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chaoticcornchip · 9 months

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Yandere Error404 x reader!

Requested by April_Gianttale on wattpad!

A/n - just letting you know reader, the pov of the writing is kinda random, some chapters will be in 1st pov, others in 2nd or 3rd, sometimes a mix. Just letting you know. And more times than not you are referred to as they/them, might change later as my brain be like no this is weird to read. But yeah.

Image by Mokutree3 on tumblr

Error404 belongs to @vibeless15

TW- possessive behavior, kidnapping, swearing, murder, mentioned guilt trip/manipulation

3rd POV

It was a warm, pleasant summer afternoon, a h/l h/c middle aged person hummed a small tune. A smile on their face as they took care of a few more files to finish up the day at work. Y/n's mind began to drift aimlessly as the excitement to head over to their friends place and watch the newest episodes of f/s grew more and more potent.

Finishing the last file up, y/n eagerly placed it on the stack of papers that, like this one, were all completed and ready to be moved over to get sent and checked y employees in one of the other buildings. Packing their things they stood up and turned and walked into someone, causing them to drop the papers they were carrying all over the floor.

Y/n's face flushed in embarrassment "oh shit. Sorry I wasn't paying attention, lost in my own thoughts heheh, here let me pick these up," they laughed nervously as they gathered the fallen paper.

Standing up they smoothed the paper out before handing it back, "it's alright, accidents happen," responded a male voice.

That got y/ns immediate attention, miraculously out of all those who are still in the office, they just had to run into the one person they have a crush on here.

"Say your name was..... Y/n right?" He asked, taking his work back.

A small tinge of red crept onto y/ns face, 'wh- omg...he knows my name! Hold on keep calm y/n it isn't too big of a deal- OH WHO AM I KIDDING I AM NOT GOING TO STAY CALM FROM THIS'

(a/n- sorry if this is cringy or whatever I am out of ideas, also refer to your crush however you want I just used he/him to make this easier to write and read)

"Y-yep, heh that's me alright."

C/n gave a small smile, "well it's nice to see you, last time we met was at your... application meeting, I believe."

Y/n gave a nod "yep! It's nice to see you as well........." they shifted there eyes side to side and rugged on the collar of their f/c shirt, "say is it hot in here or is it just me?" Y/n stammered out, sweat building up slowly.

C/n stood there a little puzzled, "uh it feels fine to me, say you look a bit red- do you need anything- here I'll get you some water" he answered himself and walked off before the stunned y/n could speak.

'Greaaaaattttttt- wait- maybe I could snag a hangout or maybe even a da- no, no you just freaking talked to him get to know him first y/n.' They thought for a few seconds, 'oh hey! Maybe 404 could help with this and give me some advice! He is smart he could give me tips, right?'

Shortly after that the h/c male returned with a paper cup filled with water in his hand, "here, hope this helps, if there is anything else you need, let me know." He says handing them the cup. Taking the it y/n took a sip of the cold liquid and already felt their nerves relaxing and thus them calming down.

"Thanks." They murmured.

C/n gave a nod, "welp I will be seeing you later, have a good night" he said walking away, leaving y/n to think.

*time skip brought to you by tiny bred factory🍞 *

*time 6:40pm

Y/n stood at the doorstep of 404's house and rang the doorbell. Waiting a few moments they noticed that the skeleton monster must've planted some flora of various types, seeing there was more green foliage around his home, mixed with some flowers.

'Huh, I thought he said he didn't really care about plants or how his yard looked, as long as it met the neighborhood standards. Guess your rant about plant life got to him y/n heh,' they thought with a slight smirk.

Y/n let out a small huff as he still hasn't answered the door yet 'I swear to fuck, if he doesn't answer I am breaking this door down.' They began to ring the doorbell a few (hundred) more times, breaking the thing in the process.

Finally there was motion and it quickly followed with the door being opened, revealing an exhausted, dead inside 404.

"Why are you so loud, I was taking a nap." He groaned, letting the human in.

"Why? Didn't you know I was coming at 6:40?" They responded.

404 was silent for a moment, yes he did remember but originally he thought y/n was coming a bit later, and thus he believed he could at least get a bit of rest after having to manage Error all damn day. "Yeah, just drifted off I guess" he says as he begins to head to the kitchen, "want anything to drink?"

"Sure, a f/b would be nice" the human responded their gaze drifting around and looking at some of the items their friend has cluttered on shelves and walls.

"y/n could you get the tv ready?" He called out.

Rolling their eyes y/n headed to the living room, "I don't see why you didn't have it turned on and ready already, are you getting lazy without telling me."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT FROM?!" He shouted, which was shortly followed by a bang and a muffled cuss.

Y/n covered their mouth in an attempt to hide their snicker, "oh nowhere just saying it to bother you."

After a bit 404 came back in with a f/b and a beer, he sat down on the couch next to y/n and passed the f/b over to them. After they both got comfortable 404 took the remote and started the show.

*skip cuz does it look like I am going to TRY and write a small show even in the background? No, no it does not.*

After like 40 minutes, the two finally reached the credits of the episode. 404 blinked once or twice before letting out a yawn and stretching his arms, "welp, that was disappointing." He says as he wrapped an arm around y/ns shoulder.

Y/n shrugged him off "yeah, but it was still a good episode." Y/n paused for a moment "Say 404, any chance you have uhm.... Any useful advice for dealing with your crush, like to hang around them and not be awkward?" They asked a bit hesitant.

The skeleton was a little bit stunned, not showing it he simply spoke, "no, not really, why? Who's the lucky person?"

"Just a coworker, who i haven't really gotten to know," y/n responded.

404 let out a small hum, "well I guess this isn't creative at all, but just be yourself ignoring what you humans usually say as "but what if they don't like who I am," if they don't like who you are, then that's their fucking problem. you shouldn't be wasting time trying to be what anyone wants you to be, become who you wanna be for yourself and others. Better live a life with the truth even if you don't like it than living in a life of falsehoods and lies."

Y/n listened to her friends words and thought deeper. They smiled "heh thanks 404 that actually helps a lot I guess," the replied.

404 shrugged "no problem, so what are we going to do now?"

*skip several weeks cuz I am lazy and don't wanna write more boring shat, deal with it*

It's been 3 weeks, y/n without appearing creepy or weird hung out and grew to know c/n, overall 404 was fine with it, no jealousy at all.... At least until the two started to get closer and y/n slowly began to spend more and more time with c/n instead of 404.

The skeleton has mostly been keeping it cool but the worry is thick in his mind, is he going to lose the only good thing he has? To some random human? As these questions and those similar repeated he began to have dreams about y/n leaving him or forgetting about him entirely. And that is where his paranoia led to him whenever y/n was around, he would find some excuse for them to stay.Whether it be about the weather, him needing "help" with something, ect. He even started going low as in guilt tripping.

But on the third week... when y/n finally introduced him to c/n. His jealousy sparked and turned into pure obsession, the obsession of keeping these two away from each other permanently . Time went on he tried intimidating his so-called competition, bribery, blackmail, anything else you name it. Amazing nothing worked it only got c/n to bond closer with 404's friend.

Y/n wasn't exactly oblivious, they notice 404s clinginess and how upset he has been lately, not to mention every fucking excuse he has for the human to stay. It utterly confused them, he was perfectly fine with it awhile ago, so what changed and what is with this new thing?

*done with overview thingy*

Y/n was at a park walking with c/n as the two chatted about random things that caused them both to laugh. Finally the two stopped and sat down on a bench and ate the ice cream they had gotten. There was awkward silence between the two, y/n was confused and a little worried, is something wrong with c/n too?

This deafening silence lasted for an eternity more before c/n spoke, "uhm, so I have been thinking y/n....."

They looked at him, "yes?" They asked worry building up in their head.

C/n was quiet for a moment, "I was wondering.... Would you go out with me?" He asked blushing a bit.

Y/n sat there astonished, "y-yeah of course!" They exclaimed. "When and where to?"

C/n thought "how about tonight at f/r? Would around 8 work?"

Y/n gave a nod and kissed c/n on the cheek, "it's a date."

Time went on the two left the park and went their separate ways, y/n was overflowing with joy and head over to 404s house, owing him a visit after not being there yesterday day.

*le skip*

Y/n knocked on the door, 404 shortly was there, "oh y/n, I didn't think you would be here, weren't you busy with him?" He said letting them in.

Y/n shrugged, "yeah but I felt bad about yesterday and so I wanted to stop by."

404 let out a skeptical 'hm'.

The skeleton couldn't help but notice that the human was a bit.... Cheerful, "what has you so happy?" He asked, growing a bit angry almost expecting it.

Y/n beamed "i got a date with c/n tonight at 8!" They exclaimed happily.

His soul dropped, a wave of terror and rage rushed over him, "that's......great" he forced out, grinding his teeth together, here it was. The moment he lost EVERYTHING the one good fucking thing he had to look for to. No he won't let this happen... y/n is HIS not some PATHETIC, weak human boy who just waltzed into existence.

As y/n headed to leave they got stopped in place by 404 who grabbed them "hey 404 what are you doing?!" They demanded.

The skeleton was silent and just swiftly wrapped his arm around y/n's soft, fleshy neck, tucking the joint of his elbow under the human's chin, his free hand then pushed the back of their head forward, cutting off the humans air. Y/n struggled and tried to get free with no prevail, 404 tightening his hold each time they fought, eventually their struggles weaken and he began to speak, "you wouldn't understand, but I am doing this for us. Everything will be fine y/n, it'll just be you and me." As the human started to lose consciousness they heard 404 hiss out, "and nothing else."

Once the skeleton was certain the human was out he let go and carefully laid y/n on the floor, he calmly blinked and looked at their peaceful form. 'I am doing the right thing, they're MINe and I will make sure they can't leave me E V E R' he thought picking them up and heading to the mainframe.

*8pm

C/n knocked on y/ns door, no response, the male has been there for a few minutes now and he was worried, there wasn't any sign y/n was home, pulling out his phone he dialed their number.

Ring....ring

C/n flinched at hearing the sound behind them, turning around they saw a dark figure, only visible aspect was two glowing blue eyes. "Who the hell" they growled.

The figure didn't respond except lifting up its hand revealing blue tipped fingers.

C/n couldn't even usher a breath before the thing lunged forward, grabbing the humans neck and squeezed tightly until there was a sickening crunch, and the male went limb.

Disgusted 404 tossed the corpse to the side and teleported away. Back into the mainframe where y/n was left, the human was conscious a long time ago, but that's alright. 404 isn't going to push anything, hell no, he's going to wait until the loneliness and emotional pressure of the void gets to them and they come to him. Begging for attention and escape and doing anything he wants.

A/n - and finished! Probably not the best but I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave requests reactions or constructive criticism!

(2431 words)

(minor changes and fixes: 9/13/2023 on quotev)

#Yandere #undertale #undertale au #error 404 #Alphatale #utau #x reader #oneshot #tw death #writing #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #error 404 x reader #undertale x reader #Sans #sans au #undertale multiverse

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bravopotato · 2 years

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Strawberry stabcake

AN: I wrote this a while ago and I'm super proud of it still!^^

Also, the intrusive thoughts will look like this

TW: Intrusive thoughts, implied stalking, war talk(?), slight paranoia, tell me if i missed anything

Summary: Blue is dealing with some stuff, good thing he meets an old enemy and makes a new friend!

Blue was… Running a bakery! Isn’t that funny? Anyways he was serving people going in and out for breakfast. He loved the sounds of baking cakes as well as the smell of pastries, coffee, and tea. It was calming. He was happy as he served his customers.

But then Killer walked inside. Who, if you don’t know, was Blue’s enemy for uh- THE ENTIRE WAR. But Blue didn’t mind. He was still a customer. Blue shouldn’t refuse him service just because of past fights.

Blue walks over to the oddly nice smelling skeleton. Usually he’d smell like moldy ketchup and smoke, it always seemed like gunpowder to Blue but Ink always smelled cigarettes. Dream smelled gasoline from him, that one was the weirdest to Blue. But it didn’t matter, why should he care about how he smelled anyway? Killer chuckled.

Blue then blushed in embarrassment. He had been staring off into space. “Hm, what’s on yer mind?” Killer said, seeming to refuse to embarrass Blue more, and Blue huffed. “Nothin’ much. I guess you being here just uhh- feels wrong i guess?” He said. Killer, the unsympathetic murderer, didn’t seem to quite mind.

“Alrighty then. Anyways, can i have the oh so popular pancakes and tea?” Blue nodded. Huh, Killer seemed more like a coffee guy. If he seemed like a guy to go into this over cutesy cafe. But that didn’t matter, with new information about what Killer likes he might be able to be friends. He wanted to understand them ever since he was fighting him.

Blue soon came back with the meal, as the cafe does premake a lot of their food, and puts the plate onto Killer’s table. Blue leaves and continues onto his day but he feels… Watched. It’s fine, he can take care of himself. He’s been serving food at sketchy restaurants for years now, sorry Muffet. But anyways his shift ends finally and he gets to go to his second job.

That doesn’t matter. All he needs to think about are the colds winds of the city and how icy his lungs, if he did have them, had felt throughout his walk. He feels his fingers numbing, he’s fine though, he can get to the convenient store swiftly. Blue works his way through the dark sidewalks of this silly little city. Everything is okay, he is safe.

You aren’t safe.

He was safe, everything is okay. People even love him! He’s cared for and no one would harm him now.

You’re thinking too highly of yourself.

I’m not, stop.

You are, they hate you Blue. They will take any chance to get to you.

Stop it. I’m okay, they never showed any signs of aggression towards me. Not even angry customers!

Because they knew there wasn’t a point in talking to the man who will soon perish to his own ego.

I’m not egotistical!

You are. There’s moving in the alleyway Blue. They're getting to you, fast. You didn’t notice due to how selfish you are.

No- No no no! There isn’t any-

There was. He felt a rock jump to the bottom of his stomach. Blue quickened his pace, trying to outrun the attacker without making a scene. It was a peaceful night after all and he didn’t want to cause trouble all because of a stupid little thought. He shouldn’t be dumb.

He reached the store, thoughts racing in his head but he hid them. He needed to keep hope up. He knew that the people here were pessimists so he wanted to make sure they knew that everything was okay. He can’t fail them. He can’t risk others hurting them, because he knows that it would be his fault.

His coworkers greeted him and he kept up his kind and amazing (So egotistical~, ̶s̶h̶u̶t̶ ̶u̶p̶) smile. He went to work at his t̶i̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ wonderful job! He went through everything well, nothing odd at all (With the exception of the eyes staring at you that you can’t see? ̶s̶t̶o̶p̶,̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶.̶.̶.̶). He walked out of the store, sleepy. He worked hard and earned his money. Someone was there though.

“Hello, Blue.” Killer said coolly. Blue didn’t feel watched anymore, like the eyes were visible, how odd. “Hello! How are you?” Blue asked, joyful as always. He just chuckled, “Like always. I’m doing amazing. You?”. “I’m good!” You don’t deserve it though Blue said, bubbling with ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶u̶n̶c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ how amazing his day was.

Killer tilted his head. “Mhm? Anything special? You seem all giddy Blue.” Blue blushed. Right, he wasn’t like this all the time anymore. “Na! I guess I'm just happy to have the time to actually know you without feeling guilty." “You never truly met me during the war, Blue.” He pointed out, Blue chuckled sheepishly.

“I um.. Felt guilty at the thought..” He murmured, knowing Killer heard him. “Aww, that’s sweet Blue. As always.” Right, he was always happy. He wasn’t serious like the others. He was the background. Why didn’t he realize that yet?

See, remember when you said I wasn't you? I have my proof right here!

He giggled. “Thanks! I guess I am always able to brighten the mood. That’s what Dream said a while back though. Do I still have that spark?”. He knew he didn’t. He was just pitiful, pitiful enough to make people act happy to soothe him. Killer laughed.

“Of course! I’d say you’re even better actually!” He said with the most genuine smile Blue’s ever seen him wear. Blue smiled just as brightly. “Thank you! Do you want to go to my place for dinner?” “Sure Blue, though.. You seem more like a strawberry.”

“A strawberry?” Blue said, confused. “Yea, with the right people you make the best strawberry shortcake. Though usually you’re the best part, hence the strawberry.”

Oh…

“Thanks, I never thought of myself like that.” Blue said, a very soft smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it! It’s true anyways.” Killer chuckled out as they walked to Blue’s place. He was in front though. Maybe he just saw Blue at his home at one point and just remembered it.

That was it… Nothing more… He.. Blue was safe and Killer was even safer. Everything is okay. Intrusive thoughts, you can’t trick me today. Not with my new friend.

I- wait this might not be a good idea-

Everything is okay. Shut up. You’re never nervous unless you know you’re losing control. You wont hurt me.

But i’m supposed to… I- Listen to me! You shoul-

Killer is so nice. I’m glad to have met him.

#undertale aus #my writing #oneshot #i hope you like it!^^#im a kid so it prolly sucks lmao #intrusive thoughts #im treating this like i did on ao3 i guess #Blue and Killer sans are the only characters here tbh

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plantb0t · 5 years

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Nagito Komaeda... skeleton song by Kate Nash

#yes i am implying that the song is abkut sanssgjdngdnvdnvvdn #listen to the song.#tw for... uh. skeleton murder #skeleton song sansmaeda #dggjdgjdjgdjgdngrrngngrdjg #.txt #idk i. i dont know enough abt komaeda yet but I could see this for him almost. as like not a joke or abt sans

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skellie-darlings · 3 years

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PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! Thank you!

Please let me know if you see any mention of a specific gender for Reader.

I will correct them immediately to make this post an experience all Readers can enjoy. ❤

Possible TRIGGER WARNINGS: Stalking, Kidnapping, Threats of Murder, Murder, Implied Non-Con.

(Let me know if I need to add more TW tags.)

Reader Has A Child By Their Ex-Skellie (Part 2)

Part 1:

Part 3:

Black-- He will use the child as blackmail to keep you under his thumb. Black can't claim ignorance to the child since there are only two skeletons in the Underground and he refuses to put the spotlight on his brother. So, you want a place to stay and financial stability? Oh, you already have that? Wow, what a coincidence that your apartment building burned down and you were mysteriously let go from your job. Now, back to your previous conversation... You will become his mate and his cute, silent and obedient little house-spouse. Otherwise Black will take your child, and make you "disappear." Don't worry, love, he will still raise your child into his perfect heir in either case. Now, what is your answer? Be quick, now. Black is a very busy skeleton with very little patience. Tic. Toc.

Mutt-- He will definitely use the child as a tool to force himself back into your life. Chances are, he didn't want to break up in the first place. Mutt understands he can be a little (extremely) clingy. He also can't argue that he's very insecure and quick to accuse you of things you never did in order to deflect from his own faults. But he is also the father of your child, so you have to take him back, hahaha! Mutt wants it, the baby wants it and you can learn to love him again if he's around you 24/7. It's a win-win in Mutt's book. Your feelings mean nothing to this simping, borderline yandere. Even if you never told him about the child, Mutt would have shown up on your doorstep anyways. He stalked you obsessively after the break up. Mutt may be mentally ill, but he's not stupid. He can put two and two together and figure out that he was the father of your young child. Mutt knows for a fact you haven't been with anyone else since your breakup. He had personally slaughtered every suitor that's caught your eye! Mutt has always had your best interests at heart, you see~?

Wine-- He will be a bit irritated that he wasn't told of the child sooner. Wine will most definitely take the child and dispose of Reader, no questions asked. He can't have the weakness of a spiteful ex tainting his child's mind. Especially so early in their young life. Wine will then become the dream parent of any child, eventually making the child forget that they once had two parents. What more do they need besides a doting father and uncle that spoil them daily? Should you ever come up in conversation, Wine will tell the saddening story of how you died of a sickness very early in your child's life, leaving the baby in the care of their "grieving" father. And why would the child question him? Besides that one itty-bitty lie, Wine was the perfect parent. He would never be suspected of doing something so heinous... Unfortunately for you, dear Reader.

Coffee-- Uh, yeah, he's not too keen at the prospect of fatherhood being dumped on him out of nowhere. Expect another situation similar to Cash, where Coffee ultimately ghosts the two of you. But he will stalk your social medias, and if he sees you trying to talk shit about him, he'll make a point to visit you in the dead of night. You're better off just staying to yourself. It's not like your relationship ended on a good note in the first place. You and your child are better off without Coffee. Just be sure to watch what you say online. Coffee is a very popular online gamer/streamer and his fans are fucking v i c i o u s.

Hit-- Depending on what note the relationship ended, Hit will either ask for the Reader back or simply kill them and take the child into his custody. Either way, the child will have nothing to want or need for ever again. Being the child of a notorious mob boss offers a sense of safety that no other child could dream of. The child will eventually be trained into the perfect heir for Hit's familial business. But outside of work (and the kid's training), Hit will be a very gentle and loving father with a penchant for spoiling his child more than he should. These times will be practically the only instances where Hit's guard is 100% down and he lets himself show emotion. His child is his pride and joy, and they deserve to see the softer side of parenting that Hit never received from his own father.

Don-- Will immediately demand that Reader marries him. There will be no refusing. Even if he must capture you and train you into being his perfect submissive mate. The child will be raised into his familial business and you, dear Reader have no choice in the matter. Any attempts to escape or rat he and his brothers out to the cops will be met with swift and brutal punishment. But no death for you, little mate. Don expects many more children out of you, whether you want them or not. Get used to your place as the mate of the Don, because you will stay with him and birth his children until you die. Don't worry though, he will take care of you. So long as you behave and O B E Y.

Wings-- Immediately kidnaps you. The last thing you remember is nervously twiddling your thumbs as you let Wings hold the two of you's child. The next thing you know, you blacked out. You wake up in a well decorated room with a crib next to your bed. When you try to sit up, you notice your ankle is chained to the bed, and you have a strange (and painful) bite mark along your neck. You look around and notice Wings. He was sitting in the corner on a rocking chair holding the two of your's child, who was fast asleep. He tells you that the two of you will stay here, with him. When you try to protest, Wings threatens your life if you wake the child. You were smart enough to shut up. If this man was effecient enough to kidnap you and your child, you could only imagine the dangers he could pose to you and your child's well being. You will go along with it, being that you have no choice... but that doesn't mean your spirit is broken.

Mars-- He will find himself unable to look away from the child. The child reminded him of himself as a young kid. In fact, they looked almost exactly like Mars when he was a child and... normal. He agrees to be in the child's life, and he dedicates himself to being there for the child as much as he can. He even sets alarms on his phone and writes detailed notes on his calendar to remember special events. The two of you getting back together is optional, but Mars wouldn't mind because then he'd be with his child 24/7! Mars' child inspires him to go back to therapy and try to get better mentally and psychologically. He wants to be better. He wants to DO better. Mars doesn't know what he'd do if he ever accidentally scared or hurt his precious babybones. He will take every measure to protect his child, even if it means listening to a therapist analyze him. He just wants his babybones happy. Mars hasn't felt such love and devotion since he took custody of his beloved brother all those years ago... You have nothing to worry about. Mars will be the very definition of a gentle giant when around your child. You feel in your SOUL that your child is safe with Mars, and that makes you (and Mars) very happy.

Jupiter-- He is absolutely horrified about being a father. Would he accidentally hurt the little babybones? Would he scare it with his... facial issues?? Would the baby even like him??? All of these negative thoughts were immediately washed away when the child cooes up at Jupiter and touches his face with their tiny hands. Tears will immediately well up in Jupiters eyes and he will instantly fall in love. This will end up being a Papyrus situation, Jupiter will be around so often for the child that he will literally make it appear as if he's the primary custodial parent and not you. You might as well just move back in with Jupiter and Mars, because he usually has the two of you's child most of the time. You miss your child dearly, and Mars and Jupiter extend the invitation happily. Jupiter will be ecstatic when you finally agree, the two of you quickly reconnecting and getting back together. He's so happy! The four of you will be the perfect little happy family! Oh, it's all Jupiter ever wanted~

Part 2 of 3 is finished! I will post the final part later today, then I will open my asks.

I will start drawing some of the scenes out once I have my tablet pen delivered, so look out for art posts as well! ❤

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chxngho · 3 years

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bio ( tw: violence, murder, knife mention )/ profile

this is super uh late! but it’s fine!!! i’m super excited that everyone joined and brought all the skeletons we made to life! anyways somehow i’m soooo unprepared but here’s a quick rundown on ryu changho! the second temperance pledge and if you could tell from his skeleton and his bio he’s a bit uhh unhinged but like in a chill way no worries folks. anyways tdlr about him below! and if you want to plot just like this post and i’ll hit u up! @virtuemedia

the heir to STEEL a security company ( the kim crime family ) changho is the only grandchild of infamous kim jaesook who was a high ranking general during the korean war

but has grown around wealth and the elite that he has the ability to blend in with other rich folks but most know his family’s origins ( yeah just search it up and you’ll see mob-linked company )

has an air of aloofness around him, you can kinda tell he’s not taking things too seriously ( the society included)

an nationally ranked archer, and is a black belt in taekwondo he has old fashion hobbies due to being around his grandfather during his early childhood ( rip the dude )

when he was 12 his grandfather, aunt and uncle were murdered, the police reports say it was the servants of the estate, while in reality it was a power grab and it was changho’s mother and father behind it

is not involved with the daily occurrences of the kim crime family but does help his father with ceremonial aspects of it and bigger issues to assist

truly just vibing, is pleasant to those around him tries his best to be helpful most think he’s not involved with the shady parts of his family’s legacy as his father has done his best to publicly show they are no longer just a crime linked company

there are rumors he made another student in high school stab him, causing the other student to be expelled but his official school records show nothing of the incident

actually takes his major seriously and studies quite often

doesn’t take himself or many people seriously

overall:

at first glance, it’s hard to tell anything out of the ordinary of ryu changho. money and social grace are useful camouflage that he takes advantage of— but most would not call changho a close friend. pleasant to the masses, but an air of negligence in most interactions had lead to the understanding that it’s only trouble if changho pays attention to you. but to most, a passing conversation about jeong dojeon and other scholars is the extent of interactions.

#virtue:intro #i have no plots because we go in raw like kings

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sunnywritesstuff34 · 3 years

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Illusions

(Yayyyy. Another one. It’s been a while, sorry. just wanna preface this by saying that like... I usually don’t really give a shit about Obito, but I figured this was a natural progression of the story and I kinda wanted to try and dive into Obito’s psyche a little so. here we go. tell me what you think. @ghostjellyfishheart here’s the next chapter lol. pls mind the tw’s)

TW and CW for: MAJOR UNREALITY, seriously stay safe, Obito is kinda spiraling a lot, grieving, struggling with morality, drinking, alcohol, less then stellar coping mechanisms of all kinds, don’t do this kids, child death, ghost child, dead kid, you don’t like... see her die but Rin is very much not alive, references to suicide, implied suicide, the uchiha massacre is its own warning, murder, its bad. its just. its just bad. did I mention unreality? a lot of that, death of a family member, obito is having a hard time with feelings, probably dis@ssociation, pretentious symbolism, scratch that, definitely dis@ssociation

Obito Uchiha is upset.

And that is, frankly, ridiculous. Obito does not get upset. What does upset even mean? Is he sad? Mourning, perhaps? Or is he just worried? Either way, its borderline impossible. He shouldn’t be feeling anything. Obito doesn’t feel anything. Sure, he plays at it, when he’s Tobi. He feigns and pretends, he’s good at that. That is what he is, that is all he is. To Itachi, he is Madara. To Konan and Nagito, he is Obito. To everyone else, he is Tobi. Obito has taken on mask after mask after mask on in his life, both figuratively and literally. Sometimes he doesn't know where Obito ends and another begins. Obito does not feel anything, not for anyone that isn't Rin. Never for anyone that isn't Rin, and he left her behind a long time ago. And yet this boy, this child, has him reeling somehow. Has him… well, like before, the only word he can use is upset. He is rattled. And it has been so long, so long since he’s felt anything at all, that he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to fix it. He kept seeing Sasuke in his head, kept remembering memories from years ago when he thought about the kid being gone forever. He remembered the first few years Itachi brought Sasuke to the compound, he remembered spontaneously discovering his obsession with tomatoes by accident with Kisame (who would not stop laughing. He had just never seen anybody. Put an entire tomato in their mouth. And Sasuke did it like it was the most natural thing in the world! Kisame wouldn't shut up about it for at least a week). He remembered helping the boy train with his newly forged chokuto, he remembered the grim determination towards his family and how much it reminded Obito of himself, he remembered all of it. And none of that should have mattered, because it wasn't real. None of it was real, the next world would be. The next world with Rin and Kakashi and Minato-sensei still alive, a world without… without Sasuke. Or any of the other Akatsuki. And that was what he wanted. He was sure that was what he wanted. Only in his room could he show the weakness tightly coiled in his stomach. But there was a knock on his door and it made him straighten up, instantly putting the mask that he just took off back on his face. He walked to the door and opened it, only to find the older Uchiha brother staring back at him. Obito blinked.

“Itachi-san. What are you… what are you doing here? I- uh… come in.” Obito and Itachi sat down at the small table in Obito’s room and stared at each other awkwardly. “So… how can I help you?” Obito tried to ask, unsure of whether to say it like Tobi or just let his guard down and talk like himself (whoever that was). Itachi cleared his throat.

“You are the only person in this godforsaken place that has sake that's worth a damn,” Itachi explained calmly. He looked away. “It has… been a long week.” Obito could tell the truth in that statement just from his cousin’s voice. Itachi sounded exhausted, and the perpetual mask of indifference had begun to slip when his little brother went missing. The two of them looked at each other and came to an understanding. For the next few minutes, there was no talking. Obito grabbed some glasses and poured his strongest sake out for the both of them, and they drank in silence. They only actually picked up a conversation once they were both drunk enough for the awkwardness to melt away.

“He’s likely not dead,” Obito commented bluntly. Itachi only sighed.

“If he is, I have no idea what I'd do,” Itachi grumbled casually, like it was an ordinary thing to say. “Certainly wouldn't stick around here. Probably follow in Shisui’s footsteps.” Obito only nodded, knowing better than to pry on that particular bit of insight into Itachi’s life. They were silent for a few more minutes before Obito spoke again.

“The massacre,” Obito started. “I was long gone by the time it happened. What… are you and Sasuke really the only survivors as the rumors say?” Itachi nodded, throwing back another glass. Obito thought about that bitterly, about his grandmother who wouldn't have been spared. Itachi sighed.

“Right. I've never really talked about this with anyone, and Sasuke and I don't speak about it much. You know how sharingan awakening works, yes?” Obito nodded, mind involuntarily flashing to his own experience.

“Well I made some genuine friends on my genin team. It was the first time I ever had any friends.” Obito closed his eyes and took another sip. Friends, sharingan awakening. Being crushed under a boulder with your crying teammates looming over you. Thinking, no, don't cry, it doesn't hurt. It really doesn't hurt. I can't feel anything, please don't cry. Watching a particular white haired individual (a traitor, that traitor) desperately try to save you. Losing a part of yourself, a part of yourself you didn't even know you had, and giving it to someone else. Forever living with that, knowing that your other eye is somewhere, because you can still feel it, but not knowing much else. The aching absence that grows from that. He opened his eyes again. “I watched them die, right in front of my eyes. That awakened my Sharingan, and when I went home, my father congratulated me. He congratulated me. It was a nightmare and he was proud. I don't know, that always stuck with me. But anyway,” Itachi paused to drink more sake as the room spun. “Sasuke’s eyes woke during the massacre. I didn't get there in time. He watched our parents die, managed to hide in the closet and keep quiet the whole time so they didn't find him. I got there in time to stop them from killing him, and realized his sharingan had awakened because of everything. I wasn't able to save anyone, but I was able to save him, and that's all that matters.”

“I understand,” Obito replied evenly. “I know what it's like to be too late.”

Itachi’s eyes slid over to him. “Yeah well… whatever. The Uchiha had been planning a coup for a while. Danzo, he gave me a choice. Either kill everyone myself and have Sasuke be spared to live happily in the village. Or, to let them kill everyone, Sasuke included. I didn't… I refused either option and tried to get there but I was too late. They killed everyone in one night, a bunch of Anbu who were deployed for the massacre. Like I said, Sasuke managed to hide. I knew that Danzo would be after us, so I grabbed Sasuke and we got the hell out of dodge. He didn't speak for months afterwards. Not a single word, other than screaming during his nightmares. It was probably a little selfish, but I… I missed him. There was no more ‘Itachi, look at the score I got at the academy!’ or ‘Itachi look, look I learned a new move!’ There was just… nothing. He was so vacant. If he's dead- if he’s dead after everything we’ve been through, I don't- I have no idea what I'll do. We have to find him, and we have to kill the people who took him away from us. We have to.” I know, he wanted to shout. I know, I feel the same way, but I don't know why! Itachi left not long after that, stumbled back to his room, and Obito fell asleep in his armchair. That night he had a dream, a dream of Rin. it had been years since he dreamed of her, usually they were memories and bits and pieces, but this was different. He opened his eyes in his dream to a dark plane filled with ink, darkness stretching in every direction. It was a frequent setting he found himself in, usually the dream would be about him sinking into the oily substance until he couldn't breath. But this time it was low enough to wade in, his feet touching the ground, whatever that was. In the middle of the expanse, there was a bone white skeleton of some creature he didn't recognize, and Rin. He staggered towards her, and she hugged him without a word. In dreams like this he was always covered in blood, the Obito from years past. But now he was just him, and he was maskless.

“Just what have you gotten yourself into now, Obito?” she asked, and it sounded just like her. It wasn't her, he was fairly sure of that, he was dreaming for god’s sake, but it sounded like her. It seemed like her, and that was enough. “It's okay to be worried about the kid,” she said, running fingers through his hair while he tried to calm his breathing.

“It's not real,” he managed hoarsely. “None of it. Nothing in this world is real, I shouldn't feel anything. So why… Why do I…”

“Does it matter if it's real?” she asked. “It feels real. Maybe it is, Obito.”

“Obito is dead,” he whispered. “At least the one you knew- Obito doesn't exist anymore.” Rin only shook her head, looking past him at nothing at all and smiling sadly.

“I don't believe you,” she said evenly. “You're still Obito. No matter how many names you take or how many masks you wear, I know who you are. And I think you do too.”

“It's not real,” he tried again, weakly.

“If it's not real, then why do you help Konan with the dishes? If it's not real, then why do you want to save Itachi’s brother so badly? Why do you make plans for Nagato’s dream in the supposed next world when you don't have to? Why do you stick around Deidara to make sure he doesn't get killed? Why do you help Sasori with his puppets? Why, Obito?”

“I can't be Obito,” he muttered quietly. “He’s dead. He died with you.”

“He is right here. He is sitting here with me. You're still you. You'll always be you.”

“B-But…. But Madara-”

“Madara is dead,” she said with finality, shaking her head. “Madara is a dead man now. You are the only thing that can bring him back, and you have a choice.”

“I've never had a choice.”

“You do now. Madara isn't here.”

“This is all just an illusion.” She smiled sadly.

“I'm an illusion, Obito. Your world is not.”

His dream didn't fade out from there. One second he was sitting in a dark dreamscape with his dead friend, and the next he was in the Akatsuki lair, laying in an armchair, sitting up and gasping for breath. His back hurt and his neck was aching from the weird position he dozed off in, and Obito could already feel the nausea of an inevitable hangover coming on. Still, he sat up properly, stretching his neck and running a hand through his short hair. Itachi was probably passed out in his room or throwing up already, and Obito had a hunch that he’d be feeling the same way pretty soon. He looked down at the floor and forced his eyes to focus. He didn't have time for a drunken hallucination within a drunken hallucination. But when he turned his head, he felt himself recoil and raise his hands to his face. The orange plastic from the ground winked back at him. Obito had taken his mask off. And now it was cracked.

#yeahhhh #lol anyway #was this short?#maybe #Obito knew most of those details about the massacre #obito #obito uchiha #uchiha massacre #akatsuki #kisame #Sasuke Uchiha #itachi uchiha #uchiha itachi #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #naruto au #unreality tw #madara uchiha

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organdon3r · 3 years

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The ink demonth: EVERY. DAY. OF. THE. MONTH. :')

TW//character death, description of body (skeleton), (unspecified) character vomiting

Characters: Sammy Lawrence, Joey Drew, Jack Fain, Norman Polk, Thomas Conner, Shawn Flynn, Alice Angel/Susie, unspecified employees

Mentioned characters: Henry, Susie, Buddy/Daniel, Wally

Word count: 1155

Sentence count: 25

Character count: 6407

Reading level: college (student)

Pride can lead to wealth, it can lead to an amazing family - an amazing life..but sometimes you're so caught up in yourself everything turns twisted, laughing at you in the face; making you watch all those happy moments tear apart on repeat like they're playing on an everlasting reel. All your friends, side by side, staring at you body whilst you're knee deep in your own mistakes.

It's funny how so much can be ruined in so little time, just like the studio. It's like survival for the fittest just a hell lot more difficult..whether you're part of a colossal wonder, or your face is a mystery to many, you are never truly safe..those who died always rise though, that's when their true personalities shine through the veil they wore.

"We've all been waiting, the battle may well have been messy, but trust me..for the smoke that has held us back this far has been taken away..today is the day!"

A figure stood up on the box, a mask hiding his face whilst multiple black creatures - made of ink - surrounded him

"The only god that will be appeased today is my lord..the one who will set us free.."

Let's go back about 30 years, Heavenly toys. Shawn Flynn sat at a stool, a doll of Alice Angel in his hand and a paintbrush in the other.

"Y'see, I don't see the point in these Alice Angel whatchamacallits! Yes she's a nice character, that's all I'll say positive, but they ain't sellin'!"

His Irish accent rang about the room

"It's like we're in this stupid play of Joey's! Trapped inside of a glass box whilst he watches!-..uh..y..yeah?.."

Shawn froze, his own heartbeat was what he thought his ears heard..but it wasn't. That man knew his own beat from the rest, and that wasn't his..a shiver went up his spine as he was almost in a trance; walking towards the room, which was built for Alice Angel, Flynn opened the door and gasped: in the centre of the room was the skeletal body of Alice - her matted black hair covering her face. She hummed a tune which played as soon as the female character was created and voiced.

"A- Alice! You're lookin'..pretty today-..u- uh Alice-?..Aaalic- OH MY GOD!!-"

Shawn screamed as the skeletal, twisted, angel lunged at him - the door slammed shut alerting fellow GENT worker Thomas Conner and a bunch of other Toy department employees. Tom let out a huff as he pushed past the crowd of people, all thinking this place was haunted - I mean, they weren't wrong! As the door creaked open on the floor was the body of Shawn Flynn, ink mixed with blood dripping off of the wall next to the door and the worker's heart missing out of his chest; his eyes lifeless, like his soul had been sucked out of his body. There was an array of mutters, people vomiting and some even ran away in fear; there was the few who stayed quiet and stared whilst the rest started to cry out of shock.

"What kind of sinner would do this!?"

An employee cried out, covering their mouth whilst Thomas stepped into the room - cautiously looking around incase the murderer was still present. Nobody was there..that was until there was a quiet giggle behind the glass - the light turned on as a voice, starting off it was angelic and beautiful.

"I just want to be a beautiful angel…I want to make it to heaven….but..the things I've done aren't redeemable…yet it's all worth it..for beauty!"

The voice, once again, laughed - it danced around the room; hitting all those near. There was an electrical crackle as the power turned out; then the sound of a vent slamming open..and then a scream, the voice similar to Thomas'..and it was: his body flew into the wall, thudding against it. Before the attacker could do anything the lights flickered back on as Joey Drew, the great dreamer, stood in the doorway; at that point everyone finally felt somewhat safe in the light.

Word about the death and attack spread around the studio fast - people trying to work out who the voice belonged to and why they would do it, some thought of Susie but she was too sweet for that!

"WALLACE..FRANKS."

A voice yelled out - bursting out of his office, half covering in ink, his blonde hair now stained black.

The Projectionist, Norman Polk, leant against the border in his projector booth - watching his coworker storm in, throwing his papers on the composing stand

"Pipe burst again Samuel?"

He asked, chuckling at the male who glared at him

"Listen, Lawrence, I'd be careful around Mr Drew - I heard he's been spreading some lies 'bout this being a ^safe haven^ for all employees.."

Sammy rolled his eyes, responding in a snarky tone

"Yeah yeah Norman, I know you think you see the 'full picture' but you don't know the true image..anyways I'm heading into the sewers to get some of these papers to Jack..seeing as Joey's gopher has lost his footing and gotten lost somewhere I have to manage more jobs.."

The man walked off, walking past the surprisingly empty Infirmary and into the sewers. The ink went up to his knees like mud - reaching his musical partner's desk he tapped Jack on the shoulder. The male jumped a little, looking back at Sammy and smiling:

"Oh! Sam! Hey are those for me..? I could've just gotten them myself: I just finished my papers!"

His voice was optimistic and vibrant, poor thing didn't even know what was happening - so Sammy decided to hint at being a little more cautious than he was already

"Listen..Jack, um, if I were you I wouldn't talk to Joey for awhile..just give me the papers… trust me.."

The music director muttered in his friend's ear who, looked completely confused but, nodded

"Yeah, okay Sam, whatever ya say pal!..eh, seeing as you offered I got these to take to Bossman - mind if you-?"

Samuel smiled, but didn't answer, instead he took the papers - no questions asked.

Getting out of the sewers he struggled to do yet trying to get to Joey's office was more of a struggle: the administration office is a maze and of course Mr Drew's had to be in the heart of it! By the time Lawrence had made it he was exhausted, still he opened the door - straightening himself up

"Hhh..Mr...Drew?"

He looked around the office, before bumping into Joey who shoved a book into his hands; the music director stumbled back, shifting the papers to one hand and putting the book in his other

"Sir..what is this..?"

Joey laughed - taking the papers from Sammy, each page noting on each employee. Himself, Joey, Henry, Buddy, Susie…it went on and on!

"THAT, my dear Lawrence…is the illusion of living

AAAAHHH

Two days this took (surprisingly)

But I'm proud of it!

Yes, there's a lot of moving around but I'm happy!

(Ink demonth hosted by @halfusek)

#ink demonth #batim #Batim #sammy lawrence #norman polk #wally franks #susie campbell #the illusion of living #henry stein #joey drew #joey drew studios #buddy lewek #jack fain #shawn flynn #the ink demonth #Bendy and the ink machine

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

I Ain’t A Judas (part two)

[Off-West End]

TW: Blood

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

Lynn had seen her fair share of gruesome injuries in her time, both as an active sports player and gym coach.

When she was on her high school’s wrestling team, she vividly remembered throwing her (male, mind you) opponent to the ground and hearing the distinct sound of bones cracking. There was something haunting about being on top of a person while their skeleton seemed to fold inward, having her ear so close to that sickening snap. The resulting nightmare-inducing scream was actually a mercy to the other noise.

She had scrambled off of the boy, backing away on her hands and knees like she was a scared animal. Her opponent must have landed wrong when she pinned him because his knee was bent at an unnatural angle and he was screaming bloody murder. Someone in the audience threw up. Someone else fainted. The boy’s parents rushed over to him and began yelling.

The parents had tried to sue Lynn for the broken leg, but the school defended her, saying it wasn’t her fault and injuries were to be expected in sports. She obtained a title of sorts, being one of the most feared wrestlers in the district. She took it with honor, despite its double-edged outcomes.

The experience desensitized her to all types of gore, but not without a price. For a while, she was sensitive to any sound that resembled snapping bones. Even a foot stepping on a twig was enough to bring back the memory of the boy and the broken leg. She got over it eventually, but at the time, it had been hell.

Injuries became repetitive after that. Broken arms, broken legs, broken noses- she saw it all when she became a coach. They always went the same way, too- that damned snapping sound, a limb bent at an angle that wasn’t normal, screaming that was so loud it could probably break the sound barrier, everyone in the general vicinity panicking like chickens with their heads cut off. Not that Lynn blamed them for such a reaction; she supposed it wasn’t ever the same after you were chest-to-chest with someone when the injury happened.

But in sports, broken bones were the worst thing that could be inflicted upon someone. Scratches, bruises, black eyes, bloody noses, even the broken bones themselves to some extent were nothing compared to other horrors. So as the repetition of injuries continued its cycle, Lynn believed nothing could get worse than that time back in high school.

And then she entered the darkened White bungalow and saw Carrie on the ground, surrounded by blood and covered in blood and frothing up blood, and that way of thinking was thrown out the window.

This. This was worse.

Lynn used to think that the screaming was the worst part of any injury, regardless of severity. That elongated, guttural sound of agony that the victim didn’t have the power to mute or muffle, bearing completely raw emotion, ripped out from the throat without control or consent.

But as Lynn had knelt above Carrie White’s body, she now knew that the screaming was a mercy. The silence was the real thing that she should have been fearing all these years.

The screaming, at least, as awful as it was, meant the victim was alive. Even with their mind clouded with agony, they were sentient enough to even feel that agony. They were there, they knew, they could feel.

Carrie White was not, did not, could not.

The silence did not bring serenity. The silence did not bring peace. The silence brought panic- overwhelming, blood-rushing panic that made Lynn feel like she was standing in the middle of a rushing white water river, battered by the current. It made everything fall away into little broken pieces that would never be able to form its proper puzzle ever again. It made her feel true, unadulterated, unbridled terror for the first time since she was sixteen and in a gymnasium that smelled of salt and sweat with another kid screaming his heart out right beneath her.

It made her feel helpless.

And then, as if a giant log had been hurled from the raging river of dread and hit her in the face, awareness came rushing back to her. She stopped the flow of tears that she had not been able to fight back in those initial moments of hysteria and got her head on straight.

Sue was there, holding Carrie’s body close to her chest. Margaret was there, too, face-down on the floor, unmoving, but Lynn could have hardly cared. Her focus was entirely on the young girl bleeding all over the place before her.

The cause of that bleeding didn’t feel real, either.

“Her throat. She slit her throat.”

Lynn remembered watching something on TV, one of those cookiecutter crime shows that had been copy and pasted dozens of times before, saying something about how a throat wound could bleed out within minutes, if not seconds. She cursed her school training for not teaching her how to deal with this, opting instead to make all the teachers relearn the heimlich maneuver and CPR for the hundredth time in a row.

When she took Carrie’s small, shaking body into her arms, she discovered something worse than the silence. The gurgling. That wet, foamy sound that gargled in the back of Carrie’s throat, so desperate for proper articulation and enunciation, choked back by a torrent of her own blood. It may have meant she was still alive and fighting, but Lynn much preferred the silence.

Unwrapping Sue’s shirt from around Carrie’s neck and actually gazing upon the wound felt like a physical knife against Lynn’s throat. She had never been one of those people who could feel pain from watching others get hurt, and yet, in that moment of raw horror, she swore she could feel her own flesh being sliced open, muscles and tendons snapping away like weak thread, vessels punctured and windpipe split, slowly filling her lungs with her own blood, drowning her, restricting breathing--and then she realized she wasn’t breathing. Not while she looked at the gash. It used its severed arteries as a noose and strangled her, so she strangled it back.

Even with the hideous green and brown curtains wrapped around the wound like bulky bandages, Carrie’s neck was still so small. Lynn’s hands were so large. She felt like she was trying to asphyxiate a baby bird.

Lynn realized then that the experience in the gym was not the most horrific thing she had ever witnessed. At least she was a teenager when it happened. Being an adult and squeezing onto a child’s slashed open throat hurt in more ways than she could truly express. There was just something so fucking terrifying about being the one to pinch gushing blood vessels closed, to be the hands around a dying girl’s throat, to be the one and only defining factor to if that girl would survive the night. Even though she knew it had to be done, Lynn wanted to cut her hands off for the things they had done in those horrifying six minutes before the ambulance arrived.

Carrie’s eyes had looked so dull, so lifeless. It was a stark contrast to half an hour before she was bleeding out all over the place, when they were full of joy and life.

Lynn had never seen Carrie so happy before. She had never seen her dance, either, which made everything pre-blood dump even better. Carrie looked like a normal teenage girl, having fun at her school prom, being treated as she should have been all these years.

Lynn remembered, clear as day, those hours before the destruction.

Carrie had truly stuck out like a sore thumb in the Prom, but not in the way that any of her bullies had been expecting. The dress she wore, hand-sewn herself she had said, was soft pink and seemed to glitter in the overhead lights. Her red hair was brushed back to neatness, though that one iconic lock of bangs still dangled in front of her left eye. When they had spotted each other, Lynn was endeared to watch Carrie rip away from Tommy and run over to her in her heels.

“Miss Gardener, you look incredible!” Carrie had exclaimed.

“Thank you, Carrie,” Lynn said. “You look beautiful.” As shy and modest as always, Carrie ducked her head and said, “Oh, thank you.”

Tommy had then walked over to them. “Miss Gardener, I don’t think I would ever see you in a dress.”

Lynn gave him a sharp look. “Tommy.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “You guys want some punch? I heard Stokes and Freddy spiked it.”

“Oh no,” Carrie said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

“Really?” Lynn said to Tommy at the same time.

Tommy had laughed, then noticed Lynn’s unamused, deadpan expression. He stopped instantly.

“Uh-- No.” He said. “I’m joking.” He rubbed his palms on his black pants. “I’m going to get us some of that punch! Which is not spiked!”

Lynn rolled his eyes as he skittered away, then turned her attention back to Carrie. She looked so amazed as she gazed around the Prom, like it was the nicest event she had ever been to.

She and Carrie had talked until Tommy came back, but it wasn’t the last she would see of the girl. She chatted with her several times during the night, even danced with her on a few occasions. It was nice to see her smile after everything.

But of course, it had been ruined. Would Carrie ever get to experience true bliss without someone taking it away from her?

The memory of the blood dump had brought Lynn back to the present, to the blood on her hands on that moment. Every time she would lift them long enough for Carrie to get air, more would gush out, and she slammed them back into place every time, desperate to halt the flow. She wouldn’t have taken them away at all if Carrie wouldn’t have suffocated from the pressure on her neck.

Lynn thought about Chris when she was effectively strangling Carrie. Her own will was keeping her from adding the proper weight to Carrie’s neck, so she made herself angry to compensate for the thing she really didn’t want to do.

How could anyone be so cruel? Especially to someone who didn’t deserve such treatment? Lynn imagined it was Chris beneath her hands, and that made her squeeze tighter.

She knew it had been Chris, and not just because of her gut feeling. Norma had told her.

During the panic of laughter and shock and confusion after the blood dump, Lynn had found Norma Watson, Chris’s second-in-command, in the crowd. For a moment, she didn’t know if it was even really her, as she wasn’t used to seeing her without her trademarked red backwards hat, but then recognized her snarky face and grappled onto her with her nails dug in. However, when Norma looked at her, her face was anything but snarky. It was horrified.

“What happened?” Lynn had demanded. “Who did this?”

“Chris,” Norma told her instantly. She looked back to the stage, to the blood dripping off the edge. “I-I didn’t know it was blood…”

“What?”

Norma shook her head, mouth hanging open.

“Norma!” Lynn dug her nails in further. She didn’t care if it got her fired, she had to know. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Norma looked back at her, wide-eyed and sickened. “I didn’t know it was real blood.” She said. “Chris-- she said it was red water. Just dyed with food coloring. I didn’t think she would--”

Lynn had released her, noticing that Carrie was now gone. She couldn’t stick around any longer.

Before she rushed away, she could have sworn she faintly heard Norma utter, “I’m sorry.”

When the paramedics finally came rushing in, Lynn did not let go of Carrie. She couldn’t risk it, not anymore. Not when they were so close to salvation. The paramedics let her stay by the girl’s side until they got to the actual hospital, but then not even she could remain. She had to peel her hands back, and they were completely covered in blood.

She and Sue sat in the waiting room for what felt like forever, when it was really only two and a half hours at best. They spoke to each other in brief, choppy instances. The stink of guilt wavering off of Sue was sickening--though, that may have just been the stench of the rancid pig blood and regular human blood mixed together into a miasma upon their skin.

When the nurse finally came out and walked up to them, Lynn had been expecting the worst. Surely such a lethal wound take longer to treat. But it didn’t, apparently, because the nurse said that Carrie was stable and Carrie was going to live and they would be able to see her if they liked.

They did.

Lynn and Sue both comforted Carrie when she woke up. Her voice was very hoarse and weak, and Lynn guessed that was both because of her throat wound and from her having to strangle her to keep her from bleeding out.

Carrie didn’t seem very happy to be alive, but then Lynn realized she didn’t have much to live for in the first place. Her mother was all she had, and now even she was gone (the doctors said it was a heart attack). Lynn was hoping to take the place of that empty maternal role and give Carrie the life she deserved. She just wanted to see her happy again.

It was one in the morning when Lynn finally left the hospital. Since she had rode in the ambulance, Sue’s mother dropped her off back at the White bungalow to get her car.

The place was already swarmed with yellow tape and crime scene investigators. A few neighbors were standing out on their porch, watching the scene. Red and blue lights lit up the dark street. A police officer walked up to Lynn while she was trying to get to her car and began asking her questions about what happened.

By the time she got home, Lynn was mentally and physically drained. The first thing she did when she pulled up in her driveway was step out of her car and throw up in the lawn. Carrie’s blood was still on her hands.

Lynn lost her complete sense of time when she took a shower. She stood beneath the spray of scalding hot water and blankly watched blood run down the drain. She dimly wondered if this was what Carrie saw That Day in the locker room.

She finally broke when she got out of the shower. Staring at her own reflection in the fogged up mirror, she crumpled. Everything she had been holding back hit her like brass knuckles and she sunk to the floor, sobbing.

The tears stopped, eventually. When Lynn dredged herself from the bathroom floor, she went downstairs, started a fire in her fireplace, and threw her blood-stained Prom dress into the flames.

She would not be getting sleep tonight.

Carrie was permitted to leave the hospital two days later. By then, it seemed like everyone in the whole country had heard of what happened. Apparently a few reporters had even tried to sneak into the hospital under the guise of being family members to do an interview with Carrie, but were wrangled out.

Carrie herself looked no better than the day she came in. Her hair was wiry and tangled, and her skin was very, very ashen. Her eyes were dead, sunken into two pits in her skull. When Lynn had stepped into the hospital room, her gaze did not brighten like Lynn had been hoping. She just stared at her with a blank expression.

Lynn was given strict instructions to keep an eye on Carrie’s neck, to come in if even a single stitch popped out. Carrie was prescribed tramadol, which she should take a few hours after arriving home. If Lynn’s house could even be considered her home.

The drive was silent. Lynn tried to fill the space, but Carrie never responded. Hell, she barely even looked at her. All she did was look out the window with the same dead fish look in her eyes.

Was this even still the little girl she had danced with at Prom?

“Here we are,” Lynn said as she parked. “There’s someone waiting for you inside. I’ve told them all about you.”

Carrie tensed. Lynn realized her mistake and quickly went on, “They’ll like you, I promise. It’s nothing bad.”

Carrie’s anxiety did not go away. Lynn quickly unbuckled both of their seatbelts (had Carrie ever even ridden in a car before?), then led Carrie inside. Instantly, Carrie flinched, probably expecting someone awful to be waiting there for her, but instead a grey pit bull bounded up to them, tail wagging so fast it became a blur. Carrie relaxed slightly.

“You have a dog.”

It was the first thing Carrie had said to her all day. Lynn smiled and nodded, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

“I never told you?”

Carrie shook her head.

“Well, her name is Rosebud. You can also call her Rosie. She responds to both.”

Carrie nodded. She reached down and tentatively pet Rosebud. Rosebud responded by eagerly licking her hand. Carrie pulled away with a tiny noise, but it wasn’t one of shock or fear, rather awe. Had Carrie ever touched a dog before?

“Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

Lynn gave Carrie a tour of the house while Rosebud trailed after them. Carrie nodded to everything she said, not voicing her opinions about anything. Not that Lynn was expecting her to. She wasn’t like that. Even if it weren’t for her traumatic injury, she wouldn’t say anything.

By the time Lynn was done showing Carrie around, she realized it was only now turning to 12:00. They still had the whole day stretched out before them, and Lynn had no idea what to do.

It was weird, she thought. She had imagined raising Carrie herself several times before this, but she always pictured them doing regular family things like watching TV together or baking or going jogging. Now that the opportunity was finally in front of her, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Though, in her defense, in all of her fantasized ideas, she hadn’t pictured Carrie with a slashed open throat and severe trauma.

“Would you like to do anything?” Lynn asked. Might as well like Carrie choose.

But Carrie just shook her head, looking as clueless as she felt.

“Ah-- well…” Lynn was grasping at straws here. What did Carrie even like to do? “Here, I’ll turn the TV on for you. You can watch something.”

With a small bit of coaxing, she got Carrie to sit down on the couch. Rosebud jumped up next to her. Lynn turned on the TV and opened up the channel guide, then handed the remote to Carrie.

“Turn on whatever you want.”

Carrie looked down at the remote, then up at her, blinking.

Oh, please don’t tell me she doesn’t know how to--

“I-I, umm…”

Yep. That was enough of an answer. Carrie didn’t know how TVs worked.

“Oh, let me--” Lynn took the remote back and began explaining how it worked. “See these two arrows? If you press on them, you can go up in the channels. That’s what all of those little boxes on the screen are. And you can select with this circle in the middle.” She demonstrated, selecting one of the channels and turning on one of those house hunting shows where the white couple (and they’re ALWAYS white) never seem satisfied with any of the options they’re given even though they’re all beautiful houses. “So, is there anything specific you want to watch? Sports? Cartoons? Movies?”

“This is okay,” Carrie said softly.

“Alright,” Lynn set the remote down next to her. “You can change it anytime you want.”

Carrie nodded, then looked up at the TV. Lynn lingered beside her for a moment before walking into the kitchen.

Wow, okay. She did not expect motherhood to be this awkward. This was definitely going to be an adventure for her and Carrie both.

Time passed. The hours went by. Carrie didn’t say very much. There were some instances where Lynn completely forgot that Carrie was even there and found herself rushing back into the living room to make sure she was as she had left her (which she always was).

It was a very quiet day, indeed.

At around five o’clock in the evening, however, that quietness was broken.

There was a whimper.

It was so faint that Lynn thought she was just imagining things at first. She had looked up from the soup she was making (the doctor said that Carrie was going to have a liquid/soft food diet for awhile) and furrowed her eyebrows. She strained her ears, but the only sound she got in return was the voice of one of the Property Brothers (she couldn’t tell which was which) from the TV, so she turned her attention back to stirring the noodles in the pot in front of her, writing it off as nothing.

But then it sounded again, this time slightly louder.

Lynn’s spoon clattered against the countertop when she took it out of the pot. She looked out of the kitchen. Maybe it was just Rosebud? She whistled for her pet, then heard the scratching of claws beneath her. She looked down and saw that Rosebud was already there, begging for food in the way she always did when Lynn would cook. Lynn gave into her adorable puppy dog face and tossed her a piece of meat, which she scarfed down greedily.

Well, the whimper was probably just from Rosebud pleading for food in her usual doggy way. But then there was another whimper while she was looking down at the dog, and it had most certainly not come from Rosebud.

Lynn’s eyes widened.

Remember when it was said that Lynn sort of forgot that she had a child now living in her house? This was one of those times.

Lynn hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room, where she found Carrie curled up against one of the pillows, hand on her throat. Lynn was half-expecting there to be blood everywhere and was expecting Carrie to already be dead even more. If only she had been faster, paid more attention, actually known what the fuck she was doing and how to take care of a child--

Carrie whimpered again.

Lynn knelt down beside the couch and gently touched her arm. Carrie flinched away, eyes popping open wide. She looked at her as if she were expecting someone else, someone worse. There was terror written all over her face, and Lynn could tell she had an apology sitting on her tongue.

“I-I’m sorry--”

And there it was.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Lynn said to her, keeping her voice low and soft as to not freak the poor girl out even more. “You’re alright. You’re not in trouble. Are you okay?”

“M-my neck--” Carrie’s voice was strangled, caught in her throat like it was snagged by a fish hook. “I-it hurts--”

Lynn cursed herself for not knowing that. Of course that would be the cause of Carrie’s pain- she got her damn throat slashed open! Was she expecting it to be her damn elbows or something?

“The painkillers have probably worn off by now,” Lynn said, glancing at the time projected underneath the TV. “I’ll go get you some more.” She retrieved a tablet of Tramadol and a glass of water in record time, not wanting to leave Carrie alone for very long. She helped her sit up, then set the two items in her hands. Carrie went to take a sip from the cup, but flinched away at the last second.

“N-no--”

Lynn frowned. “You have to drink, sweetheart.” She said. “You need to take that medicine.”

“I-I can’t--”

“It’ll make the pain go away.”

Carrie shook her head, then cried out in pain when she did so, nearly spilling the water. When Lynn reached out to steady her, she jerked away as if her hands were made of fire.

“Hey, hey,” Lynn spoke softly. “It’s okay, Carrie. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Carrie looked at her, and there were tears glistening in her big hazel eyes.

“Why don’t you want to drink?” Lynn asked. Maybe if she knew the cause of the problem, she could solve it.

“Hurts--to swallow.”

Once again, Lynn mentally punched herself for not knowing that. She couldn’t imagine what Carrie must have been feeling at that moment. Was she worried that the stitches would fly out if she simply took a drink of water?

“Oh, honey,” Lynn said sadly. She reached out and gently rubbed Carrie’s shoulder, hoping to comfort her. “I know it hurts, but the medicine will help with that, I promise. You just need to take one sip, that’s all. Just one. Think you can do that for me?”

Carrie looked at her uneasily, then nodded. She drank from the cup and put the pill in her mouth while Lynn rubbed her back comfortingly. The poor thing got an expression of absolute agony on her face when she swallowed, but she managed to force it down.

“It hurts!” Carrie cried.

“You did it, baby,” Lynn said, smiling warmly. She thumbed away the tears that had sprung to Carrie’s eyes. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Hurts,” Carrie uttered again. The hand that wasn’t holding the cup grasped at her neck, as if she thought the flesh was still splitting open and she could mend it back together if she held it for long enough.

“I know,” Lynn said. “The medicine is going to help with that, though. You’ll feel better soon.”

Carrie nodded weakly. Her eyes were so dull and lifeless. Lynn wished she would smile.

“I’m going to go take the pot off the oven before I burn the whole house down,” Lynn said. “I assume that you aren’t up to eating right now?”

Carrie shook her head.

“Okay. But when the medicine starts working, you’re going to have to eat something. Doctor’s orders.”

Lynn went back to the kitchen and took the pot of soup off of the burner. She got to it just in time; it was about to bubble over the edge.

When Lynn went back to the couch, two bowls of soup in hand, Carrie was leaning back against the cushions, a glazed look in her eyes. Her hand was still on her neck. Lynn nudged her gently to get her attention.

“I’m back,” Lynn said, sitting down next to her. “I hope you like chicken noodle. Homemade.”

Carrie blinked at her slowly. “My Mama would make me boiled chicken.”

“I--”

That sounded absolutely disgusting.

“Sounds delicious!”

Carrie shrugged. Pain flashed in her eyes, and Lynn knew it wasn’t because of her neck for once.

Everyone knew about Margaret White and her weird teachings, but nobody had ever thought to do something about it. Lynn was, shamefully, one of those people. Even after she grew attached to Carrie, she still held out hope that it wasn’t as bad as everyone was saying, that the bruises that constantly showed up on Carrie’s little body were just from clumsiness.

She should have known. She should have been smarter. Maybe if she stepped in sooner Carrie wouldn’t be the way she was now.

“It was certainly boiled,” Carrie finally said, and Lynn couldn’t help but bark a laugh. Carrie blinked at her in delight.

“I bet it was,” Lynn said back, patting her head.

She and Carrie ended up switching the channel to some animated movie while they ate. Or, while Lynn ate. Carrie didn’t touch her bowl from where it sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Some time passed. Lynn noticed that Carrie was starting to blink a lot more, as if she were fighting off tears, but when she looked directly at her, she realized it was from weariness.

That was right. Tramadol’s main side effect was drowsiness. Lynn tried not to smirk.

“Someone is sleepy,” Lynn said.

“Mm-mmm,” Carrie shook her head stubbornly, then let out the most adorable yawn that Lynn had ever heard.

“You definitely are,” Lynn set her bowl down, then picked up Carrie’s. “Think you can take a few bites for me? Just a little.”

Carrie looked at her, then the bowl, then back to her, then nodded. She took the bowl from Lynn and began taking small bites.

“Good girl,” Lynn smiled, rubbing Carrie’s back. Maybe taking Carrie wouldn’t be so hard after all!

“Hey, Miss Gardener?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“You wanna know what it was like?”

“What?”

Carrie looked up at her, eyes like hollow glass, a thin line of soup dripping down the corner of her mouth, and said, “Your hands felt like they had been hanging me.”

…Or not.

#i aint a judas #off west end carrie #carrie #carrie the musical #carrie white #lynn gardener #rita desjardin #sue snell #norma watson #tommy ross #carrie fanfic #tw: blood

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knicks-knacks · 3 years

Note

wait a min who 👀 is Wistoria 👀👀 (i am wondering :)

HGFDSJGJ I love that writing that tag I was like "Krch is gonna ask about them" fdjgkhdfjk that's perfect im going to hug you

So!!! Wist!!! She's my Forsaken OC bc I just really love the deaders and think zombies are cool and think that there is a lot to be done with like... lore bits of the forsaken and you know how much I love my lore bits.

The most concise way I can describe her is she's a Forsaken fashion designer and skin stitcher/bone-engraver who specializes in designing fancy clothes that shows off the exposed or rotting bits of the Forsaken, in an effort to kind of help the people who feel dysphoric about their not-quite-dead bodies and to show people that they can embrace those things they deem "ugly" and make them beautiful, rather than hide them away in shame. However, she wasn't always so willing to embrace it herself.

More on that in the less concise story under the cut lol it got long on accident

(heads up: this characters pronouns are she/they and I use them super interchangeably throughout this. also sorry this took so long to type i got distracted and also wanted to try and cover it the best I could!)

tw for: the typical mentions of bones and missing body parts/rotting flesh typical for forsaken in WoW though nothing too graphic. and also death but her being a zombie that's a given

So, Wistoria herself, before she passed, she was a well-known seamstress in Lordaeron! Born into a noble family (though not high, her parents were only lord/lady), and growing up seeing all the pretty clothes, they pretty quickly learned they wanted to focus themself on that, and their parents supported them in that. After training under a mentor since youth she ended up getting REAL damn good at making clothes - both simple and elaborate. Eventually became the favored tailor to a lot of the nobility. It kind of helped her family climb the political ladder, making dresses and suits for the baroness and the marquis etc. She also loved dressing up herself!

She's a very kind and patient individual, always excited to hear about a client's day or what's going on in their life, though she's quite reserved about herself. They're kind of... quietly charming if that makes sense. Not charming in a way that Flynn Fairwind is, but more in an Anduin-type way? Not the type you'd take for a night out at the bar, more the type you'd have a long personal conversation with over warm tea in a dimly lit coffee shop. Comforting. Fitting sessions are almost like low-key therapy sessions because she feels rather cozy and easy to talk to about troubles - though they're not a therapist lol.

Also a tidbit that I just think is cute - she's taken some training in being a mage! It helps her with her sewing and they are a mage in game so I thought it fit perfect lol

anyways she gets murdered by the scourge and raised again and gets saved by Sylvanas etc etc etc

Due to the way that their corpse rotted, they lost the flesh of their lower jaw, and their chest, leaving her jaw and ribcage exposed.

At first, she was rather horrified by her appearance - as most forsaken are. It scared them to not look like... themself. And even surrounded by other forsaken whose bodies were just as bad off as hers if not worse, she still felt rather uncomfortable with those exposed bones. They typically wore a veil or a poncho to cover themself up as best as they could.

She continued making clothes. Threw themself into the cause to help the newly formed Forsaken. Salvaged cloths from graves to try and make wearable stuff. Helped sew up other forsaken at times, if it was urgent. But mostly helped in making clothes (and sometimes armor) for the people when they needed it.

Then, after the scourge was defeated and they made their new home in Undercity, and things started to shift into a New Normal, they gradually started going back to their roots a bit. Fancier, more dressy clothes. She also frequently ended up making adjustments to clothes she made in the past that old clients managed to salvage - what once fit perfect now didn't, due to lost limbs and lost muscle/fat. And of course, she was happy to restore those old clothes for the client, whatever she could do to help, but those were sometimes a rough job. It kind of brought a bunch of negative thoughts to the forefront when they did them. Their old life was gone and nothing would be the same, their body is no longer the same. Perhaps these clients come to her for alterations on old living clothes because they can't let go of the fact that they're no longer living. That sort of thing. Makes her deeply sad both for the whole of the Forsaken and for herself.

That changes though, as I said.

Soon after they had been saved by Sylvanas, they met Leila - a blood elf. They grew close, then closer, and you could Tell there was a fuck ton of romantic tension there from the start. Over time, Leila kind of helped Wistoria get their confidence back - because if she could love them, they could love themself too. She was still reserved about the way she looked, and still hid it all the time, but then there was a moment that kind of opened her eyes.

So uh, Leila and Wistoria had been out picking flowers that they planned to preserve and use in a dress. While out, Wist managed to slip and fall into a mud puddle and so had to change, but something about That Day she was particularly uncomfortable with her body. They turned away from Leila, and Leila pointed out to them that they didn't have to do that around her - she'd seen it all before anyway. And Wistoria commented how they didn't want to disgust her or anything. Leila frowned at her for a moment and then asks Wistoria to turn to her because she wants to do something. Wist hesitates a moment but from Leila's tone of voice, she knew that it was okay to let her see. Then Leila took some thread, and the flowers they'd just picked together, and - with permission - began tying and weaving them into and through Wistorias ribs. She filled their whole chest cavity meticulously with leaves and flowers and thread. She carefully tied a snapdragon upside down on their sternum. Then, she rummaged for a while through Wistorias fancy clothes, found a jacket, found a skirt, helped Wist get dressed.

Then, when she was finished, she turned Wistoria around and had them look in a mirror. No veil, no cover, just their body and how beautiful it was. Wistoria, of course, ends up crying, because it had just been so LONG since she dressed herself up. She hadn't been able to look at herself naked for longer than a second since she was raised, but now she couldn't stop taking it in, and how pretty it was, and how inspiring.

Leila and her have a long talk, after that, about loving herself and seeing that she didn't need to look like her living self to be beautiful. That her body wasn't this disgusting or uncomfortable thing that she needed to hide or be ashamed of, even with the missing parts.

After this, they still take time to regain their confidence, of course. But with support from Leila (and a lot of my other ocs lol) they get to the point that they love themselves again. They get their bones engraved, and they end up loving it so much that they take it up themself. She dabbles into decorative stitching on skin, something she had shied away from at first. Her clothes start reflecting her comfort, she stops wearing the veil and the cover, wears jackets with no shirt. Until eventually they're designing dresses that are cut specifically to showcase her missing parts. Like a boob window but with no boob, just skeleton!

Eventually, she becomes known for being the best person to come to when trying to get dress clothes that cater to specific missing bits. She makes capes with slits down the middle to expose the spine sticking out. They make one leg on a pantsuit sheer to see the bone. She makes gloves that hook onto the radius and ulna.

She's also a good person to go to if you want some flowers engraved on your bones. :)

Overall she's just. They struggled a lot with being raised but ended up being so proud of the Forsaken and what they've been through, and they end up just being. A real positive force to them bc I've always seen clothes and appearance really important to someone's self-image, at least to me. She wants others to feel as good in their skin, what little they have of it, like she finally does. And it took them a while to get there but they got there and I'm so proud of her 😭🥺🙌

#warcraft #wow ocs #cheezis #uhhhh there was more i wanted to write but I'm taking too long w this lol #also its almost midnight #anyways moral of the story is please give me soft forsaken i need them #sorry if this is? incoherent or confusing #or ends abruptly dfjkghjk IDK MAN!!!#thank u for askin abt my many ocs buddy ily and i appreciate it #🥺💖👌✨🥰🥰😭#also i just realized other than what parts are missing i did NOT describe what they look like at all lmfao #she was tall and skinny even before dying #her hair is a deep dark purple (most of the time) and her skins a light grey-blue color #and she's got light yellow eyes!#i also wanna note that wistoria is 100% the character im recycling into my original world dcddvg #though with a wildly different personality #she's just... so pretty....#its cut into any asymmetrical bob

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popatochisssp · 5 years

Text

Make Your Mark, 8/10

Series: Undertale, Swapfell Relationship(s): SF!Papyrus/Reader Chapter Warnings: Potential tw before the cut for being drunk around unpleasant people, nothing happens but could be scary, take care of yourselves!

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

You…may have made some bad decisions.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to go out and celebrate your move to a brand new city. You didn’t have any friends yet to go with, or any idea of where to go, but you didn’t really see why that should stop you from having a good time.

You were in Ebott now, the very definition of excitement and opportunity!

…But…you were coming to realize that there was perhaps such a thing as too much excitement.

Casual revelry with strangers at a monster bar was fun at first. So were the glowing, sparkling, color-changing drinks they’d encouraged you to try, even buying them for you when you admitted you were on a bit of a budget.

You’d been having a great time.

But now, somewhere between the drinks and the strangely-colored smoke in the air, you’re…kind of intoxicated and… the smiles your new monster friends are giving you seem to be taking a turn for the sinister.

You wave off the next glass slid your way and get up, trying not to stumble. You’re met with groans, chiding and coaxing you to stay, just a little longer, but no, no, you really can’t.

You’re disoriented, struggling to remember where the exit was and how to get there while cloying claws and paws and tentacles brush against you, not quite trying to hold you back…

Yet.

It occurs to you that probably every eye in this place is squarely on you—the lone, dizzy human making itself easy pickings—and it sets your heart going hard against your ribs, robbing you of precious breath.

For one terrifying second, you feel like you’re about to faint.

And then, an arm drapes across your shoulders, pulling you into somebody.

You look up into the eye-lights of an actual skeleton— tall and menacing, with one gleaming golden fang.

“you’re cute,” he tells you in a low, raspy voice. “let’s get out of here.”

“Uhh—?”

You don’t have a chance to argue.

The skeleton is strong and he tows your dazed and staggering self along with him like it’s nothing, and you certainly don’t have the wherewithal to fight him.

You look around and in a moment of clarity, you realize you’re suddenly being given a very wide berth.

You don’t know what to make of that.

As you’re dragged out of the bar, into the empty street behind it, the ever-worsening nature of your predicament hits you: you were really, actually about to become a statistic, mugged or murdered or worse in an alley with no one around for miles to call or even notice you were missing.

You think you’re too scared right now to even scream for help, anyway.

Suddenly, you stagger as the arm around you unceremoniously lets go.

“……sorry,” the skeleton says. “i shoulda asked ‘fore i… i just……didn’t really have any other…ideas…”

All you can do is stare at him, blankly.

Under your gaze, his cheekbones go a stunning shade of violet and he turns to stare at the wall of the building, like he can’t quite look at you.

“i mean. you… you just…looked kinda nervous? i…i saw you an’ thought, ‘hell, i know that feeling,’ an’ you didn’t come in with anybody, so. …not!” he hastily adds, “that i was watchin’ you or anything, uh, weird, just, humans, you stick out, an’ you were alone, so if you needed help, i………”

The skeleton pauses, sweat beading along his skull as something seems to occur to him.

“maybe you were havin’ fun?” he wonders with a wince. “in which case, i, uh…probably ruined your night ‘cause i didn’t… i didn’t even ask you…!”

He breaks off with a wordless noise of embarrassed frustration and your fuzzy brain can’t quite parse…most of all that anxious word-vomit, but you at least get the last bit.

“I wasn’t,” you hastily blurt out. “I wasn’t…having fun, I… Thank you, for…for getting me out of there? I… Thanks.”

The skeleton looks very relieved to hear that.

“o-oh…yeah, that’s…it’s fine,” he shrugs, with the most forced nonchalance you’ve ever seen in a shrug. “i mean, you probably shouldn’t…go places like that alone, though? humans know about the buddy system, don’t they?”

You can’t be sure, but you might be blushing, too.

“Yeah, well… I didn’t see you with a buddy,” you mutter, maybe a little childishly.

“i got…connections,” the guy tells you. Then, he laughs a little. “…nyeheheh, and a…a pretty good ‘resting bitch face.’”

You snort. “Yeah? Let’s see it.”

The skeleton takes your dare and it’s like flipping a switch—the shy magic coloring vanishes from his cheekbones and he fixes you with a look nothing short of stony. His expression is flat and his skull is abruptly all sharp, spooky angles where there’d only just been a cute, sheepish grin.

He tilts his head back, just so, and you think you understand now why nobody tried to stop this monster from absconding with you: looking like this, he seems like the type of guy who really would’ve dragged you into this alley to murder you.

“Snrk…holy shit. That’s… that’s really good, dude!”

The skeleton flips right back the second you laugh, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“papyrus,” he says, introducing himself at last, and you happily introduce yourself in return.

When he asks if you’ve got a ride home and you admit that you don’t know your new address too well—you wrote it down, on your phone, but of course it’s dead, your forethought is in peak form tonight—he offers to let you spend the night at his place.

It’s probably another bad idea and maybe you’re still reeling a bit from all the monster-drinks and secondhand who-knows-what, but he feels like a nice guy.

Trustworthy.

You let Papyrus take you home with him.

It turns out you put your faith in the right skeleton.

Even though he only had his own bed to offer you and you insisted he not go sleep on the floor, you woke up safe, sober, and fully-clothed (albeit very thoroughly cuddled).

You stayed the morning to make breakfast, as a ‘thank you.’ You met Papyrus’ very scary brother who stared at you across the table until Papyrus wandered in and eased some of the tension.

It was still a little awkward—turns out, Papyrus’ default state was ‘quiet’ and he spent most of the time wolfing down his syrup-drowned pancakes while Sans held eye-contact with you and downed a whole bottle of Sriracha (a power move?), but somehow, by the end of it…

You still decided to give Papyrus your number, in case he ever wanted to hang out or…do whatever. You were new to the city and anyone you could call a friend was a good person to know!

All things considered, it wasn’t long before Papyrus went from ‘friend’ to ‘boyfriend.’ He was a sweet guy with a real gift for snuggling and an untapped well of affection that he was happy to shower you in with only the slightest provocation.

Just a few short months after your first near-disastrous night in Ebott things are going great for you—you’ve got a decent job, actual furniture in your apartment, a cuddlebug boyfriend, and even a passing civil relationship with said boyfriend’s brother.

There’s not a single thing you would change about your life right now!

…Except…

Well.

You have a soulmark.

Which is either really, really good, or really, really bad.

You found it when you got home from that first breakfast, after your…unpleasant…night at the bar.

You’d been out of it and so many strange and dubiously-intentioned monsters had brushed up against you, skin to scales and slime and any number of textures.

Really, any one of the people there that night could’ve sparked your soulmark to manifest.

In your heart—and maybe even all the way down to your soul—you know which strange and dubiously-intentioned monster you want to have left the twisting strings of ivy wrapped around your belly, climbing up your torso and always seeming to have moved from the last time you looked.

And…Papyrus has a soulmark, too, you’ve seen it, so he’s…

It’s probably yours.

But you’re just not sure.

It doesn’t really matter if it isn’t, of course: you’d rather be dating Papyrus than any of the shady creeps who’d plied you with drinks that night, and even if he’d gotten his own mark long before he met you, he seemed perfectly content with your relationship; more than!

It doesn’t matter… but there’s still a part of you that wants to know.

Papyrus is sprawled out on the couch, and you’re lying on top of him.

It’s not the most comfortable position for you, with him being a literal skeleton and all, but he told you once that he likes to feel you on him, so you’re hanging in there awhile longer.

And thinking about the soulmark thing again.

Papyrus seems to notice your preoccupation and cranes his neck down a little to nuzzle your hair.

“what’cha thinkin’ about?” he murmurs.

You don’t see any reason to lie.

“The night we met,” you say. “…you were pretty smooth back then. Y’know, the first…five minutes or so, at least.”

You bounce a little as he laughs.

“daiquiris, angel,” Papyrus winks up at you. “coupla those an’ i’m a regular casanova.”

You snicker…but, “Knight in shining armor, more like.”

His skull turns a very cute shade of lilac.

“…aaahhh, stop,” he grumbles. “it wasn’t…that big a deal……”

“It was to me!” you insist, pushing yourself up on his ribs. “You saved my ass and you know it, Rus.”

“mmmnn…s’a cute ass…”

Papyrus was hot garbage when it came to just accepting a compliment.

You fully intend to work on that, but you decide to have mercy on him and let it go for now.

Instead, you go for a different sort of gamble.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause we’re soulmates,” you accuse.

You keep your eyes on Papyrus’ face, not sure what kind of reaction you’re looking hoping for.

The way he just…smiles at you, eye-sockets crinkling at the corners, feels a little like running into a step on the stairs that you didn’t know was there.

“nah,” he says, “it’d be cute no matter what.”

You sag a little in sheer surprise— was it really that easy?—and Papyrus tilts his head, trying to piece together what’s going on in your head.

For as awkward as he is around people, he’s not half-bad at jumping to conclusions.

“……did you…not know?”

“No,” you hasten to assure him, “no, I…knew. Or, I mean, I kinda figured… I hoped, mostly, but…” You laugh a little, more at yourself than anything. “It was kind of a…weird…night, and we never exactly talked about it…”

Slowly, but surely…

Papyrus starts to snicker.

And then to outright laugh.

“nyeheheheheheh, holy shit,” he wheezes, “i thought i was bad… yuh…you weren’t sure and you took this long to ask about it??? pfft, stars above,you’re the best…”

If it wasn’t for the total, unflinching sincerity in that last bit, you think you might be a little offended.

As it is, you don’t really protest very hard when Papyrus deftly turns you over on top of him, so your back is to his chest, or when he starts to wriggle a bit and you can’t really see what he’s doing.

Apparently, he was shrugging off his jacket.

When he wraps his arms around you again, they’re bare and you can see the artful line of feathers along them, trailing all the way down from his scapulae.

“why d’you think i call you ‘angel’ so much?” he chuckles, setting his jaw atop your head. “m’wearin’ your wings…”

He says it so simply, so matter-of-fact…

And honestly, it’s everything you needed to hear.

You’re so glad Papyrus found you.

#make your mark #undertale #papyrus #papyrus/reader #swapfell/fellswap #sf!papyrus #myfic

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nom-the-skel · 5 years

Text

[vore] Nice While It Lasted

Cat!Red and bunny!Blueberry have some weird kind of relationship

fatal and non-fatal soft vore, tw betrayal, tw suicidal actions

1.6k words - [on AO3]

“Wow, thanks, Blue. This is way easier than catchin’ ‘em myself.”

“It’s not hard. They don’t suspect a bunny.” Blueberry giggled, clutching the mouse he hadn’t yet handed over. The little notch-eared skelemouse had its teeth buried in his glove but he didn’t seem to notice.

Red lifted the mouse he’d already received and let it dangle by its tail over his open jaws. Blue watched, enraptured, and Red was almost worried he’d forget to keep hold of the other mouse. So he didn’t waste any more time before dropping the mouse in and gulping it down.

Blueberry stared at him, not moving.

“Is this bothering ya, Blue?” he asked. He could eat the other mouse out of the bunny’s sight.

“Oh, no—” Blueberry’s cheekbones were faintly cyan. “That’s not it. I was just wondering if maybe—I could feed you the other one.”

“Oh.” Red felt his own skull flush at the idea. “I guess so, yeah.”

He knelt down to bring his face within easy reach. Blueberry hesitated, then stepped forward, pulling the unfortunate mouse’s teeth free from his glove and wrapping his fingers around it, pinning its arms to its sides. The mouse shrieked in rage.

“Traitor! Murderer!”

But its voice was so small it didn’t strike Red as significant, and if Blueberry was bothered he didn’t let on.

The bunny touched Red’s jaw reverently with his free hand, not firmly enough to brace himself. Ignoring the mouse’s curses, he pushed the hand holding it deep into Red’s throat. It wasn’t terribly comfortable for Red, but he could feel Blue’s fingers spread and release the mouse, so he swallowed around the bunny’s hand, purring a little at the feeling of the squirming mouse sliding deep into him.

After a moment Blue pulled his hand out and Red let him. The bunny examined his red-stained glove, turning his hand and flexing his fingers. Next time he should take his glove off, Red thought. Even if the mouse bit him, it wasn’t like that would dust him.

Sitting there with his jaws gaping open and Blueberry staring in at his tongue, Red began to feel awkward. “You wanna see what happens to ‘em in here?” he asked, straightening and patting his belly. He tucked a phalange under the hem of his sweater, but Blueberry rushed forward and stopped him, holding the cat’s hand down with his own.

“Oh no. That’s horrible.” But the rabbit leaned against him despite knowing what was going on beneath the layers of cloth and ectoflesh.

“Well sorry for bein’ horrible,” Red said sulkily. “I didn’t ask to be born a carnivore.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Red. I didn’t mean…” Blueberry pressed close and clutched his shirt, despite his left glove still being slimy. If Red had been as much a neat freak as the bunny he would have been annoyed, but he was only amused and gratified to have Blueberry cuddle against him. “Would you do me a favor?” the bunny asked brightly, looking up at him.

“Sure.”

“Open your mouth.”

Red did, and Blue stepped back to get a better view of it, gently pulling Red’s jaw to make him kneel again. Red’s tail waved languidly as the bunny stared down his throat, gradually pushing his face closer until his own jawbone rested on Red’s tongue. The urge to bite down, take hold of the bunny and swallow his skull, grew stronger by the moment, but just as it was about to overwhelm the cat, Blue drew back with a gasp.

Red ran his tongue across his teeth, grinning. “You like what you see? Careful, bunny, what goes in doesn’t come out,” he warned.

Blue laughed nervously, his entire face a deep cyan. Red leaned forward and licked him affectionately, which made him giggle more. Red pushed him down onto the grass and slipped a phalange below the hem of the bunny’s pants, making him gasp again.

***

“I caught you another mouse.”

Red looked at the little monster peering out of Blues hands. “He doesn’t seem very scared, does he?”

“Yeah, I told him he’d be okay. Right?”

Red smirked at the mouse. “Yeah, of course. I’m not like other cats.”

“Ready?” Blue asked.

“Wait. Take off your gloves.”

“Oh, okay.”

The mouse looked a lot like the last one, except that its ears and bones were smooth and perfect. It sat patiently in Blue’s hand as he pulled one glove off with his teeth, and then cooperated as he switched hands and repeated the process, and set the gloves neatly aside.

“You wanna do that thing again?” Red asked, getting down on his knees.

“Yeah!” Blueberry lifted the mouse to his face for a nuzzle and stepped closer to Red, reaching forward and setting his hand, grasping the mouse, on the cat’s tongue. The cooperative mouse let him proceed without hurrying, loosening his grip so that the mouse sat on Red’s tongue. The cat purred encouragingly.

Blue didn’t really need to push the mouse deeper, especially since it wasn’t even trying to escape, but he did, sliding it along Red’s tongue until his hand was lodged in the cat’s throat. Like before, Red swallowed the mouse down, letting Blue feel his ectoflesh contract around the bare bones of his hand, and waited with his jaws open for the bunny to pull back out.

But Blueberry didn’t. He pushed his hand deeper. Red couldn’t ask what he was doing, with his mouth full of bunny humerus, and besides, he found himself purring louder, salivating as more of the bunny fit between his jaws. Red stretched them wider to accommodate him.

Did he really want to eat the bunny? Who was gonna catch him mice if Blueberry was gone? But those thoughts weren’t enough to put on the brakes when Blueberry ducked his skull between the rows of teeth. Red leaned forward, as Blue was already on his tiptoes and couldn’t push himself deeper under his own power. The bunny’s skull pressed against the back of his throat and he couldn’t help but swallow, careful not to snag Blue’s silky ears with his teeth. He leaned over further to press his jaws around the bunny’s shoulders and with another gulp he was able to lift him in his mouth. Then he tilted his skull back and gulped down the bunny’s legs at a leisurely pace.

It had been nice while it lasted, but he had no regrets; the bunny was ten times as good as any mouse. Far too full to do anything else, he curled up in the grass where he was to sleep off the meal.

***

The sun was low when Red woke up. Blueberry was bigger than anything he’d eaten before, but he’d watched what happened to the mice inside him and he knew they didn’t last long once they went to dust. The bunny was probably gone by now.

He stretched, and found that he was just as full as before he’d fallen asleep.

“Blue? You still in there?” He pulled his sweater up for a better view. The rabbit looked none the worse for the hours he’d spent inside the cat. He squirmed a little in response.

Red frowned. He’d been willing to eat the rabbit, but he was disturbed by the thought of Blue’s demise lasting this long. Then again—he didn’t seem to be in any pain. Maybe digestion was just much slower with a monster this size?

Blueberry was grinning out at him through the translucent red magic, so maybe he was fine with that. But Red wasn’t sure he wanted to carry the bunny around in his stomach for days on end, if it was going to take that long. Perhaps if he ate some grass he could induce his body to vomit the bunny out again. It was worth a shot—but as he looked around for the most appealing grass, he was struck with an idea. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment.

He was rewarded with the bunny dropping into his lap, gasping for breath, as the magic holding him in was dispelled. It was good for Blueberry that skeletons didn’t need to breathe, or he’d have suffocated long ago.

“Hi, Red,” the bunny said, his voice weak, his skull, like the rest of him, generously smeared with residual crimson magic, ears sagging from the weight of it.

“Hey,” Red answered, ears cocked uncertainly. He’d never talked to someone he’d already eaten before.

“I thought you were gonna—you know.”

“Heh. Yeah, me too.”

“Going to what?” squeaked a voice, and Red noticed that Blueberry still had the mouse clasped in his hands.

“Er, nothin,” he said. “You guys have a good time?”

“It was a little crowded,” the mouse said, pulling himself out of Blue’s grasp. “You didn’t say anything about eating the bunny too.”

Blueberry and Red laughed guiltily in unison. Red was certain that if he’d stopped at the mouse, it wouldn’t have lived to see this moment.

Blueberry sat up, holding onto Red’s jacket. “You better go, mousie. Your brother must be worried that you’ve been gone so long.”

“Nah, he’s used to it,” the mouse said, hopping down from the bunny’s lap. He turned to look knowingly at them. “Don’t worry, I won’t be a third wheel if you don’t want one. But we should do this again sometime.” He winked he scampered off.

Staying cuddled close to Red, Blueberry started wiping the worst of the ectoplasm off his skull and ears. “What happened, kitty? I thought for sure I was gonna—you know—stop running, as we rabbits say.”

Red blinked at him. “Don’t give me too much credit. I definitely intended to, uh, go all the way.”

“So it’s not intent.”

“I guess—maybe I just—can’t quite think of you that way.”

“Maybe your body knows what you want better than you do.” Blue grinned mischievously.

Red snorted and rose up, dumping the bunny unceremoniously off his lap, then leaned down to kiss him, straddling him on his hands and knees. “I think we both want the same thing right now.”

#nomtheskel writing #wolfbunny fic one-shots #soft vore #undertail vore

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scaryscarecrows · 6 years

Text

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

AN: Dove Marquis is mine-she's essentially Penguin's PA (keeps track of his passwords, lawyers' numbers, alibis...). If there's a genuinely nice person in Gotham, it's her. This all takes place six, seven months before the legendary Tire Jacking incident. Title from the Lorde cover of the Tears for Fears song.

TW: vague-yet-hard-to-miss warnings of child prostitution. Nothing graphic, but they're there.

Jason’s cold.

He’s been cold, and wet, for most of the day, s’just that now it’s dark and the bricks he’d huddled up to have long since lost their heat.

He buries his hands in his pockets, fingering the holes there, and stifles a cough. His head hurts.

He watches people scurry by on the sidewalk, dodging the alley opening like a monster might reach out and pull them in. It starts to rain again and he ducks behind the sort-of shelter of a nearby dumpster, the smell threatening to make him sick.

And then the door opens.

The door’s never opened before. But it’s open now, soft light spilling onto the dirt and cardboard. An umbrella appears first, small and black, followed by a lady all dressed up in lace ‘n velvet and heels.

The door closes as quickly as it opened, but the lady stays nearby, umbrella propped against her shoulder while she lights a cigarette.

Jason’s not gonna say anythin’, just gonna wait right here ‘til she goes back in.

That’s the plan. The safe plan, the one that’ll let him stay here where it’s mostly outta the rain. And then he ruins it by sneezing. Violently. And like five times in a row.

Maybe she didn’t-

“Hello?”

Shit.

Freeze or flee? If he doesn’t make any more noise, maybe she won’t notice him and just think it was someone on the sidewalk.

“Someone here?”

Nope, no one, finish your smoke break and go back inside, please…

Heels click over to him and the next thing he knows, the drizzles have stopped because she’s kneeling in front of him, umbrella tilted just enough to cover him, too.

“Hey, there, honey.” He blinks at her, wonders if he can squeeze by and make a run for it. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Don’t got an umbrella. You got a problem with that?”

He doesn’t like the look she’s giving him. Straight-up pity, like he’s a drowned puppy. Bullshit.

“It’s cold out here,” is all she says. “Don’t you want to come inside?”

Um…

She’s not…she doesn’t…look. There’s a certain type of people that…ask that…and she doesn’t look the type. Who’s he to know, but…

“No,” he mumbles, eyeing the gap between her and the sidewalk. He could probably fend her off long enough to find a safer alley, use those heels against her. “No, I’m just gonna…”

He sneezes again and his head swims. A lace-covered hand reaches out and brushes against his forehead. He pulls away, shivering.

“Oh, honey.” Pity. So much pity, he fucking hates it. “Come on, let’s get you dried off, get you somethin’ to eat.”

“I don’t want-”

“Trust me, nothing’s going to happen to you.” He doesn’t believe her. “Would you rather me bring you somethin’ out here?”

He doesn’t want anything, could be drugged or somethin’.

He shakes his head-mistake, big mistake-and draws as far away from her as possible, even though it means sacrificing the umbrella.

“Come on.” She stands up and moves just enough that his exit is that much harder to get to. “It’s just going to get worse, and we’ve got a skeleton crew right now. I promise nothing is going to happen to you.”

He struggles up, intending to make a run for it, and the resulting light-headedness has him nearly falling back down. The lady grabs his arm to steady him and apparently he doesn’t have a choice.

Hopefully the food’s drugged.

He lets her tug him to the door and again the soft light spills into the alleyway. S’bright, hurts his head. The lady furls the umbrella and sets it in a stand.

“Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes. Probably won’t fit you, but it’ll be better than being wet.”

Huh?

“Oi, Dove, whatcha got?” a man, tattoos visible thanks to rolled sleeves, shouts across the room. Jason swallows and tries not to pull away.

“Let him be, Olli, he’s just a kid.” The lady-Dove?-gives him a nudge. “Come on.”

The room’s big and everything in it looks like it costs more than the whole building. It’s all purple and gold and plush. There’s a stage on one wall and a bar on the other and just behind the bar is a little staircase. Dove leads him there.

“Up here. A lot of us keep spare clothes, ‘cuz of the weather.”

This room’s smaller but no less nice-it’s blue, though, and sure enough, there’s a wardrobe and a couple’a chests and a big mirror.

“Let me see…uh…” She looks him up and down. “Think you’ll have to borrow from me, everyone else is huge.”

“I-I don’t need-”

“Kiddo, you look like a drowned rat. And you sound like shit.” She rifles through a chest and comes up with black sweats and a t-shirt that says Stay sexy, don’t get murdered! “Here. Put these on, just throw what you’ve got over the rail there. Come on down when you’re ready and we’ll see about food, huh?”

And with that, she leaves him in the blue room. There’s no window to sneak out through, and the stairs only went here.

The shirt’s soft, he finds when he picks it up. Too big for him, but soft. He ends up tying a knot so it doesn’t turn into a dress. The sweats have to be rolled (and rolled, and rolled), but he eventually gets them so he won’t trip and die. They’re warm. And dry. And soft, real soft.

He doesn’t wanna go downstairs.

He goes anyway, in case they come up here instead.

There’s not a lot of people in here-six or seven, maybe. Most of ‘em don’t even notice him, or don’t care. He wonders what they’re doing. Construction, he can see that, but like, last-minute construction. Upholstery and things.

Dove’s across the room, arguing with a man about ‘boss said’. Boss? So she’s not in charge here? What’s goin’ on?

He sneezes-damn-and starts to cough. Dove’s kneeling in front of him in a flash.

“A little dryer?” He manages a nod. “Okay, let’s see…kitchen’s not stocked, but there might be some hot chocolate back there. Wanna start with that?” He shrugs. It doesn’t matter. “Come on. You can watch me make it.” Huh? “If I come out here and find you raiding that liquor cabinet, I will rat you out!”

This last is directed at Olli, who laughs.

“Just a drop, Dove?”

“You wanna explain to Penguin that we’re out of booze before we even open?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then no.”

Penguin? As in, the guy that used to be a crime boss, then the mayor, and then went back to crime?

Shit. He’s gonna die. He’s seen too much and forget knock-out drugs, the hot chocolate’s gonna be poisoned.

“I’m actually okay, so…”

Nature hates him. He’s just about to start inching towards the door when there’s a crack and a BOOOOOOOM outside, loud enough to feel in his bones.

“You’re not going back out in this. Come on.”

She steers him towards a pair of swinging doors. The kitchen’s cold, empty and steel. Some of the cabinets are half-open, and Dove frowns and smacks them shut, muttering about ‘raised by wolves’ and ‘take an eye out’.

“I swear, if we’re out, they’re going out to get me more, that was my box-here we are!” She pulls a blue box out of a cupboard. “I always have to hide it, because they ruin it with cheap whiskey.”

He doesn’t say anything. Outside, there’s another BOOM of thunder.

The kitchen floor is cold against his toes and that, more than anything, reminds him that running isn’t worth it. They’ll catch him, easy, and that’ll be the end of that.

Dove fills a kettle with water from the tap, plunks it on the stove, and turns on the gas.

“We gotta wait a bit, this stove takes its sweet time boiling water. Just water. Everything else is fine, but water? You could take over Gotham while you wait.”

“Like that’s hard,” he mumbles involuntarily. She snorts and pulls down mugs.

“And there’s that Crime Alley sass. Thought you had some in there.” Clunk, clunk, go the mugs against the counter. “I mean what I said. Nothing is going to happen to you tonight.”

Yeah, he’s heard that one before.

He sneezes again-ow-and wraps his arms around himself. He’s confused. There’s a lotta ways this should be going, but it’s…not.

“You got a name, kiddo?”

“Jason,” he mutters.

“Good to meet you. I’m Dove.”

Yeah. He figured.

She tears the envelopes open, one by one, and dumps the brown powder into the mugs. Nothing else follows. Maybe they’re not gonna poison him for seeing things. Like there’s anything to see, but he knows how crime lords work. No witnesses.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he says anyway, just in case. Dove snorts again and shakes her head.

“Boss is out of town, and he’s not the type to murder kids. He’s bad with them, though. God, he visited a school once…I never thought I’d be so glad to see him go back to crime.”

“What happened?”

“His advice for dealing with bullies was ‘push them down the stairs’.”

Oh.

That’s…that’s…it probably works, but still.

The kettle screeches and he flinches. Dove pours the water into the mugs, the glug-glug-glug loud in the open space. Nothing else follows the water-no hidden vial or envelope or anything. In the main room, something thuds and there’s swearing.

“Stay here. Spoons are in the right-hand drawer, if you wanna mix that up.”

Click-clack, click-clack.

He tugs the drawer open, steel like ice against his fingers. Sure enough, there’s spoons, all piled in a little basket.

“The hell’d you do?”

“It’s fine, I got it.”

“If I have to tell the boss that you idiots broke things, I will be naming names.”

“Aw, c’mon…”

“I know it was you that ate my damn leftovers, don’t even test me.”

“That was last week!”

Jason grins despite himself and leans up. The powder’s mostly settled in a little hill at the bottom of the mugs, but there’s some floating at the top. Looks normal. Smells normal. Probably not ‘special crime lord poison hot chocolate’, then.

“Just be careful, okay? I have bigger shit to worry about than you breaking the sound system.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Dove comes back in, rolling her eyes. Jason steps away from the counter and eyes the swinging doors.

“Life lesson-padlock your leftovers,” she grumbles. “All set? Lemme see if there’s food.”

He wraps his hands around the mug, soaking up the warmth. A little voice in the back of his mind says it’s too hot, but his numb fingers refuse to let go. It’s the warmest thing he’s felt in days and like hell is he giving that up.

“Uh…how’s pizza sound?”

“I’m good…”

“Well, they have to eat, I have to eat, you may as well eat with us. C’mon.” They go back into the main room. “Calling pizza, who wants what?”

Jason’s never seen such a swarm of noise, not from adults. They all teleport across the room, bickering over pineapple (‘fuck, don’t go ruining the art, man!’ ‘I’m not, and stop swearing in front of the kid!’ ‘fudge you!’).

* * *

By the time dinner’s over, Jason’s hot chocolate is gone. He’s warm (ish) and more sleepy than anything else. The men have long since stopped even pretending to work and are sprawled on the stage, arguing about the lyrics to ‘Dr. Feelgood’. He’s sitting up against the wall, wishing the lights wouldn’t make everything seem so blurry and wondering when they’ll throw him out.

He yawns and shakes his head to try and wake himself up a little more. It doesn’t work, but it makes everything that much blurrier…but that could be the headache.

“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s ‘come play with cock’, clear as fuckin’ day.”

“Stop swearing in front of the kid, dummy! And no it’s not.”

“V’heard worse,” he says. “You don’t have to watch it around me.”

“You’re like nine, I don’t swear around kids younger than thirteen.”

“Ten!”

All that does is make them laugh and the one-the ‘don’t swear’ one-reaches over to ruffle his hair. He pulls away and swats half-heartedly at the scarred hand.

“Still younger than thirteen. So stop swearing, ipshit-day.”

“I know what you said.”

They laugh harder. Jason scowls and wraps his arms around his knees.

Eventually the conversation quiets down, turning to spouses and kids, and Jason yawns again, winces when it turns into a nasty hacking. Dove gets up and vanishes into the kitchen. Should he follow? She didn’t say to follow, and nobody else is paying any attention to him, but…

The coughing doesn’t want to stop and he doesn’t notice, at first, that the conversation’s stopped. Not until Dove’s crouching in front of him again, holding out a glass of water. The others are looking over with that same pity she had before and he refuses to make eye contact with any of them.

“Gettin’ tired?” He shakes his head, knowing that ‘tired’ means ‘time to go home’ which means ‘get out now’. From the look of her, she doesn’t believe him. “You sure? It’s awfully late.”

He’s had later nights.

“M’fine.”

“Well, at least come sit with me, huh? Test out the booths, make sure they’re all good for the customers.”

That’s the flimsiest lie he’s ever heard, but he gets up anyway and scrunches into a plush booth near the bar. It’s purple and velvet and soft and he doesn’t even try to stop rubbing his fingers over it.

“I gotta go supervise, okay? If you want anything, just yell.”

Once she’s not looking, he curls up on his side, looking out at the other tables. It feels good to lie down on something that’s not cardboard or otherwise rescued from a dumpster. Feels even better to close his eyes to the blurriness. Just for a minute, that’s all.

A minute turns into ten turns into twenty, and the next thing he knows, someone’s draping a coat over him.

“Mm…”

“Shh.” No Swearing Guy. “Go back to sleep, buddy.”

S’just a coat. And it’s warm, real warm.

He wasn’t sleeping, but he’ll close his eyes again if it means he gets to keep the coat for a bit.

No Swearing Guy walks away and Jason burrows under the heavy fabric. After a few minutes, he makes a few adjustments so’s the sleeves are bunched up to make a pillow. If he’s gonna be here, he may as well be comfy, right?

Just for a little bit. Tha’s all, just for a little bit, then he’ll get up and let himself out.

Few more minutes.

Jus’ a few more minutes…

Zzz.

THE END

#little jason #you know he's like three feet of spite #when he's not sick #jason todd #pre robin days

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pnmrks · 7 years

Text

Save John Watson

PROMPT — John & Mary didn't have Rosie, but Mary is dead and John blames Sherlock. Sherlock blames himself, it's all a mess. Despite his underlying resentment toward Sherlock, John can't bear to live in the flat he and Mary shared. He's been living back at 221B but he and Sherlock rarely speak because of the tension between them regarding Mary's death.

TW: suicide ideation/attempt, intense and severe emotional content.

Word Count: 2,573

Read it on Wattpad in my one shot book

John took the stairs up to his bedroom with dragging, labored steps. It'd been a slow, long day, but he wasn't sure if it was the lack of patients or his own drudgery that made him feel that way. His work bag hit the floor with a thud, the open zipper allowing his spare clothes to spill onto the hardwood floor.

It was his first week back to work after Mary. It'd been two months. He hadn't had any intention of going back, ever, but Mrs. Hudson had been the one to push him.

"Oh John, but you love the clinic. You're a lovely doctor and you'll drive yourself mad if you keep sulking this way."

Sulking. He scoffed aloud as he lowered his aching body onto the edge of his mattress and worked at untying his shoes. This was more than sulking. It was more than grief and mourning.

John's days were filled with emotional rollercoasters. The hills were peak lividity, anger that burned white hot and made his entire skeleton vibrate. The valleys were deep, dark, cavernous pits of guilt that dragged him down like quicksand and the more he worked to get out, the deeper he fell in.

Nights were spent lying awake with his eyes glued to the ceiling because if he looked anywhere else, he was afraid of what he'd see in the shadows. The alternative was a blackout stupor, which Mrs. Hudson had expressed her discomfort with on multiple occasions.

He'd started sleeping with headphones in because when he didn't, he could hear Sherlock walking the floors at all hours of the night.

More than once, John had been jolted awake by a creaking at the stairs, and he had been positive that Sherlock was standing there on the landing watching him sleep. Nothing ever came of it. John still slept with the door closed after that.

There had been days that he had to walk past Sherlock to get to bed, or to fetch a cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson had called them both down for. Those days were starting to get closer and closer together. John had to think it was entirely Mrs. Hudson's doing.

Despite her efforts, a single word still hadn't been exchanged between the two since John had asked if he could move back into his room.

"Don't shoot me if you hear me take the stairs tonight."

"Hmm?"

"I'll be coming back tonight. Don't shoot me."

"Ah, right."

"Mm. Right, then."

At times, John wanted to come home from work, walk into the living room, and sit down across from him. He wanted to brush it all off, forget any of it happened, and move on. He wanted his life back.

When he thought too hard about wanting those things, the anger flared up again and John found himself uncomfortable even being in the same building as Sherlock. He didn't want to blame him the way he did. He didn't want to hate his best friend.

"John, love?" He jumped at Mrs. Hudson calling from the bottom of the stairs. "Did you want that cuppa? I've just put the kettle on."

"That's all right, Mrs. H," he said, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thank you."

John had been sitting on the edge of his worn-down mattress with his handgun for twenty minutes. With shaking breaths and trembling hands, he'd pressed it to his head in every way possible. Against his temple, under his chin, against the roof of his mouth. Each time, his finger hovered over the trigger, but he didn't have the gall to pull it. Finally, he gave up.

The flat was still silent. The sun was setting. The evening was coming to a close. A gunshot would make noise, cause a disturbance. Not to mention the mess.

The thought of Mrs. Hudson coming upstairs to discover his befouled room made him sick. He didn't want to think about Anderson cleaning his brain matter off the ceiling and walls when the police got there. Or Molly, conducting his post-mortem and having to cover his head because she couldn't stand to see him in that state.

"Christ," he muttered, finally finding it in himself to hit the safety and discard the weapon onto the floor. He'd never thought it'd be this hard or come with such an emotional burden.

John had always imagined his own death as being fast, painless, over in a blink of an eye, no questions asked, no extended thought processes involved. There was no need to for dramatics or a note or a body that could be shown at an open casket funeral.

He always thought that choosing to end his own life would be just that: his choice. A selfish choice without consequence because he'd be gone and it wouldn't fucking matter anymore. But there he was, thinking about the ins and outs of what putting a bullet in his head would do for the people around him. He'd be burdening them even after he'd gone, and that was enough to put him off.

He and Sherlock had investigated suicides before, messy ones in particular. Often they turned out to be murders. Regardless, everyone close to the deceased was utterly traumatized and even though he didn't want to, John couldn't help but think about his friends going through the same thing.

And he hated that. He hated that in the process of trying to kill himself, he was still sitting there trying to give himself permission to do that to his friends.

He decided to sleep seemed a much easier option. Less noise, no mess. Less likely that whoever found him when it was over would be wrecked forever by the image of his mutilated corpse.

"I tried, love, but I'm sure he's caught onto us by now." Mrs. Hudson heaved a heavy sigh and discarded John's unclaimed cup of tea. "He will come around, you know."

Sherlock's pointer finger traced around the edge of the teacup, the lukewarm liquid inside untouched. He wasn't quite used to feeling so helpless, so unsure of what the right course of action was.

"I'm beginning to doubt him," he said without thinking, then caught himself, tripping over his tongue. "Not him, of course. But perhaps the state of our—Whatever's left of—"

She was at Sherlock's side in a moment, squeezing his free hand between both of hers.

"Sherlock, won't you just speak to him?"

"Oh, don't be foolish, Mrs. Hudson. If John had any interest in—" He caught himself again, bringing his dull gaze up to the woman standing above him. "This is really how this works, isn't it? He pretends to resent me but really he's waiting for me to speak first?"

Mrs. Hudson gave him a small smile and patted the back of his hand before she returned to her puttering.

"I do believe he's the one who told you he'd be coming back."

"Oh, that doesn't count! That—"

"It's your move, Sherlock, dear." She flipped a dish towel over her shoulder and turned her back. "Now, get on with it won't you? I expect to be eating together like civilized adults by morning."

Sherlock took the stairs slowly, cautiously, trying his hardest not to drag his heels. There were so many times he crossed the landing in front of John's room and paused, just for a moment, to consider the very thing he was about to do. He'd only had to reach out to John a select few times. The last time he'd done so was immediately after Mary's death, and he had been rejected with a stinging, "don't you dare."

He hadn't tried again since.

But now, Sherlock had every intention of extending a hand to John, to pull him back from whatever dark place he'd fallen into over the course of the last several weeks. John had done it so many times for Sherlock, and perhaps that was the only thing helping him swallow his pride now.

He cleared his throat, knuckles grazing the wood of John's bedroom door. Sherlock gave two gentle knocks that were met with silence.

"Uh, John, I-I know you're in there, you just called down to Mrs. Hudson not an hour ago. If you don't mind, I'd like to... Talk."

Silence. Sherlock raked a hand through his hair, torn between storming back downstairs or barging in.

"Well, I'm opening the door now. I understand you're angry with me, but please don't shoot..."

As the door slid open and light was cast across the floor and onto the bed, Sherlock's stomach flipped and immediately heaved. In the first few moments, he was sure that he'd disturbed John in the middle of sleeping. By the next moment, he realized that John was entirely too still, too relaxed to have just laid down and fallen asleep. As he crossed the room with numb legs and heavy feet, Sherlock sent tiny, white pills skittering across the hardwood floor.

"John?" Sherlock managed a single syllable through his quickly-closing throat, but after that it came spilling out in a stream as he found himself at John's bedside, shaking him by the shoulders. "John. John... John? John!"

And finally, more words came, but Sherlock no longer recognized them as his own.

"MRS. HUDSON!"

She was already at the door, looking just as confused as Sherlock had been when he'd first entered. "Sherlock what in bloody—"

"Call an ambulance, NOW!"

While she screeched and ran for the phone, Sherlock continued to paw at John's limp form, looking for signs of hope. There's was hardly a pulse that Sherlock could locate with his trembling hands. There was no indication of vomit—no indication that John's body had rejected the shock to its system and tried to save him. No indication that there was any time at all to wait for an ambulance to arrive in central London.

"They won't be here fast enough," Sherlock muttered, already scooping John up and slinging him over his shoulder. He met Mrs. Hudson in the doorway again. This time there was no confusion. She was alternatively whimpering and wailing at Sherlock, demanding to know what he was doing. "They won't be here! I have to—"

"What, you have to what?!" She shrieked, following after him as he took the stair two at a time on the way down, John's head bobbing behind him. She caught up with him in the living room and managed to grab an arm and slow him down in the hallway. "Sherlock Holmes, if you don't—"

"You'll not want to witness this, please just trust me."

Sherlock ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He gently laid John in the bathtub, his skin looking eerily similar to the porcelain. Sherlock took only a moment to close his eyes and collect himself, to force himself to stay focused on what had to happen and block out Mrs. Hudson's weeping on the other side of the door.

"Right now, John. It seems your body isn't doing the best job trying to save your life," Sherlock whispered. He sat John up as straight as he could get him, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso. "So, I suppose I'll have to help it along. There's no easy or clean way to do this, so apologies in advance for making sure you survive."

With his free hand, he reached up and turned on the showerhead, blasting them both with cold water. With chattering teeth and shaking hands, Sherlock secured himself and pushed two fingers to the back of John's throat. The reaction was delayed, but moments later, the contents of John's stomach were washing off his lap and down the drain.

"Come on, now, John." Sherlock leaned further into the tub, sitting him up, slapping his cheeks. "Come on."

Another wave of vomit came before John was caught in a coughing fit.

"I know, I know," Sherlock hummed. "It's okay. You're okay now."

John reached for nothing, still unconscious, but much more alive. Sherlock pushed his hands back down and held them there, if only for his own sake.

"It's all right. Take your time. Take your time, just breathe."

The rising and falling of John's chest were much more noticeable, much more normal. Sherlock kept an arm wrapped around him and the water on. He was not out of danger, but at the very least, what was left of the poison was running down the drain. Through chattering teeth, he continued to remind John that it was all okay now, that there was no hurry, that it would all get sorted out. He just had to hang in there for the ambulance.

"Yes, right in there! Oh, please, please hurry!"

Though he heard them coming, Sherlock was still stunned when two paramedics burst in the bathroom door. He was pushed aside, though he was still latched onto John. As they pulled him off, Sherlock thought he felt John's fingers tighten around his own, if only for a moment. That was enough for him to back out of the room and let them go to about their work.

"He will be all right, you know," Lestrade muttered. He stood beside Sherlock, just outside of John's hospital room. "You did the right thing by not waiting."

"I know." Sherlock adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. The condition of getting to stay so close to John while the monitored him, which he didn't entirely mind. He was sure they'd both been hypothermic. A chill still ran through his bones. "Can't trust London police or ambulances with a damn thing."

"Sherlock."

"Oh, don't take it personally."

"No, Sherlock." Lestrade stepped in front of him, forcing his focus away from John's sleeping body. "He'll be all right. Unconscious for a day or two probably, but—"

"Thank you, George, I don't need a medical lesson. We just went over that I was the one who saved his life."

Lestrade sighed heavily and stepped aside again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, resigning from the discussion for now. Silence settled over them while they watched nurses attach seemingly endless IVs to John.

"Well I think I'll be getting back to Mrs. Hudson now," Sherlock said. Lestrade turned to him, shocked.

"You're sure? I can head over there, make sure she's—"

"Like you said, he'll be unconscious. I'll come back tomorrow after I've taken care of the hysteria that waits for me back on Baker Street." Sherlock had already turned away. "If he wakes before I make it back here, don't tell him what happened."

"Wait, Sherlock—"

He turned back, a sudden sadness in his eyes. "I'll tell him when we speak. But please, Greg. Let him hear it from me."

"R-right. Right, yes, of course." Clearing his throat and shaking off his shock, Lestrade straightened his back and gave Sherlock a nod. "Try and get some sleep."

"Never do," Sherlock called as he disappeared around the corner.

#johnlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock one shot #one shot #writing prompt #suicide #suicide attempt #lestrade #sherlock #john #mrs hudson

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