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#point of a blade. to make bleed could also be to be bloodied or to become blood. its not that
oatbugs · 2 years
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trying to find a suitable translation of the poem from which my name primarily comes from is actually impossible . persian is untranslatable.
#the way me and the person i was staying w in sweden talked abt this ..made my heart hurt a little but also made me glad that i understand#such a special language. persian is made for song and poetry and so the etymology and layers of each word are carried in their meanings#to a far stronger extent than other languages ive seen including english. this makes communicating in a straightforward way#much more difficult. it makes ambiguities more common and one could easily commit some horrid#epistemic crimes against another person by warping the meaning of their words. but it makes lyricism and poetry and anything which is#supposed to have depth and meaning so much more beautiful. which is why translating a good persian poem is so so difficult. yeah you could#use the word beloved but you could also use heart you could also use soul you could also use breath you could also use stomach you could#also use life etc etc . even with more common words.. its just. the only way to get it is to translate each word to a sentence/multiple#words but then the work would lose its impact . idk#thinking abt نقطهٔ عشق دل گوشه نشینان خون کرد#this is seemingly a simple line from the poems sixth verse found in only 3 of its manuscripts. gooshe neshinan is maybe literally#translated as corner-sitters or corner-dwellers but really it means more intellectuals/contemplators/academics but it could also mean#the isolated or lonely or the people who are waiting for something. now combine all the possible meanings into one english word. you just#cant carry the same meaning and depth even for such a simple phrase. the entire line would be#the point of love made the contemplators heart bleed. except heart is also love/stomach/life/soul/etc etc. point is also dot and the sharp#point of a blade. to make bleed could also be to be bloodied or to become blood. its not that#آتش آن است که در خرمن پروانه زدند#fire is that which burns the harvest of the moth. except it has the implication that the moth is also burned whole and#that love is a form of annihilation. moth is also butterfly. khorman means harvest but it also means crop and mass and product and shock#and halo around the moon and the aura of something bright and unseperation. now combine all of that into one english word.#it is also what made me mildly frustrated with non-persian scholars writing on hafez and persian poetry arguing about what translation is#correct when the point of persian lyricism is that the beauty of the verses stems largely from the layers and layers of meaning. love is#annihilation but inherently it is also an unseperation. love is all consuming in the way the halo of a moon is and the way laughter#that wraps you in light is. you are destroyed unwillingly. you are both the butterfly unravelling and the moth burning.#all one short line. i want you to understand why i chose this name and also to understand the poetry i was born from#and why it rests on the table in our new years table and why it is used to cast fortunes and why poetry is pilgrimage and a point of#worship for us and the sheer weight this language carries!!!#(خرمن)#(beside every definition given above it also means thrill and fruits of labours and Time and panic and damage)#my brain was built around a poetic construct from the moment i was born im so happy about that
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pianocat939 · 4 months
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Let's say, Mean Girl Donnie tries to do everything to get MC to break up with their current relationship.
Tw: murder, quite bit of blood
Blackmail, rumours, even attempting to expel.
Nothing works. To the point he gets a little unstable in the mind. He loses the rationality he kept up for so long. After weeks of trying to break you apart, he's brought to understanding that no matter what he does- you stick together.
So, he sacrifices every form of formality and morals he's ever had. He stops being the perfect, ambitious one he was.
At night, he casually leaves his house, dressed up in dark, plain clothing. There's not a single ounce of makeup or beauty enhancer- just his raw self.
He enters his enemy's bedroom, silent. His eyes wide with unsteady excitement. His breathing is oddly slow, well-paced. He takes a few steps, and before he could even register his next thought, he's stabbing the small blade he kept in his pocket into their artery on the neck; a rag muffling their mouth with the tight press of his hand. He doesn't flinch as blood splatters all over the bed, gushing out from the wound.
He's paid attention in biology class. He knows which vital would be the easiest. Within a matter of minutes, they're bleeding to death, with nothing but a weak, pained cry in vain.
He can only watch with a poker face, blinking once in a while. When they eventually succumb to blood loss, he smiles. Not the smile he practiced for his photos. No, this was a epitome of utter madness and revenge.
After taking a few pictures in on his phone in a smug pride, he cleans up the messy scene. He buries the body outside, right into the yard of the home. He covers it back up with the dirt he dug out but also a few bits of gravel here and there to make it harder to dig for anyone who tries.
He folds up the bloody sheets and pillows, stuffing them into his bag. Then he heads home, as if nothing happened. His mind is much clearer, with the need for blood lust replaced with simply contentment.
The next day, the news is headlined with the disappearance of the victim, and a more than joyful Donnie is at school. He seems more perfect than ever. When he sees you not even at school, he grins.
He knows you're upset. He's fine with that.
If he can't rip your glue apart, he might as well become the substance to dilute it.
(I love how I'm casually typing this randomly in bio class)
- Celina
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deathbxnny · 10 months
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Hi, this is my first time active on tumblr community, English is not my native language, so please forgive me for spelling mistakes <3
I have an idea for s/o Mitsuri (kny) with Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Luocha please. who were dying in their arms and praying for another world, when they were reborn, and were turned into ordinary people with an ordinary past. Before I die, I want the reader to ask: "If we were to be reborn in a more beautiful world where there is no pain and loss, would you be my bride?". I am really looking forward to the reactions of the characters in hsr. Hope this angst idea is good enough-
Pray for you when you go, someone often remembers. When you return when someone is waiting. Pray for you to become the best memories in the world. Wishing you a life filled with love and happiness. I really appreciate you for the quality articles <3 Take care of yourself and I love you so much. Sorry for writing so long. (Sorry for the second post, I realized I forgot to add the character's name, so sorry =( )
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A/N: I know exactly what scene you are referring to here and I'll never recover from it tbh... Also thank you so much for your kind words and for the request! I hope this is okay!<33
Content: Potential Spoilers for kny! (?), Reader dies, hurt/no comfort (kinda), established relationships, angst, mentions of fatal injury, just pain
Reader has no set pronouns! (Though they do refer to themselves as a "Bride" per the request, but that's not outright mentioned here.)
((Not fully proofread))
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》Jing Yuan
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Jing Yuan's usual calm and playful facade drops instantly, when he has your bloody and near lifeless form laying in his arms. He holds you close, knowing that your end is near and that there is nothing he can do now. He tries to still appear so calm and collected like he always is, but it's hard, when the love of his life is dying.
And it becomes even harder, when he hears you utter those heartbreaking words, as you look up at him with pleading, weak eyes. He can't bring himself to speak at first, mainly because he wants to believe that there is still some hope left in saving you. But he is no fool. He knows, that you are doomed.
And so he nods, promising you that he will, his arms holding onto you tighter, when the last breath escaped your lungs and you smile in satisfaction at him, already looking forward to seeing him again.
"Ofcourse, my love... I'll wait eons for your return, if I have to."
-----♡
》Blade
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He nearly loses his composure at the sight of you, the blinding rage of the loss he felt in his heart making him nearly dip completely into insanity. Yet he keeps it at bay for a moment, just to hold you in his arms. He's trembling and for once in a very long time, he feels afraid and lost.
Your words make his already broken soul break even harder, burn up into fine ash, until it gets blown away by the wind and leaves a gaping hole in his existence behind. He can't process them at first, wanting to be stubborn even in the face of your inevitable doom. He doesn't want to show, how much this weakened him, just to spite the grim reaper himself.
And yet, it all fails, when he just let's out a pitiful, broken sigh and agrees in pained defeat, just to give you your peace. You smile at him, as the last of your life fades out, your eyes looking right through him. Only then, does he allow himself to break completely.
"Very well... but don't keep me waiting for long... I beg of you."
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》Dan Heng
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Dan Heng didn't know, how you two got to this point. It shouldn't have happened. He should've protected you. And yet, you protected him from the attack. You were bleeding out, your life draining from you faster than he could stop it. Once more, a person he loved dearly was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do.
He felt like a failure, like all of this was his fault. He should've died instead. Not you. And that thought gets only solidified by your heartbreaking, hopeful words. You didn't deserve this fate. You deserved someone much better than him.
And yet, he selfishly agrees to your final wish to bring you satisfaction. Your smile made it worth it, the relief in your eyes before they were drained of their beautiful spark and dulled making all the heartache disappear for only just a moment. Left behind was the emptiness Dan Heng felt, as all he could do was stare down at you in defeat, his heart broken once more. And for good, this time.
"For you, I will do anything, my love. So I'll see you then..."
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》Luocha
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Luocha didn't want to believe, that it was over. That there was nothing he could do for you. He tried everything he could. He was a doctor, surely he could save you from this simple injury, right? But it was no use. You knew it. He knew it. And yet, he still denied it to the bitter end, until you gently grabbed ahold of his arm and just shook your head. A signal, that it was truly over.
And for once, he breaks down, holding you close, begging you not to disappear and yet all you could do was chuckle and utter your last wish for him. It was a promise, that eventually, you'd return to him. You'd find eachother in the next life, you were sure of it.
He was reluctant, still so stubborn and heartbroken to accept your doom, until he did. His soul died with you, when you took your last breath, he swore it. And he blamed himself, for not being able to save you, when he surely should've been able to.
"I'll find you in the in next life and the one after that one too, my dear... I promise you that."
-----♡
A/N: I hope this was alright! It was honestly heartbreaking to write... also thank you for the request!<33
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edosianorchids901 · 6 months
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The Storm's Red Ruin
@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "blood is thicker than water"
Wessex, 878 AD
When Crowley dragged himself from Hell’s damp corridors to Earth, it was raining. He managed a snort of laughter. Fitting, after spending the last week chained up with a pipe dripping on his side.
That hadn’t been the centerpiece of the torture. Just a side effect.
He snorted with laughter again, then went limp in the muddy road and watched as blood trickled from his wounds, pooling in the puddles all around him. Thicker than the water, it spread out slowly, a pattern of red masking the grey reflections of the sky.
Soon, he’d probably be watching his blood mingle with the green, sickly light of Hell again. At the rate he was bleeding out, discorporation couldn’t be far away.
He wasn’t sure what to do. Right now, he was too busy hurting to make plans.
He tried anyway. Had to be able to cobble something together. Even on his way out of Hell, shredded and bloodied, he’d been focused, determined. To get back to Earth, to Aziraphale.
The Earth part, he’d managed. But Aziraphale…
He’d missed Aziraphale. The fog, mud, and general lack of color at the moment said this might be Wessex, but where in Wessex? Or maybe he’d missed Wessex entirely. Could be in bloody Northumbria, for all he knew. Or somewhere that wasn’t even the right island.
“Are you a Dane?”
Crowley squinted up. A girl crouched by  the puddle that he was currently bleeding into. “Nope.”
“A warrior? A survivor of the raid?”
“Nuh.” Although maybe he should have said yes. “Hey, know anyone with… fluffy light hair, talks a lot with his hands, obsessed with books?”
Saying that much left him breathless, his vision dimming. He shivered, heartbeat quick and thready. The girl was saying something, but Crowley couldn’t make out the words. It was all fading away.
He tried to hold on, clinging to Earth, to the vain hope that Aziraphale might save him. The blood just kept pumping, draining from his mangled body into the puddles.
The wet cold seeped through him, blending with the chill of Hell’s dark torture chambers. Tears slipped down his cheeks, a shattered sob shaking him. Soon, he’d be back. Under the blade, the lash. Torn at by Hellhounds. And what if they kept him forever, as an example to the others of what happened to failures?
“Crowley! Crowley!”
At first, he thought he’d imagined the call. But shoes splashed in the puddles, water and blood spattering across him.
“Oh Lord, what’s happened to you?” A touch on his shoulder, then arm, then hand. He whimpered in agony. “Crowley, you look as though you’ve been mauled by an entire raiding force! Come here, dear boy.”
Even the gentle touch hurt, and Crowley sobbed as Aziraphale scooped him up. “Hurts, it hurts, angel…”
“Shh, there now. I’m awfully sorry, but it’s raining so hard now, and I’ve got to get you inside before you freeze to death. You’ve nearly got hypothermia.”
Oh. Terrific. Not like he wasn’t in bad enough shape after the week of torture.
Everything went increasingly vague after that, and also increasingly terrifying. Was someone helping him? Or was this just a prelude to the next round of torment?
Sharp pain, and he screamed. Hands on him, holding him down. A face, eyes wide. The person over him spoke urgently, but there was too much pain to be sure of what they were saying.
The hands lifted, fluttering as the person talked. Pointed, waved, finally splayed wide, patting the air in a gesture that even now, Crowley understood. Stay still.
He understand something else, as he laid there bleeding. He knew every single one of those gestures, the pattern of them, the enthusiasm, the rhythms. Knew them so deeply that his fear faded.
Aziraphale. He’d made it to Aziraphale.
Crowley tried to stay still, although sometimes his body jerked with pain. If Aziraphale said to stay still, there was a good reason. Aziraphale didn’t want to work together, but he always helped when necessary.
Gradually, the pain faded enough that things crept into Crowley’s awareness. The smell of a fireplace, and the heat of it. Something hard under his back. Warm, flickering light. The sound of someone crying.
The tears registered next, sliding down his face. Oh. He was the one crying.
“Angel,” he croaked, voice hoarse. “Angel. Angel.”
“I’m here, I’m right here.” Warmth against the side of his face, fingers drifting lightly across his temple, his cheek. Careful, rhythmic strokes that soothed the fresh sparks of fear and dried the slow tears. “Crowley, my dear, it’s okay now. It’s all right. You’re still a bit banged up, but I’ve healed the worst of your injuries and I’m getting you warmed up.”
“I’m cold,” Crowley mumbled, struggling to focus on the kind face above.
“I know, Crowley. I’m getting you warmed up. I’ll move you to my bed soon.” Aziraphale kept one hand against Crowley’s cheek, but the other fluttered in the air. “You’re on my table, currently. I needed to have you as close to the fire as possible. Can you tell me what happened? Is there another raiding party?”
“Nuh.” Crowley really wanted to just go to sleep, but he should probably reassure Aziraphale that the village wasn’t about to burn down. “Got in… trouble over the new treaty. Hell doesn’t like the lack of raiding parties.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. He patted Crowley’s cheek in quick, compulsive little touches. “Well, you’re back on Earth now, back in Wessex, back with me. And I will not let anyone harm you now.”
Crowley managed a weak smile before he closed his eyes, listening as rain drummed down on the thatched roof. He’d made it. There would be no return trip to Hell after all, thanks to Aziraphale.
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The harm you do
anon asked: Hello! I'm kind of new here and I saw that requests are open so-If you feel okay with it, Can you make a headcanon with Female! Y/n who did a selfh#rm for really long time and didn't stop until she been noticed doing that by Luffy, Zoro and Whitebeard? Like how would they react to it?
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Hi anon and thank you for requesting with us! I don't shy away from these types of asks because I know for some, it is very cathartic to read, including myself. I do hope you enjoy!
>Admin T
Warning/tags: Explicit mention of self-harm, in detail description of self-harm, blood, and sadness. If you do not or can not handle these types of scenarios, please do not read this.
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Zoro
Zoro, I'd feel, would understand. Not the physically hurting oneself part, but the sadness, the self loathing part.
When he noticed the harsh, bloody line on your thighs, he knew that you had done it to yourself. Something so precise couldn't be an accident.
It would also make sense as to why you seemed less inclined to smile or be apart of the conversation.
It would explain why you seemed to stay in your room.
It would explain why whenever Zoro would train with his swords you would look at the blades with a sad longing. Zoro was never the type to want to put it his blades, or hide them from anybody, but the way you looked at them, made him want to throw them in the ocean, never to be seen again.
he wouldn't out right tell you he knew, nor would he outright say for you to stop.
But he would hold you stick close to you, make sure to cheer you up when you needed it most. Have you enjoy the things you used to enjoy.
He hoped it would make you feel better enough to stop, but only time will tell.
Luffy
He would be so confused. Why would someone willingly hurt themselves? Maybe for other people, he'd get, but this? No, he didn't understand.
But what he did understand that whenever he saw the thin red lines on your wrists, and how sometimes they would bleed when stretched too far, or when you were anxious you would go back to your room to create more, it made him feel useless and horrible.
He felt as if he had no right to keep you around, if he couldn't help you from whatever was going on, be it depression or anything else.
He didn't know what to do, when you kept going to your room to create more.
One day, before you would leave to put more lines in your skin, he grab you by the upper arm and pull you into a hug, telling he loves you, that you are wanted, that he doesn't want you to keep doing this.
It hurts him to see you so distraught and distressed. He will do anything to make you feel better, even if it was just a little bit.
He will stick by you, and will check up on you almost every ten minutes for however long it takes for you to truly feel the need to live once again.
Whitebeard
For as long as he lived, he has seen many depressing things.
But you hurting yourself was the worst thing he could possibly imagine. The bruises, the cuts, the blood, the utter darkness in your eyes.
It would unnerve him
I would give him shivers of anxiety, not wanting you to hurt yourself to the point to where you wouldn't return.
It makes him sad, because you are sad.
One thing he will do is call to you for some errands, keep your mind off of things, keep you busy.
And when there is downtime, he would tell you fun stories about his days on the sea, in an attempt to make you see that the future is worth living for, that life can be exciting and fun.
He would discreetly look, after some days, to see if there were any new marks, and to his surprise, there were only a few.
He would smile to himself, happy for the progress, for any progress.
And he hopes one day, you will be free from your own mind and really feel what it means to be alive.
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midnightcreator12 · 2 months
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And We'll Keep Marching On Chapter 2 - Unexpected Guests
AO3 Link
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Donatello had to focus very, very hard on keeping his hand steady.
Because the rudimentary patch job he’d done in New York  would not keep Leo stable all the way to Northampton and a lot of his injuries needed stitches and he couldn’t make one mistake because he’d already messed up so bad-
Donnie paused to focus on his breathing, forcing his hands to still and not cling to the needle so tightly.
“You good?”
Donnie only spared a glance towards Casey, keeping his focus and line of sight firmly on his hands and…and on Leo, “Have to be.”
Casey hummed. A surprisingly tame answer to his usual bluster. But…he hadn’t been acting like himself ever since Leo…since April’s apartment.
Case in point, he was still in the van with Donnie. 
Once the city had disappeared from the horizon, Donnie had made the request for them to pull over for a bit, citing that he needed to treat Leo more thoroughly before they went any further.
Raph had nodded and ushered Mikey out of the van the moment Casey had stopped at an abandoned rest stop. April had gone with them, bringing the smaller first aid kit with her.
Donnie had been expecting Casey to follow them out as well but the boy had just turned in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, watching quietly as Donnie removed his hand and wrist wrappings, washed his hand with a water bottle and a bit of soap and unpacked the larger first aid kit.
Donnie had not commented on it, his attention more centered on…stitching up Leo.
Everything had gone so wrong so quickly, that Donatello was still having trouble processing it all.
The Kraang had taken over New York, had infiltrated their home, they’d lost Splinter, April lost her dad again, Casey hadn’t been able to find his family and Leo…
Leo was more black, blue, and red than green. His limbs were covered in cuts and gashes, many having dug in deep enough to need stitches. There were also bruises, red and angry and painful looking, molting Leo’s scales in ugly patterns. 
But the worst were the two massive gashes on his shoulder. 
The parallel cuts were deep, almost to the bone by Donnie’s guess. They cleaved downward, chipping off the top edge of Leo’s plastron before the protective plating was too thick for the blades to penetrate. But the force was still enough to leave very clear indents, marring Leo’s shell in a way that would take years to heal over.
If it ever did.
Donnie swallowed again, took another breath, forced his mind away from the only person who could have caused that injury and started mentally reciting the decimals of pi as he lowered his hands.
He expected Leo to react when the needle pierced his skin. They didn’t need stitches often, but the feeling was always unpleasant and…as much as he hated it, giving Leo any sort of sedative could do more harm than good with the clear bruising around his jaw and the back of his head and a deep, sluggishly bleeding cut on his temple speaking of bad head injuries.
But Leo didn’t even twitch when the needle slid through his scales. Donnie knew he should be grateful for the fact that Leo didn’t feel it as he was stitched back together. But the lack of reaction made something unpleasant twist in his gut. 
Leo’s body…his nervous system should still react to simulation, especially anything that sent the signal for ‘pain’ up to his brain. But each stitch Donnie added was met with cool scales that stayed perfectly still under his bloodying hands.
Damnit, he didn’t bring gloves. He should have brought gloves for this, that bit of bottled water and soap wasn’t anywhere close to sterile enough. Leo could get an infection and it would be Donnie's fault because he was stupid and failed-
His vision started to blur.
Donnie’s hands jerked back as he blinked, trying to force the sudden blurriness from his vision. He couldn’t afford this right now, Leo needed him and he was failing again-
He raised a hand, intending to rub at his eyes-
But it was red with blood. He couldn’t wipe his face, there was blood on his hans. He had blood on his hands. Leo’s blood. Leo’s blood was on his hands-
Donnie startled harshly when something scratchy pressed against his cheek.
He whipped his head around to find a blob of grays and black…that slowly refined itself into Casey.
He had moved from the front seats at some point, now crouched on the balls of his feet next to Donnie, one arm outstretched and holding…an old rag.
Donnie blinked again and it suddenly clicked that his vision was blurry because of tears.
He was crying. Damnit, he was crying when he had to help Leo and it was in front of Casey Jones of all people-
“Hold still, would ya?” Casey muttered, scooching closer. “You need to see to fix Leo up, right?”
Donnie…was confused.
Casey never passed on a chance to make fun of him. He had a knack for spotting any weakness and using it against people in the form of backhanded nicknames and snide remarks. Donnie had quite a few monikers given to him by none other than Casey.
But Casey wasn’t teasing or poking, calling Donnie a crybaby or overly emotional…he was trying to help Donnie clear his eyes so he could finish treating Leo.
Under most circumstances, Donnie might have refused the help, probably would have hurled an insult or several to get Casey to back away as quickly as possible.
But he couldn’t wipe his face without smearing…blood everywhere.
So he tipped his chin down and let Casey rub the rag over his eyes. He sniffed, blinking hard to get rid of the last of the moisture before bending over Leo again.
He tried to hold the rest back. It was bad enough that he’d needed Casey to wipe tears from his face, he didn’t need to give him any more ammunition for a later date.
But by the time Donnie was tying off the stitches on the first shoulder gash, the tears were building again. Enough that his work would be hindered if he didn’t wipe them away.
He straightened again, turned in Casey’s general direction.
His breathing caught in his chest.
Then again, as Casey wiped his face.
And by the time he was looking back at Leo, a small, broken whine slipped out.
He locked his jaw, angry at himself for breaking when Leo needed him, but more quiet keening sounds forced their way between his teeth. His shoulders hunched in embarrassment but his hands kept working.
It didn’t matter if he was having a breakdown in front of his rival. Leo needed him, he needed to help Leo. He’d take whatever Casey dished out later. He had to. He was the only one who could close all the open wounds marring their leader.
Slowly killing their big brother.
Casey was silent as Donnie cried and kept completely still unless Donnie needed his tears cleared away again. A part of Donnie was grateful for that, glad that Casey had enough emotional tact to not pick and prod at this moment.
It felt like hours before Donnie was finally done, fingers numb from the delicate work and neck stiff from being bent down for so long. He wrapped bandages over all the new stitches and the smaller cuts, watching Leo’s face the entire time for any sign of a reaction. 
But Leo’s face stayed lax an blank, not even pinching a little when Casey heaved his torso up so Donnie could wrap his shoulder. His scales were still chilly to the touch and his breathing was raspy and slow. It was even, which gave Donnie a little comfort, but each pause between inhales and exhales was far too long to be normal.
But he couldn’t…do much.
He’d only been able to take smaller medical equipment with him when they cleared out the Lair, anything that would go in the aid kits either being too large or busted from the Kraang. Which meant he didn’t have anything to examine Leo internally beyond his homemade stethoscope.
He could only treat what he could see. If something was wrong below the surface level-
Donnie hiccuped on his next breath, eyes drifting from Leo to his own lap. To his hands in his lap. His hands that were still gloveless and covered in red-
The van door slid open noisily as Casey shoved it. Donnie looked up to be greeted by Casey holding out another bottle of water, “Get all that gunk off you before Mikey gets back. He might freak.”
Right. Right, Mikey would get upset if he came back to Donnie covered in blood.
Luckily, it seemed that he, Raph and April had gone inside the rest stop, probably to both look for useable supplies and to give Donnie plenty of space. So Donnie scooted his way out, shivering when his feet hit the sun-warmed ground.
He snapped up the rag and water, using both to scrub the blood away, letting it fall to the ground in a waterfall of pinkish water.
When he was done, he reached back into the van, grabbing his wrappings and replacing them around his damp wrists and fingers, running his palms over the familiar texture to recenter himself. Ground himself back in the here and now and not what ifs and maybes.
He turned to Casey, who was leaning against the van, eyes firmly fixed on Leo while Donnie pulled himself back together.
He absently wondered if this was as close to kind as the other teen got.
He found himself grateful for it.
He took one last breath, rubbed his hands down his face and climbed back into the van. Casey waited until Donnie was sitting, knees hugged firmly into his chest, before pushing off the van and strolling around it, hollering for April and the guys to get back in before he left them behind.
Donnie tucked his chin to his chest as everyone returned and climbed back in.. His eyes drifted to his brother's as the engine rumbled back to life, taking in the injuries that had been patched while he was taking care of Leo.
Mikey had gotten off the easiest, with only minor cuts and bruises that would heal in a few days. He probably would be sore, heaving a couch out a window had definitely caused him to pull some muscles, but there wasn’t much they could do for that except for a hot bath. 
Raph was a little worse off since he’d been out with Casey when the invasion started. His shell still had a few scorch marks and one ankle had been bandaged. He also sported a massive bruise and scrapes down one arm, likely from a bad landing from a high point.
Casey had similar scraps on the bits of skin he left exposed, probably bruising too. April had gotten rattled around with the rest of them in the Turtle Mech but Donnie had not seen any serious injuries on her. 
All in all, they would be recovered in no time…except for Leo.
Donnie hugged his legs closer to himself, as if it would make the situation better, like it could block out the slow, raspy breaths of their oldest brother, beaten and bloodied and still unresponsive to anything.
Donnie shivered.
He knew, logically, the chances of Leo waking up right then were low. But a part of him still clung to the hope that Leo would defy the odds again. That he’d just sit up and ask if everyone was okay and start mother-henning them and come up with a brilliant and crazy plan to drive all the Kraang from New York.
But he didn’t even twitch when the van hit a bump and Donnie didn’t have enough energy to call Casey out of jostling them.
He glanced at the other side of the backseat, where Mikey and Raph had curled around each other. Exhaustion was getting the better of Raph, pulling him into doze within minutes of the van moving on. His doze was slowly becoming actual sleep, pulling him sideways and almost completely on top of Mikey. The youngest clung to Raph, but he was wide awake and his eyes were fixed on Leo, like he would vanish if Mikey so much as blinked.
Donnie wanted to move over to them, lean on Raph’s other side and soak in at least a little comfort.
But Leo was hurt because he had fought with him…he didn’t deserve to be comforted. Not until he fixed this.
So he sat, only grunting in pain when the van went over bumps or dipped into potholes that made his bruised body and laser-burned arm tingle with discomfort.
He watched Leo every time, wishing he would at least make a distressed sound in response to the bumpy ride.
He never did. Hours later and he still hadn’t moved under his own will once.
“It’s down that road there,” April murmured to Casey at some point, voice hushed as if she was frightened to disturb the silence that had stayed firmly in place for the entire drive.
Casey just grunted in reply as he turned. 
Donnie could hear when the road changed from old concrete to dirt and gravel. It was probably more of a very long driveway than a road because he doubted April would have suggested the farmhouse if there were neighbors close by.
Mikey reached up and carefully poked Raph's face. Donnie watched as he blinked sleepily, beak scrunching, brain still waking up as his eyes fell on Leo. And he saw when everything came rushing back and everything that had happened seemed to physically bore itself onto Raph shoulders.
His voice sounded almost hollow as he asked, "Where are we?"
"Northampton," the answer came out of Donnie automatically, the need to answer any question still persisting through his exhaustion.
Raph nodded slowly, eyes taking in the trees and cloudy sky through the windows, "'It’ll be dark soon."
"Yeah," Donnie agreed.
They all lapsed back into silence, only the rumble of the van's engine keeping it from being fully quiet.
Raph shifted, forcing Mikey to sit up more so both could be properly upright. Donnie shut his eyes, mentally running down a checklist of what he would need to do to help Leo when they reached April’s summer home.
It felt like too long and not long enough before Casey started to slow down.
Donnie opened his eyes again, sitting up to peer out the windshield.
The farmhouse was clearly old and not in the best condition but all the windows and doors seemed to be intact. He'd have to get inside to see about the utilities but he could get them power and water relatively easily.
Casey stopped in front of the house, as close as he could get to the porch. Donnie was up the moment they stopped, opening the van door as he spoke, "Stay with Leo. I need to find a place he can…recover."
He didn't wait to see if Raph or Mikey replied. He stepped out of the van, shoved down the little voice screaming in his head to hide from the open sunlight and joined April on the porch.
She was flipping the various decorations over, the rug, a broken flower pot, what was probably a lawn gnome at one point-
She grumbled as she stood, dusting her hands off, "Guess there isn't a hidden key."
"Here," Donnie grabbed his lock-picking tools from his belt. Sure, breaking the door would be faster but he kinda wanted it to stay intact and not be another thing he'd have to fix.
Except when he crouched and put a hand on the old wood, it swung open.
Donnie tensed, eyes snapping to April. She stared back, shoulders also going tight in alarm.
The door should not be unlocked.
Donnie moved first, pushing the door fully open as he readied his bò.
The entryway seemed empty. He could see a kitchen and living room but walls blocked most of his view. He tipped his head, listening for any footsteps or voices. 
The house was dead quiet. But that didn't mean it was empty.
Donnie heard the quiet thump of Casey's gear, felt the teen's presence at his other shoulder. 
Donnie raised a hand, gesturing towards the kitchen and living room. April and Casey moved without saying a word, splitting off to search the downstairs. Donnie moved towards the stairs, silently making his way up.
He kept close to the walls, blending into the shadows as much as he could, third eyelid sliding closed instinctively. The stairs took him to a small balcony and hallway holding four doors. He nudged open the first door, peering into a dusty bedroom with two beds. Nothing there looked disturbed so he moved to the next room.
The door was already wide open and the room beyond it was more of a glorified closet, with a bedframe and a beat-up nightstand being the only occupants.
Two down, two to go.
Donnie crept forward, eyes narrowing when he noticed the next door was firmly shut rather than cracked or opened.
He approached it, pausing to listen for any signs of life.
It was faint, would be unnoticed by anyone who hadn’t had extensive training in listening to their surroundings for anything and everything that was even a little off.
But he could hear it, a soft scraping sound that didn’t match the ambient noise of the house.
Donnie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clicked. He pushed down the instinct to growl as he reached for the door handle.
He almost leaped back in shock when he shoved the door open and was greeted by the shrillest screeching sound he’d ever heard in his life.
He looked down, dancing backwards, still in mild shock as he realized exactly what was screeching at him.
It was a robot. A bird-like, white and muted purple, two-foot tall robot that was hopping on one leg and had a freaking taser sticking out of the other and was trying very hard to jab Donnie’s ankle with it.
It screeched again, the two antennas on its boxy head flapping up and down in a show of aggression, looking up at Donnie and, somehow, its giant lens eyes looked absolutely livid at being disturbed.
Donnie backed up another step and jabbed his staff down on the robot's body. It chirped in shock as it was pinning, taser leg still waving in the air and head now frantically swinging back and forth.
“Wait! W-wait, don’t hurt him!”
Donnie looked up, into what was apparently a bathroom, and his eyes widened further.
A girl was leaning on the far wall. She looked around his own age, with tan skin and dark, curly hair that hung in a tangled mess around her shoulders. She was wearing some kind of white scrubs, which were ripped in several places and discolored by patches of dirt and…maybe old blood?
Donnie would have inspected better, but what caught his attention the most was the very obvious Kraang blaster she had clutched in one hand and half raised towards him.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs and Casey vaulted over the last few, hockey stick at the ready, “Who the he- eeeeeck is that thing?!”
“Donnie! What’s going on up here?” April bounded up next, tensen at the ready.
And Donnie really wished he had an answer for her but…even he wasn’t fully sure.
His eyes snapped back into the bathroom when he heard a shift. The girl was slowly pulling herself up the wall, clearly favoring one side. And now that Donnie looked again, he saw that, yes, some of the dark stains on her clothing were from old wounds that were peeking from the tears, particularly on her side and leg.
She raised a hand, hazel eyes widening when the robot squealed again, “Please, d-don’t hurt him! He was just trying to protect me, please-”
“Who the heck are you?!” Casey shoved his way into the bathroom, pointing his stick at the girl. “And what are you doing here? And why do you have a Kraang gun?! You a spy or somethin’?”
“No!” the girl straightened at that, face twisting into anger. “I would never work with those shabuir’s! I just escaped their weird hellscape planet!”
“Yeah, right,” Casey huffed. “And I’m a possum.”
April shuffled closer so that she was next to Donnie. Her eyes narrowed and one hand slowly raised. Donnie waited, watching April’s face for any sign of their next move should be.
Because on the one hand, they really did not have the energy or time to chase off another person who may or may not be a threat to their team. But on the other, her injuries didn’t look fake and if she had escaped from Dimension X…
April frowned, expression confused as she leaned closer to Donnie, “I…I think she’s telling the truth but…it’s like there’s some kind of wall around her mind. It’s making it hard to read.”
Donnie’s brow pinched as he turned back to the bathroom. Casey glanced back, smacking the hockey stick into one hand, ready to chase her out once the word was given. Donnie looked at the girl, eyes narrowing further, “What are you doing here?”
“I just…I need somewhere to hunker down for a bit so I can get a signal to my team. I got portaled in the middle of the woods and…this is the first place I found.”
April’s expression hardened but didn’t comment.
Donnie glanced down at the gun the girl was still clutching, then at the squirming robot, “...you put that down and I’ll let him up, okay?”
“Are you serious-” Casey hissed. “We don’t know her or what she’s doin’ here man!”
The girl, not listening to Casey’s stage whisper, dropped the blaster without a hint of hesitation, even giving it a kick that sent it across the floor to Casey’s feet. She held up both hands, pleading eyes turning back to Donnie.
Slowly, he lifted his bo.
The robot was off in a flash, skittering under Casey and back to the girl, climbing up her non-injured leg and stopping on her shoulder, beeping and trilling angerly the entire way.
The girl visibly relaxed at the return of her robot, once again leaning against the wall and breathing out a soft, “Thank you.”
“Right,” Donnie murmured, stowing his bo. He grabbed April with one hand and scooped the laser gun up in the other. “Would you mind just…staying right there? Thanks.”
Donnie didn’t wait for a reply, practically flying back to the stairs with April, hoping that Casey would behave until they got back.
Raph was standing guard next to the van. His eyes snapped to Donnie when he came outside but he waited until he and April were off the bottom porch step before hissing out, “What the heck happened in there? And where did that thing come from?”
“So, short version?” Donnie said. “There is an injured teenager and a robot in the upstairs bathroom and she had this.” Donnie placed the blaster on the gravel between them. “She said she escaped from Dimension X.”
“Seriously?” Raph asked. “We cannot deal with this right now. Just…I don’t know, send her off somewhere else.”
“Raph,” April interrupted. “I couldn’t get a good read on her mind but…she seemed genuine from what I could sense. And scared.”
“So?” Raph asked.
The van door slid open and Mikey poked his head into the circle, “Dude, we can’t just throw her out! It’s almost winter and April said there isn’t anyone around for miles!”
“So just take her to town and drop her off, what’s the big deal?”
“It’s not just that,” Donnie added. “She saw me and she might have seen you too. If we take her to town and drop her off, we have no way to know if she’ll tell anyone or not.”
Raph paused, his bared teeth morphing into a thoughtful frown, “...we can’t risk that right now.”
They all subconsciously glanced at Leo’s prone form.
“So we keep her around?” Raph asked.
“...it’s not like we have a lot of options,” Donnie replied. “Plus, I would quite like to know where that robot she has came from. It doesn’t look like something the Kraang would make, but it’s way too advanced to be something from Earth.”
“Sweet, new friend,” Mikey grinned, but his tone lacked the usual enthusiasm he got when making new friends.
April nodded along with them, crossing her arms, “She also mentioned signaling people. We’ll need someone to keep an eye on her at all times, make sure she doesn’t do that.”
Donnie nodded, turning back to Raph and Mikey, “I only saw two bedrooms but neither one is set up properly. But the sooner we get Leo inside the better so we can put him on the couch for now.”
“Right,” Raph nodded, climbing into the van and kneeling at Leo’s head. “And I assume you’re gonna talk to our unexpected guest while we do that.”
“Yeah,” Donnie agreed. “Then I’ll get started making this place more livable. We’ll need to get water and power first and foremost. And I need to make sure we have reliable heat sources. Winter could get bad out here.”
April nodded, placing a hand on Donnie’s arm, “Thanks Donnie. I can show you where everything is…after.”
“Right,” After. After he made sure they weren’t at risk of being chased into the woods by the locals or aliens. After they got Leo settled somewhere to rest and heal…
Donnie left April to help move Leo, taking the stairs two at a time back to the bathroom.
He found Casey had moved into the hallway and had shut the door, standing guard in front of it.
He frowned at Donnie, raising an eyebrow, “Well?”
“Kicking her out would be a safety hazard to us,” Donnie explained shortly. “So I’m going to lay down some rules.”
Casey gritted his teeth and wrinkled his nose, “So, what, we just hope she’s not another secret Kraang bot?”
“Seeing how she didn’t shoot me the second I opened the door, I think she’s just a normal human,” Donnie moved around Casey, opening the bathroom once again.
The girl was sitting on the floor, wedged into a corner with the robot sitting in her lap. Her head snapped up when Donnie entered and the bot let out a low, displeased sound.
Donnie approached the pair, mulling over how to start this talk, “...I don’t think we got your name.”
“Raven,” she answered quickly. “I’m Raven. And he’s Scrap.”
The robot beeped, the two antennas on its head swiveling upright at the sound of his name.
“Okay,” Donnie crouched in front of them, clasping his hands together between his knees. “I’m Donatello. Now, as you can see, I’m not quite human and, as such, would prefer if other humans didn’t know about me or my family.”
Raven frowned but didn’t speak.
Donnie continued, “That and we’re trying to lay low up here. But that plan kinda has a kink now.”
Raven nodded, “I’ve compromised your safehouse.”
Donnie straightened slightly, her bluntness surprising him, “Um, yeah, kinda.”
She nodded again, “I’m guessing you need to kill us to ensure your safety?”
Donnie recoiled sharply, eyes going wide with shock, “What? No! I was just going to say you need to stay here where we can keep an eye on you! Why-? What made you-? Just right to killing?”
“Oh,” Raven smiled, relaxing against the wall. “That’s good. I don’t feel like fighting anyone right now. Or negotiating.”
Donnie blinked, “...right…you also can’t signal your team.”
Raven straightened again, smile evaporating, “What?”
“You said it yourself, you being her compromised our safehouse,” Donnie explained. “And the best way to keep us safe is to make sure that knowledge starts and ends with you. So, until further notice? You can’t leave and you can’t contact anyone.”
Raven opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to protest.
But something gave her pause. She slowly closed her jaw, eyes narrowing at Donnie.
He narrowed his eyes back.
“...okay,” she finally said. “I concede to your terms.”
Donnie nodded and stood, “Great. I’m just gonna…go now…Do you want anything for, ya know, those injuries?”
Raven shook her head, “Some different clothes would be nice when someone gets a moment.”
“Right…I’ll see what we can do,” He spun, marching back out of the bathroom again, ignoring the headshake of disapproval Casey was directing at him.
He ventured back down the stairs, reaching the bottom just in time to see Raph tucking a blanket around Leo on the couch. Mikey was huddled down next to him, holding one of Leo’s hands in both of his.
They both looked up when Donnie stepped in.
“Well?” Raph asked.
“She was surprisingly cooperative,” Donnie said as he approached Leo, pressing lightly at his pulse point. “We should still keep an eye on her though, just in case…she also requested if we could provide her clothing.”
“Seriously?” Raph muttered. “What does she think this is, a hotel?”
“Considering she is currently wearing what I assume is the standard for Kraang prisoners, it’s not that unusual of an ask.”
Raph paused, eyes narrowing slightly before he turned towards the stairs, “You said there were two bedrooms?”
“Possibly three,” Donnie replied. “Set up one for Leo?”
Raph muttered a reply but he was halfway up the stairs so Donnie didn’t quite catch it.
He chose to let it drop for now, focusing on rechecking Leo’s vitals and bandages.
Mikey watched quietly for a minute before speaking, “Does she seem nice?”
“Who?”
“The girl upstairs,” Mikey explained. “It’d be cool if she was nice. Then we could have another human friend.”
Donnie sighed. He knew Mikey was trying to stay a little positive but, “...it’s way too early to know Mikey. We should just keep her at arms length for now.”
“Okay,” Mikey paused again. “Hey Donnie?”
“Yeah?”
“When’s Leo gonna wake up?”
And that question made Donnie pause and created an unpleasant lump in his throat.
Because how the heck was he supposed to tell Mikey that there was a chance Leo would never wake up? Leo was so hurt and his breathing was off and he wasn’t responding to any kind of stimuli. Every hour Leo didn’t wake just increased the chance that he would just stop breathing and not start again.
How was he supposed to say that he was out of his depth? That he didn’t know how to give Leo the best chance of bouncing back? None of them had been hurt as bad as Leo was hurt and Splinter was the one to mend serious injuries. But Donnie was sure even Splinter wouldn’t know how to best mend all of Leo’s wounds.
How was he supposed to tell Mikey that he didn’t know how to fix this? That they could lose Leo too and Donnie had no idea how to fix that?
He couldn’t. Mikey was already struggling, they were all struggling and Donnie didn’t want to shatter what little was left of their hope.
So he smiled at Mikey, fake and forced, and told him, “It’s Leo. He’ll be back up in no time.”
The words tasted like acid on Donnie’s tongue.
---------------------------------
SO! A few little things that I probably should have said before but….kinda posted chapter 1 RIGHT before I had to go to work so it was a rush job. But I am taking a bit of a new approach to this arc. For one, I think I'm going to try and implement an upload schedule of once a week on Fridays(small exception made for chapter 2 because I was gonna post 1 and 2 at the same time but then I added the whole scene with Donie patching Leo up). I'm hoping it'll give me more time for edits so that there are less errors in the posted chapters (very sorry for how often that happened in arcs 1 and 2, did not realize how often I miss things) Another thing is that I'm pretty much going full 'fuck it, this is fanfiction'. Meaning this is going to be very different from the conon show and not a simple 'show but there's an extra character'. This is basically gonna be a 2012 overhaul with an added OC. And I will be throwing out my 'keep under 30 chapter rule' because I KNOW this is gonna be a long arc. With that out of the way, NEW OC FOR THINE EYES! May she bring you much joy over the course of this fic!
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polarspaz · 2 years
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I am begging for more bloodborn au content just foaming at the mouth here. is there anything you thought about the au that you find really interesting or anything about the au that you wanna share or write about?
Haha, okay lets see, here are some random ideas I've had about it.
-After returning to Hawkins, Steve has a penchant for saying really disturbing things very casually. Dustin once asked him why his Saw Cleaver has bandages on it and Steve just like, "Oh, that's to help to help keep the blade from rusting. It gets covered in blood all the time"
And boy, does it get bloody when Steve fights.
Hunters heal faster with blood, so getting covered in the stuff while fighting is good deal. Making hunters end up adopting a fighting style where they kill beasts but also create horrid bloodbaths.
And Steve has really no idea he does this. He only realized when Robin threw up after seeing him fight for the first time and barely gagged out, "Not enough blood for ya champ?" Thankfully Hopper lets him use the cabin's hose to wash all the blood and gore off himself when the fights are over.
-In Yharnam Steve escorted Gascoigne's daughter to the chapel. There was no way in hell he was going to let her go alone.
-Steve has the hunter's mark branded on the inside of his wrist. He has no idea how it got there, but it bleeds and burns when a Demogorgon or another monster is near.
-Steve HATED Micolash.
-The last time Steve sees Eileen is on the steps of the church, gasping and covered in blood. Steve tries to help her as much as possible before going after the hunter that did this too her. After a fierce battle he kills the offender, races back to the stairs to check on Eileen, but she's gone. He never sees her again.
-Steve is not the biggest fan of how the Messengers look ((creepy raisin ghost babies)), but they're also really helpful. They usually pop up to help point him where he needs to go next, or what to grab.
-Gehrman kind of freaks Steve out. Thankfully the guy is hardly around and if he is, he's asleep. Steve just kinda does his best to avoid the guy and instead asks the Doll or Eileen for advice.
-El and Vecna cannot read Steve's mind or posses him. If they did, well that would be really, really bad. Steve himself doesn't realize that not only has he seen a lot of deep Eldritch shit, he has also been touched by a Great One. So just glimpsing his mind can either cause someone to see some horrible stuff, but it could also piss off the Moon Presence who has basically laid it's claim on Steve. Who also placed an insanity inducing booby trap against those that would also try to mentally attack or claim Steve.
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tumblingxelian · 3 months
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When Wednesday met Divina & Yoko
Wednesday senses the presence of a siren in the back of her mind, a song echoing in the ether but un-sung. Their presence registering to her a moment too late to entirely stop a hand coming down on her shoulder.
Instinct and fond memories of practice send a silver punch dagger from her sleeve into her grasp, the silver is hot on her skin as she makes what should have been a warning jab at the intruders stomach. Instead her blade is caught in a scaled palm and she finally registers the sharp eyed, squared jawed interloper to her space. Eyes swimming with the darkness of the ocean but for a glinting light in the depth like an angler fish.
They hold her dagger for only a moment, just long enough to make it clear they are letting it go at the same time as they released Wednesday's shoulder. The silver sliding across scaled hand and drawing a thick line of blood as they come to a stop, eyes locked in the brickwork hallways.
"And you are," Wednesday says slowly, not entirely willing to seal the dagger away, not after that. She is not fearful, but its one of the boldest responses the otherwise mundane Nevermore had offered her so far.
She can see rows of sharp teeth as the brunette with slicked back hair says.
"Divina. and this is Yoko," She holds her bloodied hand up and a black haired vampire practically bleeds out of the shadows of the hallway. Eyes searing red even behind the black glasses and face drawn, ears long and inhuman, her forked tongue drags along Divina's palm, draining up the blood and sealing the cut.
The pair smile as Yoko's face returns to humanity as she leans on the Siren's shoulder and chuckles, "Our pup asked us to give you a warm welcome, and to show to the fencing hall."
"So Enid set you two upon me," Wednesday concluded, almost impressed as she had been when the girl had bared claw and fang rather than quail away as most did, even as the lack of fear rankled her pride.
"Oh no," The Siren intoned confidently, "She warned us about your hatred of any touch; I just underestimated it. My mistake, so I won't hold that sliver of silver against you."
Yoko's lips seemed to stretch back in a smile too deep, "So long as it doesn't find its way pointed at us again, I think we'll all get along fine."
"Shall we now..." Before Wednesday could conclude her thought, or even make a decision about what to do about the pair a chipper voice called out.
"I can't believe you guys left me to clean up the lab work, I was meant to introduce you to Wednesday!" Despite her annoyance, Enid practically skipped up to them and Wednesday once again wondered how a girl like this could even meet the gaze of an Addams.
"Yup, we made a great first impression," Divina chuckled.
Enid smiled but it was somehow off, as she answered, "Oh, that's why I smell blood on silver then?"
All three glanced at one another, but before anyone could speak Enid groaned.
"I leave you guys alone for a minute and there's an injury," She shakes her head as if despairing before smiling brightly.
"Well, at least no one's dead and the schools still standing so this went OK rather than bad. Fencing?"
The other girls nodded and Wednesday found herself following along as they casually chattered on their way to the dueling hall. One thought circling her head as they went.
'Nevermore isn't just a school, it is a home for creatures like her.
It is a placed filled with monsters.
Excellent.'
NOTES:
I don't strictly mind the premise that most of the other students are so used to conducting themselves in 'normal' situations and the like that they would find Wednesday scary.
But I also think its a bit of a missed opportunity not to lean into the fact that for the first time more or less, Wednesday is dealing with other beings just like her, minus the presence of her family and that some might be able to keep up with her.
Also I maintain the reason Wednesday 'covered' for Enid in regards to the hospitality thing is cos she was surprised and a little flabbergasted Enid stood up to her when ever gorgons flee her gaze. She doesn't now quite how to feel about it, but she'll be damned if she's let's anyone think she didn't know what to do.
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lifesver · 6 months
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@ultescape said: [ support ] - also reverse... perhaps supporting leland out of the house :/ + @fcused said: [ catch ] - for receiver to catch sender as they stumble or collapse from exhaustion / sickness / injuries + reverse. / concussed retriever after running it down mid on 2hp type beat.
leland makes stumbled, half-blind steps down the dust road in the dark. julie has his arm looped over her shoulder, teeth pressed together tight as she does her best to steer them both toward the de-activated cattle grid up ahead. everyone else had made it past the gates already.
he had fallen behind, and made sure of it.
in that moment, grappling with johnny, growling to julie to run — please, julie, just fucking go — he hadn't cared what would happen to him. he hadn't expected anyone to turn around.
but julie had. julie wouldn't let him get away with something so fucking stupid.
the dark treeline tilts around them. vision bends — has been bending, since johnny nailed him right into the dirt, with a rough hand in his hair, and snarled taunts in his ear. and then he did that a few more times, again, and again, until something snapped, ugly and wrong and white-hot painful, until leland came up gasping on dirt and blood.
but julie had turned around. in a moment, the weight was off his back. in a moment, julie had plunged pointed end of bone into the man's shoulder. enough time to turn the tables, for leland to reverse them, knee dug into the man's ribcage, as he'd cracked knuckles into the jackal's face over and over. until jackal spat up sharp gurgles of blood beneath him. until he stopped taunting. until he kept his friends' names out of his sneering mouth.
rage, shaking, twisting, visceral. wanted him to pay for it. for ever laying a hand on maria, on any of them —
leland, leland. that's enough —
he had made a mess of the guys face, and his own hands, by then. he should have killed him. he would have. he didn't. he let julie drag him up and off the man, pulled him staggering through the rows of sunflowers.
and ruined knuckles are the least of his problems. his nose is probably broken. the sharp, nervy sting of it reached up into his split eyebrow. the jagged blade swipe across his face feels sticky with fresh and drying blood. and beneath that, his temple, the line of his jaw, bruising sickly purple. he guesses he could thank the adrenaline, for how his face had bypassed burning, and ebbed into an uncomfortable numbness, instead.
come on, leland! it's only a little further, come on —
leland is all but on autopilot — whittled down to the emergency services going off single-file in his brain, that tell him to move, to run, to breathe. his sense returns in pieces, registering the sound of the man still sputtering curses in the dirt some distance behind them. that they have to move fast. that maybe the guy wasn't going to be getting up any time soon, but julie had said something — something about the older man in the white shirt, shambling toward the generator.
❝ jules. ❞ he croaks, around his bloody nose, to which she doesn't answer, at first, just hurries them along with a ragged determination. it's just a little further, she repeats. neither of them have the breath to spare.
❝ 'm sorry. ❞ he says, anyway. she knows exactly for what. the sound is thick with the blood spilling freely over his hand. again, she doesn't answer, but her brow worries. there are new mascara tracks, bleeding down her dirtied cheeks.
they pass over the cattle grid. the cattle grid zaps to life on their heels.
then, the lights of that god-awful house are finally fading behind them. he can hear a slurry of voice from up ahead, julie throwing a breathless scream of connie's name.
footsteps quicken toward them. he staggers, misses a step, and julie crumbles off-balance with his weight, too — but this time another pair of hands catch him at the arm. the three of them stabilize. leland blinks against a dizzied rush of ginger hair, and connie's underwater voice next to his ear. his knees wobble, threaten to give, but he refrains from taking them all to the ground with him.
connie's holding his messy face in her hands, trying to get his unfocused eyes on her; leland, leland, hey — and relief flashes in his chest. of course. connie had gotten the gate unlocked. connie, who he had last seen in that slaughterhouse, staring back at him in terror. not unlike now.
❝ hey, ❞ he answers, with a casual gentleness, that rakes against his abused throat. i'm okay, he wants to reassure. jules saved me, but you could probably tell. he settles for an earnest ❝ sorry. 'm late. ❞ his smile is weak, and half-loopy. if he were feeling less like smeared roadkill, maybe he would have a better joke.
more hurried, staggered footsteps approach, and it's sonny, and danny, and ana. eyes squeeze tight, as saltwater wells and stings; thank god. thank fucking god. he can hear their voices, exhausted, indistinct around him, sonny's hands on his shoulders, taking julie's place on his other side. we thought we lost you, man. leland lilts his head, to gently bump against sonny's with a soft laugh. and he squeezes julie's hand, mumbles an equally-soft thank-you-jules, as he transfers her to danny's arms. danny whispers thank-yous of shaking desperation into her hair, too.
everyone, hurt bad. terrified, far from help. but alive.
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leland's eyes return to connie; ❝ ... don't worry. not all mine, ❞ he mumbles, in some vague justification to his sorry state. as though a strong ninety-percent of the gore-splatter wasn't, in fact, just his. as if she hadn't probably seen him, seen all of it. seen him back in the slaughter house, too. wild-eyed, wildfire anger.
a hazy ache beats the inside of his skull. something that felt like another apology.
he had worried her. had probably scared her, too.
leland anchors on her blurring features, even as his eyes flutter, and try to blink back rising water. and the night threatens to spin and swoop and darken around him. one hand comes up to cradle her face, threadbare smile still clinging faintly. thumb smears blood on her cheek, by accident, and he laughs, or sobs, and the tears spill anyway, speckle her muddied flannel.
❝ i'm so glad you're okay. ❞
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auroragehenna · 6 months
Text
AI-less Whumptober
Day 10 Branding, Scarring, Collar
TW/CW: Anger, threats, mockery, seasoned whumpee, cuts, sword, scarring Word count: 703
“You do have quite the nick for getting yourself into trouble don’t you?”, Zestia grumbled.
“I had the situation under control.”, Tierney argued.
“You did not.”
“Says you.”
“Yes!”, Zestia yelled, slamming her hands on the table.
Tierney flinched on the chair she had been pushed into. Uh-oh.
“It seems like I’ve been giving you a little bit too much freedom lately. It seems like you have forgotten what’s important now. You, unfortunately, are the key to my life! And until I get this little problem fixed you need to make sure you stay alive. Do you understand?”
Tierney clenched her jaw. “You’ve made yourself pretty clear.”
“Hmm, I also think I need a way to get other’s hands off of you. Since you’re apparently so popular. And to make sure you understand me.”
Tierney tensed up; it was clear where this was going. She kept her eyes trained on Zestia and tried to anticipate her next step. Yet she still wasn’t prepared as her arm shot forward, grabbed her shirt, and threw her to the floor. She could feel the hardwood bruising her hip and shoulder but there was barely time to worry about that.
Zestia stepped above the Tiefling and in the same motion drew her rapier. Trapping the girl there on the ground. “Now. Where to put it…Where to put it. What’s not already full of scars”, she mumbled more to herself than to Tierney. Tierney tried to escape, in one swift motion she robbed back and tried to wiggle to the side out of reach of the rapier but Zestia was fast. She stepped forward, unfortunately on her throat.
“Aww, come on, are you really that naïve girl? To think you can escape me? The only thing you’re achieving here is writing in the dust below my heel.”
Tierney gritted her teeth, from pain and spite and turned her face away from the other.
“Oh. Yeah. That’ll do.”, Zestia said, suddenly sounding happier. She swiftly laid the blade of her rapier  against Tierney’s turned away cheek. Forcing her with a little pressure to turn her head. “Look. At. Me.”
Tierney jerked away from the blade and looked at Zestia angrily.
“I think I have a place idea.”, Zestia said.
Tierney’s eyes widened before hardening. She would not give her the satisfaction of a reaction. She would not. And then she saw her kidnapper raise the weapon and prepared. But the burning sting didn’t come where she thought it would. Instead her face was suddenly on fire. She gritted her teeth and waited the worst out. Her face felt wet, only now she realised she had automatically closed her eyes. Damnit! Quickly she ripped them open, only to stare into Zestia’ smug face.
“Wakey-wakey, Tiefling.”, she cooed.
Tierney wanted to murder her. Patience.
Zestia wiped the bloody point of the weapon on the girl’s uninjured cheek and looked at her work. For anyone outside it would just look messy. Two parallel lined cuts, left and right connected by a diagonal cut. Over the entirety of her face. But for her curser it would be a clear message. She shielded(?) the rapier again and let herself fall down onto the Tiefling’s abdomen. The other grunted. Gripping her jaw roughly she forced eye contact. “Let this be a clear message to you and everybody else. And don’t make me repeat myself. Then she let go of her and went for her evening routine. “Oh and Tierney”, she said without turning around
“What?”, Tierney spat out
“Be quiet.”, she simply said.
Tierney hissed and waited for her tormentor to finish her bathroom routine so she could take a look at the wound bleeding over her face. She just had to hold out. This was just another job. That she didn’t get payed for. Ah well no one else’s gonna do it. Finally, the bathroom was free. Let’s see what damage she had done. Tierney walked to the mirror and scoffed at what she saw. A “Z”. The prick cut a “Z” over her face. Way to leave a mark, she rolled her eyes and started to try and disinfect it with her herbs. What’s one more scar. What’s one more scar….
Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @ailesswhumptober
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sips-tea-cutely · 2 years
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Cause you're my lady, I'm your fool.
a/n: the /srs version of wake me up, before you go and also my apology to the dazai fans who had to witness that </3333. i was gonna add a get krissed pic but like dont worry, im so nice. and i get that dazai is #emotionallyconstipated but yk there are times where you literally cant just hold back ur tears
cw: blood, near death, angsty dazai
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#Osamu Dazai
“I always lose the things I don't want to lose the most. That's why I don't feel anything anymore. The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. That's just how things are. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.”
for the most part, that had always been the case; ango’s betrayal, mori sacrificing odasaku, and even his ‘friendship’ with chuuya, dazai abandoned. everything truly cherished was lost.
waiting for his record to clear was hell. staying in bars all around yokohama and passing out on his futon. now he was just a numb and hallow waste of bandages, playing as ‘the fool’ was getting much harder. nothing could make him feel quite as human as odasaku did.
that was until he met you, his weakness, a poison that only worked on him.
dazai had always hoped that once he left the mafia— just maybe, he’d finally be rid of his sins; maybe god would let him be happy, maybe he could be happy with you.
this is not what he wanted, not what he expected. it was supposed to be a simple date, having some well deserved time together after the guild aftermath.
“osamu, look! there’s the crepe stand that kyoka kept talking about, it’s still here!” you grinned, pointing at the pink and white striped food stand. “my, that looks delicious, dear! oh… it seems ive forgotten my wallet again, ahaha..” he giggles to himself.
it was going so well. until he interrupted it.
whoosh, splot, splot
“i expected that, don’t worry i have my wallet with me!” you giggled back in return, running briskly towards the desserts.
STAB!
a blade made of blood pierced your chest. the weapon returned to its’ owner, a masked assassin, his identity hidden by a white mask and a black coat.
foamy blood leaking from wound at a steady pace, now was not the time to worry about him. he hit a major artery of yours. if he was even just a second late taking you to dr. yosano, he could lose you.
for now, dazai was able to stop bleeding with his hand, every step he took soaked up his bandages once more. he stumbled on his lanky legs, his arms shaking. he couldn’t lose you. this time, he was truly able to do something about this, he could save you, and god, he’d be damned if would lose you too.
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finally making up the final flight of stairs to the agency, he opened the door in quite the showy matter, fumbling with the door to the clinic. “dr. yosano!” the brunette huffed breathily. “s/o!” she grabs your body into her arms, warmth slowly leaving your body, your heartbeat declining.
“get out, dazai. i need to prep for emergency surgery” the doctor said before she pushed dazai out and locking the door. for a few minutes, all that he could do was stand there in wait, desperately trying to look through the opaque window.
“dazai!” kunikida jogged towards his partner. “i thought you two were going on a date! what the hell happened?” he angrily yet gently shouted. he didn’t know dazai well at all, but for one thing, he was sure how much he adored you.
“…” dazai didn’t say anything, he couldn’t say anything. a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time, a feeling of unending and overwhelming despair in his eyes. “dazai! i need to know what happened.” kunikida asked once more.
“an assassin came.” he wanted to say more, he wanted to break into tears, yet he couldn’t, he couldn’t feel anything. “…i see. i’ll tell the president. just clean up and wait for his directions.” dazai nodded as kunikida walked slowly out of the hall.
drop.
ah..? his coat is wet. no, its not blood, its a tear, he’s crying. his bloody hands covering his eyes. this assassin must’ve known how much he loved you, perhaps he was a member of the guild?
knowing yosano, she’ll do everything in her power to make sure you live. “i should change…” he quietly thinks aloud, you would complain to him about how he never takes care of himself, even saying he smells like a rotting corpse.
slowly getting up, he goes over to the agency’s dorms and taking a shower. aha, people must’ve given him funny looks.
‘ah… i don’t have much clothes, huh..?’ he laughs to himself at how you’d usually force him on the weekends to go with you to the mall. “you never have any outfits in your closet, osamu! it’s just your trenchcoats and a suit!” your sweet voice ringing in his thoughts.
putting on his suit, he started to head back to the agency. this suit, there are still crimson stains and subtle scents of liquor on it.
opening the door back to agency, the president was near naomi’s desk. “dazai, s/o was targeted by an assassin?” the president questioned. “yes, sir. im guessing it was by a member of the guild.” he responded. yosano came into the office.
“dazai, ive managed to stabilize their current condition but it was still a major artery that was hit so currently, they’re passed out and on life support.” hesitantly, he walked into the clinic, a bitter scent of soap flooding his senses, it’s been a while since he’s been in a hospital.
on his left, he saw you, breathing steadily, still as attractive as the day he saw you. he sat down on the stool next to your bed, clasping your immobile hands in his.
“i don’t know right now if they’ll wake up, it’s most likely that we’re only delaying the inevitable. but there’s still a chance they’d wake up.” yosano said as she checked your vitals. “dr. yosano, keep them here for as long as it takes. they’ll wake up, i know it.” dazai said, his voice flat with a conviction deep in him.
yosano looked at him and smiled. “don’t worry, dazai. i’ll do everything i can. go ahead and stay here as long as you’d like.”
dazai had always hoped that once he left the mafia— just maybe, he’d could be granted a pardon, perhaps he could’ve had a future with you, maybe life could’ve been worth living.
The moment he get his hands on something worth going after, it is lost. That's just how things are and always will be.
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henrys-wee-hen · 9 months
Text
No-One Fucks With The Lobos - Chapter 9
Go feral, folks! <3
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48070186/chapters/121960735
Or read under the cut! Enjoy!
Teddy
“Because some complete cunt broke my shoulder and left me to the dogs.” Those words echoed around and around in his mind, like the worst kind of broken record. Left me to the dogs. As though he’d known they’d come in and mess (Y/N) up. As though he’d planned for it. As though he’d wanted someone other than himself to come in and hurt his beautiful little object. He was a criminal, not a fucking monster. Although perhaps some argument could be made for the things he did to people... but if he loved something, someone, he didn’t ever let it or them get hurt.
(Y/N) was no exception.
He’d wanted to get that little officer down on bended knees, eventually. Because he knew there was no other way someone with such a strong moral compass pointed permanently due north would ever kneel by themselves, without a little push. But those words... it implied he’d had a choice in it. And he hadn’t.
Learning that his sacred little inner circle had been breached had put him into special measures. No way was anyone else getting close to his apartment without him knowing, so he’d increased his security system and had a two-factor authentication installed on top of it. A key, but also a code. And when he wasn’t there, a code would be sent to his phone, that he would need to approve before the door could open. No approval for him meant the entire building got locked down. Outside of that, the only way in was to scale the building from the outside, and try to blast through three-inch-thick bombproof glass. No-one was every going to break his sanctuary again. As for his men, they’d each been handed over to his mother for an unhinged kind of interrogation, and he wasn’t entirely sure which of them would be left alive.
That left him time to deal with (Y/N). He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He was hurting, so (Y/N) needed to hurt worse. He needed to make something clear, but he didn’t know what, or why, or how. That is why Teddy strapped (Y/N) to a chair and refused resolutely to make eye-contact as he started a torture unlike anything he could have planned while rational. The cries, the begging for him to stop, the tears that poured down bloodied, bruised cheeks... none of it was enough to make him see that he was approaching a limit he usually stopped well short of. Not wanting to kill (Y/N)… but just cause enough pain that behaviour patterns shifted. That behaviours were relearned. Yet this time, all the pain those words had caused... after everything he’d done, revealing parts of himself that he’d only ever let his father see... Teddy couldn’t see the limit he was approaching at runaway speed.
He slashed and bit and punched his way past those limits. He saw red after red, the mist consuming him as he hurt himself just as much as he did (Y/N). He never cried. The last time he’d cried like that, he’d been alone in his room, locked away in the darkness, just after his father’s funeral. And there, he’d blamed himself for not being able to pick up his own gun fast enough to take out the bastard cop who’d fired those shots. This... with (Y/N)… it was no different. He hadn’t been able, been fast enough, to prevent the damage done. And just like his mother had done with his father’s death, (Y/N) had thrown it back in his face, too.
It was only when a blade slipped and sliced into the top of his forearm that the mist finally cleared, his feet sliding on the floor slick with blood. He hit the ground, the knife clattering to the ground. The room was silent. (Y/N) was lying there motionless, covered in cuts and bruises, clothes slashed to bloodsoaked ribbons. Teddy leaned against the wall and succumbed to the last of the sobs, hiccupping lightly. He looked at (Y/N), lying motionless, bleeding out into the drain in the middle of the floor.
“Fuck,” he breathed, after a moment. He wiped his face and nose on the back of his bloody arm, sniffing. “Fuck...” Teddy hadn’t wanted to cross that boundary. Shooting someone in the head was one thing... but red-misting and using his own physical force...? That was more intimate. More personal. A fresh round of sobs took him, and he cried openly. No-one was going to know about this, so why try to hide it? He felt like he’d been punched repeatedly in the gut.
No more (Y/N). What did that mean? He thought back to all the times he’d been actively doing a crime, enjoying life immensely, only for the day to get so much better when those blues and twos sounded. If one of his guys got a call, he’d know it was Quincy and partner, which was fun enough. But no call, and those sexy little sirens? That meant (Y/N) and Chandler. That meant those gorgeous (Y/E/C) eyes blazing at him. That meant those beautiful lips spitting wicked little insults at him... No more of that.
And he’d ruined any chance of (Y/N) being his. No chance now that he’d get to see his little officer taking the knee for him... No hopes of showing his prize off at parties, or gala dinners, or in the passenger seat of his car... Teddy felt like his stomach had gone entirely.
Eventually, when he’d cried himself out and he felt stable enough to move, Teddy crawled over to (Y/N). Unconscious. That beautiful, peaceful face beaten almost unrecognisable. His work. His awful, horrible work. Teddy ran his hand over an unmoving chest. He felt a pulse along a blod-slicked throat. Weak, barely there, but something.
“Fuck!” he gasped. “(Y/N) - still alive -” he scrambled about for his phone, his fingers slipping in the blood which coated his hands. “Siri, call Dr Johnson!”
His phone responded, dialling the number.
The longest hours of Teddy’s life. The private ambulance had shown up in record time, pulling (Y/N)’s body out of the room carefully. Teddy watched as the private team of paramedics, usually reserved for Teddy’s men when they were in a bad way, set up the life-support and murmured to each other about ‘critical condition’ and ‘might not make it’. It was all Teddy could do then to stop himself from throwing up, but he had to stay strong.
“Can I ride along?” he asked quietly, as the paramedics loaded (Y/N) into the back of the ambulance.
“You don’t want to clean up a bit first, Mr Lobo?” one medic asked. Teddy shook his head.
“No, I fucking don’t,” he growled. The paramedic gave him a look and stepped aside, letting him into the ambulance next to (Y/N). The blood on his skin and clothes was almost completely dry at that point. But Teddy didn’t care. All he could think of was what he would do knowing he’d gone too far again.
But once they arrived at the hospital, where the Lobos had a pretty hefty bit of influence over the medical team for both priority and privacy, Teddy was pushed to the side and effectively forgotten about, while the doctors took control and tried to save (Y/N)’s life. Teddy waited and waited, hours passing with him sitting in the same chair, doctors and nurses passing him by as he stared into space, little flakes of blood falling from him every now and again. A few of his men came to see him, having received word from the nurses there that “Mr Lobo looks like he’s been through something deep, and he isn’t talking”.
It was only when Bellafrancesca walked through the door that Teddy acknowledged his surroundings and snapped out it.
“Teddy. My darling boy,” Bellafrancesca said softly, taking a seat beside him. Her powder-pink suit was pristine, but she still took her son’s hand. “What is this?” Teddy looked at her, his eyes fraught with anger, sorrow, fear... what would she say to him this time? Would she blame him again? He was already blaming himself enough. He didn’t need her to add to it.
“I went too far,” he said softly. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, mom.”
“My son is sitting here like he was in a bomb attack. I think it is my concern. Who did this to you, Teddy?”
“I did this to me.” Teddy’s tone was sharp. Bellafrancesca looked at him, a little taken-aback. She pressed her lips into a line, then sighed.
“I thought you might have come to me after you killed the Mason brothers, Teddy.” Bellafrancesca let go of his hand. “But you stayed away.”
“Yeah, well. What were you gonna fucking do? Threaten them with shit? Give them to Mandy? Threaten them with higher import costs?” Teddy rolled his eyes. “They fucked with my business and they paid the price I thought fair. And their father was nowhere near the dockyard last week. So it worked. You’re fucking welcome.”
“Teddy, what’s brought this on?” Bellafrancesca asked, stunned. “What happened to my beautiful, quiet boy -”
“Beautiful quiet boy?!” Teddy snapped. “Is that what you really think? Beautiful and quiet? Try again, mom! What about utter disgrace? Slow disappointment? Unworthy of the Lobo name?!” He turned to her in the chair, his eyes betraying the full extent of his hatred – although whether it was towards her or himself, it wasn’t so clear. Even for Teddy. “Everything I ever did, I wanted you to just be fucking proud of me. But you’ve always preferred that fucking adopted little rat over me.”
“Teddy…” Bellafrancesca looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and disdain. She understood something fundamental – he needed a mother, right now. Not a leader, a mother. Someone to hold him. Care for him. Love him. “Perhaps… I have failed you in some ways…”
“You don’t fucking say.” Teddy’s voice broke at the end. Bellafrancesca closed her eyes for a moment.
“But… I am here now. For you. My son.” She held her arms out, but Teddy didn’t move. He was done in enough. He didn’t need that kind of fake love. His entire life had been spent trying to make her proud… and for what? She wasn’t proud of him. Bellafrancesca sighed, lowering her arms. Then, she noticed the cut on Teddy’s arm, open and quite serious. She took his arm gently, inspecting it, her grip tightening as he tried to pull away. “What did you do, Teddy?”
“Cut it. Obviously.”
“Did you tell the doctor?” A shake of the head. “Come with me.” She stood, pulling Teddy with her. He went reluctantly, Bellafrancesca’s heels clicking on the linoleum flooring of the hospital corridor.
“Mrs Lobo!” a nurse gasped, almost running into Bellafrancesca and Teddy as she came out of a private room. “Sorry – I didn’t see you there.”
“My son needs medical attention. He has cut his arm.” She pushed Teddy forward gently. She was going to be a mother now. She had to be. She couldn’t stand the idea of her boy hating her.
“Oh – right, yes. Come right this way, Mr Lobo.” The nurse coloured a little, taking in Teddy’s appearance. Still caked in blood, starting to smell a little ripe from it, too. The nurse led Teddy and Bellafrancesca down the corridor to a triage room. “What’s the problem, Mr Lobo?” she asked, once Teddy was installed, lying down on a bed with the back propped up a little bit. Bellafrancesca had taken a seat outside. She looked ludicrous, surrounded by her security team.
“Cut my arm,” Teddy muttered flatly. He held his arm out, tugging up his shirt sleeve. The nurse frowned. It was hard to see, through the amount of blood that coated his skin.
“Do… do you mind if I clean you up a bit, Mr Lobo? It’s a little hard to see with all… all the b-blood.”
“Go right ahead.” Teddy watched as the nurse, pulling on a pair of sterile gloves, started to prepare a small bath in a little tub. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Nurse Jane Peters, Mr Lobo.”
“Nurse Peters, do you know what’s going on with a patient called (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” Teddy looked up at her as she added a little iodine to the water, and pulled out a stack of lint-free gauze sheets. She took a seat opposite him, pulling his arm onto a little table.
“I can’t give any information about other patients out, Mr Lobo. Unless you’re a relative or -”
“My partner.” Teddy’s tone was quiet. Nurse Peters started to clean up the blood gently, putting the used gauze sheets into a biohazard bin beside her. “And I’m worried. I haven’t heard anything.”
“Well…” Nurse Peters trailed off as she saw how badly Teddy’s arm was cut. “Yikes! That’s a big one…” Teddy looked down. Sure enough, the cut he’d made was deep. Not enough to show tendon, but enough that it should have been causing him agony… “This isn’t hurting you at all, Mr Lobo?”
“Nothing hurts…” he murmured. He watched as she cleaned it up a little more. “So - (Y/N)? News? Please?” Nurse Peters stood, removing the bath.
“A patient was brought in with extensive wounds and a lot of blood loss… Without any names, Mr Lobo… they were given a couple of blood transfusions, and extensive stitching. One stab wound had almost hit an artery… and there were a fair few contusions internally…”
Teddy closed his eyes.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning… the patient will be placed on life support if they can’t breathe on their own.” She took a seat, a suture kit laid out on a small metal tray. “Which, following the surgery, was the case.”
“Fuck,” Teddy breathed. Nurse Peters knew the Lobos well enough to know that asking anything over ‘how can I professionally help your body to stop malfunctioning’ was suicide. So when Teddy started to tremble and cry, she did nothing than inject a local anaesthetic to the cut, smear it with iodine, and begin careful, methodical stitching that would leave barely any scarring. She covered it up, placing a bandage over it, trying not to trap any dried blood in it.
“Right, Mr Lobo, you’re all done.” Nurse Peters patted his hand lightly. “Keep it dry, have the dressing changed every twenty-four hours. You can shower it, but don’t keep it wet for too long. Any sign of infection, come straight in.” Teddy said nothing. He stared straight ahead. “You know what, I’ll give your mom a care sheet –“
“I’ll remember it,” Teddy said quietly. Nurse Peters pressed her lips together and stood, clearing up the space. “Get out for a minute.” Without question, she left, taking the tray with her.
“Mr Lobo? (Y/N) is stable. You can come in, now.” Dr Johnson poked his head around the private waiting room door. He looked tired, but an emergency three-hour surgery to repair a tonne of damage on (Y/N)’s body… that was normal. Teddy jumped to his feet and, ignoring his mother’s mild protesting that Teddy should wait for a bit, let (Y/N) settle in, he followed Dr Johnson along the corridors. “(Y/N) was in a bad way, Teddy,” Dr Johnson said, just as they reached the door of the private room. “I almost didn’t succeed with the surgery. It was almost a bit too much…” He licked his bottom lip. “Please… be careful.” Teddy looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. In reality, his heart was where his tongue should have been. Dr Johnson opened the door, and Teddy stepped inside.
When he laid eyes on the bandaged-up form in the bed, he almost lost it entirely. Dr Johnson closed the door behind him, leaving him to his privacy.
“Fuck,” Teddy whispered, creeping closer. He felt like, at any moment, (Y/N) would leap up and attack him for doing this. But nothing happened. Layers of bandage remained still, save the artificial rise and fall of cling-wrapped chest, forced by a machine. “Fuck me… fuck! FUCK!” He picked (Y/N)’s hand up gingerly, careful not to dislodge the cannula that ran in, feeding a slow drip of saline or something else vital to life. He inspected the delicate nails, some bruised, one cut a little where Teddy had caught it with a knife.
He'd been unhinged… all because of those words.
You left me to the dogs.
But he had done that. He had left (Y/N) to the dogs. He’d sworn to be a protector, to be the only one that could cause pain… because he knew the limits he could go to before (Y/N) would suffer irreparably. The Mason brothers and Carl didn’t know those limits, and so they’d gone well beyond them.
But Teddy… Teddy had seen red. He’d seen red, and gone after (Y/N) executioner-style. And this was the result. (Y/N), hooked up to a fucking machine, fighting for life.
Just like always. Fighting for good, fighting him… now, fighting for life.
Teddy pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s hand, which he encased in his own.
“When you wake up, baby… when you wake up… the fucking world is yours. The world is yours, and everything I have is yours, and everything I am is yours…” he sniffed, letting his tears fall. “And if you don’t want me after this, baby… my life is yours to take. ‘Cause fuck… fuck, I can’t cope living with this. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so fucking sorry…”
Bellafrancesca wasn’t used to seeing her son in such deep turmoil. But even she tired quickly of being at the hospital, watching Teddy sit catatonic with this… this… person. Bellafrancesca didn’t even know why Teddy had gained such an infatuation with a police officer who hadn’t been seen for two months. In fact, that officer had gone missing… She frowned, watching Teddy, (Y/N)’s hand in his, pressed to his lips. Was her son about to turn good? Join the other side? She couldn’t stay there the whole night. Neither could Teddy. Even though they’d never be asked to leave, Bellafrancesca knew her son needed a shower, and a good night’s sleep.
She stepped into (Y/N)’s room. Teddy didn’t look up.
“Tedward. You need to go home. Take a shower, eat something, get some sleep. (Y/N) will still be here later.” Bellafrancesca was right, of course, but Teddy made no move to leave. “Teddy?” She stepped forward. It really was tiring, now. She’d been there for hours, with a silent Teddy who refused to speak to her. “Tedward.”
“Fucking go then, mom.”
“You need to come too.” Bellafrancesca folded her arms elegantly. “At least to take a shower. You smell like a dead body.”
She was right. Of course she was right. Teddy closed his eyes. He didn’t want to leave, not yet. Any sign of additional life from (Y/N)… he wanted to be there for it. But, he could use a shower.
As he sat in the back of the huge black SUV, beside his mother, he realised he didn’t want to go back to his apartment. He didn’t want the constant reminder of (Y/N). He didn’t want to take the risk that the blood hadn’t been cleaned up yet. Fresh tears came, and he slumped to the side, his head resting in his mother’s lap as he unclipped his seatbelt.
“Can I come home with you, mom?” he whispered, voice breaking. Bellafrancesca ran a manicured hand through Teddy’s bloody, greasy hair.
“Of course you can, my son,” she replied softly. “Of course, you can come home with mama.”
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turtledove824 · 7 months
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The Way to Their Hearts - INI - Ikezaki Rihito
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Warning, this one has some graphic content. Abuse (parent on child), death, and physical assault. If you feel you could be triggered by any of these things, please skip this and do not read.
🌺💐🌹🏵️💮🌸🪷
You woke up like any other Saturday, and at six years old, you were full of energy, but you didn’t know that today would be the day that would change your life. Your mom was in the kitchen, nursing yet another hangover, your dad was passed out drunk in the living room, and your brother was tiptoeing around trying to stay quiet. You got up and got dressed, throwing on a typical sun dress, that most six-year-old girls have, and came out of your room. You weren’t being loud, but you were making noise. “Good morning,” you said as you came into the kitchen.
Your brother was unfortunately on the other side of the kitchen when you came in and couldn’t stop your mom from grabbing a knife that was nearby. “Why do you always have to make so much noise?!” She turned and swung at you. The blade made contact with the right corner of your mouth and followed your cheek bone to where your jaw connected to your scull. She didn’t slice all the way through your cheek, but it was deep enough that you were going to need stitches. You grabbed your cheek and fell to the floor crying.
“Y/N!” Your brother came running to you and got between you and your mom, “Stop it! She didn’t do anything!”
“Stop telling me what to do you brat!” She swung at his head, but your brother was able to get his hands up and block what could have been a deadly blow.
Unfortunately, this woke your father up. “What the fuck is going on in here?”
There you were, blood staining your dress, tears streaming down your face, the salt stinging your open wound, your brother between you and your mother, blood dripping from both hands where his palms and been sliced open, and your mother with her blood shot eyes, and bloody knife in her hands. “These damned brats won’t shut up.”
Your dad stumbled toward your mother, “You need to shut up too, you stupid bitch,” and then back handed her. She touched her lip and saw the blood, then went at your dad with the knife.
You both watched in horror as your mom and dad fought, your dad landing blow after blow, and your mom cutting him up and stabbing him. Your brother eventually turned you both around and told you to run to the door, and run you did. You ran out the front door and to a neighbor's house. You thought your brother was behind you, but when you turned around after knocking on the door, you didn’t see your brother. Before you could run back to the house, your neighbor saw you and stopped you. That day, your neighbor saved your life.
When the cops came, they found your mom dead on the kitchen floor, blood all around her. At some point, your dad had hit her hard enough that she fell directly onto the knife, driving it directly into her chest, nicking one of the major arteries to her heart. Your dad had another knife in his back that punctured his lung, but there were enough stab wounds on him that he could have bleed out from any of the wounds. The hospital wouldn’t let you see him, but you heard someone talking about how a little boy’s neck had been broken, and how eerie it was seeing his head twisted at such an unnatural angle. The woman said she was going to go home that night and give her two kids the biggest hugs and make her husband his favorite meal. She just didn’t know how a parent could hurt their own child like that.
After that, you were sent to live with a relative, but you developed a lot of problems thanks to PTSD. You had stopped talking. If you hadn’t talked that morning, maybe everyone would still be alive. You were no longer your happy energetic self, maybe if you hadn’t been so noisy, everyone would be alive. And the nightmares. Multiple times a week you would wake up screaming. Your relatives unfortunately also had drinking problems, and more often than not, they would come in and slap you around until you shut up. It was only the second week at the first house that they reopened the wound on your cheek, and as soon as they were asleep, you left and took yourself to the hospital. To say the staff was shocked when a six-year-old girl came in with a bloody cheek, would be an understatement.
The next day the cops arrested everyone in the house, and that left you with only one person to stay with, your aunt who had left Japan years before and moved to Korea. You had never met her and didn’t even know her name, but the moment you saw her, you knew you would be okay. She didn't have the swollen face that everyone else in the family had, her eyes were clear, and her smile was so bright. She was beautiful. And when she hugged you, saying how sorry she was for what you had gone through, you knew your life would never be the same.
---- July 2021 ----
Ikezaki Rihito was the ninth person selected to join the new group under Lapone Entertainment, INI. The second season of Produce 101 Japan had ended just last month, and they had just met their new assistant manager. To be specific, their second new assistant manager. Their manager was an ass, and treated his assistants like crap, but the company never saw that, they only saw the nice guy. The one that would dote on the guys and talk sweetly to his assistants, but the moment the higher ups left, he was back to being a dick. Rihito knew what was going to happen, and he was not happy, none of the guys were.
Sure enough, two weeks later, that assistant quit. Rihito and Takumi had seen their manager being his normal, cruel self and they knew the moment the prick told his assistant that they were worthless, a monkey could do a better job, it was the last they could take. Fortunately, they got it on video. Masaya called an emergency meeting, sending out a text to the chat that didn’t include their manager or anyone else from the company, they didn’t need anyone else to get wind of what they were planning. They knew the company would try and pass the video off as a onetime thing, so they needed more instances of their manager’s true nature on record for them to be believed.
“So, we’re all set? Everyone knows what to do?” Masaya asked the guys after they had gotten operation New Manager figured out. It wouldn’t happen tomorrow, but within two months they would have enough evidence to be rid of this dip shit.
“I think we need to change one thing.” Rihito spoke up, “I’m not comfortable with waiting until we have another assistant manager. We need to expose him, and quickly. I can’t watch another innocent person go through that.”
“I agree.” Fengfan agreed with his junior, “I would rather be on the receiving end of his temper than someone else. We know what to expect, the next new assistant wont.”
Everyone mumbled and nodded in agreement, “So, we start taking our phones with us to every practice and set a shortcut to your camera. Also, make sure you have it set to default on video, not camera.” Masaya said to everyone, as they started back to their rooms. That night none of the guys slept. They were all getting ready to take down the ultimate boss, the worst manager in history.
The next morning you went to work with your uncle, he was one of the CEO’s assistants and in charge of the managers and staff that worked directly with the two groups at Lapone, Jo1 and INI. You had never liked the manager for INI, he gave off bad vibes, and you made sure to tell your uncle about it every time you saw him. Today was going to be a little different though, especially when you heard your uncle yell through his closed door, “What do you mean they quit?! That’s the second one! I'll find you another assistant, and if this one doesn’t last more than two weeks, I may have to rethink the official manager for INI.”
You nocked on the door, “You wanted to see me uncle?”
“Yes, Y/N, come one in please.” He ran his hand through his hair, and you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. He looked at the window in his office and saw his reflection, “Can’t you just tell me that I look like Kuroo from Haikyuu instead of laughing at me?”
“Nope.” The scar on the side of your face left your smile lopsided, but it was something that your aunt and uncle both found enduring and were sad to see you wear your hair long and, in your face, hiding as much of the scar as you could. “What can I do for you today?”
“I need you to help INI with a meeting this morning.”
“Isn’t that the job of their idiot manager?”
“Y/N.” The look on your uncle’s face spoke volumes and you mumbled a quick sorry, “Yes, but as you know with eleven members in the group, that’s a lot for one person to handle, and his assistant quit yesterday.”
“Surprise, surprise.” You rolled your eyes, and got another glare from your uncle, “What do I need to do?”
Twenty minutes later, everything had been explained to you, and you were on your way down to the practice rooms where INI was meeting with the clothing designers for their music videos. Knowing that the guys could be in any state of dress, you made sure to announce your presence, as you were barging through the door, “Woman on the floor!”
Syoya and Ren were walking by and laughed, “Be nice to them Y/N!”
“They’re new, don’t scare them,” Ren smiled, “too much.”
You didn’t turn around to the two men, you just threw your hand behind your back and flipped them off. The only thing you accomplished was making the laugh harder. You walked over to the manager and introduced yourself, “Hello, I’m Y/N, Mr. Komatsu asked me to fill in today as your assistant.”
“It’s about damned time, help them get the next one ready.”
“I’m sorry, get the next what ready?”
“Are you that incompetent?! The next outfit!”
Yeah, you were glad your uncle talked to you before sending you into the lion’s den. He told you that he suspected the guys were right and that the guy they hired for the manager of INI was hiding his true self from them. He wanted evidence to use against him, and if he was right about this, it would ruin him in the industry. You had on a special pair of glasses like the ones you wore that captured both audio and video, even sending a live stream to your uncle's laptop. A friend of his who was a private investigator had let him borrow them to help with this endeavor.
Right now, you were just glad that your aunt and uncle had sent you to therapy when you came to live with them. The nightmares had made it to where you were always sleep deprived, and they wanted to get you to where you would talk again. It took some time, but you got better. There were still things that could set you off, but it was to the point that you felt like you were finally in control of your life.
You went about helping where you saw they needed it and for the most part kept the manager from even noticing you. Lunch came and everyone went to the cafeteria and ate, except you. You went upstairs to your uncle’s office and ate with him. He asked you about what you saw and even went over some of the footage with you asking what had happened before certain things that he saw. You answered as best you could but got distracted when you tasted fish. You weren’t eating fish. You opted for the beef bento. Being a girl sucks, and even though beef isn’t your favorite, there are certain times a month a girl needs the red meat.
“Y/N, are you okay? Do I need to get someone else to do this?” When you stopped talking mid-sentence your uncle got worried.
“No, I’m good. But,” you didn’t know how to say it so you just blurted it out, “I taste fish.”
Your uncle knew what was going on, “Oh Y/N, I’m so happy for you.” He leaned over and held your hand, “You are going to find him, and he is going to be everything you deserve and more.”
“Thanks Uncle. I know you just want what’s best for me.” You gave him a small smile to reassure him, “But right now, we have bigger fish to fry.” You smiled at him, and he back at you before you both started to laugh.
Downstairs in the cafeteria Rihito had gone silent, and the guys eventually noticed, “Hey, you okay?” Jin asked.
“I taste meat.” They all looked down at his bento, he had gotten the fish, so it didn’t take long for them to figure out what was going on.
Kyosuke, who was basically the mom of the group, was the first to speak up, “What kind of meet? Maybe they are here?” They looked around, but they were the only ones in the cafeteria. “Maybe they are in their office?”
They all just rolled their eyes, “Come on, we’ve got to try and get that ass to show his true colors. That girl they sent down to help may end up traumatized if we don’t do something.” Nishi said as he got up to tend to his tray.
“Oh, does someone have a crush on the new girl?” Shogo could not help but poke at the oldest of the group.
“This coming from the person who was saying that there was no way someone that pretty would look at any of us.” Nishi smiled as Shogo had the decency to blush.
They all got up and cleaned up their mess, on the way back to the area where they had set up the dressing area, Jin had to voice a question, “I wonder why she wears her hair long like that?”
“I think I saw a scar on her face.” Yudai said as he absent mindedly rubbed the right side of his face. “It looked pretty bad too.”
None of the guys said anything else, but they were all thinking the same thing, what happened to her to leave such mark?
As the day continued, you could tell the manager was getting closer and closer to blowing up, it was just going to take one more push. He had asked for hot, green tea, and you were bringing it to him when you accidentally, on purpose, stumbled and spilled the tea on him. “Oh, I am so sorry.”
As you started to wipe the tea off the manager, the guys were shocked, but a couple of them had managed to get their phones out and were already recording. The room fell silent just seconds later when the manager finally lost it.
“You stupid little bitch!” He backhanded you, and almost knocked you over.
Rihito, Nishi, Masaya and Fengfan were the closest to you, but Rihito couldn’t move. He saw the bloody lip you had and your tongue snake out and touch the open wound when the metallic taste of blood exploded in his mouth. The sound of your laughter finally snapped him out of it.
“Why the hell are you laughing, you stupid whore?!”
You lifted your head, showing the good side of your face, “You think that little nick is going to make me crumble?” You turned to the side and pulled your hair behind your ear revealing your scar, “My own mother gave me this, you’ll have to try a little harder.”
The guys stopped the asshat before he could swing again, immobilizing him with some of the jackets they had, tying him to a chair. Rihito was helping you stop the bleeding, “You sure you don’t have another cut? I, I’m tasting more blood than that little cut should produce.”
“I bit the inside of my cheek.” You smiled at him, “I’m L/N Y/N by the way.”
“Ikezaki Rihito.”
Before he could say anything else, the door opened with your uncle and the police coming in, “Arrest that son of a bitch and get him out of this building.” The manager tried to protest, but he was cut off when your uncle got in his face, “I don’t want to hear it. Y/N’s glasses were sending me a live stream of everything that happened here today, I’ve already turned the video over to the police, they are here to arrest you for assault, and you're fired. You’ll never work in this industry again.” As the police got him out of the restraints the guys put him in and were talking with them getting their statements and the videos they had taken, your uncle came over to you. “Are you okay Y/N? I never should have sent you to do this. I am so sorry.” It looked as if he wanted to touch your face, but he knew that it would probably hurt.
“It’s not your fault uncle, he did this, not you.”
“But I’m the one,” he started but you cupping his jaw stopped him.
“How many times have I told you, you didn’t do anything, and you don’t need to apologize for anything.”
“I know Dove, I know.” And he did, but he and your aunt still felt guilty for not coming sooner to get you.
You couldn’t help but smile at the nickname you hadn’t heard in years. “Oh, I need to introduce you to someone. You know Ikezaki Rihito, right?”
“Yes, I do, the lead rapper of INI. I know all the leads in each group.”
“Well, he is my soulmate.”
That got everyone’s attention and left our uncle a blubbering mess.
Rihito only had one question, “Your uncle is Mr. Komatsu, one of the CEO’s assistants?”
“Yeah, how do you think they found someone to fill in so fast?”
The guys who were done giving their statements had heard what he asked and your answer, “We need to keep popcorn on hand.” Jin said quietly to Masaya.
“What? Why popcorn?”
“If they ever get into a fight, it is going to be one hell of a show.”
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yennasun · 2 years
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December 19th, 2001. Simulation 0203
The day started with an explosion, and then 4 sticks armed with various blades trying to charge at him while he was scambling to gain his senses after such a violent awakening.
In the heat of the moment, he dispatched one and used the blade to take out the other 3.
Taking a few precious seconds to easy the adrenaline that was firing on all cylinders, he peered out of the hole in his room to see a large city that was almost completely white.
Everything from the roads to the ominous skyscrapers seemed as though they'd consisted purely of whiteout.
However, there were places that seemed to have color. They stood out much more.
He jumped down to explore this new environment he was in, activating his powers for the moment in case he got jumped again.
His intuition turned out to be correct, as the first corner he rounded introduced him to around 10 other sticks, each ones design mirroring the other.
A few had blades, but 2 of them had guns.
Not good
They fired shots at him but he armored up just in time, so it wouldn't kill him...it just hurt.
He charged through the others and made a point to take out the ones armed with guns, impaling one to the wall behind him with volcanic spikes and crushing the other ones head.
The others all charged him at once and he released a flurry of attacks, killing the ones closest and knocking back the others.
He finished the job and moved forwards.
After running into more of the same looking sticks, he finally found himself on the colored path.
This time even more sticks came out of vehicles and alleyways, all armed to the teeth.
He could feel his head swimming, the fact his arms were starting to burn didn't help.
He was beginning to lose control of his actions and he knew it, but this time he didn't try to stop it. They attacked him and soon, they'd get what was coming to them.
He released a thermobaric Shockwave, burning most of them to a crisp, the few that were left alive were pinned by spikes and were left to bleed out.
He continued down the path, slewing through anything that got in his way, making a point to finish them off as painfully and brutally as possible to set an example.
He made his way out to what looked like an intersection, in the middle were too many sticks to count, in front was a larger one that cackled with electricity.
He wasted no time charging in headfirst, strategy and personal safety be damned.
He let the heat take him over completely, releasing all of his aggression tenfold, any hits that were delt to him were immediately dished back out.
The larger one turned and ran, leaving more goons to try and stop him.
It didn't matter, it just meant he'd have to leave a larger trail of bodies to take this guy out.
Making good on his promise, he left the streets a bloody mess and sprinted in the direction of what he assumed was the big boss.
He finally had him cornered, it was just the two of them, all alone.
Or at least that's what he thought, as 4 smaller guys lept down from the surrounding buildings, also seemed to have electricity powers.
He barreled forwards yet again, feeling his sanity start to slip away, he loved this, he needed this, he was made for this, he never felt more alive!
His vision cleared so quickly it was disorienting, only then did he truly take in what he did in its inhumane, disgusting objectivity.
The alleyway and surrounding streets were a bloody mess, bodies littered the floors and walls each killed more viciously than the last.
These people attacked him first but this...this was the work of a madman
This was your handiwork
The little voice that seemed to take pride in this kind of hideous brutality seemed to pipe up.
You did this. Isn't in beautiful?
But this was anything but, each sight made him more and more sick to his stomach, he couldn't even fathom this being done by his own hand, he didn't want to believe he'd done this until he realized he wasn't seeing red, there was blood on his face and in his eyes.
Rasing a hand to wipe his eyes, he noticed there was even more of the stuff matting to his hands and arms, which made him want to hurl what little he'd eaten in the past few weeks.
Their screams began to fill his ears, it made his legs buckle and he began to grip his head in his hands, Topped by the fact that all the damage he'd taken was coming back to get him.
He tried to drown out their screams with his own but his head felt like it were in a vice.
Gripping tighter, screaming louder, none of it worked. He just had to let their last moments of misery overtake him.
When he finally opened his eyes, he was back in the PC, with creator smiling down on him.
"Well done, although I'd prefer it if you didn't let those morons get those lucky hits on you" he patted his head
MT didn't have enough time to be blown away by the sudden, comforting gesture as he was to busy being utterly confused.
Where was he just then? Who were those people? Why did they attack him out of the blue like that?
...
Was any of it even real?
"This simulation was a success, they hardly stood a chance...maybe next time I'll give you an even more difficult task."
Simulation ended
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nxcturnals · 1 year
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— is that [TIMOTHEE CHALAMET]? no, it’s [REGULUS BLACK], but i can see how you would make the mistake. this [TWENTY-FOUR YEAR OLD] [TRANS MAN] is a [MEMBER OF THE HOUSE OF BLACK]. word on the street is that they’re [RUTHLESS, INTELLIGENT, AND ALOOF]. i also heard that they’re particularly skilled with [KNIVES AND AGILITY]. they have always reminded me of [RAINY DAYS AND DARK CLOUDS, SHARP BLADES AND A SHARPER SMILE, A BLEEDING HEART HIDDEN BEHIND A LAYER OF ICE]. if you ask me, they’re the kind of person who could change the game for everyone.
character details:
Name: Regulus Black Age: Twenty-Four Birthday: December 31st 1999 Gender: Transgender man Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: gay Relationship Status: single
Positive personality traits: Intelligent, quick-witted, loyal, respectful. Negative personality traits: Vindictive, over-emotional, tempermental, insecure.
Education Level: University (Degree in Business and Philosophy) Education History: Student at the Conservatory — Regulus attended the Conservatory for most of his childhood and still frequents the location to this day. He began dancing ballet when he was five and studied martial arts and blade-work with them. Special skills: ballet, fighting with blades and knives, agility.
Affiliation (Current): The House of Black — Regulus was born into the family and he expects he will die there. He was raised with a sense of duty and always believed that being loyal to his family was the most important thing he could do.
key points/bio:
Regulus is the second son of the House of Black. Regulus was born, too, with a curse: a horrible desire to be perfect, and the horrible knowledge that he would never be able to achieve it. No matter what he did, he would always be flawed. Not the perfect daughter they wanted, never the perfect son either. At least he could try to strive for the latter.
He was a Black, and he behaved as a Black should behave. Sharply intelligent, he excelled in most things he tried. He quietly devoted himself to his studies. He could be sharp. He could be graceful. He could be a beautiful weapon, so beguiling and charming that you never expected it might cut you.
Regulus began attending the conservatory when he was five. He loved it there; it felt like home. He loved the dancing, loved the way he learned to move with such perfect tight control over himself. He liked it when his teachers told him that he was technically perfect, he never faltered, not even for a single step. He liked the knives as well, he liked their glinting edges and the knowledge that he could hurt anyone as badly as they might hurt him.
Regulus always knew he wasn't a girl. He put his foot down about it when he was sixteen. It was another way that he claimed control over his life. He became a much more confident person when he began his transition.
Regulus has a flaw: he is vicious and cold and angry. He keeps the world at arms length, he has armor that is impossible to penetrate.
Regulus has a flaw: he pushes people away because he's afraid they'll leave him if they know him too well, because he's afraid no one will ever love him for what he is.
Regulus has a flaw: He is an angry and vicious thing. But he can’t hold his hate for as long. Oh, it burns so brightly, and he clings to it like it sustains him. But his broken vessel spills it out until all he’s left with is himself. Regulus, alone, and desperate for love.
He made himself a weapon a long time ago. He isn't the sorry sort who hates his job, or the role he has been handed in life. He loves being a member of the House of Black, and he loves his family. He loves feeling like Royalty within their world. He loves the job, too. He likes to scheme and lie and steal things, pretty things. Give him a painting and he'll be happy forever. Tell him where to buy the rarest books and he'll love you for it. Ask him to punch a man bloody and he'll happily say yes, for the right price.
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skxrbrand · 1 year
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The night sky weeps red, painted over in bloody, unnatural hues. Stricken with a luminosity that should not be; that turns the pale disc of the full moon a pallid infernal hue. It casts the scene in red; the battlefield-to-be. Before the next sunset, it will be redder still, the corrupted earth whet with blood and dotted with the dead and dying.
The thought brings a curling sneer to Skarbrand’s snout and he approaches with a zeal that escapes his fellow warriors. Even the Khornate marauders cast their eyes about in barely-hidden alarm and it is much deserved, for the Blood God’s gaze is upon them, singular and focused. They quail, as is expected of mortals before a deity, but the attention only makes Skarbrand bolder. He can already see them-- the prize fighters in the battle to come. Two Deathbringers, the beat of their wings thundering in his ears like the deepest battle drums.
Three Bloodthirsters converge and the world weeps at their coming, the mere presence of the daemons an assault on reality itself. The sand bleeds. So do the rocks, the few trees stubbornly taking root within the arid badlands, and even the blades of the war hosts. Waves of madness sweep over the encroaching armies. The heavy red clouds threaten to spill their bloody contents. Red and black lightning curls and arches in the air, flashing into and out of existence. It is a veritable hell on earth, a small swathe of the Blood God’s realm brought to the world of mortals.
Skarbrand’s march ceases, as do the mishmash of mortals and daemons at his back. The twin Bloodthirsters land, their own army at theirs. It is as the scout stated-- they fewer in number, but mightier in arms and character. However, as he peered closer, the Reaper noticed something amiss about the twin Bloodthirsters. He could smell Khazaan, his familiar scent having not changed a whit even as a Bloodthirster rather than an daemon-axe. However, the other Greater Daemon... That was not Kha’xanzyr. It was Z’ruhgl, the Brassbound; muzzled, cuffed, and for looking all the world like a rabid animal. Flicking his odd-eyes about, he did not see hide or hair of the blue-eyed Bloodthirster anywhere. Skarbrand rose a lip at it all, calling out over the meters of arid land separating their two armies.
“ Gorger of Gore!” Began the Reaper, “ Where is our brother, the Architect? Where is your third Bloodthirster? Do not tell me he ran even after Kharneth blessed him with an army. Do not tell me he fled before the battle proper, even after freeing this frivolous fool to do his bidding! Does he fear me that much?” Skarbrand paced to as from as he spoke, disappointed but also gleeful he could inspire that much fear in his sibling. “ He should! As should you.”
The toothy grin Khazaan was trying, and failing, to hide did not dim a single solitary iota however. The Tippler turned to Z’ruhgl, all but tearing his muzzle free. The binds on his wrist were broken next. He barked something to the half-mad Bloodthirster, something Skarbrand couldn’t quite hear, but whatever he said had made Z’ruhgl yet another enemy. The Reaper was glad for it; this fight would be dull with only one Deathbringer to duel.
The Brassbound’s charge was frenzied, the Bloodthirster nearly tripping over himself in his haste to engage the Reaper. Khazaan was on his heels and at once, a great roar went up from the opposing army. Blades and axes rose, hooves, claws, and boots shook the earth. Skarbrand looked to his own army, gesturing with a roared command and the thrusting point of his Nameless axe. It was the ratmen, forced to the vanguard, who would absorb the blow. Drown the enemy in their prodigious numbers, tire them by forcing them to hack through body after body, while the real warriors did the real killing. Skarbrand’s forces had their own zeal, their faith put in their leader and their sheer numbers advantage. As it stood, the Exiled host had the Crimson skulls three-to-one. Skarbrand ignored the flow of bodies at his back. He only had two targets and to cut down anyone fool enough to try to become yet another challenger...
Being the rangier Deathbringer of the pair, it was Z’ruhgl who reached him first. His speed spoke of his time in the 7th host, leading those Bloodthirsters against the quick and lithe forces of the Pleasure God. Their horns collided, locking together in a dance of dominance. Skarbrand was bulkier by far however and when the initial shock of the collision waned, he pushed his lankier brother back and back, one hoof at a time. He ignored the absurdly sharp claws in his shoulders or the way the Brassbound screamed curses and obscenities in his face. It wasn’t until Khazaan finally caught up did they gridlock. Tall, no, but the Gorger was dense.
And Skarbrand wasn’t one to pursue a pointless maneuver. Before either of them, he realized the stalemate and swiftly broke it. Ripping his horns away and flinging the pair of them back in the same motion. But they were on him again in the next heartbeat; Skarbrand expected nothing less from a God-Butcher and Murder Host-Leader. He welcomed it, he relished it, the feeling a claws slicing into daemon-flesh, the heat of battle, the splash of hot blood across his teeth and talons. A some point, his axe snapped and he was forced to discard it. He did so by burying what was left of it in Khazaan’s knee, drawing a pained roar from his brother and hindering him for a few precious moments.
Between the pair of them, Z’ruhgl was proving the most dangerous. Fast, determined, and stricken with the blood fury as well as some other, unnamable madness. The Gorger was decently bruised, missing a horn, down a wing-- Z’ruhgl was scarcely touched, saved for the odd set of claw marks here and there. But that was due to change, as Skarbrand caught his next charge. Hooked their horns together so that the Brassbound could not flee. From the corner of his eyes, he spied Khazaan and aimed a cruel, open-mawed grin his way.
“ An embarrassment! This disgraced warrior, brought low by a loathsome Slaaneshi, outdoes the second guardian of the God Butchers? A disgrace! Perhaps Kharneth should switch your punishments; make Z’ruhgl my axe and lock you in the Volcano’s heart!” Skarbrand jested cruelly. Khazaan was incensed, but Z’rughl was a whirlwind of fulminating wrath. From the corner of his eye, Skarbrand saw Khazaan finally wrench the axe loose and charge in, perhaps to pries Z’ruhgl loose but it was too late. The fuse had been lit and the red skin of the disgraced Bloodthirster bore a luminosity to rival the stars.
He exploded, a shower of gore and concussive force marking his literal passing. The ground cratered, both the Reaper and the Tippler were knocked clean off of their hooves at the explosion, blinded by the blood in their eyes. Bits of bone needled into Skarbrand’s skin, shrapnel from the veritable daemon-bomb that had gone off. The Exile, genuinely winded, truly dazed, fought to find his hooves and his senses. He touched his face, to find much of it ruined. It wasn’t just blood in his eyes; one of them was gone. The skin of his right side had been cracked, brass-flesh pulverized like a stone and leaking his steaming ichor onto the ground...
The battle had condensed into one, long white noise, the explosion ringing in the Greater Daemon’s ears. Dimly, he recognized new scents and new sounds mixing into the already messy, brutal battle. The baying of hounds, the stampede of calloused daemon-paws, the groaning of brass. A great pain in his back, however, brought him howling back into the present with crystal clarity. A pair of strong hands had come around the joint of his wings, gripping and pulling. Jaws had come around the back of his neck, sinking as deep as they could go. Searing, red lightning had crackled from both the assaulting teeth and fangs; that was when Skarbrand knew.
Kha’xanzyr had arrived, flanked by a sea of Flesh Hounds, reinforcing the battle. His mishmash of warriors had done well with their greater numbers, but they were tired. Dying, routing, spent and now harried by flesh-hungry daemon dogs. A trajectory for failure. Satisfied with the lightning scars wrought upon Skarbrand’s back, the Architect jerked his still clenched fists away in a smooth, ripping motion. With them, Skarbrand’s wings came away and the Exile called in agony, but the Architect was far from finished. He seized Skarbrand’s head and horns, his grin a truly ugly thing to behold, touched with same madness that had spelled Z’rughl’s end. The same cruelty that shined in the eyes of a Slaaneshi.
“ I told you we would gift your skull to Kharneth, did I not?” Hissed the larger Deathbringer, with a tug for emphasis. “ But I wonder if he would even take it with the slaaneshi reek coming off of your sorry hide.” Despite himself, Skarbrand rankled at the words, even as Kha’xanzyr guffawed in triumph and disgust, grinding his claws deeper into Skarbrand’s head and face.
“ Yes, I know all about your romps with the Arch-Tempter, Reaper. Disgusting. Shameful! As if you could not fall farther in the Blood God’s gaze.”
Khazaan was up, watching the proceedings and amused by them despite the considerable damage to his own body. “ You can’t mean it!” He chimed in,  “The Wrathful Reaper laying with the pleasure daemons? Father’s favorite? And you called Z’ruhgl a disgrace.” It was all the provocation for a second the wind Skarbrand had needed. 
The Reaper had seized Kha’xanzyr’s horn and tore it from his skull in one smooth motion, pulling an agonized roar from the other daemon. Khazaan moved, spurred by the attack, his axe held aloft, but Skarbrand was faster. He brought his newly acquired horn-blade up just as his brother’s wrathaxe swung down. The seething weapon ate deep into Skarbrand’s shoulder, nearly cleaving his arm off. Skarbrand’s weapon bit deep as well, jammed through the roof of Khazaan’s mouth and out the back of his skull. Confusion and rage played out over the Daemon’s face, as if struggling with the concept of defeat. Then he went limp.
Dead.
Both brothers regarded his corpse for a moment as it begin to fall away, returning to the Aethyr. Skarbrand broke the trance first, approaching the still form of his brother and tearing his heart free, reforming it by will into Slaughter, both his axe and body melting away to re-make the weapon. Kha'xanzyr rage was immediate. He flared his wings, knocking askew any enemy or ally who happened to be in range of them.
“ Do not touch that! Traitor! Snake-rake! You are not fit to wield Khazaan’s axe!” Electricity played about his form as his temper frayed, sparking along the edges of his own weapon. Blood dripped from his broken horn onto his snout, making a fearsome expression even moreso. Skarbrand was unimpressed by any of it, rumbling by way of response. “ Come then. Pry it from my claws, if you can, Kha’xanzyr.”
And then the dance of death began anew. For all his shortcomings, as the Bloodthirsters perceived them, Kha’xanzyr was still of the first host. Given to gloating, yes, but not a mindless, planless brute like Khazaan. He was strong, fast, and his axe struck true. But that was the Reaper’s hope, his own swings slow, clumsy with injury. Kha’xanzyr got comfortable, jeering, cocky.
“ I remember our duel in the Infernius Plains. I’ve mused on it many a time, many a time! The Great Melee of the God-Butchers! But it was really all about you was it not? Showing off to father, seeking power. Ambition! Well.” Kha’xanzyr growled, grimacing. “ It is my time time now! I will cut away the brutish and stupid fools that infest the Bloody Legions as Leader of the First Host! I will be Kharneth’s Right Hand and lead his legions to victory as you failed to do. And it has been a long time coming!”
He raised his axe and struck again, thinking the bloodied and beaten Reaper spent after hours of hacking away at him. But this was Skarbrand, greatest of daemonkind entire, then...and now. Skarbrand’s Curse comes forth in a rippling, sky-curdling tide that shatters his opponents axe before it ever makes contact. It rends Kha’xanzyr’s very armor and halts his assault with the sheer weight of it. Trees crack, the sand stirs, men turn upon their allies and even themselves, grabbing and tearing at any flesh they can get their claws into. The blue-eyed Bloodthirster freezes, struggling to move, struggling to keep his own sanity.
But Skarbrand has no such issues. He alone sees the killing field in perfect clarity, shuffling up to the staggering Deathbringer with a pained slowness.
“ I told you should I best you, you would return to being my slave. And this time, you would wear the mantle in silence, did I not?” Comes the Reaper’s words, a cruel echo of Kha'xanzyr’s own. When he looked upon his blood-brother, he saw fear in the lines of the Deathbringer’s face and it made him chuckle around the blood in his lungs. He pulled back a fist, then thrust it forward, crunching past Kha’xanzyr’s breastplate and into his sternum. His claws wrapped about the Daemon’s heart, pulling the still throbbing organ free. As he did, Kha’xanzyr’s form began to die away, reforming into Carnage. Fulfilling the pact, at long last.
Now, as then, he had been the strongest. The Greatest of the Greater Daemons.
Skarbrand glanced around, to find both armies had been near-utterly shattered around him. Not a living soul in sight. The vultures were already circling, heedless of the bloody red sky above them and caring only for the meal to come. He glanced to the sky with effort, heaving with breath. Determined not to collapse into banishment.
“Look upon me and despair father! For I am still the strongest and you tossed me by the wayside! Look upon me and feel the deepest envy, Nurgleth, Slaaneth, Tzeen’neth, for I will never be yours!”
He wasn’t sure if the other three were watching, but Kharneth definitely was and with his proclamation, the sky roiled. The dark clouds spilled over, drenching the land in yet more blood. A torrent of gore, the rumble of the earth and touch-down of lightning to scorch the land was evidence of the Blood God’s ire. It would be unwise to stay; it had been unwise to provoke him so. Skarbrand would not waste his rage-curse, the only reason he was able to move at all.
So, step after agonizing step, he left the killing field, heading back to Wyrmskull...
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