#no 28

[one-piece-aus]

Hi may I please request 28 with Yandere Jabra for Whump-tober?

Hello! Thank you for your request, and thank you for your patience! It's been a long time coming, and I hope you like this fic!

Whumptober Day 28

Yandere Jabra x Reader

It started out as a High School Reunion, a celebration and a party with people you missed...

"Stussy's dead."

You let out a sob, throat croaking, unable to fathom the reality of the situation.

"How? We were all just getting shit-faced! Who the hell kills someone in the middle of a party?" Jabra questions, looking at the others as he points at the corpse with the hand holding his bottle of sake.

"Perhaps someone who thought this would be the only opportunity to take her out," Kaku states, removing his hand from Stussy's silenced pulse and standing up. "She is a busy and private person, doesn't give a fellow many chances to strike."

"MUUUUUUUUSSSST YOU BE SO MORBIDE? YO-YOI? OUR FRIEND, WHO HAS BEEN SENT TO THE AFTERLIFE EARLY IN THEIR MORTALITY SUUUUUUURRRRELY WOULD NOT HAVE MADE SUCH ENEMIES THAT WOULD TO THE EXTREEEEEEEEMMMME OF ASSASSINATING HER!"

"Kumadori is right," Lucci speaks up, drawing everyone's attention. "Stussy's murder is a mere hit and run, whoever did this is an amateur and probably hid the evidence somewhere, and still here, it's only a matter of time before we find them."

"You mean stab and run," Fukuro said.

"If they're stupid enough to kill someone in the middle of a party, you think they wouldn't be stupid enough to flee the scene in the middle of a storm?" Jabra asked, gesturing to the exit of the party room at the hotel.

"You would know, wouldn't you, Chapapapa."

"What? You calling me stupid, green-haired big mouth!?" Jabra grabbed Fukuro's collar, growling at him.

Kalifa adjusts her glasses. "Jabra, that's s-"

"HOW CAN YOU ALL BE COLD ABOUT THIS?!" You cry, wiping your tears and glaring at the other. "SOMEONE WE KNOW IS DEAD!"

The room falls silent. Instead of uncomfortable dread, the tension is awkward as everyone averts their gaze at a random point in the room. 

How it alienated you.

Were you the only one taking this seriously? No, Kaku and Lucci were taking this seriously at least yet...

A hand rested on your shoulder.

"Let's go inform the hotel staff," Blueno suggested, giving you a sympathetic expression.

"Yeah..." You wipe your face with your hand. At least Blueno is showing a proper reaction... is he?

"Someone should also try to get a hold of the authorities."

"Already tried that." Kalifa holds up her phone to Blueno. No bars.

"I see."

"We can still tell the staff." You turn to head to the lobby.

"Wait! This was done by an amateur! Wouldn't that mean-" Jabra stops himself.

"Wouldn't that mean... what?" You gestured for him to finish.

"I think what Jabra is saying is that it isn't out of the realm of possibility that one of the staff members killed Stussy," Kalifa states, adjusting her glasses.

"That's why I'm going to inform the staff with her," Blueno said. "No one should wander off alone. Everyone in this room should stick together."

"Right." Fukuro rolled his eyes.

"We'll be back." Blueno walks away with you.

A pin drop could be heard as the group stared at the two leaving the room,  until they disappeared from view. All heads present in the room turned to Jabra, unamused.

"What?" Jabra quirked a brow.

"You almost gave away our careers to [Y/n]," Kalifa stated.

"WHAT!? No I didn't!" Jabra defended before he pointed at Lucci and Kaku. "If anything, these two numb skulls could've hinted at it more than I did!"

"We were merely stating facts of Stussy's death. Your hesitance and wording are what could've clued in [Y/n] about what we are, and we would've had to silence her," Lucci reminded Jabra.

"Yeah, yeah..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night seemed to be surrounded in ominous darkness, the shadows keeping you awake and alert. Despite the agreement to sleep in pairs, the fear of the killer coming after you next ate away at your ability to sleep. Feeling that sleep is pointless, you sit up and reach for your phone.

A shadow moves out of the corner of your eye. Panic alerts your reaction, and you turn on the phone's flashlight. The shadow is revealed to be a tall person, blocking their face with their arm. You scream.

"Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!" Jabra shouted over your scream. "Would you turn that off, it's burning my eyes!"

You lower the flashlight, not ready to let go of the light quite yet. Jabra rubs his eyes before running his hands through his hair and sighs.

"What are you doing up? I thought you were knocked out?" He approached your bed and sat at the foot of it.

"...I couldn't sleep," you said, turning off the flashlight.

"Why? You got insomnia?"

"No, that's not..." You bunch up the blankets beneath your fingers. "I... I keep thinking about the killer... and Stussy... and she's dead, what if... what if they come to kill me next-"

"That's stupid," Jabra huffed.

"SHE WAS KILLED!"

"Not that part." Jabra waved a hand in front of your angsty face. "I meant being scared the killer is gonna get you next, I'm right here!"

"You think they'd kill you over me?" You tilt your head, confused.

"Hey! That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying you got me here to protect you. If anyone tries anything with you, I'll take 'em out before they know what hit 'em."

"Hmmm..." The sentiment is sweet, yet your doubts let fear remain dancing in your mind. "Even hyenas can kill a lion in its sleep."

"Are you comparing to a lazy lion!?"

"No- I just mean- the killer can attack us in our sleep. I just- I... I'm scared." You bring your legs closer to curl into yourself. "I'm scared that if I fall asleep, I won't wake up... I don't know how the rest of you are all laid back about this."

There were a few silent beats before Jabra sighed. "Fine."

You watched him get up and stroll around to sit at the side of your bed, arms folded like a security guard. "What are you doing?"

"If you're so worried, I'll stay up all night and watch the door, that way I'll see if anyone's coming."

"But don't you need to sleep too?"

"I can always take a nap later, besides that couch wasn't comfortable at all."

"Sorry..."

"Don't be." Jabra waved you off again. "You can make it up to me by letting me crash at your place once we get back to town, it's closer to where I work."

"Uh- sure, sure..." You shifted in the bed, uncertain how to go about falling asleep from there. What if you accidentally kick him in your sleep?

"Quit worrying and just go to sleep already," Jabra huffed, sensing your stirring.

"Alright, alright..." You settle in and pull the covers close. "...Good night Jabra."

"Night."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn arose, and so did you, alive and well.

Despite seeing Jabra fell asleep (snoozing soundly on your lap), you're relieved that you woke up. Worries flushing down the drain, you do a morning routine, letting Jabra sleep in. 

As you exit your room, you notice officers doing their rounds. While on the one hand you feel safer, the returning dread of someone you knew having been killed returns, leaving a bitter taste that discolours your morning.

You step to the side with one of them, answering any questions they had. They let you continue with your morning, but now you have no room to stomach any food.

Entering the lobby, you find some of your old classmates still here. Funny enough, they seemed to have just finished breakfast, Fukuro still munching on some bagels.

"How can you guys eat so easily?" you ask.

"Helps with the hangover," Kaku answered for himself.

You nod, felt strange to remember your reunion party was last night.

"Where is Jabra?" Lucci inquired.

"Uh- he's still in the room, probably still sleeping." You gesture to the upper floors.

"He'll miss breakfast at this rate," Fukuro giggled.

"I'll go wake him up." Lucci strolled past you.

Blinking in surprise, you tilt your head, puzzled. You've know Lucci to discard others if they're not caught up or present, and he gave you the impression he doesn't see eye to eye with Jabra. Why would he go wake up Jabra?

"Did you want some coffee, [Y/n]?" Blueno offered, pulling you away from foggy mind.

"Sure." You weren't gonna pass up coffee made by Blueno.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jabra let out a loud yawn sitting next to you in the passenger seat. "Can't believe I missed breakfast."

"I don't think it's a good idea to eat something then fall back asleep anyway."

"Yeah well I could've gone for some sausage and bacon." He pulled the sunvisor down when the sun beamed in the car's direction, groaning when the visor did nothing to block the rays. "You got shit for hangover's at your place?"

"I should, yeah."

"Great, cause this sun ain't helping me."

Despite Jabra's complaining, he's been doing a great job at keeping things light. Keeping things normal... helping you forget about Stussy's murder.

You arrive at your place and tell Jabra to make himself at home. Letting him sprawl out on the couch as you get him a glass of water and advil. It didn't take much for him to crash after that, and you went about your day. Catching up on some remote work, making yourself a little snack, all the while you hear Jabra snore in the background.

Eventually, he does wake up thanks to his phone's alarm. He takes his jacket and says a quick goodbye before heading out. The door closes and all your anxieties burst out.

The room drops to a chilling temperature. Open windows taunt you that you're exposed and asking for a murderer to climb in and get you. Photos on the wall discolor and scream they're dead. The knife in the sink dirty with red jam tricks your mind to seeing blood.

Overwhelmed, you flew to your bedroom, climbing under the sheets and pulling them over your head. You cry to yourself to calm down, opening up your phone to try and distract yourself, but no matter how much you doom scroll, you mind keep whispering your worst fears.

Until one thought crosses your mind.

Jabra kept all these anxieties away. What if he came back?

You sent him a text, asking if he could crash over here again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up in the middle of the night, throat feeling dry and reaching for your water glass, only to see no water. Sighing, you pull yourself out of your comfy sheets and grab your cup. Quietly, you open your door and head toward the kitchen when you stop. Vaguely you hear Jabra talking to someone, but you can't really hear who. You shrug it off, he has been here for almost a week now, shouldn't be weird.

"That bitch is too easy."

Something in you snapped, and you easedropped, moving closer to the edge of the wall to listen in better.

"Scared out of her mind because she thinks someone might kill her after Stussy died," Jabra cackled.

"You make me sick." It sounded like Kaku, he must be talking through the phone. "Cozying up to a lady after you killed one just ain't right."

"Oh please, like you wouldn't act like a white knight if you fancied someone, shut up you hypocrite!"

Oh how this makes your stomach claws at your insides, making you want to puke.

"Besides, not like I gave two shits about Stussy, could've cared less if she ran away to live on with life. Lucci's the one that approached me to off her, 'course he knew I can make it look like some weak amateur with a bloody knife did the job. I'm just reaping the bonus benefits."

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth. Whether to hold back a sob or your stomach, you needed to be quiet. You've heard enough. Backing away from the scene, mentally crying. Too caught up in your racing thoughts, you failed to noticed the potted plant in the corner until it's too late.

Not two seconds, Jabra appeared before you. "[Y/n]? What are you doing up?"

"I..." You hold up your glass. "I wanted to get some- some water."

"Really?" Jabra eyed your body language, a growing smirk dawning his face. He moves to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Let's go get your water."

Your own home has now been turned into a cage.

[bloodyoceanmary]

Whumptober2023

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

[sardonic-sprite]

Should Have Said...

Whumptober Days 21, 25, 28

Tim squirmed in the chair he was tied to, cursing under his breath, because what kind of paranoid asshole had decided to use zip ties and duct tape?

“If the bonds were escapable, Drake,” Damian droned, sounding bored, “I would have escaped.”

He was seated and bound on Tim’s right, somehow looking haughty and regal instead of small and afraid. He'd given up trying to slip free two hours ago, and Tim really wished the little brat could go back to giving him the silent treatment because his sass was not helping.

“They haven’t even made the ransom call yet,” Tim hissed, still straining to kick his legs free. “I am not just sitting here for another three hours--"

“Four.”

Tim looked up sharply, searching Damian’s face for a prank. “Not funny.”

“Why would I be jesting? You were unconscious for an additional hour after I woke up.”

“And you’re telling me this now?”

“What does it matter?” Damian complained.

Tim bit back a retort. It matters because I have that much less time than I thought.

He hadn’t even bothered to worry about this happening. Well, that was a lie. He’d worried about it, but he’d dismissed it as irrational. Tim was always moving, or always could move. Besides, it had been an aside mention on one website, and ‘missing spleen' didn’t even make honorable mentions in the ‘causes' list for the problem itself.

But your spleen was supposed to filter your bloodstream. Take out things like old red blood cells and platelets. Platelets that helped blood to clot. Platelets that helped blood to clot a hell of a lot faster when you weren’t moving.

“Drake.” Damian sounded almost pitying. “Batman or Nightwing will come to save us soon. Red Hood, even, if we are supremely unfortunate. I do not think we will come to serious harm before we are rescued.”

“You won’t,” Tim muttered.

Damian was silent. Tim kept twisting and pulling at his binds. The tape was starting to get gummy and loose, but the zip ties refused to snap.

“Whatever foolhardy plan you have to attract our captor's violence to yourself,” Damian said, voice higher, tighter, snootier than Tim had ever heard it, “Rest assured it is unnecessary. I can handle--"

“Damian… no,” Tim said softly. He looked over at his little brother’s pinched face and raised chin and abruptly felt guilty. “That’s not what I meant. I mean not how I meant it!” he added quickly, when Damian raised his head higher.

“I am going to protect you if I can, but I didn’t mean— I’m not mad about it. When I said… it didn’t have anything to do with you at all.”

He made sure Damian met his eyes – that the kid believed him – before turning back to dislodging the tape.

His thigh was starting to burn.

“What did you mean then, Timothy?” Damian asked, slow and shrewd.

“I mean I’m gonna suffer brain damage due to boredom,” Tim said.

Come on, come on, come on. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe they'd be rescued, or it wouldn’t become an embolism, or maybe he was imagining the whole thing.

“You don’t have enough of a brain left to be damaged.”

“Gee, thanks. I love you too, you little shit,” Tim muttered without thinking.

He didn’t even realize what he’d said until Damian croaked, “What?”

“I… I said ‘right back at you, you little shit,’” Tim stammered.

“Timothy, what is going--"

But Tim shushed him. He could hear footsteps coming down the hall, conveniently saving him from having to explain anything and giving him a way to alert Batman, who had to find them soon, because the pain was traveling up his leg and he had to be imagining that it was starting to swell—

“Say hello to your daddy, boys,” said the man holding the phone. Two others flanked him, holding guns, but all were masked, which meant they would in theory let Tim and Damian leave alive…

“Father, something’s wrong with Drake!” Damian hollered.

“What the fu--"

“You little--"

“Tim? Damian, what do you--"

“I’m fine!” Tim yelped, because one of the men had stepped towards Damian, raising his hand. “I pranked him and freaked him out, I’m fine, he’s fine, we’re not hurt, I mean, I could use a bathroom--" (Bat-code for ‘hurry the fuck up, old man,’ as established by Jason) “but we--"

“He said ‘I love you,’ Father,” Damian tattled, shouting over Tim, “to me.”

Tim heard Bruce’s breath catch. The last time he'd told Damian I love you, he’d been shot by Penguin and was in imminent danger of bleeding out.

One of the men muttered, “What the fuck?”

The apparent leader snatched the phone away before Tim could hear Bruce’s words. “If you want ‘em back, Wayne,” he drawled, “You know what we want.”

He hung up, stalked to Damian, who was glaring – “Wait--" Tim tried – and struck him across the face.

“The fuck was that, you little brat?” the man roared.

“It was my fault,” Tim cried. He couldn’t breathe. “Please, I scared him, he--" He started coughing.

“See?” Damian shrilled. “What did you drug him with, you heathens?”

“Not--" Tim kept coughing, his chest was burning, head spinning, and, God, it was hard to breathe. “Not drugged…”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The kidnappers were yelling and Damian was shrieking, and Tim needed to do something, but he was completely immobile, and that was the whole reason he was fucked in the first place—

“--faking--"

“—shits, I’ll--"

Something warm and wet was trickling out the corner of Tim’s mouth.

“—think someone could fake that, you imbeciles?”

He should tell Damian he loved him. Really, not sarcastically. He should have told Bruce.

“—charged with murder, call the damn--"

Doot.

Doot.

Doot.

The world was fuzzy and floaty, but there was a warm weight anchoring him on one side. Voices were speaking, low and choked, and one was definitely angry. A girl made a shush sound and said, “Awake.”

“Timmy?”

A hand brushed his forehead.

“You with us, baby bird?”

Tim hummed. The warmth pressed even closer, and he thought there were fingers fisted in his shirt.

“Oh, Tim…” Someone kissed his forehead.

“Don’t you ever,” came the angry voice, “fucking scare us like that again, you little secret-keeping, spleenless bas--"

“Jason,” Bruce rumbled.

Tim blinked open his eyes to see them all gathered around him. Dick was sitting close, hand still tangled in Tim’s hair. Jason hovered, glowering, over Dick’s shoulder, but his eyes eased when he saw Tim awake. Cass was perched over Tim’s head, and Bruce sat on the bed beside him. The warmth against his side was, miracle of miracles, Damian, clinging to him like he was a life raft in a stormy sea.

“Wha' ‘app'ned?” he rasped.

“What happened,” Damian said, tight and high and imperial, “was you developed a pulmonary embolism due to a deep vein thrombosis because apparently you are missing an entire organ.”

Tim winced.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Timmy?” Dick whispered.

“Tell me you knew yourself,” Jason said. “Or I swear to God, I--"

“I knew.”

“Tim…” Bruce took his hand. “When did this happen, sweetheart? Why…”

Tim closed his eyes again, wishing he could sink through the mattress and never have to see their faces.

“While you were… gone. Got stabbed… they had to take it out.”

“Stabbed.”

“Who's ‘they,’ Tim?”

He'd like to be unconscious again, please and thank you. Better yet, he'd like to wake up and find that everything from taking Damian to the art museum to waking up in the hospital was just a wacky, horrible dream.

“League.”

“I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“Oh, Tim…”

“Tim!” Dick was suddenly sobbing, bowed over Tim to press their foreheads together. Teardrops landed on his face and in his hair. “Tim, baby bird, God, I’m so sorry! I should—I should have--"

“You were,” Tim murmured. “You were there when I needed you the most.”

Dick pulled away, shaking his head. “Why wouldn’t you tell me,” he whispered brokenly, “unless you… unless you did-didn't trust me?”

“I do trust you, Dick.” Dammit, now Tim wanted to cry. “Listen, I… I knew you’d take it this way, so--"

“So you decided to keep secret a life threatening condition?” Damian seethed, clawing even closer to Tim. “You are an idiot, Drake, it’s a miracle you’re still…”

Tim cautiously extricated the arm Damian was lying on to wrap it around the kid’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said softly. “But I was handling it on my own, and I was fine--"

“’Fine,’” Jason echoed, sounding furious. “’Fine,’ ‘on your own,’ because apparently, you would rather literally fucking die than inconvenience your family with a little well-fucking-deserved guilt.”

“Jason--"

“No, Bruce. No. For once in all of our goddamn lives we’re going to fucking talk about it. Because every single one of us knew the kid has a fucked-up sense of worth--"

Tim tried to protest but was barreled over.

“And not one of us did a damn thing about it. And if the idiot bastards who took him hadn’t panicked and called EMS, we could be standing around a coffin right now, all because we never explained to the kid that we love him for more than being a perfect little soldier who never needs help or has feelings!”

No one seemed to know what to say. Tim was blinking back tears. Then Dick took a shaky breath and whispered, “You’re right. You’re right, Jay.”

He brushed his hand across his eyes and looked back at Tim, who couldn’t even process all the emotions on his brother’s face.

“You… you don’t have to do everything alone, Tim. And I’m sorry, that I… that I let you think that you did.” He was crying again, silently, and Tim felt tears on his own face. “I should have been there for you, the whole time, not just when… not just when you would have…”

Dick shook his head, unable to speak.

“And I’ve been an asshole to you since forever,” Jason said ruefully.

“I’m sorry,” Damian whispered, tucking his head against Tim’s shoulder. He didn’t elaborate.

“I forgive you guys,” Tim said quietly. “I understand why--"

“Tim, sweetheart,” Bruce said, cupping Tim’s hand in both of his, “the fact that you understand why we acted as we did doesn’t excuse the actions we took. We should have shown you that you can come to us for help, even if we are the problem, and ask us to do better. We should have made sure you understood that you are more important than… than our own emotional comfort.”

Bruce could barely get the words out, like it was fucked up that Tim had ever thought otherwise. Maybe it was.

“I still forgive you,” he whispered, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s more than we probably deserve,” Jason huffed under his breath.

“But we’re gonna do better,” Dick promised. “Starting right now. I promise.”

Tim could only nod.

But he believed them.

[faofinn]

No. 28 "We might not make it to the morning, so go on and tell me now."

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | "You'll have to go through me."  

The meeting with the principal and safeguarding went as well as Sheila had expected. The teacher who had caused so much of Finn’s low moods and outbursts had continued his war on the kid, and it just wasn't fair.  

While the adults saw the meeting as the necessary evil it was, Finn couldn't see past the hurt it was causing him. They cut it short in the end, to try and prevent a full meltdown, though they were already halfway into one. 

Finn screamed and shouted the whole way home, kicking off at anything and everything. As soon as he was helped out of his seat, he was off again, shouting that he hated them and never wanted to see them again as he slammed the doors up to his room.

Fao flinched, looking up from his book. He’d thought things had settled, but it seemed like they’d gotten worse. He swallowed thickly, the nausea and fear rising just from Finn’s outburst. He pushed it down, suddenly fiercely protective over Finn. 

He set down his stuff and headed out into the hallway, in search of someone coming after Finn. He wouldn’t let them touch him, he couldn’t.

Nobody came, the pair too used to his outbursts and aware he'd need space to decompress. That left Finn alone, curled in a tight ball under his duvet as he sobbed. His skin tingled, his wolf threatening to break through the suppression. 

After a moment of indecision, Fao knocked gently on Finn’s door. “Finn?”

"Go away, go away, go away!"

“I jus’ wanted to see if you were okay. It’s only me, only Fao.”

"I don't want to do it any more."

“You wanna just sit?”

"I don't want them."

“It’s only me, nobody else is around.”

He paused. "Jus' you?"

“Yeah.”

"Okay."

Fao cautiously pushed the door open. “Are you okay?”

He sniffed. "No."

“What happened?”

"They wouldn't stop."

“Who wouldn’t?”

"Everybody!" He cried, burying himself again.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

"You're doing the same!"

“Okay, we won’t talk about it.” Fao said softly.

Finn hesitated. "Promise?"

“Promise. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna. Wanna talk about something else?”

He nodded, slowly emerging to look at Fao.

“Can I sit on your bed with you?” 

"Yeah." His voice was small as he peeked at Fao, watching him carefully. 

Fao sat down on the end of his bed, crossing his legs. “Thanks. You cosy under the duvet?”

"It's safe under here."

“Yeah? Sounds good to me.” Fao said softly. 

Finn didn’t move, watching Fao with wide eyes. The older boy hadn't done anything to hurt him or force him to talk, which Finn appreciated. He seemed to be okay.

"Fao?"

“Yeah?”

"I've got a lion under here." He said with a grin, moving to show him. 

“Oh my god.” Fao exclaimed with a laugh. 

Finn grinned. "He's mine."

“What’s his name?”

"Lion." He said, his confidence returning. 

“That’s a pretty good name. I have Eeyore in my room.”

"You do?"

“Yeah. He was with me in hospital and everything.”

"I haven't seen him. My lion has been mine since dad was my Dad."

“Since you were born?”

He shook his head, his eyes suddenly widening as he cowered back. His grip on lion grew tighter, his small hands turning white. 

"Finn? You still up here?"

Fao frowned. “He’s fine!”

"You in Finn’s room, kid?" He asked, knocking on the door. 

“He’s fine, leave him alone!”

Fred frowned, taken aback by Fao's responses. He pushed the door open slightly, hanging round the side. "What's going on?"

“He was upset, I came to sit with him. He’s terrified, leave him alone.” Fao’s voice was stronger than he felt, but he was suddenly consumed by the desire to protect the younger boy. 

"Terrified? What's going on?"

“You know what’s going on. You were with him.”

"Still on that? You know it's over, kid. You can't keep going on at it, it's not going to help anyone. You've said what you wanted, why don't we leave it?"

Fao narrowed his eyes. “Look at him, he’s scared shitless. Leave him alone.” 

"He's had his time, Fao. He's gotta come out and do some other stuff."

Fao stood up. “Hey, no. Don’t tell him what to do. You’re the reason he’s scared.”

Fred raised his hands between them. "I think you've got something mixed up here. Why don't we take a breath and head downstairs, clear our heads?"

“I won’t let you touch him. He’s so scared.” Fao snapped. 

"I'm not gonna touch him."

“Yeah, sure. I heard him come in. And I know what he’s said to me.”

Fred frowned, confused. "Maybe we should have this conversation away from Finn."

“I thought you were better than the shit I had to deal with, Fred.”

"I think you've got the wrong end of the stick, kid."

Fao’s hands clenched into fists. “Sure.”

"Why don't we take five minutes and then have a chat like adults downstairs?"

Fao hesitated, the fear flaring. “Fine.”

"Right. Good. Why don't you go to your room so I can see Finn?"

“I’m not leaving him alone with you.”

"He's fine."

Fao turned to Finn. “Finn, do you want to be alone with him?”

He didn’t answer, looking between the two with wide, scared eyes.

“I won’t let him if you don’t want him to.”

Finn whined, everything just too much. He pulled the blanket over his head as he shifted, hands changing into paws.

“Oh.” Fao breathed. “Shit.”

"Oh, Finn." Fred shook his head. So much for avoiding that.  

Fao backed away from Fred, suddenly very afraid of him. 

"You gonna let me get him?"

“And do what to him?”

"Take him downstairs."

“You’re not going to hurt him?”

"Of course not." He said softly. "We'd never do that. He's got all his wolf stuff downstairs."

“Oh.”

[blubfishblue]

OMFG /pos !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is about 'i though i knew you better' btw

THANK YOU!!!!!! I was worried that i'm too insane, and no one would understand or appreciate my vision with it.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ash should have known Redd better. How could he have fallen for someone so capable of unnecessary cruelty? 

That's stupid to ask. Ash loves Redd's bloodthirst. The determination, how he doesn't let anything, anything stop him. The capability for cruelty was one of the things that drew Ash to Reddoons initially. Someone who defended what's his. 

But he thought that Redd was a better person. Not a good person; no, that was always asking too much. They were on a server of war and betrayal for a reason. Just a better person. 

[anmylica]

Chapter Five: Deal...?

"The Fields of Asphodel"

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If there was one place Rumplestiltskin had hoped to avoid for the rest of eternity, the Underworld was it.  He hated seeing so many of his victims in one place, sneering at him for their pathetically stupid decisions in trusting dark magic to solve their problems, and he hated the gloomy dismality that purveyed the realm.  He hated the persistent sulfuric smell and he hated the black dust that seemed to settle over everything.  

He hated most of all that this was a realm over which he had no control.

He wanted to spend as little time in this place as possible.  Let Emma Swan and her band of do-gooders chase after the pirate; it was no concern of his what happened to the man he loathed more than any other.  The only good thing that could come from being here would be seeing Baelfire one last time.  Rumplestiltskin, having arrived at his shop, opened the door and observed the changes.  Most everything was the same as it had been the last time he’d been here, stuck in limbo with nothing to do but await his judgment from Hades.  Only that hadn’t come; instead, he had been whisked back to the Enchanted Forest only to lose both his only beloved son and his freedom in the same instance.  

There were a few new objects, things which had been lost as the owners’ passed into this realm from the Land of the Living.  But Rumple wasn’t interested in those.  He didn’t plan on staying here long enough to deal with them.  He locked the door and headed to the back room.  He gave another glance around to make sure no one was there, and he stepped up to his workbench.

He set to work collecting his ingredients, including an eyeball, from the stockpile he had saved here.  He created a potion, using the eyeball to guide the magic, and once the potion was ready, took up a crystal ball and dipped it into the potion.  Once a sufficient amount of time had passed, he took the crystal ball out and used his own magic to dry it.  Satisfied, he placed it onto the stand and stared at it, his hands flat on the table to support him as he leaned against it.

Rumple considered the crystal ball for several moments, pondering how to word his command.  Finally, he said to it, “Show me my son.”

The crystal ball filled with smoke that swirled and churned for a moment before solidifying into shapes.  Finally, the shapes formed a picture.  It showed him Belle, eating at Granny’s back in Storybrooke.

Rumple frowned.  Why was the crystal ball showing him Belle?  He said again, more forcefully this time, “Show me my son.”

The picture turned back into smoke and swirled again.  For the second time, it solidified into a picture of Belle.  

Rumple was very confused.  The crystal ball was imbibed with magic that should be capable of showing him what he sought, so why wasn’t it showing him Baelfire?  He watched as Belle shifted in her sleep.  It didn’t make any sense.  Unless…

Could it be?  Could the reason the crystal ball kept showing him his wife be that she…?  Rumple’s heart stopped and his blood ran cold at the implication.  He had left her back in Storybrooke alone, and he was now the Dark One again unbeknownst to her.  He could only imagine what kind of hell he would face if she found out.  Whatever he did, he would have to make sure she never found out that he had stolen the Darkness back.  And to do that would mean that he would have to return as soon as possible to his wife's side.  It looked like he would have to assist in finding the pirate after all.  He really, really didn’t want to have to help them.

He waved his hand to clear the detritus away with magic, resulting in the mess instantly vanishing.  The crystal ball remained where it was.  He took it and placed it on a shelf just in case he would need it later.  Perhaps he could use it to keep an eye on his wife during his absence.  Rumple was just ruminating on a plan to get them all out of the Underworld as fast as possible when the bell from the front of the shop rang and the sound of the door closing echoed to the back room.

Rumple left the room and stepped into the shop area and stopped in the doorway.  

“Hello, Rumple,” said Peter Pan, who was standing in the middle of the room in a black suit, his hands clasped in front of him.  

Rumple blinked.  “I had hoped I wouldn’t see you here,” he said.

“Is that any way to greet your long lost papa?” Peter Pan said.

“You’re no father of mine,” Rumple retorted.  “After all you’ve done, you’re lucky I’m not sending you to the depths of Tarturus.  After Bae?  After Henry?  That’s more than you deserve.”

Pan rolled his eyes.  “Don’t pretend you cared for Henry any more than I cared for you.  You and I both know the only reason you have any familial affection for that boy is because of Baelfire.  If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t give Henry the time of day.”

“What do you want?” Rumple asked, tired of his father’s needling.

Pan grinned. “Well that is the question, isn’t it?  I do want so many things.”

“Get on with it,” Rumple hissed.

“I want to be brought back to life.”  

Rumple rolled his eyes.  “That’s impossible.”

“Isn’t it?  Aren’t you down here so Emma Swan can find a way to bring back Captain Hook?” Pan tilted his head in puzzlement.

Rumple scoffed.  “A fool’s errand if there was one.  We all know she’s not going to succeed in doing anything but wasting our time.”

Pan smirked and replied, “Well, be that as it may, I have a deal for you.”

Rumple stepped closer to Pan until they were nearly nose to nose.  “Not. Interested,” Rumple hissed.  He had enough problems without adding on those of his father.

“Oh, I think you will be,” Pan insisted.  “Especially when it involves your son.”

Rumple’s face froze.  Pan couldn’t know about this unborn child, could he?  His blood felt like ice in his veins at the thought that, somehow, Pan could reach into their world and harm Belle and their unborn child.

“Yes, that’s right.  I know where Bae is down here,” Pan continued.

Rumple’s heart lurched a grateful beat.  So Peter Pan didn’t know about what Rumple had just seen in the crystal ball.  “And where is he?”

Pan smiled.  “Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?  You have to make a deal to get that information.”

“I’ll not make any deals with you,” Rumple retorted slowly, emphasizing each word.

“Not yet, but you will,” Pan reiterated, very confident in the course of events and how they were going to go.  “Tell you what,” he continued, “I’ll give you a freebie.  You see, everyone down here is here in this section of the Underworld for a reason: we’re being punished.”

“Punished?” Rumple asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

“Yes.  You see this suit I have to wear?”  Pan held out his arms as if to gesture to them.  “I have to push around papers in some boring, ridiculous office.  It’s my punishment for never wanting to grow up.”

“You mean not wanting to face your responsibilities as a father,” Rumple retorted, disgusted with the man who had sired him.

“Call it what you like,” Pan said breezily.  “I have to be saddled down with adult responsibilities as my penance.  Baelfire has a penance he must pay as well.”

“And you know what that is?” Rumple questioned.

“Yes.  So my deal is: when Emma Swan finds a way to bring back the pirate, you get me some of whatever it is, too.  In exchange, I’ll tell you where Bae is.”

Rumple stared at Pan suspiciously.  “And if I refuse?”

Pan chuckled.  “Well, let’s just say I have some friends in high places that can prevent you from ever seeing Baelfire again.”

Rumple didn’t respond.  After a moment of tense silence, Pan continued.  “Meet me in the library tomorrow at 7 o’clock in the evening if you agree to my terms.”  Pan turned to go, but paused.  “Oh, and Rumple?  I’d heed my warning about never seeing Bae again.  There are many forces at work down here that would easily make sure of that.”  With that, Pan walked out the door and onto the street, disappearing into the crowd of milling souls.

Rumple let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding.  So this world punished people for their sins?  All he had to do was work out what Bae would be punished for, and he could find his son.  He didn’t need Pan to accomplish what he wanted, but wouldn’t it be sweeter to make sure his father couldn’t hurt his loved ones any further?  All Rumple had to do was make sure Pan didn’t get what he wanted even while Pan thought they were in on this together.  The only question was how to convince Pan of Rumple’s sincerity?

Pain and Panic clambered down the torch-lit hallway towards Hades’ throne room as carefully as they could, balancing the nearly full jar of lost hope between them. The jar’s lid was slightly askew, and with every step they took, droplets of the liquidized substance fell out, hissing and evaporating as they fell. Such was the toxicity of the Underworld; hope didn’t stand much chance of lasting down here for long.

Pain and Panic’s snickers of glee echoed down the stone chamber until they came upon the door to the throne room. They shoved open the doors, nearly dropping the jar as they did so, and stumbled into the chamber. Hades was lounging on his throne, nursing a glass of red wine, and he watched them with a lazy, almost disinterested consideration as they climbed up to the large cylinder in one corner or the room, removed the lid, and poured its contents inside.

“You’re late,” Hades called out. “And you’ve spilled almost as much as you’ve collected.”

“Our apologies, milord. We thought it prudent to bring the spoils to you as fast as we could,” panted Pain.

“W-we didn’t w-want the S-savior interrupting our c-collections,” stuttered Panic.

They both clutched their tails and cowered before the god. Hades rubbed at his temples with his free hand.

“Memo to me,” Hades muttered, “maim you after we plot out the next part of our plan.” 

“Do you want us to go after the Savior?” asked Pain.

“Yeah, she’s such a delicious aura. Full of pain and misery just waiting to go into panic-mode,” added Panic who began to grin maniacally and was practically salivating at the thought of making Emma his next victim.

“No, she is going to require a more delicate touch. She’ll see us coming a mile away if we go after her now.” Hades laziest waved his hand and Emma’s image appeared in the mirror, her son beside her, as they made their way to the docks where the Underworld version of the Jolly Roger was berthed. 

Hades absentmindedly summoned a stalk of asphodel flowers and twirled it in his hand as he watched the blonde and her son arrive at their destination. His heart sank as he thought of the crown of asphodèles his darling had worn upon her head, her Titian hair shimmering under the sun. It had been eons since he had last seen her. He missed the way her Aegean blue eyes danced with laughter as she looked at him. If only he could have stopped what happened in time…

But there was nothing he could have done, and now there was nothing he would not do to make those responsible for her suffering pay for his loss. He would make sure that the gods of Olympus would rue the day they harmed her. He felt that age-old feeling of anger simmer deep in his gut at recalling the day he lost her, and he hardened his resolve even further to avenge her loss.  Once he had enough power, he would storm Olympus and raze it to the ground.  Hades glanced at the cylinder for a moment, taking stock of how far he had come collecting the lost hopes of the souls who pervaded his realm and simultaneously acknowledging just how much further he still had to go to gain his revenge. It pleased him to see how much the lost hope of Snow White had bolstered the reserves, and he knew that causing the Savior and the rest of her friends to lose hope would fulfill the last of his needs. Then he could begin forging the weapon he would need.

Zeus was going to pay.

Emma and Henry arrived at the docks and stopped short at what they saw. The boats in the harbor were run-down, merely shades of their counterparts in the Land of the Living. The paint was peeling on several, there were rust stains on many, and they all had the air that their owners either weren’t there to care for them or their owners had lost interest in their maintenance. Emma supposed that was what happened when Death came into the picture.

She and Henry caught sight of the Jolly Roger at the same time. She heard his gasp of horror and shared his sentiment. The Jolly Roger (or rather its counterpart, Emma reminded herself) was a mess, to put it mildly. Her sails hung ragged in the sea breeze and her ropes looked frayed (but still intact, though Emma wondered how that could be possible). The yellow paint along the gunwale was cracked and peeling, the white paint along the side of her hull was weathered and mostly worn away to the point where the white only existed in splotches. It looked like barnacles had decided to make the hull their home. The ship’s name was all but erased from the space on which it was once written.

Emma’s heart broke at the sight. Killian would have had a conniption if he could see his beloved ship in this state. She shared a glance with Henry and they both made their way to the gangway. When they reached it, Emma gestured to Henry to go up ahead of her. He sprinted up the steps to the deck and she followed at a more sedate pace. 

The deck was worse than the appearance from afar made it seem. Detritus lay everywhere; old lines littered the deck, broken hooks and other sailing tidbits were scattered everywhere, and a few cannon balls were lying about haphazardly.  

Henry whistled. “It looks like she died in a battle, doesn't it?”

Emma stared at him. “Why would you say that?”

Henry gestured around him. “Look how beat up she is!  She looks like I always imagined she would after an attack on another ship.”

Emma rolled her eyes, silently agreeing with her son but not wanting to admit that the state the ship was in reminded her of how Killian had died. “Yeah, well, help me look around, Kid.”

Henry nodded and bound off toward the inner levels of the ship.  Emma lingered on deck a moment longer, her heart breaking at the memories she shared with Killian in this ship. She placed her hand on the gunwale, and she noticed that the magical hum that always emanated from the enchanted wood wasn’t present. Yet one more thing that’s gone from my life, she thought. Emma shook her head sadly. The Jolly Roger was so much more than just a few planks of wood and some sails. She was a symbol of hope and home, and now she was all but torn to shreds. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Emma.  She took one more step in the middle of the deck, and, making up her mind, sprinted up to the helm, trailing her fingered along the wood as she ran up the steps. 

The wood was rough and splintered under her hands as she took hold of the spokes. She grasped the wheel firmly, and thought about that time she desperately tried to hold the wheel straight with Killian in Neverland. If she had been told then that she would have fallen in love with the notorious Captain Hook, she’d have scoffed and ran for the hills, but now Emma couldn’t have imagined her life going any differently. How had it all crumbled to dust so fast? 

Emma sighed as the familiar pain zinged through the shards of what was left of her heart once more. She would never get used to this feeling of incompleteness in her heart. Breathing in deeply to try and calm the pain, she resolved to not let their story end here. Scanning the damage of the ship, she let her magic flow through her and into the helm. Her hands glowed with golden light, and the light spread to the helm, slowly making its way through the rest of the ship.

Loose boards repaired themselves, frayed lines restored themselves to their former strength, torn sails mended together as if no damage had ever occurred, and peeling paint fell away to reveal fresh coats underneath. Once everything had been more or less restored, Emma opened her eyes and focused her magic to rewrite the Jolly Roger on its nameplates once more. 

The tall ship seemed to stand up straighter in the waves. She also seemed to glow, and the magical hum Emma had always felt but never thought much about was back in full force. Emma smiled as tears streamed down her cheeks. If Emma’s magic could restore this, then surely it could help her restore Killian to her side?

Emma’s heart beat faster as hope surged through her body. For the first time, she felt confident in her ability to get Killian back. She resolved, in that moment, to not let anything or anyone stand in her way.

Satisfied with her restoration of the ship her love had adored, she went down to the entrance to the captain’s quarters and made her way down the ladder.  She was disappointed to see that Killian wasn’t there; indeed, it looked like no one had been there for some time.  There were sheets covering the furniture and there was a layer of thick dust on the shelves and window sills.  Huffing a disappointed sigh, she turned and made her way to the door that she knew led to the galley and the crew’s quarters.  She wrenched the door open and was about to step through, only to startle backwards.  A brunette woman was on the other side, looking just as startled as Emma felt.

“Who are you?” asked the woman, her accented voice filled with accusation, suspicion, and curiosity.

Emma’s heart stopped.  She knew this woman, had seen her face in drawings, but never in a million years did she think she’d come face to face with her.

Milah.

[gottawhump]

Buried Alive

Year 20

CW/TW: lady whump, trapped, burned alive

She wakes in darkness, wrapped tightly in her bedclothes.

Then she stretches, every muscle aching as if long disused, and there’s no give, no shift, in the fabric wrapped around her body. Wrapped around her face.

She can’t breathe, and she fights to free her hands, to tear the wrapping off her face. As she struggles, she feels the wood encasing her on all sides, only an inch or two away from her body.

It’s a coffin, nailed shut. She claws and pounds at the top in a fresh jolt of panic. Her voice barely echoes, and there’s not even a slight give to the wood holding. She smells the deep soil, moist and sweet.

She’s buried alive.

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