An Angel's Scrawl @angelscrawl - Tumblr Blog

About Page Main Blog

If I mistagged something or you need me to tag something lmk and I will fix it. Lately I’ve been just using character tags, so please, if you need a trigger warning for anything let me know!

The Final Ryder, The Newest Rider

The first three days were the hardest, Isaiah would wager. Scarlet took over that seat in his truck. The first time he tried to carry her out she growled, the second time she gnashed her teeth at him. He didn't try for a third time. Just brought her food and water. Told the others to give 'the den' a wide berth.

He wouldn't drive his truck for those three days, either. Didn't want to stress her out more than she already was. (Even if that meant suffering Rook's sterile smelling van.)

On the fourth day, she finally climbed out of his truck-- and proceeded to follow him everywhere like a feral dog.

The first thing she said that day, was a question-- though, it did not sound like one. "Why're yer patches different than mama's."

She was still covered in dust. Her voice was rough, she hadn't spoken in days. Her eyes bored into Isaiah's. Her jaw was tight.

"'Cause your mama, kiddo, was one of us a long time ago." It was the truth, solemn as the grave--

She barked a laugh, baring her teeth in a grin, "My mama ain't that old, ya geezer."

That was the first time he remembered seeing the kid smile. It wasn't the last, though.

He found out quickly that she liked cherries, even though she nearly cracked a tooth on a pit the first time. She hoarded soft things. Kept building nests out of the best ones she could find. Blankets, pillowcases, once a feather. She slept with her face pressed against them, though never covering her eyes. She had the tendency to glare and growl if anyone got too close.

She did not trust Rook, poor man. He moved too quickly towards her. Got bit for it. Hard enough to draw blood. Judge cuffed him for extra measure, pried Scarlet off of him and held her close to his chest while she growled and snarled. (Held her tighter when it turned to a soft, wounded panting.)

That's when everyone started to really notice her. How she watched hands. How she never turned her back on an open space.

How she slept curled up in strange places, her back against walls. How she stirred at even the faintest of sounds, never left any food to waste, would prowl instead of walk.

How she never joined anyone at the bonfire, despite the laughter, despite the warmth, despite the company. She'd watch the flames instead. They caught on her features, made her look... haunted. She always sat upwind of the flames. She didn't even join when Judge was there.

They noticed how she flinched at an engine misfiring Nearly bit her tongue off. Hid in Judge's truck for twelve hours. Locked the doors.

The only reason why she left her den that time was because Rook had set a blanket down just barely out of her reach. It looked softer than any of the old things Judge had. It was softer than any of the old things Judge had.

Rook didn't think when she clambered out and grabbed it, he just... reached over to ruffle her hair. She didn't see Rook, didn't see a Rider-- just his hand, coming too close. Just a hand, reaching for her.

The second time she bit him didn't draw blood. Rook called it... progress.

It took time. A lot of it. Eventually she started to push boundaries. She still walked only where Judge had walked, but every now and then she'd lean. Every now and then she'd reach. Steal someone's keys. Move tools. Stare unblinking from dark corners.

Someone yelled, once. Sharp, sudden. Loud. Crow, over a missing set of keys. She never stole that set again. Avoided the man like he might kick her. He never raised a hand. She didn’t care to find out if he would.

Scarlet started to cling to the edge of Judge's coat. Would peek out from behind him when he was speaking. (He didn't even realize that he'd lower his voice when she did that.) "Since when d'ya talk like that, Judge?" Rook teased him once, only to get cuffed on the side of the head. Isaiah's glower didn't hide the way the tips of his ears turned red, though.

They stopped calling her 'kid' somewhere along the line. No one remembered when. Started calling her little nicknames. Rook called her Chompers, her head would snap up if you called her gremlin. She'd bare her teeth when Crow called her brat, though she never really snapped back at him.

Judge called her Sweetheart. Little wolf. 'Scarlet,' when it mattered.

She started to trust the others, slowly but surely. It started with Judge, but--

It was Cobalt who really cemented her place in the Riders. He was about her age. Left with the Riders a year earlier when his mom went on a ride and never came back. He always talked with his hands. Sometimes he spoke too fast, ran circles around his sentences like he was racing instead of discussing dinner.

He took to her quickly, as kids their age do. He'd share his food with her. Hide from the dark with her. Slow down when she tilted her head in that confused way wild animals always would. Fetch the boss when she started to tremble in her sleep.

Once, she saw Cobalt correct Judge about a supply run. Something about the numbers being off, about miscounting a shipment. Scarlet braced herself. Readied herself to pull Cobalt away--

Judge looked over his papers. Hummed a response, and then... just, fixed it. He did not yell at or reach for Cobalt. He was not cruel. He was grateful.

Scarlet started speaking more, after that. Not much, never much-- but more. Started following Cobalt towards the bonfire, too-- she never sat next to it, not nearly as close to the others, but enough that her toes were in the light. Enough that she could tell Judge when he got the stories wrong.

"Mama's story ain't that th' sun hated th' wolf!" she scowled, eyes fierce in the firelight. Isaiah's own gaze was steady, he let her continue. "Th' sun n' th' wolf were friends, old man. Th' wolf only got sick cause' her heart was too big!"

Isaiah didn't have the heart to tell her that he knew Samara's story was about the wolf and sun fighting. 'Must've changed it for her kid, then,' he had concluded, letting Scarlet be right. Besides-- Samara left this life for her kids, it makes sense that she would change the stories to better suit them.

Scarlet grew fast. Like a well watered weed. It felt like one day she was just a little runt, barely up to Judge's hip-- and then she was at his elbow, his shoulder. She still avoided smoke, though. Cobalt used to be taller than her. Then he had to crane his neck. Rook couldn't justify ruffling her hair anymore, not when she was level with him. (Not that he stopped, of course.)

She got less timid, too. The wastes do that to a kid. Especially after losing Crow. For someone who didn't like her, he...

She had frozen in place when the skirmish turned fatal. Too many sounds. Too many people. Too much movement. She didn't know what to do-- Crow took a bullet that would have cut her life short. Grinned at her with blood on his teeth. Called her a brat one more time, reached up to ruffle her hair. His hand fell limp before it got there.

She didn't remember what happened next, not fully. She had it in fragments. In how her throat was raw and someone's blood was on her hands, on her face. That the person holding the gun wasn't holding a gun anymore. That the person who had been holding the gun wasn't doing much of anything anymore. That she had to be ripped off of their body because she had already ripped out their throat with her teeth.

She remembers waking up in Rook's van, Cobalt was frantic and Rook was talking in a low tone and Crow was dead next to her. Cobalt kept saying "Everything will be okay", over and over, like he was begging the world. His knuckles were turning white where they held onto-- "Don' you fuckin' lie t' me." Scarlet's voice was rough and angry and felt like claws scraping her throat.

She didn't die, though. The Riders survived. Life... went on, again.

She remembers that they set off enough fireworks that the sky looked like it was on fire, in honor of their fallen comrade. Crow would have hated the noise, but still would have set off his own, too.

Scarlet started sneaking into the garage while the others were working on their rides. Started to mirror them. Started to learn. Memorized where tools went and returned them every time she borrowed them. Found an old scrapped bike and started to make it her own. Painted it bright red. Named it Ruby, before anyone could try to take her away.

She started sitting at the bonfire, still upwind, and her eyes would always flick towards it every couple of minutes, but she was sitting at it now. Usually next to Cobalt, or Judge. Beat them in card games and celebrated with rum. Snapped when anyone walked behind her, still growled. Still snapped her teeth when anyone came up to her too quick. They chalked it up to her being a bit odd, to her being a bit feral. To her being Scarlet

No one declared it, there was no written list of things not to do-- but... They stopped approaching her from behind, started announcing themselves before they got close. Tossed her things instead of crowding her space to hand them to her.

She still sometimes climbed into Judge's truck to sleep, though. Once she outgrew the passenger seat, she just overtook the bed of the old gal. Even moved her den there. Everyone knew not to touch it. Judge would hitch a shade tarp over it so she wouldn't burn. Sometimes her hand would catch his jacket when he turned. Sometimes he'd sit at the edge of the truck and tell her stories until she let go. Then he'd stay until she slept. (He remembered a conversation he had with Samara, years ago. When she told him he'd make a good grandad.)

Rook took her to a race-- not to participate, God no, Judge would have his head on a pike if he let Scarlet onto the track, but to watch. Watched as her pupils blew wide. As she leaned forward. She tracked the racers like something starving.

When it was over she grabbed his arm. Asked him when she can see it again. If any of the Riders did shit like that. If she could race, too.

Scarlet was not allowed to race right away, especially not in any circuits. ...Her and Cobalt did, however, start racing each other whenever they were able.

Cobalt was always faster, but Scarlet was the more aggressive racer than the two.

Maybe that's why it was Cobalt who took the offer. "Scar, I'm... I'm leavin' the Riders," Cobalt told her one night, "y-you should- you should come with me. It- it'll be, safer. We won't--" his breathing hitched on something like a laugh, or maybe... a sob. "W-we won't end up like Crow, yannow?" He couldn't meet her gaze, his hands tangled in his sleeves, fingers twitching around the cloth.

She opened her mouth, maybe to beg him not to do that, maybe to agree. Hesitated. Heard Judge's voice in the distance, heard Rook tinkering in the garage. Crow's voice, calling her a brat one last time.

Her expression hardened. "I ever see ya again," Scarlet's voice shook. Something colder than rage burning in her chest. "N' 'm gonna rip yer throat out."

Cobalt's hand around her wrist-- she shook him off, pushed him, hard. He didn't look back.

Scarlet didn't touch her bike for a month.

#the shinigami: scarlet #the traitor: cobalt #The Judge: Isiah #The Strategist: Rook

Fire & Roses

It was a day like any other. The sun was blazing. Sienna had come back with new scrapes on her knees and medicine and Scarlet's favorite, watermelon. A bit small, but bigger than last harvest. Juicy, too. Scarlet ate it quietly, her head nodding forward every few moments as the dizziness fought against her nerves.

"See! Told ya everythin' would be okay!" Sienna always tried to make Scarlet feel better when the fever hit. Admittedly... it helped. Scarlet always believed her big sister.

Even if sometimes it just made her more frustrated with her own body. She still couldn't leave her bed for more than an hour at a time without collapsing, but stubbornly, Scarlet stayed sitting at the table. Enjoying the melon her sister cut up for her.

Daichi was at his desk, writing something with words too big to look at much less pronounce. Samara was in the garage, tinkering with her latest vehicle project. Sometimes Scarlet heard her papa hum, slightly off-key. Like he wasn't aware he was doing it. She could hear the sound of the van's engine misfiring and her mama cursing. It almost started last time!

Sienna reached over and stole a chunk of watermelon from Scarlet's bowl, earning the most pitiful little whine.

It was just... a day like any other. (It had just been another fucking day.)

Scarlet's head bobbed forward one more time. Rested against the table with a soft thud. She heard her sister sigh and laugh under her breath, before she was hoisted into caring, loving arms, "Scar- ya don't gotta be so stubborn, gonna get yaself killed one of these days like that kiddo." All Scarlet could muster was a soft, defeated huff and a pathetic little growl.

Scarlet saw something float past the window as her big sis carried her down the hall and to her room. It was... buzzing? Something flickered. Scarlet swears she smelled something... sweet, she thinks. Something that wanted to smell pretty, maybe a little musky.

She didn't know that it was a ThorneHart drone. Didn't know that they had been hunting for well over ten years now, trying to find the bastard who spat in their reputation and thought he could hide afterwards. No matter how far Daichi ran, no matter how unheard-of the village, no matter how well he hid his family... The Thorneharts will never give up any hunt that they started.

"There, now you stay put, y'hear? Papa said he'd make yer favorite fer dinner if ya behave," Sienna ruffled Scarlet's hair after tucking her in. Pressed her lips to Scarlet's forehead. Made sure Scarlet's favorite little plushie was in her arms. Scarlet melted into the bed. The house itself even seemed to let out a sigh of relief as comfort enveloped its smallest inhabitant.

She fell asleep easily after that. Dreamed of green leaves and fruit and dirt under her nails. Of the biggest, bestest, yummiest watermelon ever. The kind that left stains down your wrists and arms. She dreamed of her parents laughing. Her sister's jokes. Of her mama's singing and her papa's dinners. She dreamed that someone was calling her name...

Scarlet wasn't sure when it began, she had already been so warm. Maybe that's why she didn't feel the heat licking at the walls.

Screaming. The smell of ash, and the same cloying sweet scent from earlier. The dream shattered, but the fever fought to keep her under. Sienna's hands were on her, wrapping her in something heavy and comfortable and safe. Something that smelled like dust and oil and her mama. Sienna's voice, urgent, trembling, "Scar- Scar listen t' me- Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay." Sienna almost never used that tone. She's only ever used that tone when- Something wet hit Scarlet's face. Tears? She tried to look at her sister, lips parted around a question that never made it past her throat. The window. Glass breaking. Her sister shouting something that almost sounded like run.

So Scarlet ran.

Everything will be okay.

Fire. So much fire.

Everything will be okay.

It's colder out here.

Everything has to be okay.

It's hard to breathe. The world is spinning.

Scarlet always believed her sister.

She always believed-

Her legs gave out. She hit the ground with a quiet thud.

(Liar. Liar. Liar.)

...The stars made her feel so small. So lonely. She wanted to go back home.

A man found her. Said his name was Isiah. Told her that he knew Samara. That the jacket used to belong to her. That there's a patch on it right here-- that means Death Rider. Samara used to be a Death Rider... And that means Scarlet can be one, too. She's already got the patch, after all.

Scarlet vaguely remembers seeing the jacket stuffed in the closet. Remembers hearing her mama's stories about her young days.

Isiah understood a truth that would take three days for Scarlet to understand: She has nowhere to go. Everything she knew just went up in a merciless blaze.

He pressed a cold canteen to her lips. Fresh water. A leather seat under her back. The sound of Isiah talking... a radio... And then darkness took her back.

Isiah's truck quietly drove across the sand. A sister and the family she left the crew for, dead. But her youngest daughter, feverish, exhausted, covered in dust and something worse, was asleep next to him. Breathing. Clinging to her mother's old jacket.

#the shinigami: scarlet #the judge: isaiah #the ryder family

Misunderstandings

Chapter Specific Content Warning: This chapter contains suicidal ideation, self-harm imagery, abduction/restraint, and intense emotional distress. Please take care while reading.

Weiss had been trying for months after Scarlet dragged him out of hell. He tried everything he knew. Flirting with her, batting his eyelashes real pretty, offering to 'repay' her.

Hells, he even tied himself up on her bed, practically begging for her to just--

But no. Every single time she dismissed him, or said no. The bed incident was almost scary-- because she cut the rope with her knife, put her jacket around his shoulders, and then left. She came back with blood on her hands six hours later.

All Weiss wanted was to be seen. For her to notice him. For her to just fucking look at him!

So... he turned to what he knew best. First he tried other Riders. From Jax to Isiah. He was turned down by each of them for varying reasons. He did manage to get Hazard's tongue in his mouth before the big guy laughed and smacked Weiss on the shoulder, told Weiss "I go any further and my life's on the line, I ain't about to die for something like fuckin' a pretty thing like you."

(Weiss didn't notice how Scarlet's hand twitched.)

Fine. Not the Riders, then.

Weiss started coming home with bruises on his wrists, his neck, his hips. He flaunted them, too. Made sure everyone saw him wearing other people's marks. Once he stepped out mid negotiation, came back with cigarette burns, ruffled shirt collar, messy hair and smudged lipstick.

(He never noticed how tightly Scarlet's jaw clenched.)

'We're not together,' Weiss kept telling himself, 'so it isn't cheating' But why did it feel like betrayal?

He started taking more and more risks... ...and then someone decided they wanted to keep him.

Chains came out first. Cold, heavy shackles. A needle started to press into his skin.

Weiss almost wanted to laugh, something bitter and cold coiling in his mind.

(He wondered if Scarlet would even be upset when she finds his dead body)

The door slammed off its hinges.

Scarlet was merciless in eliminating the threat. She scooped Weiss up, just like she had the night they first met. Held his head to her shoulder, cradled him like something precious.

(He didn't notice how erratic her heart was beating.)

She carried him to the car like that.

He kept talking the whole time. First it was flirting. Joking. As if he didn't almost die. As if he didn't almost wish he had. (He braced for cold leather against his back, but the soft blanket she wrapped him in protected him.)

Then he was just... talking.

(She did not turn on the radio. Her head tilted, listening to the sound of his voice.)

He laughed, a forced sound that scraped his own nerves. "I just- I don't understand Scarlet, what the hell do I have to do to earn your fucking attention?"

Her hand flinched on the wheel. "Y'don't gotta earn..." her gaze flicked to Weiss, and her voice trailed off.

Weiss had drifted asleep. He wouldn't have heard her anyways.

Scarlet pulled into the compound. Quiet as can be. She was delicate when she lifted Weiss.

She carried him to her room, because she was tired, because she knew he would be safe there. She did not turn on the lights.

She tucked him in. Briefly, so soft he would not wake, she pressed her forehead against his.

She dozed. Time passed. She woke up, left to go grab breakfast.

...and when Weiss woke up, he was alone in Scarlet's room.

It had changed from when he last remembered.

In the dim morning light, he finally saw it-- saw everything. Her room, no longer cloaked in the merciful darkness of night. The admissions she could never make in the light of day. Rage contained so it would never burn those who truly deserved it. So it would never burn Weiss. Carved in with what he prayed was her blade, but knew were her nails.

'Monster', by her bed, next to where she lay her head. 'Unlovable', in the windowsill, like she had been debating escape. 'Failure', next to her desk, where she always sat to work on her weapons. 'Useless', at the door, so that every time she left this room she would be reminded.

He stumbled into the connecting bathroom, trying to run from the truths that now stared down at him like a verdict.

The bathroom was worse. A shattered mirror, old blood still caking the cracks. The point of connection was a head above Weiss'-- he could clearly imagine Scarlet staring at her own reflection before striking it.

And the walls-- God, the walls. Weiss felt dizzy.

Over and over, in that same blood, the word 'sorry'. Looping and layering over itself, lower and lower to the ground as if she had collapsed while writing it.

Then his eyes caught the belt, looped around the shower head, waiting for a decision. Waiting for a final decision.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to puke. He was frozen in place-- and then, a mercy he did not deserve, darkness.

Scarlet's hand, over his eyes. Her voice low and quiet in his ear, struggling to keep from breaking. Failing to hide the tremble.

"Do not look-- you were not supposed to see this."

Weiss' hands came up to Scarlet's arm, not trying to pull her away, not trying to see what she was trying so hard to hide. His voice was broken, shaking when it came out of him, "S-Scarlet what- what's-" He didn't even want to say it, "w-why is there a noose in your shower?" he forced himself to anyways.

She winced, as if she had been struck, her voice got stuck in her throat, she tried again. Her words came out quickly, urgently, "It's-- I wasn't--" Weiss felt her forehead drop onto his shoulder. She was wrapped around him now, almost like she was trying to protect him, "I-it was just a moment, Weiss. I swear it, I promise-- I wasn't going to--" Her grip tightened, nails digging lightly into Weiss' cheek before she forced her hand to relax. She still did not remove it from his face. "It-- lapse in judgement, I..." a sound escaped her then, almost a sob, "Didn't get a chance t' burn it yet..."

The noise Weiss made was undignified, loud, and utterly heart rending. His grip tightened on Scarlet's arm, nails biting into flesh without meaning to, but desperately seeking the contact.

"I-I'm sorry I-" his voice splintered further, his entire body shook, he wasn't even trying to hold back anymore, "I-I just wanted you to see me- I-I didn't know, I didn't know!"

Scarlet's arms tightened around him. She pulled him closer to her chest, kept her face pressed against his shoulder.

"S-shh, shh... baby it's okay, I-I know you didn't know I-" she swallowed, the exhale sounded like it cost her something more than pride, "I-I kept it from ya, I didn't want- I didn't want to steal yer autonomy, y-y'know? Didn't..." she gently started to rock him,

"Didn't wanna tie y' down to a monster like me, s'all-"

Weiss keened when he heard her say that. A terrible wail of a sound, "You're not a monster Scarlet you're-- you're--" he almost choked on his own words, pushing onwards despite the tightness in his throat, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me-- a-and I almost-- you almost died because I-I'm a stupid idiot!"

Scarlet's arms tightened around Weiss' waist, she shook her head-- Weiss could feel something warm and wet slipping down her cheeks, down his shoulder.

He cried harder once he realized what it was.

#the shinigami: scarlet #the brat: weiss

You don't remember falling asleep in the car, head resting against the window, seatbelt fastened snug across your chest. The soft music, the rain, the gentle bumps that Scarlet made sure to take slow so they wouldn't rouse you.

You don't remember when she pulled in, killed the engine, sat there for a moment, listening to you breathe.

You do remember her arms, though. Strong enough to bend steel, gentle enough to barely brush your cheek when she reached over to undo the buckle. They were solid when they picked you up and carried you inside.

The softness of her pillow under your cheek, the weight of her blanket over your shoulders, the smell of her leather jacket against your senses.

The warmth. The comfort. The rest. No nightmares. No waking to a crueler reality.

Because here, you are safe. Because here, you are adored. Because here, you have someone to shoulder some of that burden for you.

#drabble #the shinigami: scarlet #oc x reader

wasteland-hearts

Tonight was more violent than usual; not because Sylus willed it, for once, but because the crowd got rowdy and they started getting handsy with the staff. Now, Sylus is not a man of honor, but he definitely protects what's his.

Thing was he's one guy, Thistle and Malaric are only two more, and a whole ass crowd like that? Yeah, not even The Duke could handle them.

It's quiet now. The alleyway is dark, save for the flicker of a match as Sylus tries and fails to light his own cigarette. His hands won't stop shaking. Sticky between each digit. He sighs, it trembles on the way out. Fuck, his ribs hurt. He's smart enough not to pull the damn knife out, though. He's not about to bleed out in a gods damned alleyway.

He's already assessing the damage, the cost. Nothing he won't be able to handle, but definitely something that'll keep him down for the count for the next couple days at least. Doesn't help that one of his eyes is flickering. Fucking distracting. That was his preferred eye, too. Now the recording's jacked to hell and back, so he can't even scour it for the good parts of tonight.

He struck another match. And another.

It finally lit. He held it up to the cigarette.

The smoke floated lazily upwards and disappeared into the night.

Aim for Her Heart

The morning started with the gentle ticking of a clock, a soft buzz, a quiet ping... and the sound of a phone screen cracking.

Weiss woke with a jolt, he was still tucked against Scarlet, still in her room. The morning light made everything feel soft--

Except for the look on Scarlet's face. It was blank. A careful, controlled blank.

Weiss' gaze slowly followed hers-- and what he saw, in Scarlet's grip, under the spiderweb fractures on her phone... Was a picture. A picture of Weiss at a bar. With his mouth pressed against some rockerboy's.

Weiss' mouth moved faster than his mind could catch up, "I can explain-- Scar I swear it doesn't-- It's not what it looks like, Scarlet I swear-- It didn't mean anything I was just-- He gave me the intel and I-- Scar I promise I didn't want-" Weiss' voice caught on itself, he could feel tears building in the corners of his eyes and tried desperately not to let them fall, "S-Scarlet, I wasn't cheating-- Please believe-"

"Wouldn't'a cared if ya fucked 'im," Scarlet's voice was quiet when she cut him off, though her muscles were taut. Her fingers twitched around the phone, eyes still locked on the image... and entirely refusing to look at Weiss. There was a tick in her jaw.

Weiss had to force himself not to flinch. Not because he thought Scarlet was going to hurt him, she never would, but because hearing her say that? It gutted him. People were supposed to get angry, or jealous, or fuck, vindictive-- He was expecting to have to fight to keep her in his life, to be able to keep calling her his girl. But she wasn't even upset that Weiss was framed kissing some stranger.

Whether she was seeing the picture or looking through it wasn't clear, she sighed, "...His name is Sylus, and he..." her breath caught, she pushed through, "He's my ex."

Weiss felt his blood go cold. Felt his lower lip tremor, choked out the weakest, "I-isn't that worse...?"

Scarlet's shoulders fell, she finally risked a glance up, "Weiss I know ya weren't cheatin'," her eyebrow twitched, furrowed slightly, she took a deep breath-- it trembled on the way out. Weiss knew that Scarlet had to prepare herself to speak more than usual, "He was usin' ya. Weiss, baby, I was with 'im for three years," Scarlet's forehead dropped forward. She rested it on Weiss' shoulder, "I know ya wouldn't cheat on me. 'Sides, 'm pretty sure even 'lil Hikaru would slit yer throat if ya did," she tried to laugh, it came out cracked, "Sy's not stupid enough t' frame ya for cheatin'. He probably sent it 'cause 'e..." her voice trailed off for a moment, she pressed her head harder into Weiss' shoulder, like a dog looking for comfort from a gentle hand. Weiss wrapped his arms around her. He wasn't sure who the trembling was from, himself... or Scarlet. "'Cause 'e wants me to know 'e can touch ya," Scarlet didn't move to pull away, though Weiss could feel her leg twitch as she braced herself to stand, "He’s startin’ somethin’. An’ I... I dunno what-” She was cut off by another ping.

She flinched. Scarlet Ryder, bruiser of the Death Riders, killer of men, protector of strays, Shinigami of the Wastes-- Flinched.

Weiss felt her move to check who had sent it-- So his hand shot out. Grabbed her wrist to stop her. Even though she could have easily thrown him off, Scarlet froze. He pulled away slightly, and Scarlet, stunned, didn't follow immediately-- So he gently slid a shaking hand against her cheek, "Scar- Look at me," his voice trembled more than he would have liked, especially once he truly saw her. Her pupils were blown wide. Her breath a touch too sharp. Dark circles under her eyes.

"He won’t take ya," she muttered, almost a whisper, "‘m not lettin’ 'im."

Scarlet starts to stand, to prepare herself for a fight-- except... Her knee gave out. She had to brace herself on the wall. Her breath stuttered. She swayed forward before forcing her spine straight.

Weiss sees it. She pretends he didn't. He rose anyway, chin tilted up to look at her. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Scarlet- You're-" Weiss forces his tone steadier than he was, "You're exhausted babe"

"Can't sleep, not yet," was what Scarlet managed to respond with.

She tries to pull her arm away, tries to stumble to the door. He doesn't let her get that far. Wraps his arms around her middle and holds on with all of his strength. Her body is wound tight, ready to fight-- but she doesn't throw Weiss off.

Her breath comes out in soft pants. Weiss can tell now that she's trembling worse than he is, though he's not sure if it's restrained violence, or--

"Weiss, 'm scared." He has never heard Scarlet's voice that small.

"I-I know, sweetheart. I know," Weiss rubs his cheek against her, trying to ground her in the feeling of him, without letting go, "When did- When did you last sleep?"

Scarlet finally looked down, for just a breath of a moment, before her gaze darted away.

Weiss pressed his face against Scarlet's shoulder this time, "...C'mon sweetheart. You- you can't... can't go out there picking fights when you can barely stand."

Scarlet's response was a half-hearted growl. She knew he was right, but didn't want to admit to her own perceived weakness.

So Weiss changed his approach. "You're safe," his voice was low, coaxing, "I'm safe. We're okay my love. Sylus isn't here," and quieter, like a promise, "You don't need to hold yourself up anymore. Rest, please..." Scarlet tries to fight it, "For me."

Her head drops. Thuds against the crown of Weiss' skull. Her body is still trembling, but she lets him lead her to bed. Lays down when he nudges her to. Wraps around him because she still needs to protect him.

Weiss stays awake until her breath starts to even. Until her trembling turns into a soft twitching. Until he's sure she's asleep...

Once she finally stills. Once the fight bleeds out into a fitful sleep. Once her hand loosens just enough that she won't notice him taking her phone out of it...

1 New Message

'Mornin, sweetheart. Cute new toy you got, hope nothing bad happens to him while you're not looking.'

#the duke: sylus #the brat: weiss #the shinigami: scarlet

Pretty Toys and Rockerboys

The bar smelled like deception, fruity drinks, and expensive perfumes. The music was loud enough to rattle bones, and bodies pressed against each other in ways that were only barely legal, if you squinted.

Exactly the kind of place Scarlet hated. Which is why she wasn't here. Why Weiss went instead. Besides-- this wasn't the kind of place for a bruiser. There wasn't any fight to be had here. This was the place for charm, for pretty little games and flirtations.

Weiss was in his natural habitat. Playing people like he was born from it. The corpos who thought being here meant they were hot shit, the giggling joytoys who still remembered his name.

The rockerboys, The Gentle Kingdom or some fanciful shit like that, had just finished their set.

Most of them were backstage-- but one of them wasn't. The bassist. An intimidating man, but with a voice that felt like velvet. He was sitting at the bar, drinking something amber and undeniably smoky... at least, it looked like he was drinking it.

Weiss wasn't focused on the drink, though. He was focused on the game. On gathering intel, as fast as possible, so he could go home to Scarlet and get some well earned praise. So, with a flourish, Weiss deposited himself next to the rugged rockerboy, batted his pretty eyelashes, and stared talking.

"Saw your set up there, you're good with your hands," was the first thing to come out of Weiss' mouth.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, and snorted a laugh. He knew exactly who Weiss was-- of course he did, even now, even after she slashed his tires and left that rainy day, he kept tabs on her... and it was obvious that Weiss did not know who he was flirting with. If he did, Sylus would probably be prying Weiss' hands off of his throat. Which meant... Sylus could have a little bit of fun tonight. His smirk was downright sinful when he answered, "'Course I am, pretty thing. You need another demonstration?"

That earned Sylus a giggle. A hair twirl. Weiss leaned forward, tilted his head just so... A glint in his eye that meant he was making calculations.

Sylus did his best not to chuckle at how transparent Weiss was. He let the Rider perform, let him pretend he was in control. Let him pretend he knew what he was doing.

"You must get all kinds of rumors in your line of work," Weiss let his voice drop to a sweet, honeyed murmur, "bet you hear... things."

Sylus grin widened. Slow. Vulpine. Patient. "Ooh, plenty," he purred, "What're you fishing for, sweetheart?"

Weiss let his lashes flutter, leaning into his role with the practiced ease of someone who's taught himself how to pull people's guards down, "Oh... more than anything I'm just curious," he hummed, fingers drumming on the counter between them, "With a city this big, it feels like there's gotta be a new story every hour. New power-plays, new threats..." He shrugged, casual. Too casual, if you knew who you were watching, "I heard some talk earlier, about some ah... Thorn... Thorneharts? Something like that," Weiss tilted his head, giving that innocent doe-eyed look that always made even Scarlet buckle, "You got anything about them? I'm supposed to keep my ear to the ground."

A beat. An airy giggle. "I could do that on my knees too, if you prefer."

Sylus laughed. Soft. Slow. Deep in his chest, as if savoring a private joke.

He didn't look at Weiss-- he looked into Weiss. Not the pretty little show. The way Weiss' hands kept moving, fidgeting. The way Weiss' was breathing just a touch too shallow.

"Ahh..." Sylus leaned in, almost conspiratorially, "The Thorneharts... they're not an easy family to get info on, but...." Weiss was drawn in, his eye sparkling in the same way a cat's might when it sees a mouse. Or a rabbit, when it sees a patch of clover and doesn't realize a fox is stalking behind it. "I heard they paid some gang to sneak some little asset out of the city... begged, really. Real hush-hush like, the sorta job they don't want tracked back to their name," Sylus could see the way Weiss' pupil dialated. The way his eyebrow twitched just barely. The way the pulse in his neck jumped.

"Funny thing though, I heard that the desert rat who took that job usually ran with a crew. The Death Riders, or something?" There it was. Weiss stiffened. Just a hair. Sylus' voice dropped, almost gentle, "Is that all, little Rider?"

Weiss couldn't hear the music anymore. He felt the floor drop from under him. Felt his heart freeze. His smile faltered, less than a milimeter Weiss hated this feeling. Being cornered. Trapped.

Being seen.

So Weiss did what he always does when his hand got revealed. When someone sees through his pretty act.

He slid closer, let his hand find Sylus' thigh. He didn't let his hand tremble, though he felt like something undeniably hunted.

Sylus doesn't move. Doesn't lean in, doesn't smirk or whisper something cocky. He goes still. Predator still. Curious still.

"Yeah, that's all..." Weiss let his voice drop into something breathy, something attractive. Something that always kept him safe when he was still just a body in the streets. Sylus' gaze didn't leave Weiss as he watched him lean in. "Except your payment...?" Weiss let his lashes droop, leaning in.

Sylus met him half-way. Surged forward, cupped Weiss' jaw with a grip that was more control than passion.

He felt Weiss' entire body tense. Like a hare caught in a beartrap.

Weiss didn't hear the sound of the camera shutter. Didn't see a flash. He was too stunned by the taste of smoke, of stage sweat. Of Sylus.

Sylus pulled away after a breath too long, ran his thumb over Weiss' lower lip. Chuckled. "Run along now, kitten. I'm sure your girl is waiting for you."

Weiss didn't think twice as he slid down from the bar, legs much steadier than his heart was. He didn't look back over his shoulder as he left. He just kept telling himself how proud Scarlet will be that he got good intel.

#The Brat: Weiss #The Duke: Sylus

Clingy

Weiss knew he shouldn't have tagged along. Scarlet was always more focused on her little 'hunts' when she was alone, when she didn't have to worry about her team.

But Weiss had been lonely all day. No matter how much he teased, taunted, flirted with the others, he couldn't get the emptiness out of his chest. He knew why, of course he did-- anyone with eyes could tell that the only attention Weiss ever really wanted was hers.

So he pestered. He insisted. He begged. She broke when his lip started to quiver and his eyes got glassy with tears. Scarlet was always so soft when it came to anyone in her pack crying, especially Weiss. He didn't start feeling bad until later, though.

The rain was awful, cold and biting-- but Scarlet only pulled him closer on her bike. He felt her chin rest on the crown of his head. It was nice, almost romantic even.

Then he heard someone shouting. He didn't even fully process the words--

Scarlet did, though. She had been holding him close to her, he heard her pulse jump... and then she wasn't behind him anymore. He almost fell off her bike without her there to support him on it-- but that wasn't what caught his attention, not really.

It was the sound of bones breaking. Of flesh meeting stone. Of a skull getting smashed against a curb. Of Scarlet's fury.

To call it a fight would be an understatement; it was a slaughter. he only mercy Scarlet gave was not double checking to make sure they were dead.

She looked heavier when she walked towards Weiss-- her eyes had started to get that distant look to them, but she was still present enough to get to-

CRACK

A bullet. Straight through Ruby's tank.

Scarlet stopped moving. She didn't even look back to where the gunshot came from. She just stared at the bike for a long moment.

Weiss could see the moment she checked out fully. His heart dropped when she picked up Ruby-- carried the bike into an alleyway and stashed it away.

He knew that she would have stayed there, too. If not for his insistent hands pulling her away from it all.

"C'mon-- you're bleeding, Scar. We can't just leave you out here... We'll get Ruby tomorrow, yeah?" He knew she wasn't hearing him. He talked anyways.

Weiss talked the whole walk to the motel. Some shitty place not even his worst clients would have considered. He got them the room, the lady behind the desk didn't even look up-- he didn't care. He led Scarlet to the room, sat her down on the bed and promised, promised he would be back in a couple of minutes.

...She wasn't there when he returned. Weiss didn't give himself time to feel sick. He started searching. The bathroom, the hallways, the lobby, the shitty bar that smelled like piss and broken people-- He eventually found her on the roof. Leaning against the railing, her head tilted back. The rain that hit her face almost looked like tears, though her expression still looked carved from stone.

Weiss hated that look in her eyes. When she was somewhere far off, trapped in her own mind. He hated that it was so hard to reach her. He knew how, though. This wasn't the first time he'd ever seen her like this.

So he climbed into her lap, wrapped his arms around his neck. Tried not to cry when her body reacted on instinct, when she wrapped around him, stiff but protective.

And he did what he always did. He talked. About everything. About nothing. About anything. "Hikaru's been warming up to me more-- I think? He left a screw on my pillow-- like, on purpose. In the middle of my pillow. I think that means he likes me. He doesn't hide in the vents as much anymore either, did you notice?" Weiss was starting to tremble, choking back the pain, "Jax, too. He stopped stealing my shit-- Well, mostly. He still steals my shoes sometimes. I think he likes my boots. He keeps blowing them up though-- And I mean, it's not like Havoc is stopping him. I swear, as long as she's laughing she doesn't care about anything else. I mean, last week she was cackling with the detonator in her hand--"

Weiss finally took a breath, it shook, he couldn't even manage to summon his usual grin.

"-- then, I swear on my name Scar, then Havoc had the audacity to give me the keys to her car, as if that would fix the fact that she blew up the better half of my trunk! It was custom made, you know! Could turn into a bed 'n shit! I was gonna invite you in there so we could... s-so we could... you know... kiss, 'n stuff... I guess?" He thought he felt her fingers twitch, his heart twisted, "You still with me, big gal?"

"Mmn..." was the response he finally earned. That non-word sent a jolt through Weiss' body, he reacted so quickly that his head slammed into Scarlet's chin, making her grunt from the sudden strike.

Weiss could tell she still wasn't fully back-- but her eyes were tracking him again. That was something. That was enough. Weiss moved quickly, pulling her up and dragging her forward. She was didn't resist. Scarlet followed Weiss as if he were gravity.

His first priority was to get her warm. Clean, too. So the bathroom was their first stop. He hesitated at the faucet-- he didn't want to make it too cold, that could cause a really bad shock. He also didn't want to melt her. Scarlet chose for him. Something hot, really hot. Weiss almost laughed, but one look at her face... "Stay here this time, okay babe? I'll be... I'll just be a minute, okay?" Weiss squeezed her hand once before standing, headed towards the door with a plan.

"Weiss?" Scarlet's voice. Fragile, afraid. Weiss felt his chest tighten. He was at her side in seconds, the dull thud didn't even register. Weiss' hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks like she was something delicate, something breakable. She leaned into his hold. Weiss choked back the sound that tried to rip itself out of his throat. She was looking at him now, really looking. "Weiss..." Scarlet said his name like she treasured it, like it mattered, "tonight fucking sucked."

A dry joke, Scarlet didn't even try to smile, but...

Weiss couldn't stop the sound this time. A laugh, maybe a sob. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead against hers. Prayed the shower water would mask his tears.

Scarlet stayed there until the heat started to cool. Weiss stayed next to her the whole time, his cheek pressed on the side of the tub, his body awkwardly folded under him as he kept his gaze locked on her. When she was finally done, when she finally wanted out she stood-- Weiss was at her side to help, but ended up clinging to her side when her knees buckled. He felt his back brush the wall. He ignored the fact that he was nearly crushed.

Weiss helped her to the bed. Pretended it didn't effect him as much as it did when she finally rested her forehead on his shoulder. He didn't know how long they stayed like that, he was too occupied with the tightness in his chest to count seconds.

Eventually, though, she peeled herself away and just... flopped back on the bed with a huff. She laid down horizontal, her long legs hanging off, the crown of her head brushing the wall. Another laugh escaped Weiss, the absurdity of seeing Scarlet laying on a bed the wrong way... with how fried his nerves were after tonight, it was relieving.

Weiss tried to organize her on the bed properly. Much easier thought than actually done. She didn't even try to help him-- and once he gave up on her legs and got to trying to push her torso, she wrapped him in her arms and nuzzled into him. He let out a shuddering little breath, curling into her like he belonged there.

He fell asleep to the lullaby of her heartbeat, his face pressed against her sternum, her arms around him like the safest fortress.

#The Brat: Weiss #The Shinigami: Scarlet

Bad Night

"Hey, is that the slut from-"

That's the last thing Scarlet heard before her mind went blank. Before her fists found bone and her blood ran hot enough to boil.

This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go, but she should have figured it would have never been a regular patrol. The freezing rain, the way Weiss insisted he go with her despite his own ride being out of commission. She should have realized the moment someone recognized Weiss.

She doesn't remember the fight. Just the pain from the aftermath--

And the sound her bike made when the gas tank was shot through. The weight of the thing over her shoulder like a wounded beast, stashed away behind a dumpster. Hiding an ally until she can bring reinforcements.

She didn't remember the walk to the motel, the woman behind the front desk that didn't look up from her magazine, Weiss telling her he'd be back in a minute. The walk up the stairs to the roof.

''M tired. It hurts. Everythin' hurts. 'M cold. Hate it here. Hate cities. Don't wanna do this anymore. Don't wanna be here anymore. Why'd they say that? Was cruel... Weiss deserves-- Weiss, Weiss...' her thoughts were a downward spiral, but when she thought of Weiss, of her darling, of the one who stole her candies and drinks but looked at her like she hung the sun-- something seemed to pull at her psyche.

She heard talking, distant. Someone calling her name? There was warmth pressed against her. She recognized the softness under her chin, the smell of her shampoo, stolen by someone who had much more charm than sense. The tremble of someone shivering from the rain, someone who wasn't herself.

"-- then, I swear on my name Scar, then Havoc had the audacity to give me the keys to her car, as if that would fix the fact that she blew up the better half of my trunk! It was custom made, you know! Could turn into a bed 'n shit! I was gonna invite you in there so we could... s-so we could... you know... kiss, 'n stuff... I guess?" he sighed, the usual blush absent, like his heart simply couldn't muster it without Scarlet being present, "You still with me, big gal?" there was hope in his voice. Fragile. Delicate.

"Mmn..." was the only response she could muster. It seemed to be enough, though-- because in the next moment his head snapped up so quickly he bumped his forehead against her chin, earning a soft 'oof' from Scarlet, though it was more surprise than anything.

She still wasn't back-- not all the way-- but she was there enough to hold his hand as he led her down the unfamiliar hallways of the shitty motel he managed to secure them, and into the shower that seemed to only have 'arctic ice hell' and 'raging fire inferno'-- Weiss hesitated at the faucet only for Scarlet to choose something Weiss would later call 'Satan's Asshole.' Steam filled the room fast, Scarlet looked like she was still trying to find her way back from the fog of her mind.

Weiss stepped out for only a moment. Just to grab a towel, maybe some cherry coke from the vending machine down the hall-- but as soon as he stepped out the bathroom door...

"Weiss?" Scarlet's voice. Softer than it had any right to be. Almost... Lost. The waver in her voice was the one that only happened when she was coming back somewhere she didn't know, without her anchor there. She was afraid.

Weiss didn't waste any time. His knees slammed against the side of the tub with a bruising thud, but he didn't register it. His hands were on either side of her face, shaking, his own eyes glossy with tears he refused to shed.

She leaned into them like a weary beast that just returned from a hunt. Let out an exhale that meant she was finally back, finally returned in truth. Exhausted, perhaps, but present. Her eyes no longer held that distance.

"Weiss..." his name was gentle on her tongue, "tonight fucking sucked."

That earned her a soft choked laugh that sounded almost like a sob. He pretended it was just water running down his cheeks. She let him.

Scarlet stayed in the shower until the blistering heat turned lukewarm. When she got out, her legs almost buckled, and it took everything in Weiss to cling to her to avoid getting slammed against the wall. Thankfully, she caught herself, barely-- and Weiss led her to the bed. Her head lolled until it was pressed against his shoulder.

They stayed that way for a while. Stayed like that until Weiss thought she had fallen asleep.

Scarlet pulled away and in one of the laziest motions she ever mustered, flopped backwards with a huff. As if she was too tired to lay in the damn thing properly-- which, honestly, she was. Weiss couldn't help himself from laughing once more, and took it upon himself to try to organize her onto and into the bed properly... which was quite the task. She was a good foot taller than him and weighed more than a horse.

He didn't even succeed-- because by the time he tried to push her torso, she wrapped her arms around him and dragged him down, wrapping around him like he was born to fit against her.

That is how that terrible night ended. Scarlet wrapped around Weiss like she couldn't afford even the idea of losing him, in a garbage motel that smelled like tobacco, mold, and something undeniably questionable, rain hitting he window like it had a grudge... and finally feeling safe.

#The Shinigami: Scarlet #The Brat: Weiss

Home

It had been a long night for Scarlet. She was tired. Her body hurt all over. She still had Aimi's dying breath wrapped around her chest...

And in her arms, was a small child. She had pulled him out from under the bed. He hadn't cried. He hadn't screamed. He had taken one look at his mother's cooling body, and hid his face in Scarlet's shoulder.

It was raining, she realized belatedly, as she walked up the stairs to the apartment.

She didn't even have the energy to muster up an excuse. Scarlet knew Sylus would be angry-- he always was, after she took off in the middle of the night to go save random folk. Always told her she was gonna get herself killed one of these days. Scarlet knew that was only half the reason. The other half was as simple as Sylus wanting her where he could see her-- no, not that exactly. He just wanted to keep her. Didn't like her wandering off because that meant she might not come back.

She always came back, though. Even tonight, covered in blood, battered, bruised... she came back.

When the door opened the smell of cologne hit her first. Then of something burning on the stove. The sound of pacing-- abruptly stopped. The sound of a storm approaching from the bedroom.

Scarlet was too tired to even brace herself for what was about to happen. Too tired to even raise her head.

...She wasn't too tired to make sure the child was secure in her arms though. His little breaths fanned against her neck. She could tell he wasn't asleep.

"Where the fuck were you, Scar?" Sylus' voice was nothing short of a shout as he stormed out, but he paused when he saw her fully. When he saw her arms were full. "And what the fuck did you just bring into my home? Really, Scarlet? You're bringing gutter trash home now?"

She wasn't listening to him. She stopped hearing him when she felt the little body in her arms go tense. When he flinched.

He. Flinched.

Everything in Scarlet's mind had come to a screaming stop. A grinding halt. In that moment, all Scarlet could feel was the terrified child in her arms, all she could hear was the last breath his mother whispered to her, and all she could see... Was red.

She raised her head slow. Sylus' voice came to a stuttering stop. The woman that was staring back at him wasn't the same Scarlet he had known for all these years. Her eyes were steel. Cold.

"We're over," her voice was steadier than she felt, the boiling rage under her skin was being restrained-- barely. Sylus opened his mouth to say something. Maybe to apologize? To demand something? To ask her what she just said? She didn't care. Scarlet turned, she didn't even try to grab anything that was hers. Didn't even think about any of her shit. She took a step into the rain, "I hope you die slow." With that, she was gone. Her steps unhurried, calm even. If you weren't living inside her bones. She paused when she got to the parking garage. Her eyes lingered on Sylus' car-- She slashed the tires. The air sounded like a final sigh as it wheezed out of them. She kicked her leg over her bike, held the child closer. Whispered something for his ears only... And drove off into the night before Sylus could even think of following her. The shaking only hit her once the distance swallowed up the neon from the city. She stopped by an old truck stop, half swallowed by sand and time. The fact it was even opened was one of the gods' funniest jokes. The cashier didn't ask any questions. People out here usually didn't. He just handed her the keys to the bathroom, and went back to his book as she walked into it. The face that looked at her from the mirror felt like a strangers. Hair too long, eyes too tired. She still had blood on her cheek. She rested Hikaru on the lid of the toilet-- wrapped him up tight in her coat... and started hacking away at her hair. With every drag of her blade she felt something akin to freedom. She held onto the grimy sink for a moment longer than she meant to, watching the strands clog the drain in the cold, slightly pink water. Hikaru shifted slightly beside her, snapping her out of the daze she was in. Scarlet lifted him back up in her arms, left the bathroom. Dropped the keys on the counter and just left. She had nowhere to go. Sylus had made her rip her patch off in the first year of the relationship. She hasn't seen them for three years. She still kept them close, in memory... and leather. But... she had nowhere to go. Nowhere for Hikaru be safe. She knew they wouldn't turn the kid away, even if they turned her away. So... she drove. Drove through the downpour. Drove away like she was running. She drove until she could hear the laughter. The bickering. The small explosion that sparkled with something Mia definitely shouldn't have been allowed to play with. Scarlet froze on the outskirts. Staring at who she once called family. Something in her chest twisted. She debated putting Hikaru down here and just disappearing into the storm, so she wouldn't have to taste the rejection from her family-- Isiah noticed her first. He didn't alert the others. Just got up, walked towards her. Stopped a respectable distance away, as he always had. "Hey, kiddo," his voice was calm, gentle. Deep. Just like it was when she was a kid being dragged out of her burning home. Scarlet's legs gave out. Isiah caught her, held her close-- but gentle. Making sure not to crush Hikaru. "Yeah, yeah... Missed you too, Ryder," his voice quivered slightly. Scarlet didn't need to see his face to know there were tears running down his cheeks. Just like he didn't need to see Scarlet's face to know what was soaking his shoulder wasn't the rain, but her tears. "Welcome home, kiddo. Knew you'd be back."

#The Shinigami: Scarlet #The Duke: Sylus #The Ghost: Hikaru #The Judge: Isiah

Realization

It wasn't the usual kind of night Sylus had-- this one was, in it's own way, quieter. Thistle had fucked off somewhere with a new gaggle of groupies, Malaric was currently in the process of getting chewed out by the manager because of some sort of indecency stunt? Or maybe money was missing? Sylus didn't care nearly enough to pay attention.

Especially now, with his Scarlet leaning against his chest. She was still trembling slightly, but she could hold her hands steady enough to hold her water now. Sylus found his hand in her hair again, softly running through long golden strands. They were soft, still slightly damp and smelling of menthol after the bath he drew her.

The last fight was bad, though calling it a fight is putting it lightly. It was more of a beating, and now her pale skin bore the blooming evidence of his violence. He told himself she deserved it, that she had pushed him past the edge again. He knows it's a lie, but it's one that sounds better than the truth.

The TV droned on in the background, admittedly, he wasn't paying attention to it. He was too focused on the woman in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was a forced steady. She was pretending to be asleep, letting him alone with his thoughts--

That's what he thought, at least. Then her hand came up, hesitating for a moment, before brushing his hair back from his face.

He froze. Sylus never let anyone touch his face. Never let anyone see past the curtain of his thick hair. His jaw ticked. He was about to open his mouth, say something sharp, something cruel and dismissive--

"You look like shit, Sy," Scarlet's voice was blunt as a brick, but not intentionally unkind. It took him off guard in truth. Then he saw her brow twitch, her eyes dart away. Her voice was soft, quiet. More to herself than to him, but it hit him all the same. "...Too handsome, can't look long."

Her hand fell away, and he noticed the flush climb along her bruised neck. It was in that moment he realized that her comment wasn't just stating the obvious, it was her way of saying she cares. Saying she sees the toll the nights have been taking on him. Saying she noticed the exhaustion. Saying, perhaps, in her own way... 'I forgive you.'

Something hot and unfamiliar twisted in his chest. Something that ached and burned and sang and choked all at once. He was attracted to her, has been all this time. She was hotter than hell, more beautiful than anyone he'd ever seen-- But it was now that he realized something beautiful, something terrible.

Love. He loves her.

His head went blank for a moment. All that existed was the softness of her hair, the way her breath stuttered out of her throat, the tremble in her body as she braced for something she expected of him--

And the intense craving for cherry. He kissed her once. Then again, and again. He kissed her until her hands nails into his shoulders, until the taste of cherry cola was on his tongue, until she was dizzy and panting. Until her teeth caught his lip.

When he finally pulled away she was dizzy, her shaking had worsened, but she curled into him, burying her head into the crook of his neck. He waited for her to settle once more, quietly hummed to her until he knew she was, for a fact, asleep this time...

He picked up his notebook and started to write, the tempo was her heartbeat, the melody her exhale. Each chord was dedicated to her in that beat up little book.

He picked up her cola from the nightstand. It was flat, it was warm. He drank every drop anyways.

He was none the wiser that six months, three days, and twelve hours from now she would walk into the apartment holding a child. He would yell at her, start to chew her out for doing something so stupid--

And she would look him in the face and tell him to die slow.

#The Duke: Sylus #The Shinigami: Scarlet

Reconciliation

The rain had just barely stopped after classes. Anastasia slipped off of university grounds, having finally ditched her "friends". She was exhausted, Brent had been handsy all night and she could feel herself starting to feel nauseous at the idea of going back to the dorms with him. She knew she shouldn't feel that way, they'd been dating for a little over six months by now. Part of her wondered when it would get easier, a bigger part of her knew it never would. The only person she ever liked being touched by was-

Anastasia didn't notice her until she ran face first into her back. Her hair was longer now. She was taller, too. Still wore her big brothers hoodie, even after everything came out in the news… And she was trembling. She smelled like rain, and iron, and the same lavender soap she used when she was a kid.

Veronica turned around slowly- terrifyingly slow. Like a predator about to lunge. Like a beast disturbed. Her pupils were blown wide, her jaw clenched tight. When her eyes met Anastasia's though, it all melted out of her. Her shoulders dropped, her teeth stopped grinding. Her eyes didn't shrink, but she did stop shaking. Veronica's lips parted around a name, a soft, whispered thing, "Ana?" As if she couldn't believe she was really seeing her. As if she thought it was just a trick of the light, or her mind.

Anastasia almost broke down in tears then and there. Her mind started twisting itself into an awful, terrible spiral. 'Her eyes shouldn't look like that- did someone drug her? Why is she out here so late at night? Why was she trembling? Holy shit, how long has it been since I saw her last? Her hair is so tangled…' Anastasia's mouth moved faster than her thoughts, though. "Hey Ronnie, yeah- yeah it's me! It's Ana! Hey, you wanna- you wanna come back to my place? Watch a movie? Old times sake. We can have some popcorn!"

Veronica stared at her for a long moment. Eyes catching the light like a cat's. Anastasia opened her mouth to ask again- Veronica nodded once. Her eyes did not leave Anastasia's.

The walk was quiet. Anastasia noticed that first. Veronica moved like a ghost that forgot it was supposed to be dead. So Anastasia tried to fill the silence with chatter. It started with venting really- how tired she always was, how much she hated going to class, how slimy she felt when Brent touched her. That got a response from Veronica. Her head twitched slightly, her hands balled into fists. The temperature felt like it dropped a few degrees. Anastasia quickly changed topic.

A new movie came out, she's thinking she might try to go see it next week. Alone, of course, "I've never liked watching movies with anyone. Well, anyone but you Ronnie." She wasn't sure if she was comforting Veronica, or herself. (But something loosened in her chest when Veronica's hands loosened once more, when Veronica let out a soft sigh.)

Veronica hesitated at the threshold, but Anastasia took her hand and pulled her in. Pretended to ignore how Veronica was looking at her like she hung the moon.

She moved through her little sanctuary like second nature. Turning the fairy lights on, loading up her favorite old movie on the VCR she never tossed out, pulling blankets off of her bed and onto the couch. Veronica was never far. Always in the shadows, until Anastasia sat her down on the couch.

Anastasia let herself go then. Talking about the movie even though she's seen it ten thousand times. It's her favorite, she loves the monster design, and the story. The cinematography, the way it catches human nature. Not once did Anastasia feel like she was talking to nothing, because Veronica responded in kind. Even though Anastasia could feel Veronica's eyes on her instead of the movie, it was obvious that the other woman was hanging on to every single word she said.

It wasn't until the credits started rolling that Anastasia felt a weight on her lap. Veronica had finally succumbed to sleep. Anastasia didn't push her away, didn't shudder in disgust… she leaned down, pressed her lips to Veronica's temple, and whispered her closest secret. "They all think my first kiss was Brent, you know…" she let out a laugh. Fragile, cracking, "It wasn't. It was you. I still remember it, some stupid spin the bottle game you didn't even want to be part of. Some shitty little dare." Anastasia started to run her fingers through Veronica's hair, gently untangling it. "I preferred it. I prefer you, I think. You were so cute, tried to let me off without kissing you. I never got a chance to tell you…" her breath caught on what could have been a laugh. Or a sob. Her voice dropped once more, as quiet as a breath, "I had wanted to kiss you, and I'm glad you let me, in the end."

The TV flickered off, the fairy lights twinkled like stars… and Anastasia felt a sense of bitter comfort knowing that her confession fell upon deaf ears as Veronica's body finally slept.

…She didn't even notice the third shadow in the reflection of the television, standing behind the couch, leaning towards his sister.

#The Femslasher: Veronica #The Darling: Anastasia #yandere

The First Note Sylus was born a nobody. His mother was a bar singer, a damn good one, if the world had ever turned it's indifferent eyes on her. His dad? No clue. His mom sometimes spun stories about strong men who made promises, but Sylus stopped believing in them every time he heard her cry. Early on he learned that being wanted and being loved were two different things; his mother loved his eyes, said they were his father's.

He grew to hate them.

People always noticed his eyes before anything else. He started to wear his hair so it would cover his face.

The Street Saint Naturally, he was drawn to music. Singing first, it was what he was raised around, and then an old bass guitar that the barkeep said was too broken to salvage. It was better than nothing, and she felt right in his hands. The guitar felt like something heavenly, and he sang like something holy... someone called him divine, and he decided he is.

He busked for eddies, traded song for shelter, used that disarming charm like a weapon long before he knew how to throw a fist. But the world doesn’t reward sensitivity. It rewards spectacle. So he taught himself to perform pain instead of feel it.

It was Malaric who found him, in a dive bar with a flickering sign, half drunk and bleeding from a shattered bottle, still singing. Still strumming. Still laughing. There's something magnetic about someone who refuses to lose their audience, even wounded. Malaric saw not a victim, but a devotee. Called Sylus "Duke." A mock title, that Sylus took as a crown.

Ascension The Velvet Dominion was built on indulgence: Royal titles, grand stages, their corruption-as-glory aesthetic... to Sylus, it was the first home he ever knew. They called themselves the gods of sound, and he believed it. For years, he lived on the screams of the crowd alone. Who needs love, when you have worship? Yet- the more he rose... the hungrier he was.

He felt much like an artist without a muse. Brush strokes on an empty canvas that meant nothing. Notes from a guitar that felt hollow. Sheet music that held no meaning. Like empty photographs.

The Untamed God It was a gig like any other. A cheering crowd, a dingy bar, blood had spilled just minutes earlier when a fight broke out between the gangs. He didn't pay it much mind. Didn't even pay attention to the fight... that is, until he saw her. Tall, calm, unbothered. Blood on her knuckles that she didn't bother to wipe off.

A look that cut straight through every layer of his performance. His charm fell flat on her, his charisma fizzled out against her ice. She didn't see the Duke... she saw him.

That's what hooked him. He didn't love her at first, though gods above and below she was stunning. He needed her, because she made him feel real in a world built from illusions. Made him feel watched, despite the smoke and mirrors. That need quickly rotted into obsession.

He hunted her down after the set, pinned her to a wall, and kissed her until she trembled. Told her she belonged to him. She bit him and punched him hard enough to bruise his ribs.

Sylus didn't give up, though. To him, she is his. She just didn't know it yet.

Taming The God It wasn't serenades, it wasn't flowers. It was consistency. He didn't chase Scarlet with words, he waited for her with presence. A voice that always seemed to be there when she stumbled, hands that steadied her when no one else dared. He learned her rhythm just like he learned to play the bass. When she fought, when she stumbled, when her guard fell just enough for him to close the distance, when her armor splintered... for him to slip in like smoke.

He was patient in the way a hunter is. Watchful, devoted, calm. He said the right things, he knew when to shut up. He made her believe that with him, she could just be Scarlet... that while she would always be a weapon, at least with him she could finally be at rest. For someone who had only ever been needed to fight... that illusion was the perfect trap.

When she finally let him close, he swore he'd never hurt her. Maybe, in his twisted way, he meant it... but Sylus doesn't love in halves, to be his meant to be consumed, little by little.

He never really did tame her, just built her a cage that she mistook for safety. Painted it red so it felt familiar. Taught her who she "should be," beat the lessons into her and then held her shaking body close and told her it was because he loved her.

He never could kill the part of her that was a martyr, though.

The Shikigami's Ghost It was just a kid. A street rat. Something that should have been left to freeze in the gutter... Scarlet told Sylus to die slow and left with the bundle that night. Slashed his tires so he couldn't follow.

Something broke in him that he didn't know could break. For the first time, he was powerless. The adoration of hundreds, of thousands, of the whole fucking world, wouldn't fill the silence left in her wake. So he did what he's always done. Turned his pain into a performance. The shows got darker, the lyrics sharper. As if he were bleeding on stage and calling it art.

He still has her scent on his psyche. Every song, every photograph, every cruel lyric he writes about love... is hers. He'll never admit it, but the moment Scarlet stopped needing him, she became the god he always thought he was.

He still haunts her, though. Knows she cut her hair short, knows she still checks her locks four times over, knows that her hands shake when she hears his songs on the radio... Knows that she picked up another stray and thinks she loves it.

No matter. She'll be his again. Maybe he'll even let her keep the dog she seems so fond of.

#The Duke: Sylus #The Shinigami: Scarlet #The Ghost: Hikaru #Character Origins

Veronica remembers the day all too well. The shoes that hurt her heels, the dress that made her feel too warm and too open at the same time, the way her mother's hands were so rough when they tied her hair back.

She had learned not to cry. The last time she did her father struck her across the face. She had to tell everyone at church she just fell down. They believed the lie.

When they weren't looking, Zander snuck into the room. Pulled a pair of shorts on her to help her feel more comfortable. The suit he was wearing was fit to his frame, conveniently hiding the bruises around his neck. He didn't rustle her hair like usual, not wanting to upset mother, but he did kiss her on the forehead. Promised her ice cream and a trip to the park once the sermon was over.

They were both perfectly quiet in the car on the way to church. Be seen, not heard.

She sat through it proper, didn't fidget or doze. She let her eyes wander of course- she always did- and they landed on the stained glass. It was beautiful. It always had been. A mother holding her child. The light that filtered through felt warm, safe even.

She wished her mother loved her as much as Mother Mary loved her child. Prayed for it, even.

She stopped listening to the actual sermons by now. The way they spoke of kindness and compassion, the way they spoke of control. Sometimes she'd slip her hand into Zander's though. When she could see the vein in his forehead throb.

Today was one of those days. He didn't lash out, though. Not today. He had a promise to keep. Ice cream, the park. He gave her a soft, secret smile. Just for her, just for him. It was gone in an instant, but it stayed with her the rest of the sermon.

Zander was good at convincing their parents after church- when their father was still hungover, when their mother was content after speaking to the priest. All it took was a soft voice, a bowed head, and a promise to be home before nightfall.

They didn't even make it out of the parking lot before Zander's hand raised and undid her hair. He didn't even look at her when he did it- he was used to it, after all. He knew exactly which knot to pull to let her beautiful hair free. He pulled off his shoes and let her wear them, too.

Her little hand in his. They walked quietly- but it wasn't suffocating like in the car. It was comfortable.

She ordered vanilla that day. Sat on the bench next to her brother and quietly ate it -- and then, almost out of the blue, breaking the silence; "I don't like boys. They're gross. 'Cept you, Zandy. You're alright," a little kid who doesn't really understand what she's saying, not really, "I'd rather get married to Ana… don't tell mama or papa or father, though. I don't think… I'd be allowed to marry Ana. So I guess you'd be fine."

He couldn't help but laugh. A rare sound- it spooked her a little, but she basked in it shortly after.

"Ronnie, don't listen to them. Mother, father- not even the priest. None of them know shit, okay kiddo?" He mussed her hair again, "You can marry whoever you want. Even Anastasia."

Veronica still remembers that day every time she smells vanilla. Sometimes the wind rustles her hair and she pretends it's his hand. Sometimes she sees the way he smiled in the reflection of the glass in her apartment.

It's raining tonight. The shadow in the corner of her darkroom twitched.

#Femslasher: Veronica #The Haunting: Zander

The sirens arrived late. Far too late for it to mean anything. She had been sitting on the corpse for what felt like hours. Or days. She wasnt sure anymore. Just that she couldn't get a proper breath into her lungs, the knife gripped in her hand was still slick with gore, that she couldn't seem to stop shaking... And that everyone else was dead. It didn't look good for her, when the sherif finally entered the room. She was the only one alive in what could only be described as a blood bath, and she was still holding onto her only means of survival. She went without protest, her eyes distant, her breath erratic, her mind still a tangle of screams, pleading, fear, and the pure unadulterated need to survive. ...It didn't take them long to find the room with the blueprints. The plans. The evidence that she herself is innocent. Turns out her brother had some sort of obsession with her, wanted to kill everyone around her to keep her to himself. Some sort of twisted sense of desire to protect the last of his family, only to end up dead because his little sister protected herself. She was never the same since.

#Femslasher: Veronica #drabble #yandere

It was cold that night. The snow fell in thick flurries. Every breath that left someone's lungs came out in a soft cloud of condensation.

Valerian himself had found shelter in a cabin; long since abandoned, windows shattered, roof sagging under the weight it struggled to carry. It was better than the alternative; besides, Valerian was nothing if not a man of ingenuity... and the wood burning stove still held, which was really all he needed, save for the ratty blanket that he hung over the window. It just barely covered it- not perfect, but suitable for now. It would keep the gaze off of him for now.

Valerian would not deny the fact that this was one of his favorite places yet; quiet, isolated, private. He could study in peace here. He went through his bag methodically, placing his tools out on a cloth atop the rotting table- and paused. He had nothing here to study. Of course he wouldn't, it was the middle of nowhere, the height of a winter storm, and absolutely an unfit environment for anything to be wandering around outside.

At least that gave him enough time to pour over his latest notes.

Firelight flickered over the weary feathers on Valerian's half-opened wings, reflecting off of his glasses as he went over each page. A twitch interrupted his study every so often, a reminder of the strain he put on his wings from his last attempted flight. The storm howled outside, a haunting melody that reminded Valerian that any harmony will fall apart if forced hard enough.

Knock. Knock. It was quiet, but Valerian still flinched at the sound. He stayed at the table for a long moment, eyes staring without seeing at the notebook in his hands. He did not move right away. Two knocks was too polite for a beast, far too soft for a soldier. He certainly did not imagine it. That was no trick of his mind, it was no angelsong. Valerian debated ignoring it for a long moment, but that curiosity, always haunting him, stirred once more. He counted three heartbeats before he stood. (One for each of the Holy Eyes he imagined burning into his back.) There was a click in his jaw as he walked to the door. He opened it with a confidence he did not feel but mimicked anyways, and on the other side...

Snow white hair. Pale blue eyes. Two wings heavier than the body they grew from, drooping like wet paper. His feathers were half-iced, the shimmer had gone grey at the tips. His halo hung unsteady in the air just behind his head, turning like a broken compass. For a moment, Valerian thought the thing would simply... flicker out. A small, trembling angel- except... something was off, something was just so slightly... "Ah," he murmured, "a reject, then." Valerian's voice was not malicious, nor was it cruel. He was simply stating a fact. The fledgling in front of him was, in fact, imperfect. The pure light that came from his halo faltered in one space; a chip. He did not flinch at the label, though he did look up, eyes tired, glossy. As if already resigned to the fates.

...Heavens eyes be damned, Valerian wasn't heartless enough to keep his hearth unaccompanied. He allowed the boy in.

The boy thawed quietly by the stove, steam rising from his feathers like spirits from a grave. Valerian busied himself with his notes again, eyes flicking up every time the boy shifted. Eventually, the child began copying his movements. Turning discarded pages, sorting quills, arranging Valerian's tools into neat lines.

"You mimic well," Valerian voice was matter-of-fact, "But you don’t speak?"

The boy looked at him. Then, hesitantly, shook his head.

The winter storm still suffocated the outside world, but inside that little cabin, everything had gone still. Two halos glowed faintly. One whole, one broken. One black, one white. And for the first time in years, Valerian did not feel entirely alone beneath the eyes of the Heavens. And for the first time in years, Valerian felt something akin to rage.

Rage, on this fledgling's behalf. Rage, because this fledgling was sent away from the place he had been allowed for far longer than he should have been. Rage, because where Valerian threw his right to the Heavens away, this boy was never given a choice. This boy was stripped of divinity, stripped of song. Stripped of home.

#The Teacher: Valerian #The Student: Anthos #drabble

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

An Angel's Scrawl