Zuko/reader - based on The Ithaca Saga from EPIC the musical. Part II, because it was requested! REMINDER: REQUESTS ARE OPEN
Part One
(Song link: Hold Them Down)
A scoff, hands crossed over his chest, his leg was insensate, it was driving even Sokka up a wall, and it was Sokka.
“Dude. If you don’t stop bouncing your leg, I’m throwing you off of Appa. It’s even making me anxious.” He groaned, throwing his body dramatically onto Appa’s saddle, looking more like a fainting princess than the fighter he was.
“Shut up,” Zuko snapped back, clicking his tongue in simmering frustration. His hand was running through his hair despite how the wind wanted to tangle it.
“He just wants to see his wife,” Katara spoke, “I can’t really blame him. No communication while we get this sorted out?” She shot a look in Aang’s direction, and he shivered. Aang knew the situation wasn’t ideal, but when dealing with a potential chance to meet other airbenders, he had to keep it on the down low. Lest all four nations stick their noses where they don’t belong…not to say it fully worked. But they at least stopped the spread of information from getting too far inland.
“Yeesh, that’s gonna be one angry Empress.” Aang winced; not even he wanted to get on your bad side. He wouldn’t be surprised if Zuko were banished to a different chamber altogether for the foreseeable future.
“No shit,” Zuko grunted, glowering at the clouds as if even they wronged him. His fingers traced over the picture in his bag absentmindedly. He looked at it every night, pudgy Izumi, and your dazzling smile. Shit, you were gonna kill him, two fucking years and no word, even though it was necessary. No, surely you’d understand, he swallowed thickly, at least he hoped you would. You said he could go, encouraged him even though he had a world to save; your only stipulation was that he come back alive. Which, in his defense, he was coming back alive, just… not promptly.
“Ya know…” Toph said, flicking some dirt over in his direction, causing him to scoff, “They could’ve made her remarry.” Everyone on the bison froze, turning to Toph and momentarily forgetting that Toph couldn’t see, Sokka made a ‘cut it out’ motion with his hand. Katara sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose,
“Toph, stop causing trouble.”
“I’m just saying. Speaking logically, you’re gone for what? Two years at this point? You know how political men are, wolves all of ‘em.” Zuko looked furious at the suggestion, something he hadn’t even considered until this moment. “Hell, she could have a whole other kid-”
“Toph!” Katara snapped, “What the hell?”
The color drained completely from Zuko’s cheeks; he felt absolutely sick. Another man, dishonoring you like that? He’d never forgive himself.
“What? I just don’t want him to be surprised!” She shot back eyebrows furrowing, and Katara realized she meant well, but the execution of the possibility was horrible. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, especially him. He’s got a lot to lose.”
“We all do.” Aang added in to try to ease the tension, “but we’ll be here to help. To solve the situation, we saved the world again. We can handle some guy taking your place. You’re the Fire Lord, man, as if anyone would want to challenge you now that you're alive. We’ll have them shaking in their boots!” Aang laughed with a wink, “We can just rough him up a little…ya know, normal stuff.” All three men eyed one another, knowing that roughing him up meant something a little more intense than what they were implying.
That didn’t seem to help Zuko’s mood, his frown deepening as he ran a hand down his face. “Can’t Appa go any faster?” He spoke up suddenly, and Aang winced.
“Uh, this is all we got.” The silence stretched onward, the anxious Fire Lord squirming the entire ride home, much to the Fire Lord’s companions' dismay.
Meanwhile, back at the Fire Nation, unrest began to settle in the castle, one murmur of threats turning into anger, turning real. A man, Antinous, furious from being denied again and again by the empress’s denial, gathered the suitors.
“Screw this competition, we’ve been here for hours. No one can complete this bullshit. We don’t have the skills that the Fire Lord has; it was rigged from the start.” Agreement rang out, no longer grumbles but loud words of agreement, like they were coming to a realization they hadn’t thought of before. Antinous ego swelled hearing the cheers of agreement, that he wasn’t alone in his thoughts; he knew he wasn’t. But the verbalization made it all the more clear that something must be done to tame this unruly Empress and her children.
“Screw the challenge, no more delays, can’t you all see we’re being played?” He asked, standing up on one of the tables in the dining hall. Where men waited for the dawn of the next day, for they couldn’t accommodate so many men. Antinous was the leader. It was becoming increasingly clear that people wanted to listen to him; he had the power.
“This is how they hold us down! The thrones are getting colder, everyone here is slowly aging, meanwhile.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “The princess gets bolder, where in the hell is our pride and our rage? Fuck peaceful fire, when has anything been solved with peace? And don’t give me that avatar crap, we know it’s all fucking rumors, he never killed anyone. It’s bullshit. How many relatives do we know who were slaughtered in the war?” More people got louder, agreements once quiet turning into shouts.
“Here and now, there’s a chance for action, here and now we can take control! Here and now, burn it down to ashes,” ever the showoff, he sent fire from his fists as he punched the air. “Channel the fire inside your soul!” He was grinning, ear to ear, like he won the prize of a century, like he wouldn’t turn on them the moment the Empress was in front of him.
For he would win the ultimate prize, even if it meant killing anyone who got in his way, including allies.
–
“You sure you’ll be fine going in there alone?” Katara asked softly, hand placed gently on Zuko’s arm. “I think Toph is full of shit, but…just in case I don’t want you to walk into something shocking.” Zuko smiled fondly at her, despite his worry and his anxiousness to run into the arms of his wife. He took a deep breath, placing a hand on her shoulder,
“It’s fine. I can handle whatever is thrown at me, inside there. Even if it is just a very angry empress,” sweat beaded on his brow as she laughed, shaking her head.
“Katara!” Aang waved. It seemed she was the last one to say goodbye,
“Don’t be a stranger, Flame-O Hot Man.” That earned a loud groan from him and a chuckle from her. “Now go kiss your wife and daughter.”
“I plan on it.” He smiled softly in a way reserved for his family, them included. He turned, putting his hood up, making sure no one would recognize him until he got to you first. Secret tunnels that you had explored together as children. Drawings and carvings were still etched into the wall, your names, hearts, and stars, a path that led to the master chambers. Here you shared your first kiss with him; it was hurried and rushed, as if the two of you wouldn’t see tomorrow. You had begged him then to run away with you, find a place away from his father and his torment. Zuko had declined, a part of him always wondered what would have happened if you both had run away. Would he have been so obsessed with honor, of finding and killing the avatar? Would he still be friends with the family he made today? So many unsolved questions, but one answer remained: if anything changed, he may not have you by his side. He would do it a thousand times over if you were at the end of the tunnel. A fondness fluttered in his heart, you’d be the first to see him, first to know, and whatever he finds, he knows you’ll choose him, you’ll always choose-
Shouting. His ears perked up, and he paused. It was cramped, way too cramped for him now; stillness was painful, but he listened. He heard men, he heard about a challenge his wife has put forth, clever. Clever girl.
“Then, when the deed is done,” His voice got low, gross, and smarmy, “the empress will have no one to stop us from breaking her bedroom door. Stop us from taking her love and more. Then we’ll hold her down while her gate is open, hold her down while I get a taste, hold her down while we share her spoils. I will not let any part go to waste!”
His pupils shrank to pinpricks. The smell of smoke was radiating off of him, hands curling as flames began to lick at them.
They were dead men.
–
“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Don’t you know the princess is not around, or the old man? I heard they’re on a diplomatic mission, and that she's coming back to town today. I say we gather near the shipyard, wait till they arrive, then, when she docks, we can breach it. Then will burn them down till the girl stops shaking, burn them down while you slit the old man's throat. While I slowly break their pride, her trust, her faith, and her bones. We’ll cut them into tiny pieces and throw them down into the great below. When the Empress wonders where he daughter is, only the ocean and I will know.” He sighed with a grin, pulling a sword out of his belt. Can't go wrong with two weapons. “As for the baby one…” He rolled his eyes, tilting his head back, a smile never leaving his face.
“Kill ‘er and make The Empress watch as the Fire Lords bloodline ends.” Antinous snickered as if killing a baby was something honorable. Something to be proud of, morals didn’t matter to a man like him.
“Then, when the deed is done,” His voice got low, gross, and smarmy, “the empress will have no one to stop us from breaking her bedroom door. Stop us from taking her love and more. Then we’ll hold her down while her gate is open, hold her down while I get a taste, hold her down while we share her spoils. I will not let any part go to waste!” The man was practically drooling now, just imagining her, kicking and screaming beneath him as everyone here held her down. Sharing the spoils they had long since earned. “Here and now, there's a chance for action. Here and now, we can take control. Here and now, burn it down to ashes! Channel the fire inside-” a dagger made of fire lodged in his throat, he gagged, blood spilling from his lips. How did no one notice? Were they too enamored with the spectacle that they hadn’t even noticed this man, hood covering his face, the only thing they knew was that he was a firebender.
A talented fire bender at that.
“Oh fuck, scatter!” The men screamed, booking it off in every direction. Aang would be upset, but the time for peace was over.
Song Link 2: Odysseus
A laugh, broken almost feral, spilled from the Fire Lord's lips as the suitors and those who dared agree with him scattered to the wind. Down the halls, as if that could help save them, as if they would spare them from his wrath. He wasn’t quite sure if they recognized him just yet, his hood still covering his face, hair spilling around his shoulders like inky black coils. They wouldn’t be safe, not from him or his wrath, he laughed, smoke curling from his lips—the dragon of the fire nation. “I come back and find my palace desecrated and destroyed. Worst of all, I hear you dare to touch my wife and hurt my family? You think I’m going to let you get away with that?” Zuko snarled, gnashing his teeth as his hood fell from his head. Rage burned in his eyes. Underneath was fear, fear that Toph was correct in her hypothesis. The fear that he was too late, that what they were discussing was reminiscing, not a plot yet to unfold.
“I have had enough,” He growled, flames curling around his fists as he hopped down from the table, stalking after those who ran. No one would be alive if he had spread peace or tried to understand Aang's instruction. To make up for those he did hurt, but this? Unforgivable.
“In the heat of battle, at the edge of the unknown,” A suitor’s voice echoed, and his head snapped in their direction with a scoff. Pathetic.
“Somewhere in the shadows lurks an agile, deadly foe. We have the advantage, we've the numbers and the might.”
“You don't understand it. This man plans for every fight,” Another suitor chimed in, making Zuko’s skin break out in disgust. It was like his name didn’t want to be said, didn’t want him to be alive as the rumors made him out to be. Their worst nightmare, but Zuko was very, very alive and very, very real.
“Where is he?”
“Keep your head down, he's aimin' for the torches.” Another one hissed, watching down the hall as the fire that lit it burned out. Even as some tried to reignite them, the overwhelming power of the intruder snuffed them out in an instant. “Fuck, he's using the darkness to hide his approaches.”
“We're empty-handed, up against a master bender. Our only chance is to strike him in the darkness.” Fire ignited in his palms, and he swore every shadow he saw was the man in the hood.
“We know these halls; the odds can be tilted.” Another meekly spoke, though his voice sounded fearful.
Good. Zuko wanted them to be. He laughed in disbelief, echoing off the palace walls, “You don't think I know my own palace?” Zuko’s hood had fallen off as he approached the remaining orange and yellow glows of the torches, which danced across his skin like dragons fighting in the sky.
“Fire Lord, you're alive?”
“We are so fucked.” Another one muttered as he was shushed, and the other stepped forward, opening his arms wide.
“Fire Lord, our leader is dead. You've destroyed the serpent's head. Now the rest of us are no longer a threat. Old king, forgive us instead so that no more blood is shed. Let's have open arms instead, as the Avatar always preached. Your friend, you wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?” He stepped forward again, dared to do so when he had threatened to slaughter his bloodline, his castle, and his wife. Zuko laughed, a smile spreading across his face, a mask of gentle kindness, until the man relaxed. Thinking he had any sway over the Fire Lord was stupid, idiotic; they were all fools.
Every. Single. One.
It was quick; the smell of burning skin sloshing off bone as the suitor screamed. It permeated the air as everyone else stumbled back, bolting away from the carnage Zuko had left in his wake. Eventually, they came across the armory, throwing it open and shoving one another inside, their weapons were plain as day. They scrambled, gathering everything they could think to pick up weapons, armor, and anything they could use to defend themselves against one of the greatest firebenders of all time. Some knew it was useless; others were deluded into thinking they could take him on. Zuko took down armies with The Avatar, but that’s because of teamwork. He couldn’t take them all on at once.
“I find it hard to believe that the sharpest of kings left his armory unlocked,” a trembling voice, a young man holding a weapon far too big for him.
“So what? Now that we have armed ourselves, let's make the bastard rot-”
“Behind you!” A choking sound as a dagger sliced through his chest, strong and fierce, stood Izumi. Not bothered by the blood and strong enough to shove the dagger full force into a man’s chest.
“Throw down those weapons, and I ensure you'll be spared.” Izumi, the voice of reason with Zuko’s passion and your temperament. Truely was raised in a time of peace, fairness would be needed, and justice would be served. Although unsure of the problem fully, something had spooked her mother’s suitors into getting up and arming themselves. Smoke spilled from her mouth as she took a deep breath out, a young dragon in the making. Her uncle had taught her poise and calm in a time of battle. If there was a chance for surrender, let them take it.
“After seeing what the Fire Lord will do to us. We wouldn't dare.” One barked pupil small, arguably the size of pinpricks, even she could see that in the flickering flames of the armory.
“Fire Lord?” She breathed in pure disbelief. No, they were wrong. Her father had not returned; her heart flipped bitterly. “I don't wanna hurt you. But trust me, I've come prepared,” Fire wrapped itself around her sword. Eyes sharp and narrow, looking more like her father than ever before.
“Ha! Your very presence has doomed the Lord, young princess. We don't fight fair. Brothers, we got company, and she's made a grave mistake. Left the weapons room unlocked, and now they're ours to take. Brothers, come and arm yourselves; there's a chance we can win. We can still defeat the king if we all attack the princess!” A grin, disgusting and foul, spread across the man's lips. After all, she also looked so similar to you. A win, win, win in his eyes. Kill the Lord while holding the princess captive, then take both women to do as they please.
No one would be left to stop them then.
“Capture her, she's our greatest chance!”
“Get off me, get off me.” She snarled, fighting back against a small army on her own was not one she was used to doing. Izumi wasn’t like her father, aunts, or uncles; she grew up in a time of peace, when she knew only the basics.
“Fight 'til she can barely stand!”
“Hold her down, hold her down.” Hands so many hot, burning hands on her skin, she screeched something awful.“Make the Fire Lord obey our commands! Hold her down, hold her down 'Cause if he won't, I'll break the kid's hands.” Hands grasped her wrists, pinning them behind her back, the pressure immense. Another cry tore its way from her throat as the pressure and the head on her wrist seared her skin.
The sound echoes down the corridor. Zuko’s head snapped up, dropping the body he had just burned to the ground. Nausea washed over him instantaneously, his breathing picked up, and he knew that cry. That scream he spent hours trying to calm when she was a baby,
“‘Zumi.” Zuko felt fear many times in his life; his entire childhood was bathed in fear and anger, but nothing. Nothing felt quite like this; he felt like he was burning from the inside out, like he was a volcano waiting to erupt in a fiery blaze. Dead. Whoever touched a hair on his daughter's head, on his wife’s head. Visions of the threats loomed in his head, echoing like a siren call.
If they threatened to do that to you. Then what’s stopping them from-
Another cry.
“Fuck.” He snarled, using his fire to shoot himself down the corridors; he only hoped he wasn’t too late. Zuko was never late. He stared furiously and viciously, locking eyes with Izumi, tears pooling in her eyes as she gaped at him.
“Dad?” Nothing more than a whisper before he was on the man, dagger straight in his chest, causing his arms to pull away from his daughter as she stumbled to the floor.
“Me-mer—”
“Mercy? Mercy?” Zuko laughed, plunging the dagger deeper into his gut. My mercy has long since burned. It died as soon as I arrived back here. And as long as you're around. My family's fate is left unknown. You plotted to kill my daughter. You planned to *rape* my wife.” Even the mirror words on his tongue made him want to puke; rage burned even brighter. Even hotter.
Smoke and fire now curled from his lips as he spoke, a calm rage. A burning one that seared through even the toughest of metals, “My wife. MY WIFE. My daughter.” A blurred, dizzying laugh spilled from his lips,
“All of you are going to die.” Fire seared their flesh and bones, hotter than the volcanoes on the island, hotter than hellfire—every single one of them. Everything was burned to a crimson ash, his chest heaved, and his hair was a tangled mess.
“Father?” Zuko stilled, turning to face her. His daughter is no longer a girl but a young woman. He looked just like him, and she was a fire bender. Shit, he couldn’t be prouder,
“Zuzu…” Her dagger dropped to the floor, and she sprinted to him, hugging him so tight he felt like he was going to pop. “I’m home. I’m home, babygirl.”
“Papa!” Another voice. His body stilled. He turned around. A desperate hand maiden crying and frantic as a young girl who looked just like you burst through the room. A room still charred and coated with ash,
“Princess Aavia!” The handmaiden practically sobbed, seeing the wreckage before her. When their eyes met, she gasped. “Oh, oh my stars-”
“Aavia,” Izumi whispered, moving to pick her up. Squirming, eager to see the dad she had only seen in pictures. Zuko approached carefully, Toph’s words echoing through his head on repeat like a drum. How old was this child? Did someone else get to you? Touch you? Rape You? Zuko held out his finger, and she touched it with an excited trill.
“Is-”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t let anyone touch ma,” Her eyes blazed the same fire Zuko’s had held only moments before.
“That’s my girl.” Zuko kissed the side of her head, and she whimpered. Aavia, his baby girl, was none the wiser of what had just happened only moments ago. Zuko wanted to reach out, wanted to hold his baby girl in his arms, both of them. It was possible, Zuko was strong enough; he had the muscle mass to do so. You always said he did, he was able to lift both you and Izumi, and-
“Father?”
“Zumi?”
“We need to talk.”
“As you wish…”
(Song link: I Can't Help But Wonder)
He watched her movements, clinical and suspicious. Zuko was proud of her for that, and she assessed the situation before speaking. He handed his two-year-old daughter back over to the delirious and horrified handmaiden and shooed her from the room. Izumi took a breath. “All my life, I'd have died to meet you. thought about your name so much, it hurts. For two years, I've dreamt of how I'd greet you…and now you're here, I can't find the words.” He watched her laugh, running a hand through her hair, and his heart softened.
“All my life, I'd have died to know you. Days and nights, I wish that I could show you. For two years, I never could outgrow you…and now you're here, I can't help but wonder what your world must be like if we're alike, if I have your strength in me.” He watched her look at her hands, a non-bender when she left, and a powerful fire bender now. He reached out to take her burnt hands, but paused as she pulled away just so.
“All this time, I've wondered if you'd embrace me as your own. Two years, I've wandered, for so long I've felt abandoned.” He watched her squeeze her hands into fists at her side. He could see her anger, her irritation, because he had felt it so much as a young child.
“Oh, my daughter, look how much you've grown. Oh, my dear, sweetest joy I've known. Two years ago, I held you in my arms. How time has flown. Used to say I'd make the volcanoes burn for you. Used to say I'd capture smoke and ash for you. Held you in my arms, prepared to die for you. Oh, how time has flown.” He laughed, breathless and airy hands sliding through his blood-soaked hair. Hands
“I can only wonder what your world has been. Things you've had to suffer, and the strength you hold within. All I've ever wanted was to reunite with my own. Two years, we've wandered, but today you're not alone,” he felt them. Tears burn across his flushed face, heart hammering in his ribs. His voice cracked helplessly.
“My daughter, I'm finally home.” He saw Izumi’s bottom lip tremble and her face scrunching up in a way that was undoubtedly you.
“Dad!” She croaked once more, tackling him in a hug that made him stumble back a few steps from the sheer force. “I m-missed you s-so much don’t EVER leave AGAIN!” Zuko laughed, holding her as if she were fragile glass.
“I won’t, little spark. Not now. Not ever.” A promise Zuko wasn’t sure he could keep, but one he’d do everything in his power to assure. He leaned back to press a kiss to her forehead,
“Go, tell your mother I'm home, I'll be there in a moment.
“Of course,” her voice cracked, whipping her eyes with a little laugh. “She’s going to kill you.”
Zuko’s demeanor wilted, “I know.” She laughed as she walked out of the room. Silence stretched for a moment before he scoffed.
“Show yourself. I know you're watching me, show yourself,” A light smile was on his lips as he turned. His uncle, old but not feeble, came from the other side of the room. Zuko had been so worried he would pass when he was away that his heart felt so much lighter as soon as he laid eyes on him.
“Hi, uncle,” His voice cracked, and Iroh smiled. Iroh walked to him with careful grace, holding his hands within his own. Still smoking and hot from the fight earlier, even after he didn’t regret it.
“I can't help but wonder what this world could be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy. It’s funny to wish, what if there's a world where we don't have to live this way?
Zuko rolled his eyes, but it was nothing but fond, the ramblings of an old man. “If that world exists, it's far away from here. In this moment,” He countered, letting the tension ease from his body, covered in blood from the threats to his family, and Iroh hummed. “It's one we have to miss, for it's far beyond our years,” Zuko spoke,e shaking his head as Iroh scoffed.
“As if our Avatar isn’t preaching peace, as if that’s not what your original goal was, nephew.” Zuko once more rolled his eyes, a gesture Iroh was used to,
“Well. Right now I've got one endeavor, there's a girl I have to see.” Eagerness was practically seeping from his bones, an echoing yearning.
“Very well. She has missed you. Be careful, I heard she was sharpening knives earlier today.” Zuko froze as Iroh laughed, full-bellied and smiling. “Be careful, Nephew, she’s a sharp one.”
“You don’t think I know that,” He sighed, now a hint of dreaminess in his tone. “I married her after all.”Their heads snapped up as Izumi opened the grand doors once more, “Father? She's waiting for you.”
Zuko took a deep breath and nodded. He just hoped he wouldn’t be castrated.
Zuko/reader - based on The Ithaca Saga from EPIC the musical. I just had to get this garbage on paper. ATLA was a part of my childhood, and well…the new movie. Haven’t seen it yet, but… a hot man is hot. So the timeline will most likely be absolutely, or at least very, inaccurate to fit EPIC. Understandable if you don’t read it because of that.
Anyway, for those who do read, please enjoy. If people want it, I’ll do the rest of the songs, but if not, then enjoy the only thing I’ll write for him :3 ... or maybe not it was fun to write.
Pt. 1: The Empress (Song link: The Challenge)
The window in the bed chambers was large, opening onto a balcony overlooking a good portion of the Fire Nation. Or at least the part of the city where the castle was located, volcanoes stretched onward, and it was warm. The breeze came in through the curtains, making you close your eyes and hum. Ever so tenderly, you ran a brush through your hair…staring out into the vastness ahead of you. It’s what you spend the majority of your time doing nowadays, watching and waiting for some sort of sign. A hope for a sign that your husband will return home to you; it has been years since the Avatar called upon him for the second time. He was fighting for peace, fighting not just for his nation but for the others laid out before you. He didn’t want to go, murmurs the night before he left, tears and kisses. You both knew he would, if needed, not just for honor, for the world, but for the life you two had built.
Zuko would not only be leaving you but also your fourteen-year-old daughter. She hadn’t even developed her bending at the time; all three of you didn’t know if she would. But a few months after he had left, she developed into a fierce fire bender just like both of you. It wasn’t shocking, but there was always a chance she could’ve been a non-bender like her uncle Sokka. A late bloomer, she was always worried that not developing a bending style would disappoint her father, but all of that was quelled as soon as the gentle flames left her fingers. Even so, you reminded her of every moment you could that her father loved her and would continue to love her no matter what. A father's love is unconditional, and even though Zuko never got that pleasure with his own, you know he’d spoil Izumi rotten. Your fingers brushed against the fine silk of your curtains before pushing the door to your balcony open. It seemed you were a spectacle now; you hardly left the palace due to political dealings placed upon your shoulders.
Your daughter was too young for matters like that, so it fell to you to ensure she would never have to take on the burden too young.
Not yet. She was still your baby.
Every day, like clockwork, you step out onto the balcony and stare at the sea and sky. Perhaps your husband would return by boat, but you knew of Appa. The bison was Aang’s usual way of travel, so there was a possibility of traveling by air or by blimp. You had so many excuses, so many dreams with him, a life you both wanted to form.
Which is why you knew he was alive, you felt it deep in your soul. If Zuko were dead, you would know, because you would feel his connection severed. But people didn’t subscribe to the same ideals you did, and the possibility that he may never return was a common murmur among the citizens. You were well-liked but not enough to rule an entire nation on your own without help, and with Izumi’s age, she was in no place to take the throne either. Even if she is the heir to the nation, not only was she just seventeen, but also not a man.
Your husband was working diligently to change that before all matters came to a halt, along with his disappearance.
The sun was beginning to rise, pretty oranges and yellows spreading over the nation, and you looked down now, because you always did. Your people were gathering, waving to say hello, little children on their mothers' shoulders begging just to see the Empress, who had taken to locking herself away within the castle walls despite the sakes lurking inside it.
“Mother, they’re doing it again.” Your head turned towards the room where your daughter stood, arms crossed, jaw clenched too tightly for someone her age. Her little sister clinging to her side, ah yes…when Zuko left, neither of you knew of your second pregnancy. A fear he would assume the worst buzzed in your skin, for she looked more like you than him, only keeping his burning eyes.
“Izumi, Aavia-”
“Mama!” Aavia ran to you with a smile, and you picked her up, placing her on your hip. She was so fiery for only two.
“No. No, I don’t feel comfortable going to this meeting in the Southern Water Tribe while you’re here with those wolves.” She spread her arms wide, tapping her foot relentlessly, a habit she had picked up from her father when she was stressed. Black hair toppling down her shoulders, she had some political standing, at least. Even if it was very slim.
“Do not worry about me, I worry for you. Even if your grandfather is joining you, you know this.” You laughed lightly. A small tilt to your voice as you slid back inside, beautiful adornments softly chiming as you made your way to your daughter. Your free hand cupped her cheeks, brushing a hair behind her ear almost absentmindedly. Her grey eyes quivered; she was afraid, hiding it, as her father did, behind misplaced anger. You watched as she leaned into your touch, taking a shaky breath in through her nose. You hated that this anger was towards her own father, for leaving you alone to suffer. Zuko would never forgive himself if he found out, always afraid he’d turn into his own and ruin her.
Hardly, he spoiled her rotten until he was called away all those years ago.
You let out a trembled breath, pressing your forehead against Izumi’s. She was tall despite her age, matching her father in her rapid growth. The man also suddenly sprang up like a beanstalk. Izumi leaned back into it, squeezing her eyes shut. For you weren’t scared of the men downstairs wanting to court you, wanting power and a chance for their own heir to take the stand in place of Izumi. The thought alone made you sick to your stomach, the fact that they thought you’d be forced to open your legs for anyone.
Like your husband and Iroh didn’t hone your skills. Fools.
Aavia was squirming to be let down, so you took a step back, breaking the tenderness as she was placed on the floor. Immediately making her way to the balcony, “Aavia, be careful!” You scolded, knowing she would, another thing she had developed from you, the ability to assess every situation before making a move.
“I’m not scared for myself, mother. I’m scared for you. I’m leaving on a trip, and here you will be left alone without anyone to protect you from them.” Her entire face twisted up, “Aavia is two, you have her to take care of utterly alone. All you could do was try your best to soothe her rage,
“I can protect myself, little spark.” You whispered, and she flushed in embarrassment about the nickname.
“But the shroud is almost complete; you can only unweave it for so long. They’re always suspecting sabotage.” You mumbled about ‘where was she hearing all this stuff,’ and her only response was her grandfather's name. She watched you roll your eyes,
“Of course it’s Iroh.” You muttered with no real heat behind it at all, listening as she snickered.“If you are gone and they force me into a choice,” your voice low and cold, “I have a challenge set out for them. One, I know only your father will be able to accomplish. And us, of course.”
You smirked at her, lazy and sly, and Izumi laughed, matching your look. A look perfected, a perfect copy and paste, Zuko would’ve hated it.
“Ya know, for being old, you still have a few tricks up your sleeve.” You glowered,
“You need to stop hanging out with Uncle Sokka.” Izumi gaufawed at the inclination before taking a breath and becoming stern once more.
“I’ll be back soon. I’ll send a letter over every day. It’ll only be a few days.”
“I know my sweet girl.” She bowed in front of you before standing tall. You kissed both her cheeks, “Go, don’t keep Iroh waiting, for he’ll lecture you about timeliness.”
“EW!” She gagged, snatching up her sister and practically running out the door, and you smiled oh so fondly. Aavia wasn’t going, but it was time for her lessons, and you appreciated Izumi dropping her off. Turning your head, you glanced at the family portrait hung on the wall of your bedroom, eyes softened.
“You’d be so proud of her, Zuko. She’s just like you, all the good in you. The good you don’t think is there, how can someone bad make someone so kind?” You wish he were here to respond, to feel his arms around you once more, to hold you gently. A tear slipped down your cheeks, and you hissed, no.
No crying, he’s alive, cries are for the dead.
You just had to remember, even with Zuko gone, you were surrounded by love.
It was time, you decided, for the challenge you had arranged.
Firebending is formed from energy, aggressive and raw energy, hot and angry. Yet just as a fire burns hot, it need not stem from rage or revenge. Flames flickered to life in your palm. You thought of your family, your need to protect, that’s where your bending lies. That’s where your husband and Izumi’s bending lied. It wasn’t always that way. Zuko was angry and bitter; his fire was fueled by hate and revenge. He often spoke of dragons, how he and Aang both encountered them, how they were wise and all-knowing, how they helped defeat his father. Zuko was taught that what fueled inner fire was determination and inner drive; without that, one would spiral into angry aggression. A forest fire instead of a controlled candle.
For as quickly as a fire spreads, it can be snuffed out even more quickly under the right circumstances.
Your husband spoke of losing his ability to bend, of having to rebuild it from the ground up. Most firebenders didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend bending without that negative energy, without the fuel of aggression or selfish drive that many have. Many have yet to unlearn that negative emotions do not produce as effective results. Holding in their hands, for example, is only capable with the balance and skill of one's chi; under those conditions, a challenge has been formed and set in place. You set your hairpiece in your hair, a symbol of who you were; your robes were the finest you owned. You glanced in the mirror, nostrils flaring as you stared at yourself.
‘You’re as beautiful as you are deadly, wife.’
‘I know. Let no one underestimate our strength.’
You smiled, remembering the way his face lit up at your comment, his face nuzzling into your shoulder. The laughter you let ring out as he turned his head with a puppy dog smile reserved for you. It reminded you of when you were little, before the scar, before the fororucious need for honor and revenge that separated you for so long. How would you sneak off through the palace in passages only you both knew how to traverse? A descendant of the high-ranking official who built it had its perks. Zuko was a big puppy dog then, oblivious to matters involving others, which never changed as you both grew. Love and adoration were present even then, although neither of you could fully name it; you’d both cause trouble, and whenever you’d laugh and praise him, he’d get the same look on his face.
Ghost fingers trailed up your hips and waist, “You’re beautiful, do you know that?” He breathed into your ear, kissing tenderly, not hungry, but heated, just a constant bubbling of love. This was a time before Izumi. You recall humming, hand reaching up to thread through his hair, you couldn’t believe how he went from practically bald to these silky locks. He whimpered at the sensation; gentle touches always made him melt rather than feral ones. Feral, you chucked to yourself, that’s what the group called you when you first met them after the war. Angry, fiery, and about ready to kill Zuko for all he did, for hurting you, for putting himself and the nation in danger all those years.
Safe to say you weren’t pleased.
Zuko had wilted and stumbled out words and apologies, yet expressed relief that you had somehow avoided his sister's wrath. You were a strong bender. Perhaps she thought that because you hung out with him so consistently, you were weak. Or because you were nothing but an ancestor of someone who built the palace, either way, you escaped her radar. He let out a desperate laugh, saying your name like a prayer on his lips.
“I missed you so much- oof-”
He could barely get the sentence out before you hugged him so tight, Sokka said you were gonna snap his spine. You had called him stupid, trembling in his hold, and he held you right back, despite his sins. Despite his failures and misplaced anger in his search for honor…you still loved him. They also called you feral because you and Zuko couldn’t keep your hands off each other, and Toph didn’t help with her comments when she felt things that sounded like fighting from your room—the jerk.
“You’re lost in thought,” Zuko spoke.
“Remanissing,”
“While I’m right here?” He pondered no anger in his tone, but perhaps a little pout. Another kiss, this one with a small nip near your earlobe, he relished the way your body responded to him.
“Maybe you’re not good at this,” a challenge you issue. Knowing for a fact that you were lying, he knew it too, but the look of offense on his face was always worth the jest. Zuko moved as swiftly, hands and body already warm from just the idea of you challenging the Fire Lord. A game you’d play from time to time, pretend to be a harsh ruler, but only towards you, until you were begging and whining from overstimulation. He was like some sort of serpent that way, latching on and never letting go like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You flushed as swiftly as the memory passed, deft fingers curling under the top of your robes, tracing circles on your collarbone, asking for permission without saying it. Your breath hitched in your throat with a nod. He purred against your skin, squeezing you underneath the fabric. Zuko always loved your sounds, you mewled as he flicked your nipple.
“Zuko!” You snipped cheeks, a burning red, only for him to palm and squeeze at the swell of your breasts.
“What? You want me to stop?” He did so, always a gentleman, always asking and making sure. The pout on your lips said it all as he swallowed your sounds with his lips, his other hand slowly cupping your back as he pulled you closer. Your legs splayed over his hips as you backed him up towards the bed, he began to snicker against your lips, and your nose scrunched.
“Are you sure you’re not a water bender? Cause you’re so wet for me already.” Your neck burned as you hit him upside the back of his head. You moved to stand muttering curses, only for his hands to drag you back down into his lap. “It was a compliment,” Zuko specified, “Sokka said girls liked it-”
“And why are we listening to Sokka now?” You raised a brow; you couldn’t believe you were talking about Sokka of all people as you waited for your husband to stop yammering and fuck you senseless.
“Well- I-” He didn’t have an answer, especially not since you dipped your head and began kissing marks into the side of his neck. Zuko’s breath hitched, a whine subconsciously spilling out,
“Enough talking, pretty boy, the more you talk, the less time you have to fuck a baby into me.”
That always got him.
“Yes, your highness!” He purred, flipping you down into the mattress as you laughed lightheartedly.
You had to stomp it down lest you get lost in the daydream of your husband fucking you senseless into the mattress. Your skin flushed, and your thighs felt slick with a burning need for your lover. But you had to snap out of it; had you distracted yourself and been late to the announcement you had requested everyone gather for, that would be… embarrassing.
Shameful. Later. You’d sort yourself out later.
Your steps echoed throughout the halls, long and empty as everyone had gathered in the throne room already. You walked through tapestries and portraits of gold, red, and orange with fire burning in pillars around you, illuminating your face. Only the good rulers of the nation remained hanging up. You stopped briefly, your fingers touching his; he hated it, and you loved it. He thought he didn’t look intimidating enough, and you thought he looked stunning. The only Fire Lord with a gentle smile was because you were playing with Izumi on your lap, as it was done, his two babies.
“Be fierce, my love, do not let them see you falter. Do not let them win.” Words of moments past whispered once more in your ears; you laughed, tense and bitter.
“Easy for the firelord to say…” You grumbled out loud, thankful that the halls were empty. “You know…” A breath, he wasn’t there, you knew he wasn’t, couldn’t see or hear you, perhaps if he were dead- no. No. Not dead, he couldn’t be, do not doubt him.
“I never thought that this was something you’d make me resort to.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest with a pout, “that I would have to buy you years' worth of time.” You stood in front of the grand doors pressing your forehead to it, swallowing thickly.
“I love you. Don’t make me wait another year…” Palms flat against the doors, you pushed them open. The crowd went silent as you stepped forward, poised with grace, yet simmering with fire. Men of all shapes and sizes, all different benders, foolishly thinking they could take the Fire Lord’s place by your side.
Ugh. Men.
A sentiment Toph and Katara would surely agree with.
“Your highness,” your advisor bowed, an annoying man, one that both Zuko and Aang apparently seemed bothered by, if his letter was any indication.
Another memory unbidden.
“Flam-o hot man, huh?”
“We’re not talking about this.”
“Oh, we so are.”
A fond smile spread across your lips, making you appear much more gentle than you were. Right down to business, then, you held your hand up in the air, stepping towards the throne, and fire licked at your fingers to garner attention.
“I am setting forth a challenge,” murmured, noticing immediate annoyance amongst the suitors. “Whoever can conjure fire with love instead of hate will be the new lord and rule with me as his queen.” It seemed like your voice echoed throughout the Fire Nation itself, “let the fire burn with the intention that your aim is true.”
‘Cause I’d rather die than grow old without the best of you.’ The thought flickered briefly, and you swallowed. If someone did manage the technique, you’d be forced into the marriage. But Zuko spoke and trained with a dragon to get this way, and Iroh is wise far beyond his years; they will not be able to do it.
“The challenge starts in two days at dawn!” You declared with a little huff, two more nights. Two more nights of possibilities, two more nights of waiting for your husband. How bad could that be?
The loneliness settled in worse tonight. You tossed and turned in your bed, huffing and puffing. Everything was too hot and too cold; worry made you ache deep in your bones, perhaps because neither Izumi nor Iroh was present. You felt more vulnerable than you’d like to admit, alone in a castle full of wolves; anyone would be intimidated. What was one fire bender against one hundred? You groaned into your pillow. Nothing smelled like your husband anymore; even his old clothes had long since lost their scent. A whimper, it was pathetic. The night seemed to wish to curse you even deeper, for you swore you heard something akin to Appa; every little thing reminded you of them, every sound you swore was his. Another false sound, another delusion. Perhaps this night you’d get some sleep, perhaps this night you’d dream of affection instead of the cold loneliness of your husband's coffin.
Brian Thomas HATED Timothy Wright.
It was his fault, all of it, the deaths of his friends and The Operator. Their love that burned so brightly was snuffed out, turning to smoldering ashes that both of them choked on. So how was it fair that Tim got to live and Brian was killed?
It wasn't. But Brian had a chance to fix it. To kill the source before it spread, he ended up in 1966 instead of reaching Heaven. Face to face with a baby-faced Tim, this is his chance. Get him to trust you. Then kill him painlessly.
Final Outcome: Save Everyone.
The only problem? This kid was hard to kill.
Brian refused to acknowledge much from before he donned the persona of Hoody, but the one thing he remembered was that he hated Tim. Perhaps once upon a time, they were in love, before Alex went crazy. They shared secret kisses, and Tim would say his name like a prayer at night with matching key chains that hung off Tim’s keyring. He remembers that Tim was always a restless sleeper, and Brian himself could sleep through anything. He recalls that Tim was always cold, and he’d steal all the blankets, and Brian would let him cause he ran hot. How he’d cook breakfast for Brian when he was up late studying, careful and gentle, like Brian was the most precious thing to him. A tether to something Brian wasn’t aware of, the pills the doctors call.
“Seizures,” Tim grunted, red on the apples of his cheeks, “was in the hospital for a while for ‘em. They were bad.”
Tim’s past was always a touchy subject, and now he knows why. It wasn’t just hospital visits; it was psychiatric care. Hallucinations of that thing, god fuck Tim should’ve died there, maybe everyone would be better if he did.
He remembers Tim’s face, angry and bitter, he remembers falling, and the searing pain enveloping his spine and neck. His eyes, behind the mask, dilated almost instantly, and the only question swimming in his mind was why? Why’d it have to be Brian who was chosen to die like this? It should’ve been Tim. It would end with the man who infected them, it was written on the documents plain as day.
Hospital stays, hallucinations, and aggression. Tim knew about it all, knew he was broken from the inside out, and STILL chose to get close to people, close to Brian’s friends and close to him. Brian let Tim into his life easily, like melted butter in chocolate cookies. It was a college bar and he’d just broken up with his girlfriend. Brian didn’t understand why he was broken, why he could never be fully happy with her, then he walked in. Broad-shouldered, smelling of smoke, whiskey, and sin and fuck, maybe his problem wasn’t her; it was the fact that he was fucking gay as hell.
Cause the only thing on his mind as he stared at him from across the bar was what his name would sound like on his lips.
And GOD ALMIGHTY did it sound good. Especially when he was balls deep inside of him, and Tim was crying all pretty and- fuck.
He was dying for Christ’s sake. Why was he thinking so much about a man he hated? Why was he especially thinking about how good his ass felt around Brian’s cock.
Cause you love him.
A reply, and Brian internally raged against the thought, or was it Hoody? Sometimes, even he couldn’t tell anymore.
He tried to scrub those memories away, but it was easier with Masky. The alter forged from trauma was quiet and stoic, like a machine running on cogs that weren’t his own. But he was a good boy and listened to Brian, or was it Hoody, without fault, a false sense of protection because Tim loved him.
The poor sap.
A meat shield. That’s what he was to Hoody, a way to stop this in whatever way he could, and since it was Tim’s fault, it was what he deserved. Pain exploded within him again as he wheezed a few breaths, punctured lung. No way out of this one, good at least he’d be dead, and he’d never have to see Tim’s face again cause that man would be rotting in Hell. His last breath occurred as sunlight hit his eyes, Tim pulling off the suffocating mask. He wouldn’t hear his choked sob, the fumbling, and the screams, for he was already gone…
He woke up in a cold sweat. He was on linoleum tile, and it was cold. Everything smelled like antiseptic and stale air; the pain in his body ached and was very much real. It happened in the fall, he knows this; he felt his last breath, so where the fuck was he? Brian stood on wobbly knees, pain radiated like wildfire, but somehow he could still walk. Doors upon doors ran down the hallways like some sort of hospital, but then why’d they just leave him on the floor?
“Hey! Anyone here?” He grunted before letting out a sound of relief as a nurse rounded the corner. Her outfit was a…choice, definitely old school or whatever, but Brian wasn’t picky.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother, but ugh, mind telling me where we areeeee - yeesh!” His entire body convulsed as she walked right through him. She was muttering something about a patient, but he couldn’t quite catch their name. God…he really was dead, did he die in an old hospital burial ground or something? Brian wandered for what felt like ages until finally coming across the front desk. Another woman, all in pink, was on the phone with someone, maybe scheduling an appointment. It didn’t matter what; what mattered was the year.
1996.
No. Not that wasn’t right, that’s fuck this is right, this was a few years after he was born. What the fuck- Then there was a scream, piercing and loud, and all heads shot upwards to the upper floor. The receptionist sighed, pressing a button under the desk. The call came through immediately, and a tall, broad doctor walked in on cue. On his chest was a messily scrawled name tag that read ‘Dr. Noel’. His beard and hair were trimmed back. Brian didn’t like him from the start. He screamed asshole and as soon as he opened his mouth of perfectly white teeth, Brian knew he’d hate him.
“That fucking kid again?”
“It’s the third time today, he’s scaring the other patients at this point.” The nurse blew her gum loudly, popping it and rolling her eyes. “Imagine that? Scarring other mental patients in a mental institution. God, this kid is fucked.”
Brian wanted to punch her next.
“We’re working on him. Room 401, right?” She nodded with a sideways smile, like she knew he didn’t need to ask. That this was a formality, he moved towards the steps, and Brian wasted no time following him. His stomach twisted into knots. Why was he even following this guy? Did he really just wanna lay eyes on the kid who’s scaring other patients…was he that fucked up?
Maybe a little. But he did have a fascination for the fucked up and horrific, which is why he was so hyperfixated on movies. Especially horror, hell, Brian remembers BEGGING Tim to do a SCREAM couples costume with him, and he almost creamed his pants when he agreed. Another bitter wave of nausea, even death, his brain didn’t want to let Timothy Wright go-
“TIMOTHY WRIGHT!” The doctor barked, startling Brian so hard he stumbled back a few steps, and the door swung open with a rancorous BANG. He didn’t pay attention to anything the doctor said before standing in front of him was his boyfriend- wait, no, ew fuck- his boyfriend as a kid. No. Even weirder, just…a kid.
A kid named Timothy Wright has the same name as his boyfriend—the same downturned, tired chocolate eyes. Hair a mess of deep brown that stuck up all over the place, he remembers Tim telling him how unruly it used to be. Tanned skin covered in little scars looked fresher than the ones he had traced over Tim’s arms as they sat on the couch. In his arms was a wolf plush, tan with little blue beady eyes, and glasses rested on his nose as he sniffed. Trembling in the hospital-issued clothes he was given, skinny. WAY too skinny. Just how old was he?
Brian remembers the documents in fleeting memory, blacking out what didn’t matter to the point he was trying to make. Reading over it all hastily, angry and frantic at what he was reading and at what Tim had kept from him. Fuck Brian, shit, remember what it said.
He wore glasses, clearly allergic to codeine and amoxicillin. High risk for suicide- he blinked, looking back at the trembling boy. This young? He didn’t process it while reading; that much was clear.
That this child had a plan and a way to carry it out.
Fuck, Brian was gonna puke.
“You’re screaming again. Why are you always screaming?”
Tim’s eyes flickered over to Brian, and he recoiled, as if he could see him. No, it had to be a trick of the light, there was no way-
“W-who’s that?” A meek voice, still low even for a kid his age, Dr. Noel only frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was tired of Tim. To humor him, Dr. Noel turned around, shrugging exasperatedly.
“No one’s there, Tim.”
“But-”
“I said no one’s there, boy.” The doctor snapped, “Have you taken your meds today?” His lips pressed into a thin frown as Tim nodded rapidly,
“Y-you can check with nurse Stephanie.”
Brian didn’t like this, how meek Tim was. Not once did he ever seem like this; he was stoic, brash, and always ready for a fight.
Now?
None of that existed. Brian wondered what and how that switch was flipped. Anger was now simmering in his gut at Tim instead of boiling over. Cause this wasn’t his Tim; this was a kid who hadn't yet committed the acts he had.
(Maybe you could kill him.)
A thought that wasn’t his own supplied: if he can see you, maybe you can touch him. The idea wasn’t a bad one, but- No. No buts. This was for the greater good. Get him to trust you. Then kill him quickly and painlessly, you know how.
Was this Brian thinking, or the moniker of ToTheArk?
(Or convince him to do it himself.)
No. No. Brian couldn’t do that; he would let himself convince this kid to choke to death by an overdose on his meds or bleed out in a tub with the glass Brian supplied him with. Cause even if Brian was gonna kill him, he deserved a merciless death. Tim didn’t know the monster he would become if he lived.
A mercy killing.
Brian snapped back to reality, watching the doctor pull Tim towards the window. Tim cried out, and Brian’s hands clenched at his sides. Tim or no, this was still a child.
“Look out there, boy, is he there? Well, is he?”
“No! He’s gone now, he never stays! Please just believe me, he shows me things. I’m scared-”
“We’re upping your medication.” Tim fell as he let him go, busting his knee on the linoleum. No wonder his knee never healed properly. They started all fucked up from the start.
“You can’t! The seizure meds-”
“Who’s the doctor here, Timothy?” He laughed airily and mockingly, and Tim stared daggers into the ground. “That’s right, me. Your medication will be fine. Trust us, your mom does, she just wants you better than you can go home.” Tim’s face lit up like a lightbulb in an otherwise dark room,
“She said that? Really?” He quickly grabbed his wolf plush, a little bounce in his step, but she wouldn’t. Tim told Brian that he would never see Janet, his mom, again.
“We’ll just keep you nice and doped up.” The doctor grunted under his breath as he left the room, and Brian never wanted to kill someone more. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as the doctor left, slamming the door behind him. Tim jumped at the sound before turning his eyes back to Brian.
“Are you real?” Tim whispered, picking at the button eye of his wolf, “Are you an angel?”
“An angel?” Brian snorted because Tim would never assume that, at least not the Tim he knew. He watched the little boy wilt, and he quickly cursed under his breath because he needed to make Tim trust him so he could end the cycle before it began.
“No. I’m not an angel, but I am here to make life here a bit more bearable for you.” Brian stepped closer, kneeling in front of him. He could really examine him now; so much had changed over the years. Tim’s body wasn’t as horribly scarred yet. No evidence of the hospital’s malpractice; maybe he could save him from that fate. But then again, what would be the point if he just died anyway? “I’m Brian.”
“Brian…” The name felt weird on his tongue. Brian could see it. Tim had questions, so many of them, “Why can’t the doctor see you…” Tim hesitated, hackles raising considerably.
“Cause I’m a ghost,” he answered honestly, holding his hand to his chest. Tim reeled back, “Not, like the thing hunting you. Different, I’m good. I want to protect you.” Lies, but Tim relaxed only slightly, eyeing him like Brian was going to lash out and bite him.
“You have no reason to believe me,” Brian continued. “But if you let me, I want to try to make your life less miserable. I know he doesn’t want that, but I do.”
He smiled, with a gap-tooth and a wide grin. Tim swallowed, “How do you know him…”
“I’ve seen what he does. I’ve been around a long time, and I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. Especially a kid. And the doctors? I’ll do my best to protect you from them, too.” That one, Brian wasn’t so sure about, considering he can’t really touch people. “Who else do you have to trust?” That one was a bit of a dig that made Tim shift on his heels, his eyes fluttered up to look into
Brian’s trying to read him.
“You’ll really protect me from him?”
“My very best.” Brian held out his pinky, and he took a shaky breath, interlocking it with Brian’s.
“You can’t break this. It’s a pinky promise. It’s impossible.” Tim squeezed their pinkies together, and the man before him nodded. Guilt was settling in his gut that he had to push away and ignore; maybe this would be harder than he thought.
—
“I’m sorry,” Brian sighed as Tim turned his back to him with his plush held tightly in his grasp. “It’s just a plush Tim-”
“No, it’s not!” He curled deeper in the corner of the rec room, voice cracking, unshed tears pebbling in his eyes. “She’s special! And you ruined her!”
“I didn’t ruin her,” Brian emphasized, slapping his hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. “She just lost an eye and tore a stitch, it’s an easy fix if you just let me-”
“No!” Tim snarled like some sort of wild animal, teeth gnashing in response. Brian jolted back, jaw clenching because how dare this fucking kid. “You can’t take her,” he curled up, holding the wolf plush to his chest.
“My mom gave it to me!"
Oh. Brian felt like an idiot. Did Tim tell him that before? He tried to dig into his head for a memory that would enlighten him on the idea, but found none. Did Tim not share, or was Brian just not listening…did he even have the plush still or-
A bitter anger, stuffing going everywhere, and a headless wolf.
Fuck, Brian really was terrible.
No, no, Tim deserved it. He spread it, causing everything that ruined their lives by just existing. He should just kill him now, suffocate him, and bury him with the stupid plush. Bet he could make it look like Tim just ran away, too. Maybe rumors would start that he escaped into the woods.
Brian sighed, “I’m not gonna take her or hurt her, Tim. I promise.” Brian swore, holding out his pinky. Tim still eyed him like he wanted to rip his throat out, but shuffled closer, interlocking their fingers together.
A silent promise.
He took the wolf from Tim’s hands and squeezed it, brushing against its fur. It was matted, weirdly dirty, and missing an eye. He shuffled in his pockets, finding a button, no idea why he was carrying one around, but then again, half the stuff he had was junk anyway. It was blue with little green flecks; “Go get me a doctor's needle and twine.”
Tim shuffled, looking at him with hesitance, “What if I’m caught? I could get in serious trouble.”
“Then you better not get caught then.” He grunted. Tim shrank in on himself and hesitantly walked over to the medical cart left in the hallway. Doctors puttered around, distracted by talking to themselves or other patients who were more well-liked than Timothy Wright. No one questioned why he was yelling to himself or talking to things that weren’t there.
He did it too often anyway.
Brian watched over his shoulder with curiosity. Tim looked like he was going to shit his pants; the Tim he knew was more than capable of swiping something unnoticed. Candy, snacks, hell, even money when they needed it when Brian was Hoody, and Tim was Masky.
Tim moved swiftly, standing on his tiptoes, swiping the needle and pulling at some thread, no one noticed. He scampered away, looking pale. Brian could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest.
“Come here.” Brian ushered him over, and Tim scooted over to him, watching him place the button back in its place with a needle and thread. He murmured instructions teaching Tim how to replace it if it ever happened again.
“How did you learn how to do this?”
“Theater kid, had to learn a lot of things,” Brian grunted, shoving the toy back in his hands. The look on Tim’s face almost made him forget how much he loathed the man. How can you loathe someone so much but look at him with his big dorky glasses and feel fond? Tim’s eyes were wide, and a smile spread across his lips; he knew that smile, it seemed like he never grew out of it. Pure adoration and happiness, a look he only gave to Brian, and it seemed that would be a pattern.
Then arms were around him, and he stilled, warmth, Toffee squishing between their bodies…when did he learn the stupid toy's name? When did he care?
“Thank you, Brian.”
Unconsciously, his arms found their way around Tim, holding him oddly tight, oddly fond.
“You’re welcome…”
—
Brian wasn’t always around Tim; it was mostly when Tim was asleep. The boy made him swear to stay in the room when he was trying to sleep because he kept the bogeyman away. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who he was referencing. Yet once the child was asleep, he snuck off to explore. Mostly to discover things about the boy, whether anyone would miss him was a big one. It would make his life a hell of a lot easier if it did, and it seemed like Brian would have no problem in that regard. He could barely even find the file on Tim, and when he did, it was stacked thick, not with contact information but every single symptom and illness he had. It was much less organized and concise than the ones he managed to find and pass along to Jay. The list of all the medications they were pumping Tim full of was also listed, some he hadn’t even heard of before, all for different things. Those that didn’t work were marked off with a harsh line with scrawled notes from a doctor's handwriting.
He scoffed, flipping through drawings Tim had done, some clearly when he was much younger, more scribbles than anything else. The rest, as he aged, became clearer. The drawings become filled with familiar faces. Or…facelss. The tall man, The Operator, whom Tim referred to as the bogeyman. Always looming, some in the room, some outside in the woods, sometimes right over his face; always there in Tim’s peripheral, never leaving.
Always watching.
Brian felt himself growing scarily protective of him as the days went on, less and less willing to slaughter him. Which meant he had to do it sooner rather than later, he paused for a new drawing to appear as he listlessly flipped through them. A new face, his, Brian felt his own hand go to his face. Sketched and messy, Tim drew him with a black eye and a glitching face. Just what did he look like? Not normal, certainly. As his eyes drank in the photo, there was another figure, clearly Tim. Clearly holding his hand, another bout of achy sadness ran through his body. When did he get so soft?
Brian groaned, slamming his head against the filing cabinets, a little rattle, but he mostly phased through it.
This is a fucking mess. Why didn’t he just kill him when he first saw him? Who gives a shit about being gentle? When was Brian Thomas, The Ark, ever gentle?
You were gentle when you loved him. You were always gentle with him.
Brian sneered, moving to rip the picture of them down the middle, splitting where they were holding hands, and letting it fall to the ground. His cheeks blotchy red with rage, he wanted to hit something, kill someone, just get this rage out of his body.
Whatever was the most cathartic.
(It was time, then, he’d use this rage to his benefit. Who cares if it was gory and brutal?)
(He does).
(It was none of his business; he’d be dead, and every problem would be solved.)
(not every problem).
“SHUT UP!” Brian roared, the room shaking, trembling with his explosive rage. His nostrils flared as he marched out of the archives until an alarm sounded, something pitched and grating to the ears. Brian hissed, shoving his hands to his ears. It seemed like every doctor and nurse was used to it. What the fuck was this bullshit?
Loud shouting could be heard down the hall, towards Tim’s room. Of course, it was the little brats' room. Good, he probably deserved it-
“LET ME GO!”
Brian’s head snapped up and zoomed in on Tim like a target. A man had him. Holding him to his chest as his socked feet squirmed and kicked. Tears spilling down his flushed cheeks, the doctor was fuming.
“Stop fuckin’ wiggling. You broke out, you know how this fucking goes.” The doctor spat, his arm going around the young boy's neck as Tim choked.
“He was in there with me. He was, he was.” Tim was babbling nonsense…well, nonsense to any other person. “He was going to kill me! Please stop- BRIAN! BRIAN, HELP ME!”
Brian almost felt his pupils shrink in furious anger. Tim didn’t even see him, didn’t know he was there, and was crying for his help. Brian processed the needle before he even saw it, prick marks and scars laced his arms, and it was the first time Brian processed what it was. Right place, wrong time. That doctor was dead, or whatever Brian could do to him in this state, Tim’s eyes locked with his own, and his fate was sealed. He charged at the doctor, fully expecting to phase through him, to fail Tim and only prove he couldn’t protect him. Brian couldn’t help him with anything he promised he would. But he was met with a solid body, not enough to do serious damage, but enough for the man to grunt in surprise, stumbling back against the wall. Tim yelped, finally being able to wriggle out of the man’s arms and slamming onto the ground, his glasses shattered, cutting his nose. Brian was about to kick the man, but Tim took his hands and booked it.
Brian assumed they’d just go back to his room, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he found himself sitting in one of the maintenance tunnels squished against Tim. The boy was trembling despite the hot, moist air trapped in the tunnel.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Tim shook his head, only burying his head further in his knees. Fuck nonverbal time, okay, Brian hoped he remembered what to do when Tim was like this.
“That’s okay.” His hand found Tim’s back, dragging his nails down his spine, trying to ground him. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
(Like you weren’t about to kill him).
(Shut up.)
Brian let out a little breath, letting both of them sit in silence, in the damp, dirty tunnel, with Brian’s fingers rubbing against Tim’s gown. Tim suddenly shuffled, lifting his head to wipe at his eyes, with little cuts scattered across where his glasses had shattered. Brian clicked his tongue, shaking his head,
“You’re all cut up, Tim. You’re gonna get an infection with all the muck down here. Plus,” Brian’s nose screwed up. “It stinks.” His hazel eyes drifted down to Tim, who was picking at some chips in the maintenance tunnel.
“Dunno…” Tim grumbled, “Maybe I’m used to it.”
It didn’t take a genius to link Tim’s raw fingers to the wall picking, and it didn’t take ANOTHER genius to realize what he was picking was the fucking Operator symbol. His jaw clenched,
(It would be easy. No one would find the body until it started to rot down here. Until it started to smell.)
(That’s so fucked up.)
“Do you always come down here?”
“I used to run outside. But they’d always find me, I’d try to get as deep into Rosswood as I could. Looking for a way out of here and out of the woods.” He mumbled. Brian could see the tears in his waterline, wanting to shed.
“They’d always catch me. I’d be locked in my room for days, only getting my medicine, which were benzos. At least that’s what my chart says, keeping me…doped up. That’s how the doctors phrased it.” Tim sniffed, chewing on his bruised lip. Just how much did Tim hear? What did Tim know that he didn’t voice? Did he know how much he was hated by the staff?
“They’re going to do it again. After this…” Tim breathed softly, Brian looked back to see an exit, and his brow furrowed.
“Why not just go out of the tunnel here? You can crawl through and run, I can see it from here?” Tim shook his head,
“They know now. People block it, soon they’ll smoke me out…I just wanted quiet. Down here, I feel safe; that thing can’t fit down here.” Brian knew firsthand that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t about to ruin Tim’s safe space for him. The kid coughed; it was deep in his chest, not quite the smoker cough he knew, but a normal cough. Interlaced with something deeper, something Brian knew and felt all too well.
He gently pats his back as Tim’s eyes screwed shut, only getting worse. He sighed softly, remembering just how painful it was…The Operator was near, but for once Brian couldn’t feel him. Probably because he was some sort of fucked up ghost or something, Tim’s breathing grew heavy, and his eyes twitched restlessly behind his eyelids. That snapped Brian to attention,
“Hey. Hey, Tim, kid.” Hands moved to hold his face up, fuck Tim really couldn’t have a seizure right now. In a matience tunnel that would SMOKE him out, if he were actively seizing, that would be a fucking shit show.
And Brian wouldn’t be able to fucking help.
“Breath with me, okay, come on, Tim.” But he knew what was triggering one, “Leave him alone? You want him to fucking die before you could puppet him?” He spoke into the ether. This was a good way for Tim to die. Why was he arguing to save him? Fuck he was a mess.
“You FUCKER!” His voice broke as Brian began to drag Tim; it was awkward, but if he could get him out of the tunnel, then maybe they wouldn’t have to smoke him out. It was only worse when Tim began to convulse. Brian had seen it many times before, but this was the first time since Marble Hornets. Since becoming Hoody, he found himself terrified that Tim was having one.
His entire body wouldn’t cooperate; it was locked up so tight as he convulsed. Brian felt like he was dragging a corpse, and in many ways, he was. But unlike a corpse, Brian found himself caring if Tim got hurt. His heart pounded watching Tim’s lips and face turn blue, a sickening sight to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. He’d come out of it; he always came out of it, and the blue would fade. So long as he didn’t throw up, that was the dangerous part; he heard the hissing before he saw it.
The smoke.
Brian cursed under his breath, trying to move quickly, eventually dragging Tim to the entrance just as the twitching stopped. Tim was still groggy, still confused, and out of it, he was pulled from Brian’s arms by a nurse.
“Fuck he was seizing. I told you the smoke was a bad idea!” She yelled, cradling him to his chest, a false sense of care. One that wasn’t about Tim, but the possibility of legal action, even though Brian knew Tim’s mom wouldn’t have given a fuck.
Anything to ‘fix’ him.
He snarled as Tim was carried away, not wanting to let him out of his sight, not trusting the doctors not to hurt him. Brian scrambled out of the tunnel, having every intention to follow him out of the tunnel and down the hall to his room. But his body wouldn’t move,
(You missed an opportunity again. What is WRONG with you?)
(I can’t do it. I can’t kill him. He’s a kid-)
(You’re fucking pathetic. You could save them all, your real friends. You are dooming them because of a child. Because of some moral high ground you don’t have, for what he’ll grow up to be?)
(YES! Yes okay! I can’t do this. I’d rather meet him than kill him.)
The notion was unfamiliar; he thought he’d long since buried it deep inside him. The feelings began to bloom and fester. Brian brought his hand to his heart, still beating furiously in his chest, from the adrenaline or from the realization he didn’t know.
But he couldn’t do this…but he had to do this.
“FUCK!” Brian dug his fingers into his hair and pulled so tight his scalp began to sting. He didn’t know the right answer, the right call; all he felt right now was dread.
He just hoped Tim was okay…
—
Brian had Tim in his arms, the young boy was leaning back against his chest, eyes closed but not quite sleeping. Almost, though, it would be dreamless, and he wouldn’t wake up. Brian would make sure of that. He had already had the meds in his pocket to make him overdose. The nurse would give him the wrong dosage, and his heart would stop. Easy and painless. He just had to switch the meds; it had to be today, today, or he’d never do it. His hands fell through Tim’s hair in gentle strokes. It was still dry, but it’s gotten better since Brian had convinced him to start showering regularly. The goodman plushie sat next to them on the bed, mocking him, reminding him of his stupid matching keychain in his pants pocket even still.
“The last thing she said to me was, ‘You’re broken, and you’ll never be fixed.’” Brian jolted out of his train of thought with a soft “huh?”
“My ma, I mean,” Tim’s eyes opened, staring not up at Brian but far away in the forest.
“It’s not there. Remember, when I’m here, I won’t let anything hurt you.” Lies built upon lies, a pile of them, because Brian wouldn’t protect him; he’d be his undoing. This meant Tim trusted him enough to be comfortable and relaxed, and that would be his downfall.
Then he looked up at Brian with big, wet eyes. Tears were already spilling down his soft cheeks. “She’s not coming back, she’s never coming back, I’m gonna die here.”
Brian adjusted, wrapping him in the tightest hug he could muster. “No, you’re not, fuck you’re not going to die here, Tim. You’re going to live and be so loved.” Tim didn’t have a choice in all this; it wasn’t something Tim could change, it wasn’t in his control.
He craved normalcy like it was an addiction, held onto affection as he needed it to breathe because he never had it. Feared admitting that he was different made him a freak cause that’s what he was taught; he had no autonomy from doctors or from The Operator.
So why was Brian blaming him?
The thought stilled him, scared him in a lot of ways, because he didn’t hear the Ark. It was just him alone with his thoughts. Tim had no control over this; if it wasn’t him, how would he know it wouldn’t be someone else? Was this a loop they were trapped in?
“You act like you know that for sure,” Tim snapped hopelessly as Brian’s eyes flickered to his.
“I do,” Brian emphasized, holding Tim’s cheeks, red and puffy from crying; his glasses sat crooked on his nose. He brushed his thumbs across them as Tim pouted. He may have lost his glasses, but he never lost that pout.
“'Cause you’re you, you’re funny, kind, and bright, so someone will love you later,” Brian emphasized, smiling, with his tooth gap on display. Guilt was eating away at him as he looked down at Tim, wondering how he could have ever wanted to kill that face.
“Even if not now, someday someone will. You’ll get out of here and live a life you deserve to live.”
“Without him, do you think?” Brian swallowed thickly, resting his chin on Tim’s head.
“Yeah, bud, without him.” Brian lied, and Tim let out a breath, relieved that one day he’d be free. He squeezed him again, closing his eyes tight, trying to remove the thoughts of the future from his brain. This kid was so similar to his adult self, yet so different at the same time. Perhaps Tim just having Brian here would change things.
Butterfly effect for whatever.
“Let’s get you to bed, kid,” Brian slid off the comforter. Tim snuggled under the covers. He smiled as Brian tucked him in, handing him the wolf plush to hold.
“You’ll be here when I wake up, right, Bri?” The nickname made him shudder, familiar but so foreign.
"Sure, I will, little bear. Even if I do leave, you know goodbyes aren't forever." Something felt off about the conversation, as if Brian were changing deep down.
“Then goodbye, just in case.” Tim teased as his brown eyes dropped closed, “See you later.”
"Yep..see you later, kid.” He seemed to hold his breath as he watched Tim’s breathing even out, signifying he was sleeping. Brian walked to the window, staring out into the dense forest of Rosswood. In the distance, the Operator stood. Without eyes, he watched Tim, Brian’s blood boiling in his veins.
Fuck this, fuck everything. The window couldn’t open but a crack, but that didn’t stop the dead man. Brian hadn’t tried, but now was a better time than any, and he moved through the walls and fell to the ground. Nothing hurt, but the phantom pains of his back sent uncomfortable electricity down his spine.
“FUCK YOU!” He should, kicking up dirt as he ran, static already beginning to build in his skull. “HE’S A FUCKING KID! FUCK YOU! YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF SHIT!”
Spit and vitorl were in every single word, “YOU RUINED HIS LIFE! RUINED OUR LIFE! GET AWAY FROM HIM, LEAVE HIM BE-” Vomit bubbled up in Brian’s chest as he grew closer; he felt like his brain was going to explode in his skull. He swallowed it back, choking on it; he tasted blood but continued his tirade.
“WE COULD’VE BEEN HAPPY! YOU RUINED HIM, RUINED US!” He spat face-to-face with the demon now, blood dripping almost out of every hole in his body. Brian tried, he really did, to face it; he was dead, so why did it matter? Why was it still affecting him?
“FUCK YOU!” and everything went dark.
—
He woke up in a cold sweat, back aching and throat dry. Brian slowly registered the room as his vision cleared—a cozy bedroom, bookshelves filled with books, and classic movies. Records are lining the shelves on the other half of the room. Shoved in the corner were instruments and filming equipment, all interconnected. Brian’s heart pounded in his ears as he felt the soft covers; a lump was beside him, slowly adjusting. His hackles raised, ready to fight and growl until he saw a mop of messy dark brown hair. The thing sat up, tired and dissociating, the sideburns were so distinctly Tim’s it sent his heart into a tizzy. He had the makings of a beard, something he didn’t remember him having last time he saw him.
Then again, the last time he saw him was when he was a kid. But before that, during the hunt.
“You ‘ight darlin’?” Tim’s southern drawl only came out when he was beyond exhausted. Brian stared like he’d seen a ghost, and maybe he had; everything was quiet and peaceful. Sun spilling in through the curtain was just a few small beams that coated everything and made Tim look goddamn ethereal. His heart pounded, and he reached out to brush his fingers across Tim’s jaw, mapping every scar and every blemish that existed, almost like he needed to prove to himself it was really him.
Was it a dream? All of it? Was Alex a few blocks away? Had they graduated and are using their useless degrees?
“H-hey, babe.” He breathed the words, which felt foreign on his tongue like they were unfamiliar to him, and in many ways, they were. Tim’s nose scrunched up as his eyes fluttered open fully. He sat up, blankets spilling around him like the epitome of sex that he was, and Brian was ashamed in the way his stomach flipped.
“Something's wrong,” Tim grunted, and Brian cursed in his head because Tim was always observant of others' emotions but so incompetent involving his own. He leaned forward so their foreheads bonked together, despite sleeping, Brian noticed the bags under his eyes. Brian knew every piece of Tim; it was engraved in his eyes and in his soul. Brian thinks he’d know him by smell alone, pine, cedar, and ash, or perhaps by touch instead. Definitely taste-what was Tim saying? Brian blinked back to the present as he sheepishly laughed,
“Sorry, what did you say? I was too busy getting lost in your eyes.” Brian cooed, batting his eyelashes, relishing in the way Tim flushed beneath his look once again.
God, how could Brian have forgotten this feeling of lightness? Things were just so easy with Tim; every word and every thought came easily.
“I asked if last night left you a little fuzzy? It’s okay, it was hard,” Tim sounded like he pitied him, and Brian didn’t like the sound of his voice.
“No. No, I’m fine, just a bad dream. But uh…what are you referring to again?” He winced as Tim tensed up. He’d only seen that look a few times. Mostly when he put on his persona as Hoody, he swallowed thickly.
“Hey, don’t look so scared. I think just- the dream messed with my head.” He nudged his nose against Tim’s, brushing against it gently. “Nothing else, honey promise,” he watched as Tim’s body went slack. Similar to the release of a spring.
“No. No, it makes sense. The mission from The Operator. You got shot, your brain’s still reforming probably.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and Brian froze, looking at him with wide eyes, trying to hide his pure and utter confusion. Because if Tim knew he remembered nothing, he’d lose his mind and break down. And Brian really didn’t want to see him have a mental breakdown that could spiral into a seizure.
“Uh, I what?” Tim smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips, which was nice but didn’t clear anything up.
“We were sent to kill this redneck asshole, really fucking piece of shit. His kids were home, but his wife was away, had to.” He swallowed, looking like a corpse, “kill the kids first. Then the dad, it was supposed to be easy, but I accidentally woke the kid cause I hesitated, which I’m still sorry about.” His voice hitched at the end as Brian tried to process the information that he and Tim would EVER harm a child.
They wanted kids for fucks sake.
“Dad was aiming for me, you jumped in the way, and your fucking hippocampus got shot clean off. Probably explains the memory stuff.” His hand took Brian’s, and a silver ring shone on Brian's finger, and he felt sick. Were they married too? How much was he missing?
“Babe…” He pressed his forehead to his shoulder, “The last thing I remember was the fall. Was Marble Hornets.” Tim stilled underneath him, stiff as a board, and Brian felt nothing but guilt because of how much life he was missing. He prayed it was just because his brain was still reconstructing.
“We…we kill kids? People? What are we?”
Tim pulled his hand away, covering his mouth, dragging it down his face slowly in thought. Brian knew that look, too; his neurons were firing every which way, overthinking with the little crease in his brow. Why wasn’t Brian freaking out more? Why was he the one trying to comfort Tim? Fuck why didn’t he feel as bad about killing people as he should?
Because you get to do it with, live in this house, and be married, that’s why you’re okay with it. Because you get to keep the thing that makes you happiest, and you’d be damned if you let anyone else touch him.
Okay, that was a thought. A true one. But still YIKES.
“We work for him,” He wheezed, “The Operator. He resurrected you first, I thought to torture me…you didn’t remember. You were almost feral, watching silently. I’d see you in the treelines, in the shadows, and even in the fucking breeze. Pretty sure you scared away some of my dates unknowingly, probably.” Tim laughed, trying to come to terms with the situation in front of him.
“Yeah, that sounds like me.” Brian gave a shaky smile, and Tim ran his hands through his hair. Brian leaned into the touch like an overeager puppy,
“You brought me my mask back. I threw it out. But one day, you came to my door, holding it out, asking me to take it. As you could no longer be alone, it was the first time I heard you talk, the first time I saw your face. You needed me and…and I needed you.” Tim admitted, trembling, with a shrug, and Brian grabbed his hands.
“You came back for me?” Brown met blue, and Brian had never seen Tim’s eyes look so intense.
“I’d do anything for you. Anything.” Brian shivered, loving the concept more than he should.
“So I came back, and-”
“And I told you I loved you.” He breathed memories tickling at the back of his skull, feeling like worms slithering beneath it. “And that I was sorry…I blabbered about you like a kid,” Tim laughed in relief, nodding dizzily.
“You acted as you knew me, like you had a spiritual awakening or something.”
“I-I think I did.”
“Alright, maybe you should go back to sleep.” Tim laughed, now giving him another kiss that Brian was addicted to. He wouldn’t let Tim pull away as he tried Brian, who met him, eventually landing on top of him. “Bri no,”
“Bri, yes~” He cooed, nipping at the underside of his chin. Brian was filled with so much love, his heart swelled until it would burst. A change, an epiphany, that’s what it was. Memories of friendship, love, and pain swam over him, given all he experienced, but one thing was real. One thing was true, that no matter what he’s, what they’ve done.
Brian will always love Timothy Wright.
And fuck does he love him.
Tim was a whiny mess as Brian peppered kisses down the column of his throat, nipping at the spots he knew Tim liked. They all rushed back to him like a tidal wave, and he felt his boyfriend's body curl beneath him, pupils dilating.
“You just are healing, this really isn’t the time to- ah fuck.” Tim’s eyes closed as Brian palmed him through his pajama pants, a smirk spreading across his lips. Curved and pointed, showing off his gap that he hated but Tim adored.
“My dick isn’t broken, bear~.”
“Jesus Christ, Brian.”
“Ohhh, I think I like the title, am I your savior? You gonna worship me?” His body shifted so he was sitting on Tim’s hips, hands spreading across the expanse of his chest. God. Shit, how could he have forgotten this? “Tell me I’m your savior?”
Tim moaned, still a little too quiet for his tastes, but it was a start. His hips slowly rocked, and Tim hissed. Brian was on his back in a matter of seconds. He made an annoyed sound because Brian Thomas didn’t bottom before he looked up at the man. Tim was panting, pupils shaking like he was trying to hold back from giving Brian everything and anything.
“Fuck you don’t know how bad I want you to fuck me,” Brian opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘yeah, duh, that’s what I’m trying to do’, but Tim silenced him with a kiss that had Brian reeling once again.
“You’re covered in blood, there’s brain matter on our bed, and you smell rancid. I don’t want your dick anywhere near me or inside of me until you’re cleaned.” Brian groaned loudly like Tim had shot him in the head. He clutched his heart, and his boyfriend rolled his eyes,
“You’ll live.”
“Not even a shower blowjob?” Puppy eyes, they ALWAYS worked on Tim, but his heart shattered as Tim sent him a glare.
“Shower. You. Go. Now.” He flushed all pretty and red, a color that looked delicious on his tanned skin. “And maybe…when you’re out. I’ll be waiting.” That was enough for Brian to dizzily scramble out of bed and into the shower, cursing as he slammed his knees into the dresser on his way out.
“CAREFUL!”
God, Brian loved this man.
PLEASE NOTE I HAVE SEIZURES, I'M EPILEPTIC! TIM HAVING ONE IS BASED ON MY EXPERIENCES. WITHOUT THE BEING TRAPPED IN A TUNNEL THING LOL.
A purr against your skin, deep and tired as four arms wrapped around your middle. Your husband, the King of all Curses, was nuzzling into the back of your neck like a kitten. No one would believe you if you told them, and no one would have lived after they were told. Sukuna would make sure of that-
"Stop squirming."
You were still trying to cover up the stop laugh threatening to tremble out of your mouth. Your fingers tickled and traced the tattoos on his arms and fingers. Sukuna's body shifted hands, squeezing you just a bit tighter, a pair of arms around your chest and waist trapping you there effectively. Your eyes widened to the size of saucers,
"Ryomen Sukuna, don't you da-RE!"
He was laughing now as the tongue from his stomach slid its way under your night slip and up your spine. Sukuna's laughter only seemed to increase as you squirmed and scratched, trying to escape his arms.
Then, a knock. Sukuna stopped all movement, pulling away from your body, and the blankets tumbled around him as he sat up. His one hand still rested gently in your hair, and he made a displeased sound as you sat up.
"You can sleep. I'll get rid of the interruption."
"You can't kill everyone at your estate, or we'll have no one left."
You pointed out unhelpfully that he had never liked being challenged, but then again, neither did you; it was something you both had to work through when you were betrothed to him. Sukuna snarled at you for a moment, and you raised an eyebrow. What an argument to have while both of you were naked. His bottom eye twitched as he moved. Fast, he was always fast, wrapping you tightly in a blanket. Making sure you were no longer exposed, he lumbered over to the door. Still naked, and you squeak,
"Sukuna! Your junihitoe!"
"Uraume, what do you want?" His voice was still, no longer the warmth he grumbled into your neck this morning; instead, he took on the King role he fit into so well.
"Master," they said, their head bowed. You were relieved it was them; they had seen Sukuna in far worse situations. Sukuna shifted as you peeked your head around his massive frame,
"Morning, Uraume." You smiled at them, an act of kindness. They had always said you had brought light into their compound once you and Sukuna stopped wanting to rip one another's throats out. Sukuna turned around and shot you a look, as if he was caught in the middle of something. They bowed in your direction before locking eyes with your husband, cooling down instantly.
"My lord, the head of the kingdom from the East is here. He has questions regarding...your wife." Sukuna's hand tightened on the door so much that it splintered; he grunted, smelling your discomfort from a mile away.
"What do they fuckin' want with her?"
"Forgiveness, My Lord." Uraume bowed their head one more, stoic as always. Your eyes flickered to your husband; you saw him swallow thickly, most likely resisting the urge to tear out their throat. The restraint he showed with you and Uraume should go down in history books as the only two people to truly be granted The King of Curses' patience. Sukuna clicked his tongue; the second pair of arms that were crossed over his chest dropped as he looked over his shoulder at you. His dutiful and beautiful wife,
"What do you want to do?" You sucked in a thin breath of air through your nostrils, standing up, and you used the blanket to shield your body. Determination was blazing in your icy stare,
"You know what I want." A wicked grin split across Sukuna's lips, all eyes squinting in pleasure,
"Whatever my lady asks, she will receive."
Flush spread across your cheeks unhelpfully as you huffed softly, eyes glancing away from him, an unmistakable frown settling across your lips as you remembered.
A kimono spilled around your body, swallowing you whole. Your mind is a mix of emotions, like a coin spinning in slow motion. A blur of people rushed around you, touching your hair, your cheeks, applying makeup all over your body. Waxing and stripping you of any imperfections, one's the King of Curses would not like when he took you.
No, not as a bride, although who's to say which would be a worse fate? But instead of a sacrifice, you were bred to do this, be given away on a platter to some human-eating monster. You were born under a full moon in the winter, the only girl in the village to be born under such a moon; therefore, that was the criterion for this year, the fucking moon.
Your father stood in front of you, your mother sobbing by his side, having to be held back from reaching out to you.
"You look beautiful." His voice was stiff and jilted; you couldn't tell whether he was losing you or didn't care. For how long had he seen you as nothing but a sacrifice? Your lips pressed into a thin line as you nodded just as stiffly as he did. "Take her away and tell her to calm down," your father waved off. Your voice broke as she repeated your name.
The mountain was quiet. No bugs chirping, no wind through the trees, only the weight of silence pressing against your lungs as you sat yourself, the final offering, on the altar—a lacquered tray of persimmons, steaks, and sake. You didn't even hear your own breath; you only knew you were breathing from the mist tumbling from your lips.
You knelt, silk sleeves heavy with incense smoke, whispering the prayers you had been taught since childhood. Built to be a platter for the King of Curses, taught and given a whole life, only for it to be snuffed out. The words continued, words to bind you to him. Words to placate him and his hunger. A meal on a silver platter.
The lanterns blew out, and your eyes closed.
“You think fruit and wine will tame me? Is that what your silly villagers assumed? Or was that you thinking I would prefer these sweets instead of your blood?”
The voice was everywhere and nowhere, echoing like drums in a mountain. When you raised your head, he was there twice over. Two faces, four arms, silk robes stained darker than blood. His grin split wide across both mouths, cruel and delighted.
You swallowed hard, refusing to bow lower. “If you wished me an immediate meal, I would not still be kneeling.”
Sukuna’s laughter rattled the shrine. He stepped closer, one hand hooking under your chin. His touch was cool, deliberate, holding your face up to his gaze. His sharp nails dug into your cheeks, you were sure your skin broke, and by his grin, your assumption seemed to be correct.
“Ah… the lamb bares its throat and dares me to bite.” His eyes flicked over you like fire over dried grass. “Tell me, little morsel—do you offer yourself as a sacrifice… or as something else?”
Your heart thundered, but your lips betrayed you with a whisper: “If you wanted only blood, you’d have taken it already.”
For a moment, his grip loosened. His smile faltered, almost thoughtful. Then the grin returned, sharper. He bent close, his breath stirring the loose hair by your ear.
“Careful,” Sukuna murmured, voice like silk over steel. “Keep tempting me, and I may decide you’re worth keeping.”
"You look beautiful."
"Thank you, I know," Sukuna grunted behind you, whacking you on the back of the head. You laughed at the gentleness of the gesture; any other person, he would've taken their head off. But not you, his precious little wife.
"You're a cocky bitch you know that? You should be honored to get a compliment from me. Maybe I'll fucking stop it altogether if you're gonna act like that."
"Oh, should I?" You raised an eyebrow, wrapping your arms around his middle, his outfit blocking his stomach, a mouth that liked to lick you a little too much when it wasn't appropriate. You weren't scared of his threats, once upon a time you were, but not now, not after the life you built with him. "Make me."
"Fucking brat, just wait till after this fucking meeting-"
"After this fucking slaughter I'm going to be so fucking turned on that you'll have no choice but to fuck me senseless. I won't have it any other way." You mused, tracing your finger down his broad chest. He didn't shiver, but the subtlety of his eyes gave him away. How much he wanted that, wanted you.
"And what makes you think I'll agree to that?"
"You always get horny when I'm covered in the blood of your enemies, Husband." You walked past him, head held high, so different than when you first arrived, internally cowering in fear but trying to put on a brave face. Seeing you change over time made Sukuna swell with pride, half in you and mostly in himself, for teaching you to be strong. You had no cursed energy, no techniques, but you were hungry for revenge, and that was addicting.
The King of curses caught up to you in only a few strides. He interlocked one of his arms with yours, the other on your waist, keeping you close. A way to show you were perfect, that you were alive, well, and above all, who visited his manor. As you stepped into the garden, there stood your father, flanked by his men. A clear precaution, one that didn't matter, for they'd all be dead anyway.
Neither of you bowed to one another, a clear stalemate of who still had the power. Once upon a time, you would’ve groveled, bowed as low as you could as a sign of respect towards him. Now, the only respect you held was to your husband, and you made that clear. Your husband was glad as you could feel the rumbling purr against your back. It didn’t display on his face, but you felt it through the mouth of his hand on your back.
“Father.”
“Daughter! It is fantastic to see you. Come and let me embrace you!” You took a sharp breath as you moved forward, telling yourself this was all part of the plan. That this was needed for the slaughter, so you did, he squeezed you tight. Suddenly fatherly, like he was proud when you know he was anything but.
“You look well, I am delighted to see it. You and your husband.” His lips twitched, displaying how disgusted he really was with your husband, like he didn’t cause this in the first place.
“We are delighted to be here,” You smiled, this time a true one-up at Sukuna, who nodded; a grunt accompanied it.
“You have traveled so far, please, let me show you to your rooms. We’ve prepared them to your liking.” Your father explained as Sukuna scoffed, you saw the other grit his teeth, jaw clicking. If Sukuna wasn’t the King of Curses, you feared your father would hit him; once that idea filled you with dread, but you only found it amusing now.
“Thank you, Father, for your hospitality.”
“You’re a queen now, my dove! I couldn’t be prouder of you. This day is all about you, and I hope. By the end, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, forgive us.” He motioned behind him to his officials; you could only smile and nod. He seemed to pale. Good, you liked them, sniveling. Your father's choice of separate rooms was an interesting one, considering your marriage status, and Sukuna didn’t seem particularly pleased with the idea.
“I will see you tonight at dinner, husband.” You stopped in front of the room that was considered yours, “I will see you.” A hint, if he was there, then he was okay; if he wasn’t, you’d raise hell, and by the look on his face, it was safe to say he’d do the same. Sukuna stepped away, and you made your way inside your room. The smell of cherry blossoms hit you all at once. This was your childhood room; you’d almost forgotten what it looked like entirely. Now, with the smell, the memories flooded back into you; it was how you left it. Way too perfect, way too clean, even as a child. Your tongue clicked as you dragged your finger across the dusty bureau; they didn’t even bother to clean it for you.
How typical.
A rap on the door, and you sighed heavily and tiredly, “Enter.” You turned, watching with careful eyes as your father stepped into your room. Now, he looked normal, a frown etched deep into his face, making him look a million years older. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his robes, but you knew something was in there from past experiences. He couldn’t hurt you now; this you knew if he harmed one hair on your head, your husband would tear him apart limb from limb. But perhaps that’s what he wanted, to be rid of you for good, an odd murder-suicide by the hands of the man you loved more than the earth itself.
“Father, what brings you to my quarters so late at night? Not even a moment to rest? Could this perhaps not wait until the morning?” You spoke elegantly, like the girl he longed for you to be, a small tilt of your head. His jaw clenched something awful; you swore his teeth cracked against one another. He despised seeing you happy.
How pathetic.
“A discussion, dear daughter, about your next steps.”
“Next steps?” You laughed in disbelief, a high-pitched thing crossing your features, “What next steps could you possibly be referring to?”
“Killing the beast, of course. Did you somehow get dumber in the time you were away? Is he slowly eating at your psychological functions?” Your father's hand shot out, grabbing you by the neck. You winced with a small choked sound; you could feel his cursed energy weighing down on you like a pound of bricks. It was subtle, not enough to kill or fight curses, but there it was, all the same.
“F-father-” It took you back all at once to when you were a child, the beatings, the abuse, you fawned like a baby deer in the snow. You couldn’t yell, “I won’t k-kill him.”
“Won’t kill him? The man who killed thousands of our kin. The man who isn’t even a man but a monster!” He snarled, baring his teeth, spittle flying in your face. “Don’t tell me you actually love him?”
“With all my heart.” Your voice cracked, trembling just slightly like all the teachings Sukuna had taught you about bravery, about confidence left all at once. “You wanted me DEAD! He saved me, treated me well, and now I am his wife!” You stressed, tears pooling in your eyes as his grip around your throat tightened.
“Then you will die like him.”
“He’ll kill you. ALL of you till your clan is nonexistent.” You spit, sure, he was going to do it anyway, but either way, you’d do anything you could to save your skin. Your father had the gall to laugh at the thought,
“You think he loves you? That he cares about you?”
An epiphany, “I know he does.” Your father will never stop, whether he kills you or not, and now that he knows Sukuna’s plans to kill him. He’d escape, but your father will always be there. Tainting you, your memory, your happiness, but you knew Sukuna loves you that he’d tear the entire world apart to get to you. Perhaps that’s exactly what he needed, a jumpstart. You were no sorcerer.
Nor curse.
Nothing special.
But you hated humans. Loathed them all for what they did to you, what they did to their own kin. Sacrificing their own without care, killing for the sake of it with no rhyme or reason, only selfishly. At least your husband did it to cleanse the world, to get rid of the weak and leave room for those who deserve it.
With you and him at the top of it all.
You would die one way or another. Sukuna couldn’t give you immortality even if he were desperate for it. Well, if that was the case, you were going to die on your own terms.
You moved quick grabbing the weapon from your father and jabbing it into your chest. Your nerves immediately began to burn; the weapon seemed to puncture your very soul. Screeching out for your husband, a wild flame flickering in the darkness of your childhood home. Your father, letting out a cry of distress, not for his dying daughter but instead for the death that would soon befall him.
“No, No! You stupid WHORE! This was a bluff, I would never-” The ground seemed to rumble as you fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath you. You cried out in pain, your vision and hearing fuzzy, you heard your father begging, and then blood splattered on the back of your neck and back, soaking through your clothes.
“Flower,” Sukuna glared, picking you up in your arms, head resting on his chest. “What the FUCK did you do?” His hand pressed to your chest. Reversed cuse technique, you’ve seen him use it on minor injuries before and on himself. He snarled under his breath as the blood began to seep through his palms. “Why isn’t it working?” Sukuna hissed, not used to things not going his way.
“Because I don’t want to live.” Your whispered voice cracking as his glare burned into your face, “Shush now. So long as I live, I’ll be a threat to you. To your strength, to your rule.” Blood bubbled in your throat as you coughed.
“You are not- you’ve never been.” Sukuna was rarely at a loss for words, but he seemed to fumble through them, like in many ways he couldn’t refute you.
“I am a liability, but that does not stop my love for you. You saved me.” His grip on you tightened, “You will always be my husband.” Sukuna growled, staring and pressing his hand tight to her wound. Almost like he was staring through you, you knew you had no cursed energy, so what was he looking at?
“Kuna?”
“Shush, woman, you’re always so noisy,” He grunted as you tiredly giggled, which seemed to make his nostrils flare. His breathing seemed to shudder, Sukuna, as he had caught something. “What do you…see?” Your eyes fluttered, and he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut. He caught your soul for just a moment.
“I love you,” he breathed, “and I will see you again.” It was a command, a binding vow, and your eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve marked you,” no context, as you feel yourself fading.
“What do you... mean? I’m not a curse…I can’t.”
“Trust me. Trust your husband, I command it.”
“Shut up,”
“Make me brat.” You laughed gently and fondly as you slipped into unconsciousness. Sukuna growled, ready to tear the entire world apart for you.
—
Your eyes practically rolled back in your skull, walking alongside Gojo; you were both sent on a mission in another city. “Is it really a good idea to have Megumi collect one of Sukuna’s fingers all on his own?”
“What do you doubt my teaching? I’m insulted.” He pouted, turning his head to you, the bag swinging from his fingertips a treat for Megumi that he was way too proud to be carrying. You turned to him with a frown,
“I’m just saying it’s dangerous. Who knows what curse could be trying to get ahold of it, and if it does, he could be in trouble.” When your gaze turned back to him, you saw him mimicking you with his hand. Your disdain for Gojo was obvious to anyone with a pulse. He was a womanizing, cocky asshole. You had a right to say it.
Growing up with him in school, you were close with Shoko and, therefore, friends with Suguru and Satoru. You loved him in your own way, but he pissed you off to no end. Before Suguru died… he spoke to you of his plan. Something familiar in how he phrased it to you was familiar. Power wipes out the weaker humans, leading to a world where the strong inherit it. But you hesitated and ran, then Gojo had to kill him. You always wondered what would have happened if you said yes. Would he still be dead?
“Look, if something goes wrong, don’t blame me.” You clicked your tongue, coming out of your thoughts with a tired sigh. Gojo stopped looking at you for a brief moment, or at least his head turned to you. You looked around, trying to see what he was seeing, “What Satoru?” You breathed chills zipping down your spine. He wasn’t smiling.
“Your cursed energy. It's changed.”
“What do you mean?” You touched your chest; it was ideal to summon your cursed technique, Grave Silence, here, but you would if you needed to. Gojo shook his head, lowering his invincibility to touch you. Something he only did with you and Suguru. “Satoru, you’re scaring me.” You shuffled, and he let out a breath.
“I have a theory…but we have to go.”
“Uh, go where?”
“Sendai.”
“That’s where Megumi is. Fuck,” you grabbed onto him as you were transported there alongside him. The movement makes you nauseous as it always did, and you stumbled a little, clinging to the sorcerer's side; his walls went up.
“Come on, you could’ve just asked if you wanted to cop a feel.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Uh, Gojo-sensei.” Megumi panted against the ground, blood covering him, dripping down his forehead.
“Yo! What’s up, dude?” You stepped away from Gojo, eyeing the scene: a boy, shirtless and dirty as Hell. You tilted your head, and he gave you an awkward smile. His cursed energy was powerful, whipping around violently, like it wasn’t fully his own. “Thought you could use a hand, or in this case a finger,” you turned back to Gojo and Megumi, his eyes turned to you, giving a breath of relief.
It was always funny how much he felt more comfortable with you there alongside him than the most powerful sorcerer in the world.
“It looks like that kid took care of it…” You hypothesised with a small grunt, and Satouru nodded his head. Gojo laughed, smiling brightly,
“So where is the cursed finger?”
“Yo- so uh. Fun fact, I ate that thing.”
“Really.”
“I did.”
“Sorry, what?!” You sputtered, “Why are you calm about this?” You waved your hands in his direction, and the boy flushed.
“'Cause it combined with him, that’s hilarious!” You wanted to choke him, “Anything weird about your body?”
“Nah, it seems okay.”
Can you swap with Sukuna at will?” No…impossible, you came up beside Gojo, tilting your head just slightly, teeth pulling at the skin of your lip. You felt…off, like your cursed energy was waiting to burst inside of you. The pink-haired boy nodded, and you gawked at him, at will?
“Okay, give me ten seconds-” You sent him a scathing look,
“Are you serious? What if he can’t? What if it’s a freak incident?” You crossed your arms over your chest, head motioning to the boy.
“Then I’ll kill him.” He stage whispered, no you didn’t want to choke him, you wanted to kill him.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” You hiss, the entire situation getting a whole lot worse, a whole lot faster. Face morphing marks, so familiar yet so different, appeared across his skin. A laugh, horrible and rough, filled the air, and it seemed to go dark, the world stopping. The air smelled of smoke and a bonfire, covering your eyes with your arms as the wind picked up. He leaned back, a grin split, and you felt your curse energy spike not in battle but in recognition.
Like you were intertwined in a web, but who was the fly?
Red eyes drifted to you, and the world seemed to stop spinning. Sparks flew between you both, and your stomachs flipped, cursing energy battling with one another.
Megumi said your name concerned him beyond belief; even he could tell your energy was haywire. Of course, Gojo could, but this time he wasn’t laughing; he was frowning.
You snapped out of your stupor, holding your hands out in front of you, ready to go, to fight alongside your lifelong friend. The demon kind jolted forward, completely ignoring Satoru and throwing his body full force into you. You had half a mind to summon your domain, but you trusted Gojo.
Always.
The sounds echoed around you as you collected them. All at once, you pushed back “Reverb Execution.” You grunted, black sigils forming up your arms, similar to his very tattoos, forcing the King back with as much stored sound energy as you could. He bounced off your back in the direction of Gojo as you landed on the ground. Why wasn’t Gojo moving?
“Are you seriously letting me fight him by- OOF-” Sukuna grabbed your arm with an almost calculated gentleness before spinning at you and grabbing your waist. All four of his eyes locked with yours, staring intensely, you could feel how loud his cursed energy was, and it felt like yours wanted to reach out to touch his.
“What the fuck.” You breathed out, silencing the echoing around you as your domain expanded. “Domain expansion Funeral Cathedral.” You didn’t think you did it willingly, but perhaps you had your cursed energy was violent in your chest. Darkness surrounded you both, and you found yourself standing in the expansive church, a sensory deprivation tank. Stained glass glowed around you, creating beautiful patterns on the floor and pews. Absolute silence. No one can speak here. No incantation techniques, if you wanted, you could fight him head-on here. Detonate the stored sound directly inside his body, weakening him significantly. Every movement he makes becomes internal vibration damage.
But this was the king of curses. He opened his mouth to speak, frowning miserably at the silence. He should be feeling a metric fuck ton of pressure, but he remained standing, your throat tightened, raising your hand before waving it in a cut off motion. All at once, sound returned, the cathedral bell rang outside, and a faint organ played throughout the church.
He spoke your name, familiar on his tongue in a way you hated. The guard continued to be up. He was in your domain afterall you held the cards. At least you hoped you did.
“How do you know my name?” It was a demand, not so much a question: “Tell me. My cursed energy feels like it’s going to explode. What did you do to me?”
Sukuna seemed to blink at you, almost in awe, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him. Of course, you didn’t remember; you were a normal human when you passed, but it worked. He pumped you full of his own cursed energy, marking your soul for reincarnation.
“It’s reacting so much because it’s my cursed energy inside of you.” He smirked, hands flexing at his sides, a small casual headtilt that had your blood BOILING.
You snarled, gnashing your “The fuck do you mean?” Sukuna’s smirk only grew like he was excited. He snapped his fingers, charging towards you, scooping you up in his arms. Hand around your waist; although a different body, he already knew how to use it masterfully. You tried to reel back, but he held you secure.
“What it means is you’re my wife, and I’ve been waiting for you.”
Blood always looked the prettiest on freshly fallen snow, a man once said to him, far away in what was now a dream. It was a joke at the time, the use of fake blood for a scene in a film Brian was in, before Marble Hornets. Tim couldn’t help but detect hints of something more there: not murderous, but a genuine interest; Tim asked him once why he didn’t go into forensics, and the man before him shrugged like he had no answer to give. Brian was Tim’s best friend, perhaps something parasocial, with the way Tim was attached to him really driving home his insecure attachment style. But Brian said Tim was his, and Tim believed him because what else was he to believe? It’s an interesting thing: meeting your best friend in college after decades without one. Experiencing things you were never able to before, even the littlest thing like a text sent his heart fluttering in excitement at the prospect.
It wasn’t long before Tim realized he was in love with Brian Thomas.
Tim knew he was gay from the moment the term was coined and the definition was told to him, but that was a story for another time. He had little to no interest in women; he really discovered that when he was released and went to his first year at a real school. The other boys woofed and whistled and gossiped about girls, and Tim, although never invited to the conversation, couldn’t understand what was just so good about them. Not that he tried super hard, perhaps that’s the good thing about always being different, one more thing on that pile isn’t shocking.
But Brian? Brian Thomas, the straightest man he knew? That made him sick to his stomach; his instinct is always to run. Run so he wouldn’t get hurt, run so he wouldn’t get trapped somewhere, and run so he didn’t have to feel the emotions of affection he was never given as a child. Tim tried once, a shakily written note, a bag packed, and the keys to his apartment in his hands, ready to hand them over. All his instruments were in the bed of his truck, but then he got a text from Brian, of course, because who else texted him? He was drunk out of his mind and needed a DD to pick him up. Tim remembers dropping everything to get him because, despite his looks, that’s the kind of man Tim was.
*Good, kind, and gentle.*
Not that he thought that about himself; his thoughts about himself were a constant run-through of crazy, dirty, and the feeling that he always deserved to be alone.
He remembers dragging Brian into the car, a giggly, drunk mess, and he remembers the man wanting to go to Tim’s apartment instead of his dorm. The sandy blonde bat his eyes at him and smiled with that adorable gap-toothed smile, and he was hooked, for even if he couldn’t have Brian romantically, he could be happy just being his best friend. Tim recognized Brian’s difference since that night; it wasn’t like anything had happened, but Brian seemed off. He appeared almost gentler with Tim, and for the life of him, Tim couldn’t understand why. Brian’s touches turned more lingering, the movie nights turned into movie CUDDLE nights. Tim wondered if this was his personal Hell. Brian never said anything, so Tim never said anything; nothing ever went past those cuddles and a few coincidental dates Brian crashed by being in the same place. Or the hookups that left Tim’s house too fast when Brian came in, he had the key after all, and the immediate subject switch off the stranger. This was certainly platonic; there was no doubt about it after all, Brian knew more about these things than Tim did. It didn’t matter either way, because Tim would be there to love Brian from afar, so long as Brian would let him.
Even if it killed him.
It did. Well…it didn’t kill Tim, but it killed Brian. Tim’s love stretched so far, it was all encompassing; it would drown lesser people if they were not careful, lost to the waters of his loving them too much. And he knew, always had, that it would never last. That the monster haunting him would come for him eventually, and his biggest regret was dragging everyone down along with him. That Tim couldn’t do good, he could only hurt, cause pain wherever he went, when his friends, cause that’s what they were, his friends began to get sick. He tried to pretend it wasn’t what he thought it was, bury it inside him until it broke, but then Alex went crazy, and Amy went missing, and he knew it was because of HIM. The Operator infested their minds like a snake wrapping around their brains, squeezing so hard until the organ POPPED.
Tim was used to the feeling…the others, not so much. It didn’t take long before they started to disappear. Seth was first, then…then Brian, and fuck what did Tim even have to live for after that. There was no note, no heads-up, just there for one minute and gone the next. They had called the night before, and he did not indicate that he was leaving.
And Tim was alone once again, so he left too. Marble Hornets was shitty anyway, a disaster, and with their staring man gone, there was no use continuing. So Tim moved as far away as he could from it all, went to therapy, and finally got on meds for his seizures and hallucinations. Things were perfect, he almost forgot about The Operator, about Marble Hornets, and about Tuscaloosa altogether…all except Brian. He was a constant reminder of his past, and even as he forgot about the nitty-gritty details, his love for the man always remained. Then there was Jay fucking Merrik, who couldn’t leave anything alone, opening up the trauma he worked so hard to bury. Despite his anger at the manipulation, he stayed to help because maybe if they stopped Alex, they’d stop this entire thing. But would it be a worthwhile outcome, after all of it, Tim was unsure. Tim didn’t know who ‘Masky’ was, other than it was him; somehow, he was unaware of him, but he wouldn’t let him out again if he could help it because he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore.
Brian would hate him.
The answer turned out to be no, for as he pushed the hooded man out the window filled with anger and spite, it didn’t feel good. Everything else so far had been cathartic; he heard the static mixed with Alex’s screaming, and he bolted down the steps. There was one last thing to do, and he had the time to do it, even if it was only for a few minutes. The mask was removed, and he wanted to see who had tortured Jay and him for years, put a name to the face that helped ruin their lives. He was filled with so much anger, so much spite that as he removed the mask, his heart sank into his stomach, gapped tooth, blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair.
No. No. Nonononono.
Impossible, it couldn’t be Brian. Anyone but him, please God, no, let it be another hallucination. A joke, Brian was safe and sound with a wife and kids somewhere, not here, not this. He let out a choked sob as Brian’s pupils expanded, and for a breathless moment, he swore his last breath was Tim’s name. But that very well could’ve been the guilt and mania he was also experiencing at the moment. Tim found a tape on him, as blood began to pour from the back of his head like a gushing fountain. He shouldn’t, really shouldn’t, but he grabbed the ski mask, pocketing it as he ran. If Tim died trying to escape, then he’d die with a part of the only thing he’d ever loved.
In the end, Tim is the only one left alive—the only person who didn’t deserve it.
—
Show crunched under his boots, hand dripping with fresh blood, smoke curled from his mouth and out into the sky. It was overcast as he stared ahead at the three graves in front of him; it had been a few months since he had been back. His job wouldn’t let him get away often, and when he could, he had Nova to take care of, and the German Shepard took all his time. Tim had been adjusting the stones above it, slicing his hand on the jagged rock.
“Ow, fucking fuck. I get it, revenge or whatever.”
Tim grunted with a dramatic roll of his eyes, the shallow graves of Brian, Jay, and…yes, even Alex sat in front of him. Each one was empty, but each one held meaning, he assumed. The Operator took them for food, or whatever he used them for, but the idea that the graves sat empty made him sick to his stomach. Each grave was a reminder. Jay’s empty camcorder sat on top of his. Alex didn’t have much, but the bloodied tape served its purpose enough, and finally, Brian. The only grave decorated with flowers, cleaned religiously, as Tim was afraid to touch the others. Scared he’d be haunted, he wished Brian would haunt him; maybe that’s why he felt the stones so frequently. He took another inhale of his cigarette, holding it for a moment before letting it spill from his lips once again. Slowly, he pulled a worn black mask from his pocket, no longer smelling of Brian, and it was a reminder of the torture they all had been through.
“Hey, Bri…guess I should give this back, huh?” His brown eyes dragged to the top of his grave, Tim tossed the cig in the snow, snuffing it immediately. Using both hands now, he traced the stitching of the eyes and mouth; it was so stupid. Then again, so were his own porcelain and black lips. What was he thinking?
“I figured it was about time to lay this completely behind me,” he swallowed the frog in his throat, refusing to disappear. “I’m keeping the pictures…Obviously, I don’t think I could ever get rid of them. Ya know, it’s funny,” Tim sat down, leaning his back on the grave, the snow soaking into his pants.
“How much I loved ya, I promised to protect you no matter what, and I ended up killin’ ya.” His southern drawl, Brian would always tease him for slipping through as it always did when he was emotional. Tears were falling down his cheeks now, warm against the cold flesh of his cheeks, embarrassed even though no one could see him. Tim pressed his cheek against the makeshift headstone with Brian’s name messily scrawled into it.
“I fucking wrote in journals like a teenager, combining our names like you weren’t straight. Like it was legal for us to get married. The number of times I almost confessed, almost kissed you stupid, was in the thousands. It was so ridiculous that if I just did it, you could’ve let me down gently instead of this. Or maybe you would’ve left me. It would've been better if you had, then you’d have a life free of this, and you’d probably be alive. You are so much more deserving than I am.”
Tim hiccuped, “Every one of you is, well, except Alex fuck him.” He laughed, rubbing his hand down his face, “I have a beard now, full-blown and itchy as hell, I think you would hate it.” Tim’s shaky hands reached into his pocket, and a shiny revolver sat in his hands. A bullet in each hole of the cambers, primed and ready to greet Tim’s head.
“It’s been Hell, every waking moment, I hear him, I see him, I see you all of you whenever I close my eyes. I hate it, I want to die. I know I’ll go to hell for all I’ve done,” he tapped the gun against his knee.
“Nova’s set up somewhere, put her in a doggy daycare despite her protesting. They’ll take care of her till they find my body.” He ran a hand through his hair, stalling, that’s what he was doing, “If I do get to meet you, I’m gonna tell you how I feel before I’m cursed, hopefully whoever exists lets me finish that business.”
Brian would hate him for this, the number of times he talked Tim off the ledge, a million ways to tell Tim he was worth more than his past. Now it was null and void; he was sure of that, in fact, he was probably cheering.
“I’ll make the snow pretty with blood just how you like it.” He took a deep breath in through his teeth, the cold steel of the muzzle against his temple.
“See ya soon-” A crack of a twig in the forest, Tim tensed, and hesitation returned full force. He looked in the direction, and his pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks. Tim lowered the gun, just for a brief moment.
*“Brian?”*
A gunshot, a smell of smoke, and blood staining the snowy ground.
Meant to post this a longggg time ago. Not x reader but wanted to share.
You were young when you first met Toby. He was a skinny kid, awkward and always sticking close to his sister. He had brown hair, and you thought perhaps he’d be taller if he didn’t slouch as much as he did. On occasion, you could hear him mumbling to his sister in German. A thought once crossed your mind: was it his mother or his father who knew the language? You didn’t know him well at first; he was a little twitchy and would shout out at the most inappropriate times. There were rumors about him, nasty ones, words like freak and tweaker hung in the air like a curse. The rumors were nasty, but you weren’t one to step in; you kept to yourself most of the time. Learning earlier in life that if you were different, you’d get mocked. You’d stand out like a sore thumb, and honestly… You didn’t want your school experience to be any worse than it was.
And honesty? You didn’t want to end up like him.
It was October when it happened. There was a group project in art, and you hadn’t even realized he was in the class until you were paired together for an assignment. It was almost like in art, he didn’t twitch as much or something. Dread settled in your stomach because what type of grade would you get with someone who could barely hold a pencil steady?
The first thing Toby ever said to you was a compliment,
“I like yuh-your stickers.” He motioned to your water bottle through a stutter, and you looked at the fandom stickers littering it. You murmured a shy thank you. Embarrassed, you introduced yourself immediately, wanting to drop dead because, of course, he knew your name and you were in the same class. But the kid just snickered at you,
“I used to hide them. Take a different water bottle to school, but you know.” You smiled with a little shrug. For the first time, you realized he had the prettiest eyes you’d ever seen. “Your eyes are pretty,” you whispered, heat pooling in your cheeks. He looked shocked and a little hesitant. Like this could be a prank, like there were people in the corridors waiting to jump out at him.
“Muh-me?” His wrists twitched, and you nodded with a small laugh. Now it was his turn to be red. “Auh-anyway the pr-project?”
You nodded, and that’s where your friendship began, awkward but sweet, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
It was a few months later, and you were waiting for him in your usual spot outside the school. Toby was never subtle and never quiet, “They’re so- so auh-attractive Lyra-” He moved his hands in rapid motions, his face twitching as he talked.
“Uh-huh, do go on lamenting, Tobes.” Lyra drawled out with a roll of her eyes. He hit her lightly on her side, and she snickered. His sister looked over at you, trying not to laugh. It seemed Toby was too enthralled by talking about you; he didn’t even notice you were nearby.
“Duh-don’t be sarcastic! bbrrrp T-this is suh-serious!” Toby argued with an annoyed pout on her lips, “I’ve nuh-never luh-liked a girl before.” He whined out, and Lyra nodded seriously, “and I c-can’t tuh-tell her.”
“Oh, why not?” You mused, sliding up beside him, he let out a startled sound, moving to hit the intruder, but you only laughed. For someone who had no control of his body, he seemed to have precise control of his voluntary movements. Toby looked like he wanted to curl up into a ball and die as you howled with laughter,
“It’s nuh-nuh-not fuh-fuh-funny.” He always stuttered more when he was angry, but you hushed him with a hug, which shut him up real quick.
“I like you too,” You admitted softly, hearing the click of a camera. “LYRA!”
“What? You two are sickeningly sweet. I’ll have to play this at your wedding, you’ll be happy with the memories then trust me.”
“Lyra.” Toby hissed as you tapped his chest. He looked down at you, and you pressed a kiss to his lips, on your tiptoes, of course. He whimpered a little, eyes fluttering as you smiled, today couldn’t be more perfect.
The day Toby went missing rocked you to the very core. Guilt ate away at you. Could you have done something different?
No. No, there wasn’t anything you could’ve done, at least that’s what your therapist told you. Toby was mentally ill, but you never thought he’d be capable of murder. You knew his family life was bad, he never invited you over, and snuck out of the house on more than one occasion to see you. You had asked once why you couldn’t meet his parents; he’d just get serious and grunt out a typical teenage response.
“Ca-cause they s-suck.”
You dropped the topic after a few attempts to push because he didn’t want to talk, and eventually, you gave up asking. Lyra was his only famliy anyway. When she…died, something in him changed. He was still sweet, at least to you; he grew colder, distant with others, even those who only wanted to help him; Mumbling more about things that weren’t there. But you grounded him, even when he chewed through his cheek without realizing it, you comforted him and tried your best to clean it. Considering that he refused to go to the hospital.
“Toby, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” He grunted as you dabbed isolpropal to his cheek; he didn’t so much as flinch. Toby couldn’t feel it; he couldn’t feel any pain, let alone hot or cold. You huffed as his neck cracked, ear to shoulder in a sickening sound. You had grown used to it, but sometimes a certain sound would make you jump. He grumbled, head pressed against your shoulder, and you sighed, arms tightening around him sincerely.
“He’s always there…taunting me with her?”
“Who is Toby?” You asked voice merley a whisper, trying your best to keep him calm. He only whimpered, your shirt felt wet, and you didn’t push further.
Maybe you should’ve.
Cause he moved to kiss you, desperate and yearning to be grounded. You could still taste the blood in his mouth from the wound, but instead of being disgusted, it thrilled you. You had to teach him how to kiss, guide him so your teeth didn’t clack, make sure his bites didn’t make your lips bleed. Even if you both liked it just a little. He relished the way you melted against him and never failed to make you feel safe. Your hands cupped his cheeks, mindful of his now covered wound. Toby’s arms slithered to your back; it was a gentle form of intimacy, not hurried groping or hand in pants, it was slow. It felt like the only time you’d ever see him again, and he with you, it was like Toby wanted to indulge something forbidden to him. Even though you were there, you were always there beside him and had no intention of leaving.
Your breathing hitched as his teeth scraped your neck, sucking marks into skin, heat radiating off both of you. Praise on his lips describing you as nothing but perfect, he didn’t have many words; he was never very good with them. But the ones he knew, English and German, flowed off his tongue like the sweetest honey petnames and praise. Toby knew how to wind you up and how to break you down one by one until you were writhing beneath him.
You had taught him well…maybe too well.
“I love you,” You breathed with a keening moan as you held onto his shoulders, tears springing to the corners of your vision.
“I luh-luh-love you too, maus.” He moaned as everything tightened, a crescendo to a song neither of you would get to sing again. A final performance, performed under moonlight and the quietness of love.
That night, he went home, leaving your arms, albeit reluctantly.
“Can’t you stay?”
“I wuh-wish I c-could. Muh-my *stopppp* mom needs me, huh-home,” He whispered, brushing your cheek with fingers, twitching against your skin in a rhythm only he knew. “Buh-but *mew* I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you.”
“I love you too.” You smiled, snuggling into your blankets, a little raccoon plush he had won you clutched close to your chest. A classic exchange between the two of you, familiar and unassuming, only to be broken the next day as the police informed you of his parents' murder, of the arson, and his disappearance. The next few days were spent in a cold interrogation room. You defended him with your life. Told the world he wasn’t well, begging him on the news to come home to you under the guise of turning himself in and proving everyone wrong. But your eyes well, they told a different story. A story that told him to come back, not to seek justice but to hold you again, that you’d protect him and keep him safe from the law.
Horrible people deserve horrible punishment. Why should Toby be sentenced for taking someone out of the world who had only served to hurt others?
Maybe you were just as fucked up as him.
Two years went by, and you never moved on; you pretended to. Graduated, got a job, but never dated. People flirted with you and asked you out, but you’d deny them afterall there was no feasible way you could justify being in love with a missing kid who is wanted for murder. You curled up in your apartment; it was colder than usual, and your space heater did little to warm your chilled body. A blanket curled around you with a hot mug of tea in your hands, your head rested against the pillows, tired and hopeful.
“HONEY, I’M HUH-HOME.” Chin upon the top of your head, and you smiled crookedly,
“Hi, baby,” You spoke softly as Toby slid from the back of the couch into your lap. He smelled of smoke and blood, your nose scrunched up awfully. Looking down at him, you frowned. He was covered in blood, mouth guard still on, but you could tell he was smiling through his mask. Toby slipped it off, motioning for you to bless him with kisses.
“Absolutely not.” Toby whined loudly, bottom lip wobbling in a childish pout, “You’re covered in blood and smell like Tim’s smoke. You need to come home more often. You reek.”
“I duh-duh-don’t reek.” Toby squawked in protest with a twitch in his neck. Toby was taller than you now and, by all accounts, scarier. The skinny boy you knew was gone, replaced by a man who knew how to carry himself. Strong arms from wielding hatches, with scars littering all over his body. His scruff always tickled your cheeks; it was almost like, as soon as it came in, he didn’t want to shave it. In your opinion, he wanted to look like Tim; in his opinion, it made him look tougher. You were Toby’s best-kept secret.
You only saw his ‘co-workers’ through pictures and through Toby’s description of their personalities. He did have a habit of exaggerating, though, afterall you were almost positive Tim didn’t have sharp teeth and devil horns hidden under this false persona.
“You do reek. Go shower, then we can kiss. There’s food in the fridge for you. Your favorite.”
“M-MAN! I’m suh-so luh-lucky,” he swooned shitting up like a shot, like the promise of a home-cooked meal and kisses rejuvenated him, and honestly? It probably had, you laughed as he scampered down the hall, jacket already halfway off. Your phone buzzed, a message from your therapist asking when you wanted to schedule again. It was almost stressed, like they were begging after last month's session. You’d mentioned feeling like eyes were watching you, that something was coming, and you didn’t know what.
Turns out it was the love of your life.
The murder didn’t even phase you that much. How fucked up was that? Nothing mattered but, Tobias Erin Rogers.
Hello- sorry posting once and disappearing! Life am I right? Anyway please request away I had 5 slots open for now! NONE ARE FILLED! Gimmie your inspo, list of who I write for is here: 0/5 slots
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This Apartment Does Not Exist a Slenderverse Discord RP server.
This Apartment Does Not Exist.--It does not appear on maps. It cannot be photographed correctly. It cannot be perceived by anyone not alread
--
It does not appear on maps. It cannot be photographed correctly. It cannot be perceived by anyone not already affected.
Those who enter do not remember how they arrived.
The building contains an infinite number of floors and rooms that rearrange themselves when unobserved. Hallways stretch longer than physically possible. Stairwells loop. Elevators stop at floors that do not exist, closets that lead somewhere else when you’re desperate, and walls that breathe when you’re not looking.
Some doors open to places that were never inside the building at all. Up is down, and left is right. Clocks are stuck at 3:33 am.
The Apartment is an anomaly created by Slenderman: a containment space, a feeding ground, or a cage? Something that could be inexplicably affected by Slender’s powers, could it have been after an attack on someone staying there? There isn’t a way to know or fully tell or know.
Previous escape attempts have led to:
- Returning to a different floor
- Exiting into a room that used to be elsewhere
- Waking up back inside after “escaping.”
The building appears to react to fear, obsession, and prolonged residence.
Tim Wright, Brian Thomas & Ticci Toby x Reader
FILE I: LOST GIRL
There was a buzzing in your ears, always lingering in the corner of your mind. The doctors had diagnosed you with tinnitus about six years ago when you were found in the middle of nowhere with nothing on your person but your wallet and ID. You still remembered the beeping of hospital equipment and the burning scent of antiseptic in your nostrils. The diagnosis never sat right with you, considering your medical records showed no previous history of hearing loss in your family. And you could always fucking listen to it, a soft buzzing in the back of your mind, soft but still lingering. The doctors concluded you must have had significant damage to your ears before you were found in Rosswood all those years ago, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, with a splitting headache, and a nasty bout of amnesia.
Everyone was concerned about you, especially when the dried blood on your flannel came back linked to someone named Jay, a local man who had been missing and presumed dead for a good few years at that point. Unfortunately, with no memory of the man, you were unable to provide any information to the investigator, even if you wanted to. After a multitude of tests, the doctors concluded that, along with tinnitus and your seizures, you most likely had retrograde amnesia from the incident, and three weeks after you were found, you were sent out of the hospital still with no memory of what you were doing in Rosswood that night.
Memories would come and go in your dreams, names, people, and events you could never hold onto when you awoke. For a long while, you drank yourself stupid, unsure of your purpose or what to do with your newfound life. It was a struggle knowing you clearly survived something you weren’t supposed to and remembering none of it. Then you met her, Jessica, your saving grace in the Hellscape of your life. She was a mail carrier. You met her at a bar when you were both way too drunk and needed someone to talk to, and the two of you became fast friends. You both bonded over your diagnosis; hers was narcolepsy combined with amnesia, and for the first time, you were grateful that all you had was tinnitus. Both of you have ever talked about the past or the unknown cause of your problems, but you both seemed curious about one another's experiences, and a weird part of you wondered if the incidents were related.
It didn’t matter that you helped one another, showed one another that you weren’t alone, and that life still had its purposes. So long as you both stuck together, a blood pact to help one another figure their shit out, protect eachother and be honest. And most importantly, if one of you were going to kill themselves, the other would go down with them. Honestly? That’s all you could ask for in a friend..
You huffed at the monitor, willing the buzz to go away as it always did after a few minutes of silently staring into the nothingness. You technically had a prescription for a pair of hearing aids to help with the tinnitus, but you lived in the United States. You were working in a shitty little drug store for minimum wage as you desperately tried to recover some sense of normalcy in your life. The bell of the store chimes, stirring you from your dissociation, and you murmured a quiet greeting. It was the dead of night, you continuously worked the night shift, and you couldn’t sleep regular hours anyway, even before the accident. A man stood in the doorway. He was young and probably in his early twenties. He had a mess of brown curls and a medical mask on his face. Masks weren’t out of the ordinary anymore, and his was a sleek black fabric one of the good kinds, at least he cared about his health. The tall stranger was cute, you had to admit that, tall too, not that you were biased, but when a tall drink of water walks by, any rational person would take notice. You watched him twitch a few times in the doorway, his amber eyes boring into your own, and you both tilted your head, and the ringing in your ears intensified. A girl coughed behind him, slipping inside with her boyfriend, effectively breaking your stare. They both reeked of weed so much so it felt like it filled the entire tiny ass store.
The couple murmured to themselves, piling snacks into their arms and smiling. Oh, to be in love, something you had given up on a long time ago. You didn’t want to subject anyone else to how fucked up you were. There is too much baggage for one person to carry, and nobody likes baggage. The only person you ever considered for a relationship with was Jessica. For a while, you thought you liked her, romantically speaking. Kissing her when you felt the mood was right, she would pull away with a flush on her face. She was straight, and you’ve never wanted to die more than you did that day. Luckily, she laughed, ruffling your hair, it never changed your dynamic, but it was still mortifying. You couldn’t help but yawn and glance down at your phone; you had only had one new message from Jessica.
BestJess:
Hi. I'm going out of town, so I'm sending my location in case you need it. I found someone who knows me. If I don’t message you in an hour, find me.
Well then.
That totally wasn’t cryptic, you frowned, fingers flying across the keypad,
You:
What? Knows you from your past? Are you saying they know what happened to you?
You watched as the three bubbles appeared and disappeared. If they knew Jessica, there could be a very real possibility that they knew you, too. After a few moments, the only response you got was the ping of her location. Your brow furrowed, and someone cleared their throat in front of you. It was the couple. A soft apology spilled from your lips as you slowly began to ring them out, you talked to them almost robotically, running through your usual script. It was a cheap stop-and-go shop; no one really wanted small talk anyway, save for the few regulars who tried to buy lotto cards from you and free cigarettes when you were feeling nice. All the while, your mind was running with possible ideas of the texts Jessica had sent you, and a part of you deep down was jealous.
She had found someone from her past to give her the answers she desperately sought, even if the situation was dangerous; a part of you wished it was you in her shoes. It only took you a few moments to come up with a plan; you had only three more hours left of your shift. If you didn’t hear from Jessica in the time frame she stated, you would walk out and lock up early. Even if your pay got docked because of it, you’d feign a family emergency and seek your friend at the cost of your job. Half distracted, you didn’t notice the man reach into his pocket. Before you could blink, a gun was aimed between your eyes. Your hands shot up in the air with a panicked look; The register was already open as the girl at his side giggled in delight. You watched as she climbed over the counter and began to take the money out of the cash register while talking to her boyfriend. Your ears were ringing, and you could barely make out what they were saying, your heart pounding in your chest. What a shitty day not to wear hearing aids. So much for your earlier plan; now you had to pivot, make sure you didn’t die, and then look for Jessica.
“Look,” Your voice was muffled in your ears with no volume control. “I’m not gonna call anyone, just please don’t hurt me. I do NOT get paid enough for this shit.”
The boyfriend grinned something predator as he clicked the safety of the gun off.
“Sorry, can’t leave behind any witnesses. Right, babe?”
“Right! Do you think this is enough for the coke?”
Ah. So not just weed, but also cocaine. Cool, great, that’s just great, you were going to die at the hands of two coke heads. Maybe you should see if they’d let you hit a blunt before you die; they actually probably would let you. You felt a strong urge to rip the gun out of his hands and shoot him in the dick than the girl in the head, a shiver ran down your spine unsure of where the urge came from only that the buzzing grew more intense. The cold barrel of the gun was pressed against your forehead and squeezed your eyes shut; this was it, you were going to die.
Then there was a loud KER-THUNK, warmth sprayed all over your face, and you briefly wondered if you felt your own blood. But no, that’s not what a gunshot sounded like, an eye cracked open, and you screamed alongside the now-dead man’s girlfriend. An axe was sticking out of the back of the man’s skull as he fell forward, smashing his head on the countertop. The masked man from before stood there in a pose that indicated he was the one who had thrown it.
“B-BORING!” The man reached up to slide the mask off his face, “I-If you wanna ku-kuh-kill someone d-don’t give w-warning!”
His face, oh god, his face, a large gash split through the side of his mouth, it looked like it was either bitten off or messily carved. His teeth and gums showed through the open wound; it looked old but not healed, no stitches or anything holding it together. He took a heavy step towards you both, and weirdly enough, the coke addicted girlfriend was clinging to your side like you would step in and save her. Her manicured nails dug into your flesh through your sleeve. Even weirder, you felt yourself holding that hand in panicked comfort. At least you wouldn’t die alone. Once more, amber met your eyes, and he smiled, his neck cracked as his hands flexed at their sides. Ringing in your ears returned as you hissed, covering your ear with your hand as it roared. The man laughed, yanking the ax out of the boyfriend's hnd, spraying blood as he did so. A fleshy wet sound was heard, and he kicked the man's head with his steel-toed boot. Unsure how to feel, you cleared your throat, trying not to show the fear in your voice.
“Well, thank you for, for saving me-even if you’re about to kill me-”
“KUH-KILL YOU!?” He looked shocked, holding his axe to his heart like you wounded him deeply, “I would never kill you!” That gave you pause; he spoke as if he knew you in some way, as the woman began shivering and crying louder. He frowned, rolling his eyes, “I huh-hate it when they cry; it's so annoying!” He smiled at you as he tossed his axe, catching it in his hand before leaning forward, his nose brushing against your own. With his one hand he lodged the ax in her throat once more spraying you with the viscous fluid from her slit throat. “Annnnd done! I MISSED YOU!” No stuttering as he dropped his axe, throwing his arms around you with a too-tight hug. You froze the change in personality, giving you horrible whiplash, he didn’t seem to care about the blood that sprayed you both in the face from her slit throat.
“Yuh-you don’t have to act anymore! I don’t know why you duh-duh-disappeared, but you were a b-bitch to track down! HE said we needed to find you, and suh-suh-something happened. I didn’t know the horrible thing that happened, which was- no witnesses- ruh-r-retail.” As the man rambled, he pulled you over the counter, checking you for wounds of some kind before he put his large palms on your cheeks. The back of his hands were hairy, and his fingers were littered with scars and cuts. Caulus from handling the ax was also present, and he frowned for the first time, “I-it’s me, Toby.” You said his name through squished cheeks, and he let them go. You coughed, the bloodshed drying on your cheeks and clothes. The cough turned into a gagging, spotting all the gore in the corner of your eye, he seemed wildly concerned. His hands found your shoulders, seemingly awkwardly rubbing your back.
“L-look, I don’t know who you are, but you know me, I guess.” Panic overtook your heart, and he stared down at you with a clenched jaw. God, he was so much taller than you. “So…so tell me, Toby, do you know a man named Jay?”
The way his body stilled told you all you needed to know; he quickly grabbed his phone, muttering curses in another language. Was that German? He didn’t look German. Fear overtook you as you remained quiet, lips sealed shut. Was that the wrong thing to say? The phone’s ringing was all you could hear until there was a click on the other end of the line. It was a gruff voice, one that sounded familiar to you but seemed distant.
“T-Tim, we have a problem.” His neck cracked to the side as your pupils shrank, the way he looked at you, you wilted, knowing all too well that you were the problem he was referring to. “N-no, she’s- yuh-yes I found her! I’m not -dickhead- incompetent Timothy.” The bloodthirsty killer, Toby, you reminded yourself that his name was Toby. You needed to remember so you could tell the cops, spat into the phone. Tim, the mystery man on the other end of the line, seemed to bark something at the killer, his phone clenched in his hand. “Fuh-fuh-fuckin’-OH MY GOD- Fine!” Toby hung up on the poor guy, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He sheathed the axes into his belt and held out his hand to you.
“Up.”
You don’t know what fueled you to do this—probably spite or the idea that you didn’t have much to live for anyway—but you glared at him.
“No.”
Toby barked out a wheezing laugh, his eyes going back to big and round right before your eyes. What was with this guy, hot and cold and so touchy? He slung his arm around you, lifting you off the ground with ease, nuzzling his cheek against your unscathed one,
“Awww okay muh-muh-my girl’s still in t-there.”
You recoiled; you were no one’s girl. You were about to protest when he dragged you forward, your work shoes sloshing through the viscera and blood. You almost slipped if the killer himself hadn’t caught you with a sickening puppy-dog smile. A little help and you were hoisted on his shoulder, his hand resting just above the curve of your ass and you kicked him in the chest.
“I’d hate to k-k-knock you out, babe, but I c-c-can’t have you -STOP- running away when you don’t r-ruh-remember us. Plus, I know you love my big, -TOBY.- s-stu-strong, manly arms,” Toby cooed, you gagged, and he laughed jovially. “Don’t worry, you’ll b-be huh-home soon. Brian and T-Tim miss you loads, too. B-buh-but I missed you more!”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about,” Your fists pounded against his back and he snorted uncaring about your petty movements. “I’ve never seen you before in my life!” That caused the man to still, his fingers digging into you tightly as his neck snapped to the left. It seemed to irritate him as he marched out the door,
“We’ll get you f-f-fixed up in - brrrp - no time. B-Brian’s like a b-brainiac or s-suh-something, r-really smart.” You let out another indignant shout as he carried you to a white van in the back of the parking lot.
“Oh absolutely the fuck not.” You reached up as high as you could, digging your nails into his flesh, nothing, no movement, just more snickers. How could he not feel that you were almost sure you had to have broken skin? With no weapons and no fighting chance, you were useless against your captor. Perhaps you should’ve taken Jess up on those self-defense classes. The door to the van swung open with a
BANG
Causing you to yelp and cling to your kidnapper, hands gripping fistfuls of his jacket.
“W-We’re home!” The van was hardly a home; you had to assume it was a figure of speech as Toby placed it on the ground. You moved to punch Toby in the face, but he caught your fist and bent it back just a little. Tears pricked your eyes as you yelped in pain. The man, despite claiming to have missed you, had no qualms about hurting you. Then a voice, that voice barked,
“Rogers let go of her. Have you finally gone brain dead?”
The man snapped his hands upon your shoulders, and you were spun around to face a bear of a man. Sideburns lined his cheeks, and his messy black hair somehow made him look more rugged and handsome. Pale features with the deepest brown eyes, you knew him. Why did you know him? The man behind you was vibrating; you could practically feel it, hearing his joints pop every so often like a kid who had gotten his favorite toy taken away. Then the man kissed you; your head spun dizzy at the unprompted smooch. Toby made a sound of annoyance and disgust, whining about it being unfair that Tim could kiss you when he doesn’t even know the whole story. This man smelled and tasted of cigarette smoke and evergreen; it wasn’t unpleasant, but the taste of him on your tongue certainly threw you. Wait…why haven’t you pulled away? You yanked yourself back, crashing once more into Toby’s chest, and Tim looked a mixture of hurt and offended.
Tim, the man said your name, confused and tender and once again ever so familiar, dangerously familiar. Your head began to pound, and you hissed, Now isn’t a great time, brain, thank you, You heard the man curse, placing his hands on your cheeks. Toby said your name shakily, clearly. This was new to both men; flashes came to you. A student film, 'Jay Making You Laugh,' a porcelain mask, and TIM. You felt it pour from your nose and onto your lips…blood as your body went slack.
—
It was always like this, the flashes of memories. Being an outsider looking in, not quite feeling you belonged there, despite this happening to you. Tim's face was the same, hair the same, but a bit younger, a bit less…jaded. You were wearing one of Tim’s flannels, sitting on the couch, cozy with a blanket. The man plopped down next to you with a loud sigh, hands immediately reaching for his guitar. The words were fuzzy, but you could make out ‘filming’ and the name Alex. The unknown face said something to Tim, who spoke up with a slight laugh. “Making musical masterpiece things with our hands.”
“Guitar with Tim attachment.” Alex snickered, glancing over at you sitting beside Tim, “How do you stand it?”
“Unfortunately, it’s my burden to bear alone.” You laughed, gasped, and draped yourself across Tim as your bones turned to jelly.
He shot you a slight glare, “I just learned this song about two minutes ago. Cut me some slack.” There was more chatter and laughter; your eyes shone with happiness and brightness. Then, another man, whom they called Brian, entered the room, drying his hair with a towel draped around his neck.
“What’s up, T?” Brian grinned widely.
“That’s a nice towel you got there,” Tim remarked and raised an eyebrow at Brian’s choice.
“Oh, thanks.”
Alex glanced over at Tim, and they both shared a look. At the same time, they both uttered, “That’s some nice hair.”
“My hair always looks good. That’s why I’m the star,” He said dramatically, practically fainting against the side of the couch you were on. You snorted a laugh, shoving him, and the hidden man faked wobbling off the edge.
Alex fiddled with the keyboard on his lap before piping up, “Um, but Seth and I have been reviewing the footage, and I think we have enough now to start putting together our trailer.”
“Trailer!” Tim whispered excitedly from behind the camera.
“And we’re thinking about music. I think I want to go more along acoustic lines, so do you want to help record some of the material? Maybe with the ukulele or…”
“I could probably do that,” Tim said,” I mean, I got this ukulele like a week ago, so I can’t really promise I’d be any good at it, but I can always try.” Tim shrugged.
Your face lit up with excitement, “Oooo, yes! You’ll be so good.” Tim smiled over at you, his eyes shining with breathtaking happiness, matching your excitement with a soft blush on his cheeks. It’s adorable.
“You can- Is it gonna be like…” Tim started to ask, but the lights flickered and then went out completely. “Is it going to be dark?” Alex tried the light switch a few times while a clap of thunder could be heard coming from outside the house.
“Okay, well, I also like being able to see, so I’m gonna go try to find the breaker box. I don’t even know where it is. I’ve never had to use it before.” Tim stood up and shuffled around in the darkness. A loud thump was heard as Tim grunted out an “Ow!”
“Be careful!” You called out, tilting your head to the side, as the other man's hands rested on your shoulder, before stealing Tim’s spot beside you.
“I’m fine, no worries.” Tim continued to bump into more things as he blindly wandered around the apartment, desperately trying to locate the fuse box. He hummed as he walked around until the lights came back on suddenly, “Welp, never mind.”
Then you saw it, well, not you in the room, but you now, reliving the memory through different eyes. A creature, tall and menacing, stood in the corner of the room, but no one noticed, not a single soul: no one but you. No face, and it seems to look directly at you, as you look upon the memory, and static rings in your ears. It was gone as soon as it came, the lights went back out, and Tim sighed dramatically. “Never mind again,” Tim continued, moving around, frustrated by the lights not wanting to fix themselves. “I hope this is it.” Tim flicked the switches on and off, but nothing happened. “Great. The power’s just off.” After a few more thumps of blind stumbling, Tim finds a flashlight and switches it on. “Good news, guys, we have flashlights.” He announced, tossing one towards Alex and you.
Alex suddenly announced what he considered some good news with a smile, “Even better news: guess what’s battery-powered?” Alex moved to switch the beats on the keyboard back on and bobbed his head in time with the beat.
Tim turns around and sits back down on the floor. “Oh, this day just got so much better. Well, hey, about that acoustic soundtrack, I guess that’s the only choice we have now, so um…”
“Jam session?” Alex mused. You shoved the man beside you playfully, making room for Tim once more
“Yeah.”
Brian points the flashlight at Alex, “Let me get good lighting on Alex here.” Brian laughed. Again, a sound of static only you seemed to hear, quiet and painful, only broken by Tim’s voice.
“You look so dramatic.” Tim snickered, more static another glance at the tall man.
—
Your name being called over and over again until you shot up, gasping for breath. Three faces towards you, you knew one was Toby, for he was the one to kidnap you, you recognized the other from your dream, but it was Tim. Oh god, Tim, you remembered him, your arms shot out before you could even process what you were doing, finding solace around Tim’s neck.
“TIM! FUCK!”
Toby let out an indignant sound, probably pissed he didn’t get the same reunion as Tim did. But you didn’t know him, not a damn clue who he was. Tim gently hugged you back, a tiny squeeze before releasing you,
“Hey, sweetheart, Brian’s gonna check you over for any lingering injuries, okay?” Large hands brushed through your hair as your eyes darted to the other man; you finally had a name to the face. “You don’t seem to be doing too hot, Toby filled us in a little.”
“Alright,” Brian spoke, and the men went quiet, hands twitching at their sides. “Give us some space, you two act like I won’t let you know what I find.”
“Toby, come on,” Tim gripped the boy's shoulder, and he growled in protest,
“No, I’m st-st-staying here. I muh-muh-missed her, and I fuh-fuh-found her so I should get to s-stay.” His neck cracked uncomfortably, and his eyes zeroed in on you. You sucked in a breath, looking over at Tim desperately, the man sighed.
“Toby, I won’t ask again.”
“F-fuh-fuck you.” The boy turned on his heel, slamming the door of the Van shut, hatchets still around his waist,
“I’ll find him.” Tim followed suit, throwing a flannel over his shoulders before following the wild Toby out the door. Slowly, you turned to Brian, the man was emotionless, his eyes seemed to be devoid of sentiment, and your heart rate spiked. Hands moved to your face, cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that couldn’t be seen in his features.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Me?!”
There wasn’t another word as he dabbed under your nose with a wet rag; the feeling made you tense up. His blonde eyebrow shot into the air as if to challenge you to say more; he finished assessing any other wounds he assumed you had before leaning back in the chair he was sitting in. Silence between the two of you seemed to stretch on for hours, causing you to shuffle in your seat, restless and mentally begging him to say something, anything.
“So uh, what’s up with you-”
“How much do you remember?”
Okay rude.
“Well, I remember that guy, Toby, kidnapping me-”
“Before that, years before that.”
Your nose scrunched up, your body tensing before letting out a small, weak sigh. “I don’t remember much. I’m not sure what exactly you’re referring to. But...I can tell you what I do know...I woke up randomly in Rosswood years ago with no memories and a ringing in my ears. I'm partially deaf and I hear static and ringing all the fucking time."
You watched as his brow furrowed, his hand found your knee, and he squeezed it gently. You found it comforting as your eyes fluttered up to meet his, and pink spread across his cheeks. The frown turned into a sideways smile,
"Go on..."
You swallowed but listened to the command from the cute gap-toothed man. For some reason, you felt like he understood what had happened, the gaps in your memory. And so you told him, everything you remembered from the time you were little to the missing chunks of your memory during college. Then nothing for years after that, blood on your hands and a stained jacket, and Brian listened. Nodding along, processing your words and letting you ramble, his softness reminded you so much of Jessica that it made your heart ache.
This man was part of your kidnappers, yet he was treating you like you were glass. It made your head spin even more; it was as if your brain and your heart were at war with each other. Then he speaks, like he knows you more than you know yourself, with a slight southern twang to the punctuation of his words.
"You don’t remember now. But you will..."
The stoic man seems hesitant to speak. He pulled his hands away from you, "and when you do remember, you’ll wish you hadn’t."
Your blood turned to ice as he looked at you with pity behind his blue eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, eyebrows furrowing to argue. To yell at him for answers, but instead, he drapes you in a blanket, and all you wanted to do was go home.
"Rest. You'll need it for the drive." Your pupils shrank and tried to stand, but the world turned sideways. Brian caught you and hummed, pecking you on the cheek,
"What did you do to me..." You slurred, and Brian looked across the room for you with a grin. He nodded at the nothing standing in the corner as the throbbing behind your eyes threatened to take you.
"I didn't do anything to you, HE did. "
"Brian… what the fuck do you mean. What did you just see?" Static buzzed, and you were sucking in a painful breath; your mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.
"You'll remember him soon enough. Just relax while we take you home." You wanted to fight, to bark back and argue, but you couldn't; you had no control of your body. Before your eyes closed, you could see Brian pick your phone up with a hum, dangling it for a moment before flipping it over and popping out the SD card, before snapping it in half.
Asshole.
Iron was all he could taste, as he hugged his arms close to his chest. The white snow that speckled the forest floor contrasted greatly with his newly acquired ash-grey skin. He could feel the blood crusting under his fingernails; he could also feel the sting of the cold snow beneath his bare feet as he walked. Whatever they did to him, he was no longer human; that much was clear, his feet turned more animal-like and had ripped through his old shoes. If he were being honest with himself, he knew that from the moment he awoke, he could see human heat signatures and hear heartbeats; he was no longer the human boy he once was.
Jack Nichols shivered as he caressed the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. They were dripping with the same black tar that was mercilessly poured into the sockets by Jenny and her cult.
‘That absolute fucking bitch.’ He thought, and an animal-like snarl tore through his throat. He could feel the stretching and popping of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Killing her and her stupid friends was therapeutic to him, remembering the taste of their blood as it filled his mouth when he tore out their throats made him feel euphoric. Pausing his steps only for a brief moment, he let those memories of eating their flesh and organs consume him; it only served to make his mouth water.
What was wrong with him? Why did that memory, that happened only hours ago, make him so god damn hungry? What exactly had they done to him, as much as he tried not to dwell on that thought, the hunger that ate away at him even after the slaughter was almost too much to handle. All Jack wanted when he woke up this morning was to go on a date with a cute girl, get a little drunk, and maybe get lucky (thought realistically that was just wishful thinking)—the actual college experience, even for a med student. Especially with a schedule as busy as his...that was as busy as his. He knew he should have just stuck to focusing on school and studying hard. God, why did he've to listen to his friends as they urged him on the date?
‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
This. This was clearly the worst possible outcome.
What he really couldn’t believe, however, was that he allowed one of the cultists to get a hit on him, and a bad one at that. Turning his head to glance down at the tear in his thigh, it was a deep gash that desperately needed medical attention and fast. The only problem the former medical student faced was that whatever was pouring out of his leg wasn’t blood. It was a deep black ooze that stained the white snow that littered the forest floor. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure if everyday medical supplies would even heal his wound. Jack gritted his teeth, trudging onwards into the forest, a faint buzzing reverberated around in his skull like flies buzzing around a corpse that he couldn’t seem to shake.
He placed his hand against a tree, the world spinning around him. Whatever the blood-like substance that was pouring out of his leg was, he was losing it fast. Jack heard the crunching of snow in front of him and a small gasp. It took most of his strength, but he picked his head up and snarled. Jack bared his teeth and tried to make himself look as dangerous as possible. He felt like a wild animal that the hunter had cornered. There was a girl in front of him, her hair was stuffed under a furry winter hat. She took a few steps back, her brown snow boots making giant footprints in her wake. He could hear the blood flowing through this girl’s veins, as her anxiety levels seemed to spike. The anxiety caused her heartbeat to quicken drastically, and hearing the sound only served to increase Jack’s seemingly ceaseless hunger. Jack tried to take another step towards her, flexing the sharp nails on his hands, but collapsed under his own weight, his fucking leg. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he?
“What are you?” The girl’s voice held a slight quiver to it, and Jack could feel her sharp eyes burning holes into his body. He watched as she hesitantly took a step closer, her parka standing out against the muted colors of the forest.
“I don’t know.” He responded with a raspy breath. She smelled divine, but he had no strength to attack. Something in his bones told him that he was beyond human, something so much more, a god perhaps? What a silly thought that he couldn’t shake away. Through his quickly blurring vision, he swore he could make out a pair of fancy dress shoes a little bit behind the girl. He saw the girl drop to her knees and cover her ears, his vision went black, and the sound of static accompanied the darkness.
---
Jack was expecting to be dead. He expected to be accompanied by a beautiful white light, maybe an angel or something. However, it caught him very off guard when he suddenly awoke in a rather plush bed. He threw the plaid covers off himself unceremoniously and moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The baby god never got far because he let out a howl of pain as a sharp sensation traveled up his thigh. Shit, right, his entire upper thigh was practically ripped open. He forgot all about that. Glancing down at his wound, he noticed it was wrapped tightly in medical bandages, and he assumed it was stitched up underneath the dressings. Whoever fixed the wound seemed to have done at least a semi-decent job, at least he wasn’t dead.. Sniffing the air with his newly acquired sense of smell, he could make out the distinct smell of humans and...was that lavender?
Jack felt his stomach growl, and he doubled over, clutching it. They smelled delicious. He could practically hear their organs singing out to him, rip open the human, steal us, devour us.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening. In the middle of the doorway stood the exact girl he’d seen in the forest. Immediately going on the defense, he bared his teeth, opening his jaw as wide as he could; he heard the popping sound of his jaw as it extended, and he felt something swirl around in his mouth. He felt a chill run down his spine at the unwelcome sensation.
Did he have more than one tongue?
Shaking the thought away, Jack didn’t move to attack; he was never the type. He would always rather listen to rationality before getting his hands dirty; the only issue was that he was starving, and the girl would absolutely make a fine meal.
“Don’t try, demon.” The girl scoffed, eyeing Jack up and down. If he were still his old college self, he would’ve gotten flustered at the gesture. A girl showing him attention? Unheard of back then. However, after Jenny, he was almost positive he’d never let that happen again. His sockets looked down at what the girl held in her hands; it was a plate, a plate with kidneys on top of it. He was only mildly aware of the fact that he was drooling all over himself. “Oh gross.” She scrunched up her nose, placing the organs on the bottom of the bed.
Without hesitation, Jack attacked the cold meat, shoving it in his mouth with vigor. He knew blood was all over his face and hands, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack knew the girl’s calculated eyes were watching his every move; even so, he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as the food slid down his throat. Once the meal was finished and Jack was satisfied, he finally felt he had enough strength to start asking questions.
“Who are you?” He rasped, whipping his mouth with the back of what was left of his sleeve.
“Really? You’re asking ME that question.”
“I’m not a fan of your attitude.”
“I’m not a fan of you bleeding out on my property.”
Jack growled low and guttural. “Don’t make me hurt you.” The girl dared to laugh in his face, was she not aware of what he was capable of now?
“Nice try, but I’m not scared of you. You’re not allowed to hurt me as long as you’re under my care.” She pointed to herself with her thumb, puffing out her chest a little. However, he could hear her pulse increase slightly.
Jack only scowled.
“What, pray tell, is exactly stopping me?” He raised an eyebrow, observing as the girl lifted her sleeve to her sweater. He watched her heat signature shoot close to him, and he made a move to snap his jaws, but instead, he found his claws rubbing over a scar. Scared into her wrist was a symbol that Jack had never seen before in his life, but for some unknown reason, he felt dread wash over him. Carved into her wrist was an O with an X slashed through it. “What’s that supposed to prove exactly? That you’re into weird tattoos?”
The woman let out a loud sigh, as if this conversation was boring her. Oh, he’s sorry, it’s not his fault he was turned into a fuckingorgan-eatingg monster by a cult at his local college! If he still had his eyes, they would be rolling so far back into his skull, yet he still waited for the girl to explain.
“I’m a medical proxy under The Operator. Currently, one of the only ones he has left because we keep getting killed off by rogue killers.” The girl, who had just given her name, clicked her tongue in apparent distaste at the mention of said killers. “Since I’m under The Operator, it means if you kill me, he’ll kill you, that’s the deal, Jacky boy.” That put him on high alert.
“How the fuck do you know my name?”
“You’re certainly full of questions for someone just waking up out of a coma. If you must know, the Operator gave me a brief rundown of your file after we found you in the woods.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s your lucky day because you just got hired to work for him.” She gave him a round of applause, but it sounded more mocking than serious, and he only grew more confused.
“This doesn't make any sense to me. I hope you’re aware.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t. It’ll all be explained in due time. For now, your focus should be on improving so you can start your training. Lucky for you, I’m your registered nurse and caregiver, so enjoy your stay at Castle de la Me. Trust me when I say you should value your time here while you still have it.” A thousand more questions ran through Jack’s mind, and his little question-and-answer session with his self-proclaimed nurse didn’t really help.
“So you’re a med student then?” She made a noise of affirmation, picking at the strings of her sweater.
“Was a med student, Jack, that pretty much came to a screeching halt after the boss man scouted me. That, however,” he watched as she put a hand to her lips, signaling him to stop asking questions, “is a story for another day. The first order of business now that you’ve eaten is a shower. Cause no offense, but you smell like dried blood, and coming from me, that’s saying something, cause I smell blood all the time.”
Jack still didn’t trust this stranger fully, and it bothered him that she seemed to know everything about him, while he knew next to nothing about her. Yet, a shower did seem nice in this moment, he glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails were caked with dry blood. He could only imagine what every other part of his body looked like; clearly, she didn’t bother cleaning him up aside from dressing his wounds.
“A shower sounds good.” Jack nodded in confirmation, and the girl gave a relieved smile.
“Oh, thank God you agreed, it took me a week of convincing to get Jeff to go take his first shower.” Jack decided it was best not to ask who Jeff was; that was a can of worms he shouldn’t open just yet. She reached out to touch him, and he immediately recoiled back, almost biting her hand off. The smile that appeared disappeared into a frown.
“Don’t touch me.” Memories of Jenny’s friends holding him down while he pleaded for his life flashed across his mind. The blade came closer and closer to Jack’s crystal blue eyes before making contact and-
“Alright, cannibal boy, snap out of it. Can’t you succumb to blood lust just yet? You don’t wanna injure yourself more.” He heard snapping and assumed she had snapped her fingers next to his ears, and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that she snapped him out of his stupor. “I was going to help you to the bathroom because you really shouldn’t put pressure on your leg. Is that okay?”
Jack felt himself nodding reluctantly. She was right, he really shouldn’t put stress on his leg, or it could cause more harm than good. Especially since he didn’t know the extent of the injury yet, for all he knew, he was lucky they didn’t hit the femoral artery. Her arms went around his waist as the god and the human girl hobbled to the bathroom together. The sight would’ve been funny to an outsider looking in, this almost eight-foot-tall monster being helped by a girl who didn’t even reach close to his height. On the short walk there, Jack was trying to get a feel of the house, in case he needed to make a grand escape in the future.
“I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the door for you, call for me when you’re done so I can help you back to the bedroom.” She explained that as Jack hobbled into the bathroom, he didn’t feel the need to respond to her as he shut the door in her face. He heard a faint click of a tongue from the otherside of the door and listened to the girls' retreating footsteps.
Jack leaned against the sink, putting most of his weight on his hands. The sink creaked under the newfound pressure, and Jack wasn’t sure if it was because the house was old or because he had gained newfound strength. He glanced up at the mirror, it was weird, somewhat seeing when you had absolutely no eyes. It was the first time since the incident that he got a good look at himself; he looked about as good as he felt.
Terrible.
His auburn hair curled around his now pointed ears and was caked in mud and dirt. He was almost grateful that she didn’t touch him aside from the wound while he was unconscious. Jack couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done if he felt anyone go near his face. Speaking of his face, he opened his mouth and saw that his teeth were shaved into razor-sharp fangs. His stomach turned as he remembered the exact reason why they were like that, organs. They were like that so he could eat organs. The thought wasn’t nearly as nauseating as it should’ve been. Three tongues seemed to dance around in his mouth, but how they rested normally in there was beyond him.
His skin was unnatural and a sickly grey color. As he lifted his shirt, the color seemed to spread all the way down his body. He glanced down at his hands and saw his nails were long and black, almost like those girls who wore acrylics, except he was sure their nails couldn’t rip into people's chests with a single swipe. Continuing down his body, he lifted one of his padded feet; he was correct in his earlier assumption. They were much more animal-like. He wondered if they made him faster; what purpose could they possibly serve other than that?
Gently letting his foot fall back onto the floor, he shuffled to the shower and turned it on; the water sprayed out in a burst, and he patiently waited for it to warm up. Eventually, he was able to step inside, not before knocking his head against not only the curtain rod but also the shower head.
“Fuck!” He snarled, glaring down at the showerhead. Jack did a little double-take, okay, he was also super tall, at least he got one blessing out of whatever the fuck was happening. Jack had to kneel on the ground in order to let the water roll down his body, and with a deep breath, he enjoyed the warm water pelting his skin. He fumbled around with the shampoo, trying to figure out how to open it without popping a hole in the container. As the lid popped open, he was hit with the calming scent of lavender.
~~~
“We’ll send someone to come back and check on him in about a month, give or take, see how he’s adjusting and healing.” A figure spoke from the kitchen, shaking a cigarette into an ashtray, as you stood across from him. The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair. “Then we’ll reassess him, give him a test, and see if he’s fit to come to the mansion.” Meanwhile, the girl heaved a sigh of her own and leaned against the cool tiles of her kitchen wall.
“So it’s gonna be my responsibility to explain everything that’s happening to him? Isn’t that supposed to be your job, Tim?” You felt yourself raise an eyebrow. “You realize he’s, like, almost eight feet tall, has no eyes, and eats organs, right? I’m not even sure WHAT he is.” You muttered, “The rundown I got really only gave me his background and his clear trauma.”
Tim clicked his tongue like the girl in front of him was wasting his time, which made you ball up your fists subconsciously.
God, the main proxies really got on your fucking nerves sometimes.
“You won’t have to worry about that; The Operator will handle all of that throughout the coming weeks—no need to worry. You also don’t need to worry about harvesting organs for him, and hopefully, once he’s healed, he’ll work on doing that himself. But for now, someone on a kill close by will be dropping off organs.” Tim’s nose scrunched up a little, and yours did the same. You usually prided yourself on your strong stomach, but this was a lot even for you. “The only thing you have to do is monitor his eating, see how much he will need on a weekly basis, help him with his first few assignments, and obviously keep him alive.”
“Obviously.” They both seemed to have a mutual understanding about that, at least, if you fuck up and he dies, they’re both in deep shit with The Operator. Tim reached to the side where his porcelain mask sat against the countertop.
“Don’t fuck it up.” He pointed to her before slipping out the door, leaving the women alone with an organ-eating monster. You mimicked ‘don’t fuck it up’ in a nasally voice before kicking off the wall and heading back in the direction of your guest room. You pulled out a pair of crutches from the closet and rested them by the bedside. You gently scratched at the faintly buzzing symbol on her wrist; this is going to be a long month.
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