own kids. But it was a fast placement and an empty bed, so she’s stuck with her.
Molly, one of the other foster kids, is sitting quietly on her bed, just looking at Julie when she sits up.
“What?” Julie grumbles.
“We’re supposed to be up by eight, they didn’t tell you that, but we are.”
Julie gives her an annoyed look. “It’s a Saturday.”
Molly just shrugs. “Just how it is.”
She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to bite back the words she really wants to say. Instead, she gets up, the old bed creaking with her weight loss, and heads to the bathroom. Already preparing to fight for it when she does.
Oliver runs into her, the other foster kid. He has a fresh bandaid across his knee, but that doesn’t stop him from running around like a lunatic. He apologizes softly before running down the hall again, another thump ricocheting from his bedroom.
The past few days have been, eventful, to say the least. If she wanted to be more realistic, fucking terrible would be the words she’d choose. She looks in the mirror, seeing the massive dark circles surrounding her still red-rimmed eyes.
A shower would be nice, scrubbing off all the weirdness of this house in the hopes that she’ll feel ok again. Crying in a place where she can do it and not be afraid of getting yelled at for being too loud. But she’ll still probably be yelled at for hogging the bathroom. She does it anyway, though, making sure to lock the door behind her.
When the stream of water hits her, everything breaks. Half-silent sobs rip from her throat as the tears stream down her face. She hates her life, she hates this home. She hates that tomorrow she’ll have to say goodbye to her mom forever, even though she’s already long gone.
Once she towels herself off, she slips on one of her mom’s old sweatshirts. It’s been glued to her body since that night, unable to take it off. If she closes her eyes and tries just enough, she can imagine it as her mom’s arms, her perfume still woven through the fabric. Faded from a little overuse, but still there. It mixes with the hurt to form a sense of comfort, that her mom is still there.
Someone bangs on the door. “Get out, you prick,” Mark Radburn yells from the other side, his grumpy personality seeping through the barrier. When she opens the door, she can’t even get the whole way out before he’s bounding past her, shoving her out with the door, muttering, “Bathroom hog.”
She shakes off the side that touched him and heads downstairs. The kitchen is a mess in what she assumes to be their normal. Beer bottles litter the countertops and stubbed-out cigarettes are thrown across the floor. The milk left out on the counter and a spilled bowl of cereal in a puddle on the floor. She’ll have to clean it up, she’s sure of it.
Grabbing an apple that’s surprisingly not mushy and a granola bar, she heads for the back door. When the coast is clear, she opens it as quietly as the squeaky hinges let her, and runs.
. . .
Present Day, October 1986
When Steve wakes up, he almost forgets the events of the previous night has happened. That it was all some weird dream breaking up his nightmare streak. But as he walks into the hallway and sees the guestroom door he normally leaves open shut, it all comes crashing back. Realization sinks through his body as he stares at the door.
He has a sister, a half-sister. His dick head of a dad knocked one of the many secretaries that he slept with and hid it. From him and his mom.
Betrayal fills his body as he walks down the stairs. How could he do this to him, to his mom? To Julie? Cheating was already unforgivable in his mind, but his mom put up with it for some reason. But to have a child with someone else. That might be the final straw to break.
He picks up the phone in his living room, letting the sleep fill his voice enough to feign sickness so he can get out of work. Keith puts up a bit of a fight but Steve wins, he always does. Robin will just hate him slightly because she’ll be left alone in the store on a Saturday with Keith who is incredibly unhelpful.
Heading to the kitchen, he starts a pot of coffee. He’s not quite sure what Julie likes to eat, but he’s never met a kid who doesn’t like pancakes. So he grabs the mix and makes the batter, preheating the pan and plopping the batter into it when it’s ready. He makes some plain and sprinkles chocolate chips in other ones. For options. And because Robin likes them.
Steve pours himself a cup of coffee when it stops dripping, adding in some creamer. He turns around to grab a plate to put the pancakes on when Julie walks into the room.
“I think those are burning,” she states, suspiciously eying the stove behind him.
“Shit,” he says when he turns around, quickly using the spatula to get them off of the pan. He takes a breath, letting out his slight frustration before pouring more batter into the pan. “There’s coffee if you want any, mugs are in that cabinet. Or there’s tea or hot chocolate in the pantry. And there’s orange juice in the fridge.”
“That’s a lot of options.”
Steve shrugs. “I know a lot of picky people.”
Julie walks over to the cabinet he pointed at, uncertainty in her movements. Not like he blames her, she’s been in this house for twelve hours and talked to him less than that. It’d be unrealistic of him to think that one conversation would be enough to make this not awkward, but he’s trying. She pours some coffee from the pot, following Steve’s direction of where the sugar and creamer are.
“I thought you were still asleep,” Julie admits, sitting on one of the chairs at the island. “Thought a heard snoring.”
He snorts. “That would be Robin.”
They sit in silence while he makes the rest of the pancakes, successfully not burning another one. He sets the plate on the center of the island, taking the seat farthest from Julie so he doesn’t crowd her.
Thankfully the silence is cut by Robin entering the room, still half asleep and tripping over her own feet.
“Morning,” she mutters, immediately making her way to the coffee pot. She steals a pancake on her way, eating it with her hands.
“There’s something called a plate, you know?” he snides as she gives him the finger.
“This one’s burnt,” she says with a slight gag. Steve hears Julie snicker and decides to let it go.
“I called out of work.”
Robin groans. “You’re leaving me alone with Keith, Steven. Keith. He is going to stand there and watch a movie that is not appropriate for the children coming in today while eating a bag of neverending Cheetos, getting his dust all over himself and the movies, while trying to hit on me as much as he can.”
“I told you if he’s given you a problem I’ll talk to him.”
She rolls her eyes. “And get both of us fired, no thanks.”
“Or finally annoy him enough to quit.”
Robin snorts while grabbing another pancake. “Like he’ll give up his neverending movie powers.”
The front door rattles before it slams into the wall and then shuts again. “Steve,” Eddie yells into the hallway, finding his way to the kitchen. “Oh good, you’re not dead.”
“The hell did you tell him last night?”
“That you had a migraine so we canceled movie night. I said you didn’t have to come over, dumbass.”
Eddie walks up to Steve and grabs his head. “I had to make sure that this pretty little head was ok,” he says mockingly while squishing his cheeks. “Lord knows he’s hit it enough to be concerning. Ooh, pancakes.”
He reaches over and grabs a pancake, eating it with his hands like Robin. “You both know where the plates are.”
“Why dirty a dish when I have two perfectly good hands?” It’s at this moment when Eddie finally sees Julie sitting at the island, looking way too interested in this whole interaction. “Lawson?”
“Hey, Eddie,” Julie says, slightly confused. “How’ve you been?”
Steve can see Eddie visibly trying to connect the dots. “Pretty good considering … everything. I’m sorry, what are you doing here?”
“You know Julie?” Robin asks, eating the last pancake.
“Yeah lived down the street from me back when I lived in the trailer. How do you two know her?”
Steve glances over at Julie and sees her tense up at the question. He would feel wrong about telling someone about this without her permission, even if it is his secret now too. She looks at him and he tries to motion with his head over to Eddie as some form of a question. But when she gives him a confused glare that makes him feel like an idiot, he gives up.
He decides it’s probably better to tell him. Eddie is someone who knows how to keep a secret, and Steve trusts him. So he can know. But he definitely needs to have a conversation with Julie about how and who they want to tell about this in the future.
If they decide to try and become some sort of friends, maybe family, that is.
“Can I talk to you?” Steve asks standing up and ushering Eddie out of the room.
“What the hell man? It doesn’t have to be a whole thing, I just wanted to know why she’s here.”
Steve shuts the door to the side room behind them. “Yeah, that’s what I’m about to tell you.”
Eddie looks at him confused. “Is this something serious? I thought you just adopted another high schooler.”
“Not upside down serious, but yeah kinda.” Steve takes a breath, trying not to feel weird about the way Eddie’s looking at him right now. He doesn’t have time to feel weird about two things at once. “Full disclosure, I didn’t know who Julie was until yesterday. She came to the house and told me that her mom knew my dad. She used to be his secretary, they had an affair, and then came Julie.”
Eddie’s eyes are blown as wide as they can possibly be. “Holy shit. What the fuck? I need a second. Jesus Christ. How are you not freaking out more about this right now?”
“Who says I’m not?”
Eddie goes to sit on one of the chairs, Steve goes to take the one next to him. “You have a sister.”
“I have a sister.” Each time he says those words it becomes more of a fact than a surprise. “I have no idea what I’m doing, or how to do it. I’m trying to stay calm about everything but,” Steve takes another deep breath, still feeling like it isn’t quite enough. “My dad was a cheater, I’ve known that for a long time but this. This is a whole new angle of shit that I don’t know how to deal with.”
“How can you? Siblings don’t just come popping up out of nowhere, especially not as old as she is.” Eddie turns to look at him, tucking one of his legs underneath him. “Wayne heard about her mom from one of our old neighbors. Is that why she knows?”
Steve shakes his head. “Her mom told her sometime before the accident. She’s been in foster care ever since.”
“You have that look on your face,” Eddie says with a soft gaze.
“What look?”
“The look that you get when you want to help people. You want to help her.”
Steve leans back in the chair. “I do. She looked so scared when I offered to drive her back to her foster home last night. Said she didn’t like it there.”
“I was placed in foster care once before Wayne officially took me in,” Eddie admits, playing with a loose thread on his jeans. “It wasn’t the greatest. From what I’ve heard, most of the placements are pretty good, but there are some people out there who are just in it for the money and can be giant pieces of shit. I’m not saying that she’s in one of those homes, but I’m not saying she isn’t either. What I can say, is that she’s probably missing her mom a hell of a lot right now. They were really close from what I could tell, and losing someone like that hurts, a lot.”
Steve remembers Eddie mentioning once that his mom died when he was little. He never brought it up again and neither did Steve, not wanting to linger on tough topics. But even though it was so long ago, the pain is still there in his voice, just slightly. But Steve still notices it.
He reaches across, placing his hand on top of Eddie’s. In a comforting way, not to mean anything. But Eddie still sighs a bit at the touch and turns his hand to hold Steve’s.
“Just be patient with her, ok. She’s a good kid. Be patient with yourself too. This might not be some big alternate dimension life-changing shit, but it’s still real. You’re allowed to let yourself feel whatever you’re feeling about this.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”
“No, I’ve been spending too much time with you. Only way to know that you think about everyone else except for yourself. Promise me you’ll take a moment to think of yourself.”
Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand. “I’ll try.”
“Not a promise, but I’ll take it.”
He figures it’s probably been long enough that they’ve left Julie alone with Robin. Not like leaving her alone with him would be better, he still knows nothing about her. But when he reenters the kitchen, Eddie follows behind him, Robin’s not there.”
“Where’d Robin go?”
“To change,” Julie says with a shrug, picking at the last of her food.
Robin comes barreling down the stairs with her backpack, which she throws at Eddie while heading to the sink to fill her water bottle. “The fuck was that for?” Eddie asks with a wince.
“You two took too long talking, I’m late.” She downs the rest of her coffee and places her mug in the sink. “Come on, you’re taking me to work,” she shoves Eddie towards the door, not bothering to do it again when he doesn’t move that much.
“See ya, Julie.” Eddie heads for the door, throwing Robin’s backpack over his shoulder. Steve follows him. “She looks like you. I didn’t notice that before, but she does,” he whispers to Steve while Robin puts her shoes on.
Robin gasps. “Oh my god, she does.” She stands up and grabs her bag from Eddie. “Good luck, don’t scare her off, don’t be too awkward, and just talk to her like a normal person.”
“Thanks for the advice,” he deadpans.
“Love you, dingus. Bye.” She leaves the door open for Eddie on her way out.
Eddie stands with his hand on the doorknob before looking back at Steve. “Not to sound pushy or anything but, are we still on for later or not?”
“I’m not sure,” Steve shrugs. “Maybe, just not what we planned it to be.”
“Munson, move your ass,” Robin yells, hanging out of the passenger side car of the door.
“I’m coming, Jesus. Call me later ok. I don’t care if we have to cancel, you have other things going on right now.”
Steve nods. “I will, promise.”
Eddie smiles at him, making Steve’s stomach do a flip he’s still not quite used to. “That you promise to, huh? Talk to you later, Steve.”
. . .
Julie sits at the island, not quite sure why she’s still here. She’s still not exactly sure why she came here yesterday, not even fully believing the excuse she gave Steve. Sure he had a right to know that his dad had another kid. But maybe it would have been better to do it in a letter. That way he could decide if he wanted to find her, instead of her finding him.
It’s still weird to her, that Steve Harrington was her brother. She didn’t know much about him other than school rumors. By the time she got to high school, he had already stepped out of the popularity spotlight. She remembers hearing about the King who fell, but after seeing him in person around the people he seems to be friends with, that doesn’t look like it.
To be honest, everything she could have possibly known about him was shattered the moment Eddie Munson walked through the door. He was in her circle, not his. They would have never interacted in school. But now that she thinks about it, she remembers seeing Steve a few times at the trailer park visiting the Mayfeilds, especially around spring break. Maybe they got to know each other then.
A part of her wants to leave, get the burden of her off of his plate. He didn’t have to know her just because they were related, neither did she. That wasn’t her plan. The plan, no matter how little she actually thought about it, was to find him, tell him, and leave. But then he had to offer to let her stay the night.
Normally, she wouldn’t have taken it, but it was too good to give up. There was someone else in the house so it wasn’t just the two of them, and it gave her an excuse to stay away from that hell house as long as possible. And he seemed like a good person, he was nothing but nice to her so far. But nice was sometimes a facade, so she kept her guard up.
But if Eddie Munson was his friend, maybe Julie could afford to let her guard down a little. Just a little bit.
Steve walks back into the kitchen after walking Robin and Eddie out. “Are you done with that?” he asks, pointing to the plate in front of her. There’s a half-eaten pancake on it, even though she only grabbed two. He doesn’t say anything about it, though.
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” She slides the plate forward and he takes it away, putting it with his own in the sink.
How is she even going to go about this, getting to know him? She hates getting to know new people. Just stating the same five facts over and over again until maybe there was a similarity between them and that’s it. Is she just going to share her favorite color and leave?
Something about her doesn’t want to. Something wants to stay and try to find some sort of connection with Steve. Whether that be acquaintances or otherwise. He’s the only family she has left, and something about that fact makes her never want to leave.
“So,” Steve starts slowly, leaning on the island. “I’m going to be honest, I’m not exactly sure where to start.”
“Me neither,” She admits, anxiously picking at her thumb. It’s a nervous habit she’s never seemed to break, sometimes picking at it enough for them to bleed. Her mom always tried to stop her but it never worked.
Uncomfortable silence hangs in the air for what feels like forever, but is probably just a minute, maybe two. “Eddie said you lived down the street from him,” Steve says, breaking their silence.
“Yeah, across the street and two doors down.” She tries to think of what to say, as if it has to have any meaning behind it. But maybe if they just get talking, that’s all that matters. “We didn’t talk much, just a few times at potlucks and things. But when I first got to high school, he showed me around, drove me when I missed the bus and didn’t want to walk home.”
Steve laughs. “Yeah that sounds like him. Surprised he didn’t try to ‘bring you into his flock’ or whatever he calls them.”
“He might have, but DND isn’t really my thing. I like writing my own stories, not playing in someone else’s.”
“You like to write,” Steve asks, walking around to sit on one of the chairs, turning to face her.
Julie nods, bringing one of her legs up so she can sit on it to face him better. “Short stories, sometimes poetry, but I’m not great at making things rhyme. It’s fun.”
“That’s cool, I’ve never been good at writing like that. Or at all.”
“What were you good at? Or are, I guess.”
Slight shock quickly covers his face, like he’s surprised that she asked him a question about himself. “I used to play basketball in high school, and I was on the swim team. I was decent at best, but I liked it. One of the kids I babysit started playing basketball last year, so I’ve been playing with him sometimes. Kinda forgot how much I liked it until then.”
“You babysit, like look over other people’s kids?” She didn’t pin him as the babysitting type.
“Well, I say babysit but it’s not really babysitting. Like, they’re old enough to take care of themselves and everything, but we’ve been through some stuff together so I like to keep an eye on them. They’re kinda like the family I wished I had.”
The family he wishes he had, said like he barely had a family at all. She thinks back to the lack of family pictures in the house. With all of this wall space, it’s weird for them to be left blank when they could be filled. Poster families are supposed to have posters showing off how good they are. But the walls, the house, stay vacant. And the way Steve talks about these kids, it seems to have been like that for a long time.
Giant houses are nice, but empty all they do is sit there and show off the wrong type of wealth. Loneliness almost seeps through the walls when she notices the lack of life. Nothing to give it character, the only person leaving traces behind is Steve.
Last night she was jealous that Steve could live in such a big house when she lived in a trailer. But she’d take that over and over again if it meant she wouldn’t be alone.
“You must love them,” Julie finally says.
Steve smiles, it’s probably the first time she’s seen it and it wasn’t fake. “As much as they annoy the hell out of me, I do.”
“Robin seemed nice.” He seems to talk more when it’s about other people, so she changes the topic to her. “You guys seem close.”
“We are. And before you ask if we’re dating, we’re not.”
“I was questioning that a little, but I thought it would be rude to ask.”
He shrugs. “People ask me it pretty much every day. One particular person specifically. You can ask me anything though, I’m pretty much an open book.”
Before she gets the chance to think of something else, someone knocks on the front door. Steve looks both confused and annoyed before he gets up to go see who it is. She hears them talking for a minute or two before Steve walks back into the room with a sorry expression, a man in a police uniform behind him.
“Julie, this is Chief Hopper.”
“I’m here to take you back, kid,” Hopper interrupts.
Coldness fills Julie up as she thinks about that place. Loud noises through thin walls, insults being thrown around, two kids she doesn’t know that she has to take care of. Just so Janice and Mark can get drunk off their asses from the pay and never lift a finger for anything about them. It’s only a matter of time before things get worse, she can tell. It’s the same behavior she’s seen with every boyfriend her mom has ever had.
“I-I don’t want to.”
Hopper steps toward her and takes off his hat, placing it on the island. “I’m sure you don’t. But they are your guardians for the time being and called you in as a missing kid, so you have to go back.”
She looks over at Steve but is met with just a silent apology. That he’s giving up. She really shouldn’t be mad but she is. He let her stay because she said she didn’t like it there, and now he’s just willing to let her go back. Without a word to try and stop it.
Getting up from the chair, making it squeak against the floor that is probably way too fucking expensive, she heads upstairs to grab her things. Feet stomping on the stairs like they have a mind of their own. She’s not even sure where the anger she feels is directed. But she can’t help to think it’s at herself for thinking she might actually be able to have some sort of family again.
. . .
When Julie leaves the room, Steve is just left there defeated. He tried to say something, but Hopper said there was no way out of it. She spent the night away from her foster house and they called it in, she had to go back.
“Can you explain to me why she’s here?” Hopper asks acusingly.
“They’d have to have told you if you knew to find her here.”
Hopper looks at the ceiling with a deep sigh. “Just told me she’d probably be here, not why. You’re not in any trouble, I know you wouldn’t try anything. So can you just please tell me why you have a random sixteen-year-old girl in your house.”
“She’s my sister,” Steve sighs. “My dad had an affair with her mom and then he paid her to keep it quiet. Julie told me everything last night.”
“Well, shit. That’s, something.”
Steve scoffs. “Yeah. Is there really no way she can stay here, even if it’s just for the rest of the day.”
“Look kid,” Hopper sighs. “I know you like to help the kids, but this is a lot different than that. Those parents trust you to look after them because they know you, these people don’t. And I’m not so sure they ever will. The fact is that you just learned about all of this yesterday and jumped into everything headfirst. Take some time, think about it.”
“I can’t just go around and pretend that none of this happened. I want to get to know her, Hop.”
“And I never said that you couldn’t. Just no more overnight stays and make sure she gets back by curfew. Don’t make me have to come back here again.”
Julie slams the door of the guest room before she comes back downstairs. Hopper gives Steve a sympathetic look before picking his hat back up and heading to the front door, Steve following after.
“Julie, I’m sorry, I tried-,” Steve tries to explain.
“Just save it, I know.” She looks at him with a cold glare that only fills him with shame. “Nice meeting you, Steve.”
Hopper opens the door, letting Julie go out first. “Good luck with that,” he says before shutting the door behind him.
. . .
October 1986, Two Weeks Prior
When Julie wakes up, her mom’s not there. Not like that’s unusual, sometimes she works early morning shifts at the diner before heading to her secretary job. She normally tells her about that, but last night she said nothing. Or maybe she did in her rush out the door to her late-night shift.
Why would she work a late night and an early morning though? She’s never done it before. And considering the tips are shit and the pay is worse, she wouldn’t put herself through that. So where is she?
Julie checked around the trailer again, making sure the cot was still in the living room and that no one was in the bathroom. Checks outside to see if her mom’s car was there, and around back to make sure it wasn’t there either. Not a trace of her mother to be found anywhere.
Going back into the house, she dials the number of the diner to check if her mom’s there. One waiter answers, saying he hasn’t seen her all morning.
Worry fills Julie, this isn’t like her mom. Not anymore. She doesn’t go out at night anymore. Promising Julie that she wouldn’t. Her mom had broken a few promises in the past, but this was not one that she would.
At least that’s what Julie hopes.
An hour later, her mom is still nowhere to be seen. She calls the office she works at to see if she showed up for her shift, nothing. As she’s dialing 911 to see if they can go around different bars to try and find her, she hears a car pulling up in front of her trailer. Followed by two doors slamming shut.
Her heart is beating out of her chest as she goes to answer the door when they knock, opening to find two police officers waiting there with solemn looks on their faces.
“Hello, miss. My name is Officer Powell and this is Officer Callahan. Are you Julie Lawson, Rebecca Lawson’s daughter.?”
“Yes,” she responds with a shaky voice.
Powell and Callahan share a glance before turning back to her. “Could we come in, we have some unfortunate news about your mom.”
Her heart drops as she lets them in, already planning to hear the worst.
“You might want to sit down for this,” Callahan says, pulling over one of the kitchen chairs to sit in, making himself at home.
“Last night, police were called to a motor vehicle accident scene over on Oak Street. A driver ran off the road and hit a tree. They identified her as your mom. She was rushed to the hospital, but as of this morning, we are sorry to say she passed.”
Tears flood Julie’s eyes as she tries to blink them back, but can’t. They fall down her face as her mind races to catch up to reality. The room blurs and she can’t hear anything over the beating of her own heart. She feels as if her soul has left her body, watching her from the outside instead of in.
“We are so sorry, Julie,” Powell continues. “We have no idea how you must be feeling right now, but if you would like to talk to a counselor about this, we can help arrange that for you.”
Julie gapes, trying to say something but nothing will come out. She shuts her mouth and swallows, trying to calm herself down enough to say something. “What, what will happen to me?” she asks with a trembling voice.
“You’ll be placed in child protective services, they’ll try and find some family for you to stay with or find you a foster home,” Callahan explains.
“We know that this is a lot for you to take in right now. But we need you to go and pack a bag. You can come back in a few days to get the rest of your things, but you need to come with us. We’ll give you some space while you pack, take as long as you need.”
“Just not too long,” Callahan interrupts.
“Phil,” Powell sighs, glaring at him. “Don’t listen to him, take as long as you need and meet us outside when you're ready.”
Powell stands, pulling Callahan up and ushering him out of the door. He shuts it gently behind him and Julie can hear him chastizing Callahan behind it.
Julie leans back on the couch, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, attempting not to break just there. But she does. Tears stream down her face as her breaths become labored and shaky. Her hand comes to cover her mouth as she sobs, covering up her pain.
Her mom is gone. The only family, the only life she’s ever known. The person who was there for her no matter what. The person who knows her better than anyone else in the entire world. Taken from her without warning.
And now Julie is left alone.
Part 3
Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17, @i-amthepizzaman
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#julie lawson#original female character#secret sibling au#fic#steddie fic#stranger things fic#steve harrington and julie lawson are siblings#steve's dad is a raging piece of shit#cw implied child abuse#tw implied child abuse#minor character death#tw grief#cw grief
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† Death's Fervour
[ sfw | TW ; Implied Stalking, Cult themes, Manipulation, Implied Sexual Content, Dubcon, Minor Violence/Gore, As well as some General Yandere content but it's very tame]
Female Yandere x GN!Reader
I wanted this to be a little more gorey(?) Or at least darker Cause she's the death horsemen,, but I haven't written in forever so I apologize if it's not good ( -̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥᷄◞ω◟-̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥᷅ )
You absentmindedly flipped through the pages of the book, eyes skimming through the pages that you've read hundreds of times before. You're eyes only make the effort to move towards the door when you could hear the front door creak open and shut just as quickly.
You slip out of bed to confirm your suspicions on who it was peaking your head out of the doorway.
Kyoto is... Something to say the least.
When you two first met you gotten lost in her younger sister section of the organization, dead eyes just blankly staring at you with a raised eyebrow as if you were more suspicious then her— the individual whose hands and chest were covered in blood splatters.
She didn't seem that interested in your existence at the time, oh how wrong that'd prove to be.
After she'd led you back to where a member should've been, off of the private grounds of her section your meetings started to become a frequent thing.
It started off with the two of you just happening to be at the same ceremony, the same prayer sessions, the same sermons. And slowly devolved into her just straight up following you around like a little lost puppy eager for your attention
Sometimes it feels like she forget she could speak, nudging her forehead against yours expecting you to know exactly what she wanted. As if five minutes earlier, before she dragged you away from the scene you saw what became of your friend, reduced to food for maggots because you just couldn't make enough time for her.
Nowadays she is less aggressive and more lenient towards you and who you interact with, at least more than her younger sisters — as long as you behave a little, she will cater to your needs without complaint. She takes whatever outburst you have without a word, gently murmuring apologies while nuzzling against your neck.
It almost makes you angry with how passive she can be.
You snapped out of your thoughts when you felt her gaze settle on you, crimson eyes staring expectantly. Standing still at the entrance waiting for you to come greet her. As always, there were bloodstains all over her body and you fought the urge to cringe. You always tried to convince yourself that the people she hurt deserved it, that she was doing it to further the goals this organization, but deep inside, you knew better - Kyoto isn't a good woman.
She embraced you weakly for a moment, taking the moment to burry her face into your neck before pulling away and wandering off into the bedroom. You followed shortly after, taking a seat at the foot of the bed as you did your best not to look at her as she changed even though you've seen her naked a hundreds time before— Images of her white almost grey hair contrasting against her dark skin covered in a sheen of sweat flashing through your mind for a moment.
"Misaki is giving me grief about getting rid of this one guy," she started in a tired voice, tugging off her crimson-stained shirt. You were tempted to comment but stayed quiet instead.
"And I'm stuck with preparing for the next sermon because Mei's too busy dealing with the sudden surge in demand in Conquest's section." You didn't know why she told you all of this; none of these conversations ever required your input.
You hum in acknowledgement watching as she picked out a robe. "Shouldn't you wash up before changing?" you finally say, leaning back onto the silk-covered mattress, concern evident in your voice because you rather not have blood stains on the mattress tonight.
Kyoto pauses, moving her hand down to her chest in thought. Fingers lingering over the cross etched into her skin, a symbol of her devotion. You've noticed how sensitive she is about you seeing it, it's why she prefers to keep your face plush against the mattress and away from her most times.
With a soft sigh, you decide to take the initiative. "I'll go ahead and set up the bath," you offer, your voice laced with gentle understanding. Over time, you've learned how to cater to her needs, especially when she's like this – tired, bloodstained, and needy for your comfort.
Kyoto nods, appreciative of your offer, and you stand up from the bed, making your way to the large bathroom. The marble tiles feel cold against your bare feet as you enter, but you push that discomfort aside, focusing on the task at hand. You light candles around the edge of the tub, and start filling it up with warm water, adding in some bath oils.
You make sure everything is perfect, just the way she likes it.
When Kyoto finally enters the room, you can see the exhaustion etched into her features, her steps slow and unsteady.
Without hesitating, you take her hand, leading her to the tub. "I'll help you clean up," you say, your tone gentle and reassuring.
She doesn't resist, stepping into the water, and letting out a sigh of relief as she sinks into the warmth. You grab a cloth and start to wash her back, taking your time to massage her tense muscles.
It made little sense to you how intimate this moment felt. Silently washing her body clean of dried blood, working away any stress with your hands as if she wasn't a Cold-blooded Murderer. But then again, when had anything in this godforsaken Cult make sense?
"You're more docile today." She says under her breath, leaning into your touch a little.
"Am I?" You say, it wasn't an actual question but it was just to fill the silence that would've settled between you two other wise.
"I'm... I'm not complaining, sometimes it's nice to not be the one comforting you."
You don't respond to her comment, instead continuing to wash her body in silence.
You know it's just a way to deflect the situation, to avoid acknowledging that she's the one who causes you to need comfort in the first place.
After you finish washing her, you help her out of the tub and help each other dry off. Sitting quietly on the edge of the tub as she dries your hair off with a blow dryer, trying to keep your eyes focused on the ground and not her chest.
It wasn't long until you were back into the bedroom, some water droplets still lingering on her body as she takes her sit down on the edge of the bed.
"Stay here, I'll get you some clothes," you say, making your way to her closet.
You pick out a simple, loose-fitting outfit for her to wear. As you hand them to her, you notice the way her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. You can sense her desire, her need for something more than just comfort.
But right now you'd rather not give in to her desires, that path would only lead to more heartache and your just not in the mood.
She takes the fabric from your grip and after putting on her undergarments— Pulled the black nightgown over her body. And by the time she was finished changing you were in a different robe from the one in before.
She leans in a faint, barely noticeable smile present on her features taking the moment to plant a kiss on your lips.
You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden affection as she was never one for affectionate displays, at least not in public. But you can't help but lean into the kiss for just a moment longer, her lips are so uncharacteristically soft feeling plush against your lips.
You can feel her hand snake down towards your waist, pulling you straight into her body. You pull your head back trying to create some distance between the two of you,
"W-wait!" You start placing hands on her shoulders to gently pry her off of your body.
You can feel heavy eyes on you, even though your not looking at her right now you can still feel her growing impatience. "Can we do this later- It's gonna be late soon late and I know you have an important sermon tomorrow." You stammer out, a simple excuse because you know she doesn't care about whether your in the mood or not.
With the heavy irritated sigh and the slip of her hands finally coming off your waist you let out a breath of relief, eyes following her as she crawls into bed with you following shortly after.
You reach over her to turn off the lamp, before settling back into your spot. As you lay there in the darkness, the only sound being the gentle pumping of cool air into the room by the air conditioner and her breaths slowing down, a sign that she's finally falling asleep.
You know what comes next, the familiar touch of her hands on your body, following the feeling of her burying her face into the book of your neck with half-awake promises being whispered in your ear.
And even though you both know that these promises are just empty words meant to lull you into sleep or else you'll stay awake all night over thinking her actions, you let yourself relax into her touch.
#Fawn | Kyoto - Death#writing#new to tumblr#yandere content#fanfic#fanfiction#new writer#yandere oc#yandere#yandere cw#yandere original character#female original character#four horsemen of the apocalypse#female oc#female yandere#yandere x reader#female yandere x reader#minors dni#minor violence#tw violence#tw cult#cw suggestive#cw obsession#implied sex#she's not a good person#Kyoto is pouty#she's literally perfect#She's like 33#they're so silly#pretty tame honestly
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Kingdom Come - Part 2
Part 1
WC: 3545
CW: Minor Character Deaths, Corpses, Disfigured bodies, Cults, Blood
Damian was missing and Dick was going crazy.
Damian hasn't responded to any inquiries of his location since he missed his scheduled check in time. It had already been two hours past that and they still didn't have any clue where he was. Last they knew, he was heading towards Chinatown. Damian knew a couple of the locals and regularly visited some animals, mostly cats and dogs but occasionally a bird or two.
They would have been able to track him with his comm, but Damian had modified it so that it was untrackable unless it was being used. Unfortunately, they hadn't learned of it before today. If they were to track him through his comm, they would only have a short time to triangulate his position. Damian stated that he wanted his privacy, likely so he could disobey orders without them realizing. They had allowed it because they trusted his judgment, not to mention they all had their rebellious phase, but now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.
It was unfortunate they didn’t have Barbara helping, she was off on her own mission with the Birds of Prey and not in Gotham. Finding Damian would have been way easier with her help, she was an expert in navigating the surveillance systems around Gotham.
Dick could tell he wasn't the only one concerned about their youngest, the others were worried in their own ways. Jason fidgeted with his gun, which Bruce was just barely tolerating, as he paced the rooftop while Tim ran the diagnostics multiple times, his fingers flying on his wrist hologram.
Cass and Bruce’s unease was less noticeable, the only reason he caught it was that he knew them for such a long time. Bruce double checked his trackers and flew across the roofs in search of Damian. Cass was tense and alternated standing near each of them, subtly clenching her hands into fists as she did.
“Robin, come in.” Bruce demanded, Dick felt the desperation in his voice although it was hidden well. He didn't want to lose another son while Dick didn't want to lose another brother.
There wasn’t a reply, only the sound of static filled their ears.
Dick sighed, running his hands through his hair. They needed to find Damian quickly. The longer they didn't locate him, the longer his captures had to smuggle him out of the city. If Damian was taken out of the city, it would be infinitely harder to find him.
He couldn’t let that happen, especially to Damian. He’s already had a tough life, what with how he grew up. His integration into the family was difficult on everyone, B was gone and Tim had chosen to pursue a theory he had thought of at the time insane. Jason wasn’t on talking terms with them at that time and Cass had her own responsibilities across the world. Steph was also busy with juggling her hero and civilian lives, though her attitude towards Damian did turn around in the end.
The comm crackled, faint sounds coming through. Dick jolted, jarred out of his thoughts from the abrupt opening of the comm. Both Cass and Tim’s hands went to their comms as Jason stilled. The shuffling of cloth was most prominent, though he could hear a quiet voice.
“Robin, report. What is your location?” Bruce asked, hope underlying his words.
There was the sound of shuffling before a young, unfamiliar voice sounded, “Is this comm trackable?”
That was not Damian. Did he kidnap Damian and was going to ask for a ransom or gloat? Another also kidnapped alongside Damian? Or perhaps a concerned civilian who had nothing to do with Damian’s disappearance?
“Who are you?” Bruce demanded, treating the unknown as a hostile. It was understandable, this was a stranger who possibly abducted his son.
“You can call me Polka. I'm not sure of the location but Robin is unconscious. We are in a warehouse.” The voice responded. ‘You can call me Polka?’ Was he implying that Polka wasn’t his name or the only one he goes by? Dick’s siblings crowded closer to Bruce as if they couldn’t hear out of their own comms.
The good news was that they now knew where to search. Most warehouses were either near the docks or the Warehouse District. That meant they had two areas to search if Tim didn't triangulate where Damian’s comm was during the short conversation. He could see Tim hunched over, one hand typing swiftly in his wrist hologram.
“Stay where you are, I’ll be there shortly.” Bruce said curtly, his cape snapping as he turned to Tim and asked if he captured the location of the comm. Tim gave him a thumbs up and sent the coordinates.
They piled into their own vehicles and sped their way across the city, heading towards the warehouse Damian was held in.
They surrounded the warehouse once they arrived, Bruce entering first before they snuck in from different entrance points. Dick shivered slightly as he situated himself behind the boy who Damian was laid out on. His siblings spread out and surrounded the boy from all sides.
The warehouse was a mess, blood pooling from the disfigured bodies laying every which way. Dick could faintly spot a chalk circle underneath a pool of blood. Another cult, he surmised grimly. There have been too many cults running around lately for his liking, though it looked like this one had fallen victim to their own summoning.
There wasn't much he could tell about the boy from behind, his baggy clothes hiding his frame. His hair was what stood out the most, cropped silver hair. It seemed to almost glow in the dark warehouse. Dick’s attention went back to Bruce who stepped out from the shadows and addressed the boy after taking Damian back into his custody, though he kept an eye out on the boy.
“None, I just happened to find him. Who are you?” The boy asked, standing. That was interesting. Everyone from Gotham knew who Batman was, and even if you weren't, Batman was still a famous figure.
Bruce answered in his signature low voice, obviously gearing up to interrogate the boy. That was his cue to step in. They’ve done this routine before, good cop and bad cop. It was surprisingly successful.
“Happened to find him?” Dick questioned, rolling down from the support beam he was perched on and revealed himself. The boy turned to him, his hair fanning across his face. A black stripe cut into his silvery hair. It was the inverse of Jason’s hair, Dick thought absently.
The boy’s face was blank, unsurprised to see another vigilante popping up behind him. Dick’s eyes were drawn to the scar on his neck. It spanned most of the neck and would be most definitely fatal if it was deep enough. The boy was 15, 16 years max. Where would he have gotten a scar like that? Not to mention, he was too calm in this situation. Blood and viscera surrounded him and all he seemed was bored.
Slight motion to the right made Dick’s eyes snap to the plush on the boy’s shoulder, almost certain that it moved on its own. “How exactly did you find him? We can't be sure you weren’t the one who abducted him, after all.”
The boy took his time to answer, his face slightly scrunched in thought. Faint sound of movement emerged from his comm but he showed no signs of hearing it.
He pointed to the body of the cultest then to the mound that Dick hadn’t paid much attention to as he answered, “They kidnapped Robin, me, and a couple other kids. They killed the others. Who are you?
Dick heard a sharp inhale, likely in reaction to the dead children. It looked like they were thrown there uncaringly, Dick thought angrily. They were piled on top of each other, some of their limbs bent unnaturally. Most of the injuries were from a slit neck, but there were signs of other injuries. These poor kids were likely tortured first then slaughtered.
He could see Bruce soften after the boy answered, likely thinking the same things as Dick.
Dick sighed silently, sheathing his escrima sticks as he walked to stand closer to Bruce and Damian. “I’m called Nightwing. Can you tell us why you and Robin are unharmed?”
“They already summoned the God of the Dead, or Corpse God, by then. It wasn't needed.” Jason cursed. They were too late, for both the kids and the summoning. Not to mention the ominous name of the being that was summoned. Just what were these cultists planning for summoning such a being? Probably to ‘rid the world of impurities’ like every other cult he came across.
Bruce asked for confirmation of the being, pulling out his ‘victim voice’. It was significantly softer than what he usually spoke as Batman. The boy nodded, affirming their suspicions on the being. Though, where was it? Usually, summoned being raged and caused destruction in their wake, especially ones with such ominous names. There was no sign of this one.
Dick pasted on a smile and bent closer to the boy, “Did you see where the God of the Dead went?”
The boy nodded as he bit his lips, visibly nervous. It was a bit strange to see such an expression on the child when he was blase for most of the conversation. He leaned forward as the boy cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “He’s still here.”
Dick felt a shiver race down his spine, one of his siblings sucked in a breath. That was… not good. Was this a trap? Had the God of the Dead been lying in wait and observing them since they had arrived?
The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. Everyone was tense and ready for battle. Of course, that was when Damian began to stir, calling out to Bruce once he opened his eyes. Bruce adjusted his hold on Damian, beginning to answer Damian before he was cut off by the boy.
“Can I go now? I was with my friends before this. They’re probably worried.” Dick most certainly couldn't let a key witness, and a most definitely traumatized child, wander off without supervision.
“Sorry, you’re coming with us.” Dick said apologetically.
The boy did not like that. He crossed his arms and gave them an annoyed look. “Why?”
Jason, Tim, and Cass took this as the perfect time to reveal themselves. They hopped down from their respective posts and gathered near Bruce. Tim, however, aimed for the cultists as he responded, “We need more information and to verify your story. And for your protection.”
The boy's eyes lingered over Cass and Jason before focusing on the latter, his expression curious. Jason obviously noticed but didn't pay it any mind, more interested in fussing over Damian who wasn’t having it, swatting Jason’s hovering hands away.
“Won't that be kidnapping? Since I don't want to go to a secondary location with strangers? Kidnapping is illegal, you know.”
Jason answered as he finally relented from teasing Damian, “Well, it's a good thing the law is more like suggestions to us.” This did nothing to stop the boy from looking apprehensive. Good job, Jason, Dick thought tiredly.
Tim interrupted the boy when he stated that the cultists were, in fact, not dead. It blindsided Dick. Many of the cultists were in pieces as others had bled enough to be six feet under.
Damian looked mildly curious as Bruce and Tim questioned the survival of the cultists, likely thinking over the logistics of how they still lived. Eventually, Bruce asked Tim to alert the hospital and GCPD. They wouldn't be arriving in a long while, it was still Gotham after all.
Dick walked over to them as they discussed the boy and the cultist, hearing the tail end of Tim’s suspicions.
“��clearly up with him. Despite the situation he’s in, he is unusually calm.”
That was true, not many kids were so nonchalant about almost being ritually sacrificed. Or seeing mangled bodies and pools of blood laying around.
Dick glanced at the boy—he really should be calling him Polka by now, since it was the only name he was given—seeing him grow red-faced as he spoke with Jason.
The almost silent crackle of a radio signaled their time was up, they needed to leave before the police arrived.
Herding Polka out of the building and out of sight was easy, all they needed to do was avoid cameras and stick to the shadowed side of the alley. Those who saw the group were quick to run away.
Losing Polka, however, was not something Dick expected to happen. They all were hyper aware of their surroundings, and in turn, the kid. How he managed to disappear under the scrutiny of six highly trained vigilantes, Dick didn't know.
They had to admit defeat after searching the area and beyond for an hour and a half, Damian being sent back for an examination despite his objections early into their search, and trudge back to the cave unsuccessful.
Dick watched Jason walk into the infirmary—jokingly nicknamed the “batfirmary” by Steph— and remove his helmet from his seat next to Damian’s cot. Steph walked in after him, plopping down on the end of the mattress next to Jason and ignored Damian’s hissed demands for them to get off.
Cass slunk in a moment later, Tim behind her. He was still typing on his wrist computer as he sat on the opposite side of Damian. Cass leaned on the arm of his chair, gazing curiously at the screen.
Off to the right, through a sliver of the thick cloth that blocked the med bay, sat Bruce. The light from the Batcomputer illuminated his bent figure.
Dick pursed his lips, not liking the expression that crossed his father’s face. Whenever there were children involved, Bruce always got into a mood. It wasn’t that the rest of them didn’t, but Bruce’s mood was always the worst. He wouldn't accept any food or comfort until he solved the case and got justice for the innocent children.
As his child and fellow vigilante, Dick couldn't let Bruce neglect himself like that, least of all when it wasn’t his fault the children died. He stood, walking over to Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. He gently squeezed, offering all the comfort that was allowed. Bruce gave him a weary smile.
“You should join us.” Dick said, retracting his hand to cross his arms. “It does you no good just sitting here. Damian needs you right now.”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… I need to give those children justice.”
“Bruce, they aren’t going anywhere. You need to focus on the child in front of you.” Dick winced at how that came out. “I mean, Damian should be your priority right now. He’s recovering from being kidnapped!”
“You're right.” Bruce sighed, straightening his back slightly. “They aren’t going anywhere.”
Dick walked back to his seat, pleased with the sound of Bruce’s footsteps behind him. He watched as Damian’s face brightened when he spotted his father, and the subsequent haughty look he made to cover it up.
“How are you doing, Damian?” Bruce asked, sitting on the cot.
“I am fine, Father. It was just a scratch.” Damian answered, lifting his chin then frowning. “I didn't need to be hauled to the infirmary. I could have helped track down the boy.”
“We had to check if the cultist had done anything else to you. Would you rather not know if they had? And how did they manage to even snatch you anyways?” Tim intervened, crossing his legs as he looked up from his wrist computer.
“They used defenseless animals against me.” Dick almost cooed at Damian’s pout. He was always glad to see Damian act his age.
“What kinds of animals?” Steph leaned forward, her eyes gleaming.
“… Kittens.” Damian admitted quietly.
“They lured you in with kittens?!” Jason said hysterically. Muffled snorts came from all around, Dick himself wasn't exempt from laughing either. Everyone but Jason quickly pasted on an innocent face when Damian furiously glared at them, he didn't bother covering up his laughter. Even Bruce seemed amused, his eyes darting between them with a fond look on his face.
“Do you remember what happened?” Cass signed. Dick could tell she was still worried about Damian, the sides of her eyes were creased and her lips held together tightly.
“I passed out after I was hit over the head.” Damian began, the bedding clenched in his fists. “I remember waking up a couple of times but it wasn't for long. The last time I awoke, the boy was there.”
Bruce put his hand over Damian, his lips pursed. He clearly didn't like how his son was treated, and looking around, none of them were. “Did he do anything?”
“He told me to rest.” Damian said simply, brows furrowed.
“And you did?” Tim asked, dumbfounded. Dick was just as confused, Damian barely took orders from them that he deemed unnecessary, so him listening to a random civilian? It was unheard of.
“That was the strange thing. The moment he told me to, I was overwhelmed with drowsiness. I couldn't help falling asleep.”
A magic user? Dick thought speculatively. Or perhaps a meta? There were many abilities that could cause someone to fall unconscious with just a word, and just as many with aftereffects. Dick prayed that there weren’t any lasting effects on Damian, he wasn't sure what he would do if there were.
“I knew there was something up with him!” Tim announced, jumping up from his seat. “The fact that he was so calm in such a bloody environment was the first clue. Why would he be calm, let alone stay in that warehouse, when he was abducted and watched others be sacrificed? Plus, despite telling us the Corpse God—or God of the Dead, whatever— there was no sign of the being other than the cultist’s dismangled bodies. Why did he lie?” He paced back and forth, letting his theories flow like water.
Cass knocked on the wall, gathering their attention. She signed, “He didn’t lie.”
“He didn’t?” Dick questioned, understandably confused.
She shook her head, “He was truthful the whole time, but was he hiding something.”
“He could have been misleading you.” Steph crossed her arms. “He was being pretty vague in the recordings I watched. Plus, some of his words could have been taken in a different way.”
“That's true. The way he slipped away from us wasn’t something a civilian could do. Even a meta would be hard pressed to disappear from right under our noses.” Jason spoke up, a thoughtful look on his face.
“I’ll call Zatanna.” Bruce sighed, getting up from his seat. “Get some rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”
“He’s right. We need to conserve our energy for interrogating Polka tomorrow.” Dick ushered his disgruntled sibling towards the staircase leading to the manor.
Once he was sure they were in their rooms, Jason deciding it was too late to go to his own safehouse, he returned to the cave. Damian was unsurprisingly still awake, his stubbornness fighting against his weariness.
Dick dimmed the lights of the cave and headed towards the infirmary. Giving his brother a quick peck on the forehead and tucking him in, much to Damian’s displeasure, he grabbed a tablet and wrote up a report next to the cot. He made sure to include his sibling’s theories in the notes margin.
Soft muttering sounded off to the side, behind the infirmary’s curtain. After making sure Damian was asleep, Dick crept towards the sound. Around the corner, Bruce’s frustrated voice spoke. He ended the call a minute after he spotted Dick leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.
“Constantine?”
“Zatanna was busy.” Bruce ran his hands through his hair. He was clearly tired after the eventful day, but Bruce would continue working despite his complaints, Dick bitterly thought. He shook his head, now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts.
Dick hummed and walked towards the Batcomputer. He sat down, Bruce a couple feet away typing away on another monitor. He transferred his half finished report to the computer in front of him, finding a keyboard easier to write with than a tablet.
He let out a yawn. He had been up for more than twenty four hours, most of that time spent patrolling and studying cases in the Batcave. He laid his head on his arms, a quick nap wouldn't hurt, would it?
Distantly, he felt a heavy weight cover him. He let out a murmur of thanks for the blanket and fell asleep, not hearing the whispered response.
The insistent buzzing of the tablet woke him. He stretched, his back popping, before unlocking the tablet. A gasp escaped him once he laid eyes on the screen.
“Uh, B? You’ll need to see this.” Bruce looked at him in question before rolling closer, eyes widening slightly once he read the article.
In strikingly bold letters, the headline was “JOKER MAULED BY THE UNDEAD”.
──── ∘°❉°∘ ────
Wrote a large chunk of this months ago and just sat on it since I didn't know how to write batfam interactions. I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out :)
──── ∘°❉°∘ ────
Masterpost | Part 3
#dead mount death play#dmdp#dimension travel#polka shinoyama#corpse god#dc comics#dc universe#bruce wayne#justice league#damian wayne#duke thomas#cassandra cain#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#batfamily#no beta we die like jason todd#minor character death#cults#cw blood#tw corpse#cw death#wip: Polka’s second dimension travel (but with his brother this time!!)#stephanie brown
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Lost in the Concrete Jungle
Chapter One- Sneak Peek
Bad Omens x Female reader - A galactic AU
✨See you Saturday for the full chapter✨
You wake up to your wrist comm beeping. It’s your best friend in the entire galaxy; Skylar, messaging you to wish you a happy birthday.
*BEEP BEEP*
*BEEP BEEP*
*BEEP BEEP*
_____________________
Sky: Wake up, Bitch it’s your birthday! LET’S PARTY!
Sky: WAKE
Sky: UP
SKY: Remember the plan for tonight, 2300.
___________________
“Shit,” you curse under your breath, ripping the covers off the bed and stumbling into your en suite bathroom. You look in the mirror at your reflection and inwardly groan. You rub your tired eyes and splash cold water on your face in a feeble attempt to wake yourself. It doesn’t work. You hurriedly apply makeup to your face to look presentable in front of your family.
It’s your 21st birthday and on each and every birthday your family makes a big deal about it, especially your father. You are his only child of course. His precious little princess. You aren’t so little anymore. And you don’t like being called ‘princess’.
#bad omens fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#star wars fic#star wars fanfic#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#bad omens x star wars#star wars au#bad omens au#bad omens rpf#bad omens x female reader#bad omens crossover#mafia fic#starwars#dark romance#cw: hostage#cw: interrogation#cw: minor character death#fic: Lost in the Concrete Jungle#ladyveronikawrites
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Weapon
So, a lil while ago, @whumpedydump asked about Zayne working with Emery and why Zayne says it's better to be tortured by him than by Emery. Here we go.
Warning: Dead dove. Don't want to spoil, so if you're not sure, check the tags for warnings, if ya don't care, keep going.
Home is where the hurt is: Part 1
-
“What the hell happened to your hands?” Jay gaped at the bruises and scratches over Zayne’s knuckles.
Zayne instantly pulled back and turned away.
“Punched a wall because I have to put up with your stupid questions.” His left hand – unconsciously – slid over his right, covering the worst of the bruises, the raw, reddish split skin, and lightly rubbed over it.
“Yeah, sure, a little one-two combo to a brick wall.”
“Now you’re just begging for a one-two combo to your face.”
“Just saying,” Jay held his hands up, “if you found someone else to torment, be my gu—"
Zayne sharply turned. “Don’t ask,” he snarled and pointed a shaky finger in Jay’s face. “Okay?”
-
“Did I say you could stop?”
“Sir, he’s… he can’t take much more.”
Zayne took another step back, revealing the man kneeling in front of him to show Emery the state he was in. He was quite sure that another hit would knock him clear out. Which, honestly, would probably be a mercy at this point.
The man barely had any strength left to stay upright on his knees, his clenched fists ziptied behind his back were trembling, blood poured from his nose, and even with gasps and heaves he couldn’t get his breathing under control.
Emery remained unimpressed and stayed where he was, just a few steps behind Zayne. He merely glanced down at the man, who struggled to look up but glared at him with all he had left. “Yes, he can. Keep going.”
Zayne hesitated. He felt disgusted having to do this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t beaten on someone before. But this was… different. Too random. Impersonal. He had no idea who the man was, what he’d done to deserve this, what Emery wanted from him. He’d just shown up to this warehouse as Emery had ordered, was presented with nothing more than a man tied up on his knees and the task to ‘make him talk’. That’s it.
But the man didn’t talk. And by now, Zayne wished the guy had actually passed out like half an hour ago. But he was stubborn, like a certain someone he knew. Emery, unfortunately, was also stubborn, and Zayne knew the guy was going to be the first to break.
And he had to do the breaking.
Emery never lifted a finger. He had others to do his dirty work for him.
While the man was obviously nearing a limit, he was not hitting a breaking point. He remained silent, unwilling to give up a scrap of information, and with the bits of strength he did have every now and then, just glared past Zayne right at Emery.
But Zayne felt that he was nearing a limit as well.
His hands were trembling and not just from the pain of bone striking unrelenting bone. But also from the sickening crunch that followed every strike, the blood that stuck to his hands, the grunts of pain followed by agonising silence in front of him, judging silence behind him. How much longer was this going to take?!
A coughing sound escaped the man’s lips, along with some blood as he tried to speak and Zayne found himself hoping he’d finally spill. But when the man found his voice he merely said:
“Yeah, man, keep going.” His voice was soft, tired, but the defiance in it was thundering loud. “Knocked out you’d get just as much out of me as you are getting now.”
Zayne peeked a look at his boss to see how he’d take this.
Not well. Emery’s face darkened.
“Your knife,” he merely said, narrowed eyes still on the man.
Reluctantly, Zayne reached into his pocket. He didn’t go for his actual knife, the one he used with Jay. That was his favourite, meant for play. This one was a spare, meant for work, to be put away after everything had ended and snap it closed to keep the memories of the job contained. All kept separate.
He held it out for Emery.
But Emery refused it and took back a step, making room for Zayne to stand over the kneeling man and positioning himself in just the right spot to watch over the whole spectacle.
Zayne wasn’t really sure what he expected. Of course he was going to have to do it.
He made a show of slowly folding the knife open, but his heart wasn’t into it. Usually he’d love the twitches of fear, the widening of eyes, the flinch as the knife clicked. Here he was just furiously hoping it would make the man relent. When he didn’t, he stepped behind him, kept him in place with a hand on his shoulder, and pricked the blade over the side of his ribs.
Last chance, man!
The man tensed under him, flinched hard when skin split and red soaked into the cut fabric of his shirt. But the warning by just cutting skin deep was not enough to make him either scream or talk. And before Zayne had to make himself go a step further, he heard a tutting sound.
Emery sighed, shaking his head, and stepped forward.
Before Zayne could pull away, Emery’s gloved hand was on his and pushed the knife deeper into the cut.
The blade sank in deep. Way too deep. Zayne startled and meant to pull back, but Emery’s hand clamped over his and actually pushed harder, dragging it along. The blade slid in up to the hilt, carving through skin, muscle, blood vessels; indifferent to what it severed. Blood immediately gushed free. A sickening scream rose up and Zayne had to force himself to keep the man down by his shoulders before his trashing made things even worse.
Emery finally withdrew his hand. “Stop petting him and get him to talk.”
With some effort – and with a disgusting squelching sound – Zayne had to actually pull the knife free. Blood kept running down the man’s side, sticking his shirt to his skin. If he had to dig that deep, the man would probably bleed out after about three or more cuts. This was no longer threatening a man to talk by torturing him; this was ‘talk fast or die’.
And the guy seemed to realise as well that he wouldn’t be able to walk away with this.
“No… no, don’t do that again,” he wheezed. “No!” He bucked again when Zayne held the knife under the first cu— he couldn’t even call it a cut; it was a full on open stab wound.
“Talk,” Emery said over the begging.
And something burst. Along with his tears, the man’s words spilled out of him, talking as fast as he could through gasps of pain and in-between heaving breaths.
Thank god. Zayne let him go and stepped away, relieved he didn’t have sink the knife in like that himself, that it was finally over.
Emery nodded, seemingly satisfied with the info he got. “Good.” And before Zayne could even fold his knife, he followed up with his final order:
“Slit his throat.”
Zayne froze up. “I… I don’t think that’s necessary—”
“I do,” came the cold reply, effectively ending any further protest.
The knife nearly slipped from his grasp. His heart skipped a beat and it felt like it just plummeted down into his stomach, dunking into the pool of dread that started to violently swirl around. It didn’t. After that world-stopping split-second it kept going, thundering against his ribs. Wide eyes shot from Emery to the man and back until Emery’s patience ran out.
“If I have to do it myself, I will do it twice. Do you understand me?”
Zayne clenched his jaw and tucked away all feelings before a hint of the despair whirling through him could slip free. When he turned his back on Emery, a tiny bit did slip out as he couldn’t help but glance at the two guards Emery always had with him, estimating his chances. Slim. And he had no doubt that the man wouldn’t follow up on his threat.
Something hardened inside him. Him or me. Or rather, him and me or just him. Survival instinct took over, wrapping all around him like a cloak protecting him. He did hear the man’s pleas, but the words just bounced off, like arrows against armour, never fully registering in his brain so that even if he wanted to he wouldn’t remember them later.
Besides, begging him was useless. He didn’t call the shots here. He was just the—
He stepped behind the man again, so at least he wouldn’t have to see the shock and betrayal in those eyes turn blank when— He firmly grabbed onto the man’s hair and dragged him back up on his knees, holding him up. All part of his determined, cold act.
But when he bent over, settling the knife just under the man’s jaw, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Then he let the blade sink in, immediately going in deep – letting him bleed out as fast as possible was the least bit of mercy he could offer – and he dragged the knife over his throat all the way to the other carotid artery, cutting both.
The trashing stopped as the finality of the act hit them both. The pull of gravity on Zayne’s hand turned heavy and he let the strands of hair slip from his grasp. The man slumped to the ground, wrists digging into plastic as he struggled against the zip ties as if reaching for his throat could somehow stop the bleeding, and Zayne looked away. Would rather look at even fucking Emery than watch the final moments of the man under him.
Emery watched impassively and with a certain disdain, cold eyes fixed on the man, following every twitch until he finally stilled. Then he abruptly turned and walked outside to his guards.
Taking just the slightest moment to compose himself, Zayne took a deep breath – that did fuck all like putting a band aid on one of those cuts he just inflicted – and followed.
Cold air swept over the river towards him. He didn’t notice the cold as much, but the breeze tickled over the cuts on his hands and he found that he was still holding onto the knife, fist clenched around it.
Emery glanced back at him, almost surprised that he was still here. “Someone will be along shortly to dispose of the body,” he said, tone dismissive and colder than the night air around them. “You are done for the day.”
A vague sense of immense relief that he didn’t have to clean this mess up hit him, but not as hard as it should. It was dulled, along with everything else. Zayne went along as if on autocue, making eye contact and nodding, hoping it would uphold a stoic pretence.
But as soon as Emery turned the corner, his mask shattered.
Every emotion that he had kept at bay all night burst free in a whirlwind of chaos, battling each other over which one would get released first. It was overwhelming. He didn’t know whether to cry or to scream his rage.
Because what even just happened?! Was he—did he just—
He refused to look back inside, just wanted to forget about that image as soon as he could. But even if he wanted to, to get confirmation on what he just fucking did, he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot. Completely paralysed, making him just stand there watch over the dark churning water.
The protective cloak of survival instinct ripped away. Immediately making way for something dark bubbling up, taking hold of him.
Guilt.
It clawed up inside him, whispering to him, calling him names, calling him murderer.
No…
No! This was not on him. It was not! It was Emery. It was all Emery!
If he hadn’t been here, Emery would have killed the guy himself. If Emery had called some other pawn to order around, the guy would still have been killed. Even if Zayne had refused, the guy would still be dead. And so would he. Every possible outcome ended up with the guy bleeding out on the ground.
This was not on me. It was on him, on him, not me! On him!
Because Emery already had his mind made up. And any bit of mercy Zayne’d tried to—
His breath caught.
If you hadn’t tried to spare him… If you’d just knocked him out… maybe…
No!
The blood was on Emery’s hands! Not his!
His knuckles ached as his fist clenched around the handle of his knife. Split skin burst open further, stinging, making him look down.
It wasn’t his blood… coating his knuckles, running over the flesh of his thumb.
And with a scream, he threw the knife as far as he could into the river.
-
Continuation here
Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @scribbelle
#whump#whump writing#reluctant whumper#tortured for information#beating#home is where the hurt is#emotional whump#hiwthi drabbles#hiwthi#my writing#bigger badder whumper#angst#posting makes this canon so I wasn't sure about this one#had this lingering in my word file for ages#cw death#minor character death#forced to kill#bleeding out#reluctant killer#tw death#tw murder
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Buddie Week Day 2: Protective Eddie - Co-parenting - " I can tell your not fine"
Eddie seemed to be the most affected, at least that’s what Buck noticed almost Immediately as they were dismissed from the scene and sent back to the station.Once they arrived, Bobby spoke to them all, asked them to get the needed jobs done and then to take the time they needed.
Buck wanted to ask him about it but he knew Eddie needed a little time before he'd be up for talking. So Buck just stayed close by, he glanced at him everything now and again and occasionally Eddie would catch his gaze and give him a small smile, but there was no happiness behind his eyes. Buck bided his time, waited for the chores to be done and for everyone to go off and do what they needed to do. When it was just him and Eddie left, Buck finally spoke up.
#buddie week 2024#cw: minor characters deaths#leo writes#911buddieweek#buddie#evan buck buckley#eddie diaz
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Who is the Monster Here? by archaeologist_d
Ship: No ships/gen
Main Characters: Lamia
Rating: Teen
Warnings: No archive warnings apply, OC death
Major tags: pre-canon, Lamia, OCs, explaination of Lamia's origins
Summary: In the Old Religion, there was power and then power, good or bad. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And so, the Lamia were born.
#bbc merlin#merlin bingo#participant reblog#archaeologist d#rating: t#cw: minor character death#format: fic
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Mr Swales had to be killed off quick because he's far too genre savvy and would have resolved the plot too quickly.
Alternatively, Dracula could not understand the old man and killed him out of frustration.
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