86: “Perhaps you’ll take me out one day — or do I have to make an appointment?” (I combined this with a prompt from foxpaws10 from ages ago based on this post, and I kind of warped both of your prompts i hope this is still okaaay basically it’s doctor andrew and that’s all u need to know)
His morning is a string of disasters that begins with covering the ER in the Sunday rush of hypochondriac elderly and fussy children. It’s one long stretch of kicked over paint buckets, a mess you can’t ignore, splattering the walls and getting on his shoes.
Andrew chose surgery almost entirely for the distance of it, the sterility of a room with a slab of meat, a tray of knives, and a sickness he can actually cut out.
He’s a doctor because he can be, and patients sometimes like that he doesn’t speak a word to them, like silence equals genius.
He likes that there are some patients that come into the ER unconscious and leave the OR unconscious, and all he has is a problem and a ticking clock. He always solves the problem. He thinks maybe it’s because he is one.
The sinking ship of his Sunday in the emergency room goes from slippery to debilitating with one patient.
Two showy ER doctors with their lab coats off and their sleeves rolled up go into the private room they’ve cordoned off, and they both come out looking pinched in the face with their stethoscopes clenched in their fists.
“He’s a fucking disaster,” one of them says, leaning up against the information desk with his eyes still pulling back to the closed door of the room.
“I know. I thought, I dunno. That the news was exaggerating.”
Andrew tilts his head and listens without making any move to leave his post, filling out inane charts as illegibly as he can.
One of the residents chances a look at him and Andrew makes a point of catching him. The guy startles, then juts his chin.
“Maybe you’ll get along with him, Minyard. He’s as crazy as you.”
“You’ve mistaken the hospital for a playground,” Andrew says mildly. “Give me his chart.”
He looks at his friend, mouth slack, and then the one holding the chart holds it out like a dirty rag.
“He’s Boston’s starting striker,” he stage whispers. Andrew takes the clipboard and ignores him, scanning the details. “We’re not supposed to let any patients know.”
“That Neil Josten is causing a scene ten feet away from them?” he says, and the men titter uncomfortably. “Why should he get the luxury of privacy?”
“How did you—“
“The news is available to everyone, Bryant, you fuck.” He rounds the desk and makes for the closed and shuttered room, dropping the chart in the receptacle outside.
“He shouldn’t be allowed to practice,” someone says behind him, and then someone else, softer, scornful: “surgeons”.
Andrew wrings the door knob and finds himself abruptly face to face with the singular most swollen person he’s ever seen. He’s obviously bolting for it, his gown gaping at the neck and someone’s stolen shoes jammed on. Andrew scans the defiant face, the shock of red hair, the near invisible trail of blood from an incorrectly removed IV.
Andrew watches Neil Josten— and it is him, one of the handful of strikers on Boston’s team and certainly the most newsworthy — size him up. His eyes run the same circuit Andrew’s would if he were looking to fight his way out: door, threat, surreptitiously behind him for a weapon, back again.
“I’ll drug you,” Andrew says simply. Neil’s good eye, the one that isn’t purpling, goes narrow.
Notes: Honestly, I’m kinda mixed about this entire thing? I don’t think it’s as good as some of the other stuff I’ve written. The idea was so good for this too! I got the idea from an episode of Attack of Titan while I was in my slump. So, please, any feedback ya’ll have would be appreciated.
I straighten the covers and place the money in my safe box under the bed. Another night of work. I laugh at my own statement. Ha! Work! All you do is take rejected men’s money for a wild time.
I haven’t been doing this long. Only a couple months, but I’ve made more money than you can believe!
I know how people look at me. I see the stares of shame. How some women cross the street trying to get as far away from me as possible like they might catch something.
They wouldn’t. I don’t let any man go there. Only one man has ever taken me there. Only one man I will ever let go beyond the methods I use on other men. No one has touched me since the day he was murdered.
As I scrub the filth away from my body I think back to how Jerome took me. He had different ways of making me feel head over heels. Some nights he would take me hard and rough where the bed would get close to breaking, than other nights when he was feeling love sick he would worship me. He would thrust passionately kissing my body and telling me how beautiful I am.
I step out of the shower leaving the painful memories behind. I wrap a towel around my body and go down to the kitchen to make a drink. I get out the ingredients for a rock hard drink but then a knock on the door interrupts me.
I sigh and open it to see a man with cash in hand. He raises his brow and pushes past me. Is this really my life? He throws the money at me and sits on the sofa.
I walk over to him and set the cash on the hood in his trousers. “It’s late.” I say and make my way to the door to open it for him. He laughs and throws the cash at me with force. “Suck it whore.” This man was clearly drunk and out of his mind to think he can talk to me like that.
Though financial worries enter my brain. I need the money. I need it to get away from here. I sigh and rest on my knees giving the man what he paid for.
Once done I stand up quickly and feel like I should rinse my mouth out with bleach. Just then another knock rings out. A loud one. One of demand.
I move to open the door. “I can see why you’re so popular dollface.” I grasp the handle hard and turn to him with a displeased expression. “Don’t-” “CALL HER THAT!” A screaming voice beats me to it. I know that voice.
I open the door thinking I’m crazy. I’m hearing voices again. I swing open the door to see him. “J-Jer-” he places his finger against my lips and strides into the room seeing the man. He turns to me with fire in his eyes. “Did he touch you?” I shake my head gripping my towel closer to my body scared.
Jerome comes closer and I take in his appearance. Staples? I have to say it’s not his worst look.
The man on the couch scoffs. “No. She never lets anyone get in there. To stubborn. I’ve got to say she makes up for it man. Come here and sit. She does magic.” Jerome laughs. “Oh I know. She’ll ride me like a good girl any day.” The man once again scoffs. “Ha sure! She’s not gonna let some random person in there!” The man laughs.
Jerome turns to him with a smirk. “Oh I’m not a stranger. I was her first isn’t that right darling?” He asks lifting my chin up. “Well go on baby girl. Tell him how I’m the only one who’s ever touched your pussy.” Jerome moves me in front of the man and grips my hips. “He’s the only man to ever touch my pussy.” I say feeling Jerome move his hand beyond the towel and run his fingers over the skin of my hip. I shiver under his touch missing him exceedingly.
The man on the couch slaps his knee with a jealous expression. “Oh man! Lucky you! You’re okay with her doing this though? That’s what I call a working relationship!” Jerome’s hand goes further and slips between my wet folds. He circles my clit with pressure making my body lean into his. Jerome laughs and removes his hand. Instead he lifts up the back of the towel and grips my ass. “Actually no. You see I’ve been gone for a while. This is news to me. I find this…humiliating, and revolting.” Jerome then fiddled with his own trousers and releases himself. I feel him from behind as he starts to rub his head across my wet folds. The man on the couch just stares as if he’s in heaven.
Jerome laughs. “My my my doll. You really haven’t let anyone touch you. So tight I can even thrust into you, but as for you…enjoying the snow?” Jerome thrusts hard entering me. Filling me up like he use to. I arch back into him wanting more. Needing more. The man on the couch looks at me and nods his head.
Jerome laughs and pulls out a gun. He places the barrel to my head as he continues to thrust into me pulling my hair back. “Should I shoot you? Hm? Do you deserve to live knowing the things you’ve done? You dirty whore. Who do you belong to?” “You. You Jerome!” I moan out enjoying the blissful pleasure he’s bestowing upon me. “That’s right doll! I want you to do so for me okay?” Jerome whispers in my ear. “Shoot him.” Jerome says placing the gun in my hand.
I aim the barrel at him and pull the trigger with a rush enveloping me. The mans blood splatters on the wall and he falls completely limp. Jerome growls and rips the towel away turning me around. “You’re in so much trouble.” He says and pushes me against the wall hiking me up and thrusting into me hard and fast. I place my arms around him moaning his name over and over again. “Say it again doll. Scream it.” He says and moves his hand to rub my clit. I toss my head back against the wall in pure pleasure. “Jerome!” I moan out.
He moves to sit on the couch next to the dead man still spilling blood. “What do you say princess? You wanna ride me?” I nod eagerly and place myself above him cock and sliding down on him. Jerome grips my hips as I bouch on his cock making us both feel pleasures we haven’t had for a year.
Jerome rubs his fingers against the blood on the man’s wound and covers his hand in the thick red liquid. He proceeds to trail his hand down my body making a line from my breast, to my stomach, and right above my crotch. “Ah you’re such a good girl. You’re going to cum aren’t you? Go on doll. Cum for me.” I do as he says and release on him and seconds he fills me up with his own cum.
Jerome moves my hair out of the way and kisses me. “You’re mine. Don’t be so stupid to think otherwise. No other man looks at you. Ever! Understood?” He caresses my cheek with a smile. “Yes J.” He laughs and picks me up. “Then why don’t we make up for lost time? Sound good?” I smile and kiss his nose. “Sounds perfect.”
I think I might leave,” he whispered.
She almost tripped. “Leave?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “I’m going down to Eyllwe - to Banjali, to be precise.”
“For a mission?” It was common for Arobynn to send them all over the continent, but the way Sam was speaking felt … different.
“Forever,” he said.
“Why?” Her voice sounded a little shrill in her ears.
He faced her. “What do I have to tie me here? Arobynn already mentioned that it might be useful to firmly establish ourselves in the south, too.”
“Arobynn -” she seethed, fighting to keep her voice to a whisper. “You talked to Arobynn about this?”
Sam gave her a half shrug. “Casually. It’s not official.”
“But - but Banjali is a thousand miles away.”
“Yes, but Rifthold belongs to you and Arobynn. I’ll always be … an alternative.”
“I’d rather be an alternative in Rifthold than ruler of the assassins in Banjali.” She hated that she had to keep her voice so soft. She was going to splatter someone against a wall. She was going to rip down the sewer with her bare hands.
“I’m leaving at the end of the month,” he said, still calm.
“That’s two weeks away!”
“Do I have any reason why I should stay here?”
“Yes!” she exclaimed as loudly as she could while still maintaining a hushed tone. “Yes, you do.” He didn’t reply. “You can’t go.”
“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”
“Because I’ll miss you, damn it!” she hissed, splaying her arms. “Because what was the point in anything if you just disappear forever?”
“The point in what, Celaena?” How could he be so calm when she was so frantic?
“The point in Skull’s Bay, and the point in getting me that music, and the point in … the point in telling Arobynn that you’d forgive him if he never hurt me again.”
“You said you didn’t care what I thought. Or what I did. Or if I died, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I lied! And you know I lied, you stupid bastard!”
He laughed quietly. “You want to know how I spent this summer?” She went still. He ran a hand through his brown hair. “I spent every single day fighting the urge to slit Arobynn’s throat. And he knew I wanted to kill him.”
I’ll kill you! Sam had screamed at Arobynn.
“The moment I woke up after he beat me, I realized I had to leave. Because I was going to kill him if I didn’t. But I couldn’t.” He studied her face. “Not until you came back. Not until I knew you were all right - until I saw that you were safe.”
Breathing became very, very hard.
“He knew that, too,” Sam went on. “So he decided to exploit it. He didn’t recommend me for missions. Instead, he made me help Lysandra and Clarisse. He made me escort them around the city on picnics and to parties. It became a game between the two of us - how much of his horseshit I could take before I snapped. But we both knew he’d always have the winning hand. He’d always have you. Still, I spent every day this summer hoping you’d come back in one piece. More than that - I hoped you’d come back and take revenge for what he’d done to you.”
But she hadn’t. She’d come back and let Arobynn shower her with gifts.
“And now that you’re fine, Celaena, now that you’ve paid off your debt, I can’t stay in Rifthold. Not after all the things he’s done to us.”
She knew it was selfish, and horrible, but she whispered, “Please don’t go.”
He let out an uneven breath. “You’ll be fine without me. You always have been.”
Maybe once, but not now. “How can I convince you to stay?”
She threw down the torch. “Do you want me to beg, is that it?”
“No - never.”
“Then tell me -”
“What more can I say?” he exploded, his whisper rough and harsh. “I’ve already told you everything - I’ve already told you that if I stay here, if I have to live with Arobynn, I’ll snap his damned neck.”
“But why? Why can’t you let it go?”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Because I love you!”
Her mouth fell open.
“I love you,” he repeated, shaking her again. “I have for years. And he hurt you and made me watch because he’s always known how I felt, too. But if I asked you to pick, you’d choose Arobynn, and I. Can’t. Take. It.”
The only sounds were their breathing, an uneven beat against the rushing of the sewer river.
“You’re a damned idiot,” she breathed, grabbing the front of his tunic. “You’re a moron and an ass and a damned idiot.” He looked like she had hit him. But she went on, and grasped both sides of his face, “Because I’d pick you.”
And then she kissed him.
The Assassin and the Underworld (The Assassin’s Blade #4) by Sarah J. Maas
Two of our party members - a halfling Invesitgator/Cleric (me) and a dwarf trapper - have found their way to a carnival on an island, which is, unsurprisingly, haunted. We’re currently making our way through a building, checking rooms as we go.
GM: You enter the room, and see a family slaughtered, their blood splattered on the walls. The blood spells out “Have fun!”
Me: So, I take it I can’t Cure Light Wounds on these people?
Heya! So…this one turned out longer than expected, terribly sorry for the wait ^^;. But hey! The third chapter’s finally done…heh…woot.
Unfortunately I couldn’t tag the last two chapters in this post because haha, I’m doing this whole thing on a crappy ass tablet. But I did reblog them both recently, the first chapter being ‘Friend’ and the second being 'Rest’. They shouldn’t be hard to find on my blog.
This fanfic has been inspired by the wonderful 2D Bendy AU created by the equally wonderful @shinyzango, go check her blog out!
the earth beneath your fingernails after a long day, waking up feeling full of light and ready to get up, summer evenings, the press of a friend’s hand into yours, tan lines that pop on your skin, the chill of rainwater as it slides through your hair, feet sticking out of car windows, running around backyards as the sunlight fades
the jarring echo of a microphone when bumped, mowed grass, a newly immaculate room with everything accessible, the fresh smell of rental cars, neat calendars pinned above desks, new school supplies stacked up in your room, monopoly games, sliding into a perfectly made bed at the end of a long day, unpacking in a hotel room, taking yourself out for dinner
throwing your arm around a friend, gaudy beaded bracelets put together by your little cousin, the quick pant of an excited dog, the smell of campfires, paint stuck in the crevices of your hand, taking neat notes for the kid who’s absent, an instagram full of pictures of you and your friends, screaming the lyrics to songs as you ride down the highway
staying after school to help a teacher clean up, biting your tongue to try to stop laughing during class, a sticky kiss from a child, kindergarten art rooms, listening patiently to stories you’ve heard before, staggering around in your mom’s high heels as a kid, walking around town with ice cream and friends, squeezing lemon juice into your hair
having to do a group project by yourself, walking back and forth to calm your excitement, desks cluttered with papers, the sound of quick typing, the rush of relief after walking out of uncomfortable situations, lying to get a reaction out of someone, the sting of tears brought on by anger, the perfect comeback, mascara smeared down your face
protest signs, pinning magazine cut outs to your wall, walking to the front of a room to give a presentation, the click of high heels, tilting your chair back and crossing your arms to show your disapproval, the smell of paint, friendly debates with loud words and wide gestures, losing track of time and blinking tiredly at the clock, perfectly tailored suits left wrinkled on bedroom floors
bulletin boards with inspiring quotes, humming along off-key beneath your breath, bare feet on hot sand, pinterest projects, curling ribbon with scissors, sewing your own clothes, improvised road trips, bubblegum pink lipstick, convincing a friend to buy themself that new outfit, silly nicknames, candy wrappers littered on the floor, compliments from strangers in public restrooms, good morning texts
cute notes left in people’s lockers, talking a friend through their self confidence issues, cleaning your room at two in the morning, dark thoughts that only slip into your mind late at night, the press of a kiss to your forehead, picking out your clothes the night before, convincing a friend to come dance with you, the hand on your shoulder
taking apart pens and examining the individual parts, spilling out emotions that you’ve kept tightly wound inside, the smell of rubber tires on pavement, writing down your thoughts to better understand them, clenched fists, research papers laid out across a table, jumping off a rock wall and letting the cord catch you, polaroid cameras
setting yourself deadlines, slipping candy to a worried friend, puns, stretching after a long day, downing too much coffee so you can stay up to work, drawing tablets, buying Christmas gifts a month in advance, the smell of grass after a rain, sitting in comfortable silence with a good friend, before and after pictures, old family trinkets
petitions passed around classrooms, a friend’s artwork hanging on your wall, the weight of a child on your hip, getting up early to see the sunrise, interior design, vinyl albums, sitting on rooftops with friends, detailed journals from years back stacked in your closet, the warmth of a cat curled up on your lap, sleepy kisses goodnight, the walk up on stage to collect an award
buying friends gifts for no occasion, old photo albums lining bookshelves, waking up knowing that today is not yesterday, holding a bun up with just a pencil, splattered paint on brick walls, doing homework on the way to school, bitten lips rather than angry words, tentative hugs, the smell of vanilla, hair falling in front of your face when you duck your head
dead languages, long winded speeches that change topics multiple times, sweater vests, chalk boards covered with writing, lost glasses that are on top of your head, botanical gardens, finals week, bouncing up and down on the balls on your feet as you rant, unbrushed hair, library fines, the glow of a laptop late at night
packing for college, perfectly winged eyeliner, beakers overflowing with bubbles, schedule overloads, chess games that last until late into the night, the feeling of silk on bare skin, locking your door while working, texting while walking, leaning forwards into discussions with your elbows on the table, rapid-fire conversations, makeup lined up along the sink
community gardens, braiding flowers into a friend’s hair, giggles, playing guitar to an empty room, yellow daisies, sudden anger, reading by candlelight, unexpected hugs, empty forest paths, make believe, whispers that you know no one can hear, understanding nods during rants, lifting someone up and spinning them around, the smell of new paper, forgotten tea that’s turned cool
hanging lightbulbs, thick books where the spine curls inwards, shoulders shaking forwards when you won’t let yourself cry, absent kisses laid on top of heads, lying beside a friend in bed and talking to the ceiling, dessert left at a friend’s door, watching the people below from city windows, little notes from friends kept for years, the key to your childhood diary
ripping off the band-aid, walking through a forest, being center stage, police sirens, fingernails tapping against a desk, boiling water, a sunflower field.
chocolate melting, the ticking sound of a clock, blanket forts, sliding across a wooden floor in your socks, using sticks as swords, sunsets from the hood of a car.
the scent that follows after you blow out a candle, how handwriting is like a voice, your first visit to a haunted house, a rigid spine, the sound of crunching leaves, church bells.
holding hands in a hospital, lemonade on the hottest day of the year, a psychic’s parlor, sage & lavender & vanilla, hot air balloon ride over the city, windmills.
city life at night, an acid trip, paint splattered at the wall, bubblegum, a one-way ticket, broken mirrors.
fireflies in the summer, back of the class, pacing & the click clack of high heels, bleach, waves crashing, sun kissed skin.
when the couple says “i do”, lucky charms, bonfires, finger painting, blowing kisses, ballet shows, sugar on the tip of your tongue, outstretched palms in the wrong direction.
being stuck at the top of a ferris wheel, wind in your hair during a midnight car ride at 90 mph, skin on skin, magnets on the refrigerator, a ceiling fan in the dead of night, sticky notes, foxes in the bushes.
jet lag, a wolf howling, bad puns, five star restaurants, burning your tongue, chipped nail polish, walking barefoot through the mud, tree houses.
a loaded gun, the first snow fall of the year when everything is still and silent, the first breath after a panic attack, sun showers, the dreamy state when you’re running on no sleep, candy land, breaking through the surface.
cracking open a fortune cookie, city lights in the rain, scissors & wrapping paper, bats in caves, sneaking out for the first time, watching the sunrise with your best friends, a wildflower breaking through the cracks of a sidewalk.
a canoe on the lake at dawn, wind chimes, spring, hundred year old trees, jazz music & feather boas, dream journals, glitter eye-shadow, art museums.
A/N: There will be a part two to this sometime this week (hopefully)
Summary: Sam and Dean call Cas when they find you in a vampire nest, drained of your blood.
Warnings: mentions of torture, near-death, mention of death, blood
Word count: 982
Machetes and flashlights in each hand, the brothers stuck close together for protection as they moved throughout the storage house, leaving drops of blood from the decapitated vampires in the room besides them. “Hear that?” Dean asked, his eyes darting back and forth throughout the hallway.
“No?” Sam replied, looking behind him cautiously. “I think that’s all of them.”
“Dude, you seriously don’t hear that?” Dean turned to his brother, arching an eyebrow at him. “It sounds like chains rattling,”
“You think somebody is being held hostage?” The taller hunter asked, immediately returning to his fighting stance. “We’ve checked every room.”
“Not that one,” Dean mumbled, pointing the flashlight at the end of the very hall. Both brothers shuffled their way to the door, observing the scratch marks on the sides along with blood splatters across the walls. “They didn’t want somebody going in,” He said, fiddling with all the locks that lined the door.
“Or they didn’t want somebody coming out.” Sam muttered, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at the locks, shooting each one. Dean pushed open the door and slowly walked down the stairs, keeping his flashlight trained on the darkness in front of him. “Sam,” He whispered, pointing to you.
You were too weak to say anything let alone move, so you weren’t even able to protect yourself from these strange men. “Dean, she’s just a kid, man.” The tall man bent down beside you, frowning when your muscles tensed. “We’re not here to hurt you, its okay. I’m Sam and this is my brother, Dean.”
Dean tried to pull the restraints off your legs, but there was no way he was going to get them off without shooting near your foot, and he didn’t want to risk it. “They’ve been feeding on her,” Sam observed, noticing your pale face and prominent bones. “We need Cas, she’s not going to be able to walk.”
Pulling out his phone, Dean quickly pressed the call button on his best friends contact, pressing the device to his ear. “Cas!” Dean called once he picked up. “We need you man, we found a girl and she’s drained, it…it’s bad.”
You tried to sit up and get away but the taller one lightly pressed on your shoulders to make you lay back down. “We won’t hurt you, we’re here to help.”
Shaking your head, you tightly gripped onto your holey shirt, sniffling quietly. “No, no, no. Please don’t cry,” Sam whispered. “It’s okay, we’re not those monsters.”
Your eyes drifted to the bloodied machete that was resting besides him, then to his face, only just noticing the blood splatters all across his neck and cheek. “Pl-ease,” You cried, hot salty tears freely falling from your eyes.
“We’re the good guys,” Sam assured, pushing his machete away from him. “Look, no fangs,” He lifted up his lip, revealing pink gums but no fangs like you had been seeing for the past month.
Relaxing slightly, you breathed in and out. “Cas said he’s going to meet us at the bunker,” Dean finally said, tucking his phone away. “We’re going to get you help, okay? We need you to trust us.”
Sam’s arms slowly pushed underneath you, making sure you were okay with being carried. Other than tensing up and shaking out of fear, you didn’t try to thrash against his hold, so Sam quickly lifted you up. “Let’s go,”
Nyrandrea here! So…I wrote a thing for @shinyzango’s Batim 2D AU. If you like the game and like cute, fluffy, inky stuff then please check it out!
The wooden hallway was dimly lit, the flickering lights weren’t helping at all. The walls were splattered with black ink. Why the Hell did he come to this place again?
Oh yeah, because his ‘pal’ Joey had decided to write to him after what, thirty years? It was completely out of the blue and the guy wasn’t even here, that should have been his first warning sign to leave, but something just…made him go in. Was it curiosity? Stubbornness? He honestly couldn’t even tell anymore.
“Huh?” Henry blinked and looked down to the piece of paper he was holding.
“Ugh” The small animated cartoon crossed his arms and tapped his foot in an annoyed manner. “Were you even listening to me?”
The man smiled nervously. “Sorry Bendy…What were you saying?” Bendy sighed and shook his head. “It’s fine. Never mind.” He gave the grizzled man a worried frown. “Are ya alright? You seem pretty…distracted.”
As he continued to walk down the seemingly endless hallway, he glances up to check for any danger, his grip tightening on the axe in his other hand while doing so, before looking back down to Bendy again.
“I’m fine. Just…tired is all.”
The small cartoon looked even more worried now. “Well you oughta rest then! There’s an office nearby that should be pretty safe-“
“No. We have to press on.” He interrupted as he turned a corner, walking into a large room. “Those ink…monsters are probably still around, we need to keep moving”
Bendy didn’t seem pleased with Henry’s response. “Hey, you may be all macho tough but even you’ve got yer limits. You gotta rest, Henry.”
Henry sighed. He was normally a patient man but right now he was on edge, every shadow and ink splatter looked as though it was about to pounce on him and he was not in the mood to bicker.
“I said I’m fine.”
“Just drop it already!” He scowled down at the small demon, his hand gripping the paper slightly.
Bendy’s expression quickly went from worried, to shock and then to hurt. He looked down slightly.
“A-alright…” He said in a small voice.
The older man instantly regretted what he had done.
'Christ, Bendy’s only concerned for my welfare and I respond by being a complete dick.’ Henry thought to himself.
It was true, ever since he ‘met’ the small 2D drawing on the wall, the only thing he was concerned with was getting Henry through the workshop in the safest way that he could. Granted, it wasn’t entirely possible with the Searchers, the musician turned madman, Sammy and the other, more monstrous version Bendy in their way, but even then the demon protected him by absorbing the ink around him and emerging from the page as…well… as another monster, and it had scared the ever living crap out of Henry when he first saw the transformation, but now he was grateful for it.
Henry looked back down to Bendy, who was now sitting on the line that the man had drawn for him with his knees against his chest, looking a little sullen. He sighed, he should apologize.
His eyes widened as he suddenly heard an unearthly screech, he quickly turned to look for the source when something wet slapped against his ankle and gripped hard.
He went to swing his axe at whatever was on his ankle when it yanked forward, causing him to lose his balance and slam hard onto his back.
The back of Henry’s head hit the wooden floor with a sickening thud, making his vision go blurry. There was also a constant ringing in his ears, he couldn’t make sense of anything for a few seconds.
That was all the Searchers needed.
They were instantly on him like a pack of wolves, their bodies slithering around him as they started to form a large puddle around him. The strong stench of the ink was unbearable.
He weakly raised his axe to strike back at them, but a dripping black hand reached out from the puddle, wrapped itself around the handle and wrenched it away from him, sending it flying down the corridor.
This was it then. This was how he was going to die.
Henry breathed heavily as the ink formed around his body, he could still faintly make out their gaping mouths and hands forming out of the puddle, like some sort of horrific black abomination.
Wait. Bendy. Where was he? Was he alright? The piece of paper must have slipped out of his hand when he fell. Henry turned his head as best as he could despite the weight that was forming around his body, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe the paper had floated to a safer distance.
God, he hoped so.
Black was forming around his field of vision. The pressure of the ink mass was making it harder for him to breathe.
'End of the line.’ The man thought to himself, smirking slightly to himself. ‘What a way to go.’
He closed his eyes as the Searchers fully consumed his body.
The moving had stopped.
‘Am…Am I dead?’ Henry internally questioned to himself.
No, that was far too quick. Did something happen? What made them stop?
Henry got his answer as he felt something large wrap around him and pull him upwards.
His eyes widen as he gasps for air, his vision was still blurry, especially now since ink was dripping down his face, but he could still hear the Searchers screeching and a very low, deep growl.
He felt himself being lowered to the floor gently before hearing an onslaught of loud thuds, agonized cries and screeches, and lastly, a sickening splatter.
As much as he wanted to get up and see what was going on, he was simply too weak. His head was throbbing, his lungs ached and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, his age wasn’t speeding up his recovery as much as he would have wanted, so he simply laid there as the noise died down.
For a few moments there was silence, the only sounds that filled the room was his deep breathing and the slithering of something coming towards him. He felt a large hand prod at him and a low whine.
Henry lifts his head slightly and opens his eyes a crack, smiling weakly when he sees the hulking head and single eye of Bendy.
“Heh…you saved me again, buddy.”
The eye lights up and the monster’s large grin widens as he makes a noise of what seems to be a mix of happiness and relief.
Henry smirks and tries to pick himself up, only for his arms to buckle under the weight, his smirk quickly changing into a grimace.
He grunted as he felt two large inky hands carefully wrap around him and set him up against a wall. Looking up into the concerned face of Bendy, he feels even more shitty about the way he spoke to the demon before the attack.
“Hey, don’t worry about me…I’ve survived worse.”
His voice had a hint of doubt but this seemed to satisfy Bendy nevertheless, as the hulking ink mass turned his back to him to watch the room.
Henry narrowed his eyes in confusion at first but it soon dawned on him, Bendy was guarding him.
He frowned. He was grateful for the concern but he knew that this form that Bendy took had it’s limits, he couldn’t stay like this for long without consequences.
“Bendy…” Henry started. “You should go back onto your page.”
The only response he got was a grunt. The demon wasn’t budging. “Bendy…please…”
“…I’m…I’m sorry about earlier…I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you…”
It was only slight, but Bendy tilted his head slightly towards him.
Taking a breath and looking down, Henry continued. “You’ve been… so damn dedicated to my safety and always put yourself at risk to save my sorry ass…and…you’re the only friend I’ve got down here. Yet I was still a complete jerk to you…and for that, I’m sorry. I…I really am.”
Bendy seemed to ponder this for a moment before fully turning to face the man, lowering his head to Henry’s level.
He blinked in a surprised manner when he felt a gentle, wet, inky bump on his forehead.
Did…did Bendy just nuzzle him?
The hulking demon raised himself back up to his full height, leaving a large black splotch on top of Henry’s face, and nodded.
All was forgiven.
Henry didn’t’ know what to say, so he simply nodded back in silent understanding.
His aching body was starting to feel a tad bit better, but he was still too weak to stand, and Bendy knew this, so he resumed his guarding position, making Henry frown once more.
“Bendy…” He sighed. “Fine, if it makes you feel better. But only for five minutes, alright? Then you need to get back on the page.”
He didn’t get a response but he knew Bendy had heard him.
Sighing, Henry closed his eyes slightly and relaxed slightly for the first time in what seemed like days.
At least he knew he had a friend he could fully rely upon.
Was that angsty enough for ya? Maybe I could turn this into a series of one-shots? Let me know what y'all think!
Here are more of my Belle/Adam NSFW headcanons that were actually asked for this time
Quick note: The first two headcanons will probably be familiar, since I already leaked them (and also, my recent fic is based off the second headcanon lol). Enjoy the Sin™
• Some nights they take baths together, both of them seated in a tub of lukewarm water, rose petals floating on the water’s surface, dim candles flickering soft light onto the dark walls, and Belle between Adam’s legs with her back rested against his firm chest. The atmosphere of the candle-lit room always starts out serene, usually filled with quiet conversations, Adam’s fingers skimming through Belle’s damp hair and grazing his manicured nails along her scalp, as she talks enthusiastically about whatever book she is reading at the moment. She will have the book with her, of course, and Adam will happily hook his chin over her shoulder and let her read to him. Eventually, to no one’s surprise, the once tranquil room comes to life with the sounds of sloshing water, desperate sighs, and smacking lips when Adam can no longer contain the desire pooling low in his belly at the gentle, clearly articulated sound of Belle’s voice. Her intellect—for some ungodly reason—is outrageously alluring. A deft hand between her legs, a teasing mouth at her ear, and suddenly water is spilling over the tub walls and splattering onto the floor, Belle writhing as she comes undone in Adam’s arms with his name on her lips.
• He doesn’t know why it takes him so long to notice, but when she is perched upon his bare chest and tracing a gentle finger over his parted lips, it dawns over Adam that Belle is quite fixated on his mouth. And oh, the fun he has with that. It starts out subtle; him quickly licking the pad of his index finger before turning the page of his book when he knows she’s watching, and “accidentally” missing her lips when he goes in for a quick peck, instead pressing a chaste (but is it chaste?) kiss to the corner of her mouth. It is only when Belle notices a sudden new habit of his, one of which involves dragging his finger across his bottom lip while in thought (and one that has been occurring quite too often), that she starts to become suspicious. Realization strikes when she scolds Adam for saying something crude, and he smugly calls her out.
“That filthy mouth of yours!”
“You mean the one that you revere so much? Amoureux, your eyes haven’t left my lips since I entered the room. If you’re going to kiss me, please, don’t abstain any longer. I’m sure you’re starving for it.”
And she had never kissed him like that before. All tongue and teeth and shoulders slamming into bookshelves. And when she begs him to fuck her, he chuckles and breathes into her ear, “That filthy mouth of yours.”
• Another thing Belle is rather taken with; Adam finishing inside of her. There is something so satisfying in the way the muscles in his back tense beneath her fingers as he comes, the way he settles his hot, heavy weight on top of her after one last, deep thrust. His face always hovers briefly, mouth open soundlessly, until he buries his head against her shoulder and lets out a beautiful noise that is somehow a mixture of a moan, a growl, and a cry. She finds so much comfort in his body trembling in her arms as he tries to catch his breath, her cheek resting against his hair. She would stay there forever if she could.
• The first time they fight—and not just one of their short-lived, trifling quarrels, but a real fight that results in slamming doors and raw throats—Belle and Adam don’t speak for days. Every time they pass each other in the castle, Belle’s shoulders stiffen and Adam sticks out his chin and clenches his jaw. And it is Belle, of course, who makes a snide remark and gets the whole ball rolling once more. The servants make away with themselves when the screaming starts, and Adam is damn near ready to leave himself when Belle gets in his face, the two of them nose to nose and breathing heavily. But there is this superior twinkle in her eyes, and something in Adam snaps. The force of his lips on hers leaves them bruised in the aftermath, and their chests audibly collide when he pulls her flush against his body. They don’t make it to a bed, a piece of furniture, or even a wall, he just takes her in the middle of the floor. And at some point words of anger melt into coos of affection, rough touches turn tender, and the hard snap of his hips slows to a languid grind. That prideful twinkle in Belle’s eyes is replaced by a warm, doting glow, and the two lovers fall into a fit of giggles once they’re through; sweaty, sated, and laughing on the floor in their torn and ruffled clothes.
• Jealous!Adam :-)
• Adam takes Belle in the garden because he knows that the new gardener who has been eyeing his wife is currently trimming the hedges nearby. Belle doesn’t protest at all—she does quite the opposite, actually. If there was any doubt that the gardener didn’t hear her obscene and unabashedly loud cries of pleasure, that doubt was obliterated immediately when the gardener spotted the pair a few hours later and hastily averted his gaze.
• I have mentioned this concept a few times before, but let us just consider it again; Adam getting so overwhelmed while he is dancing with Belle, that he drags her away in the midst of a ball to an alcove just off the ballroom so he can have his way with her. He cramps her into the corner of the already confined space, pressing hot, sloppy kisses to her lips and husking out words of molten desire into her open mouth. Having her husband’s tongue inside of her is oddly much more exhilarating when the chatter of their party guests can be heard from only 15 feet away, and Belle’s orgasm takes her by surprise when she hears her father’s curious voice creeping closer to the alcove, the possibility of being caught distending between her legs and washing through her whole body in a new and alarming form of euphoria.
• Having sex in places where they can easily get caught becomes a thing for them, because hey, we all know they be kinky as hell.
• Also, um… balcony sex… (o˘◡˘o)
• ON A FINAL NOTE, BELLE TOTALLY PUT ON A SHOW FOR ADAM ONE NIGHT BY WEARING NOTHING BUT HIS BEDAZZLED CORONET UPON HER HEAD, AND SHE MADE HIM CALL HER “HIGHNESS” AKLFHLAKHLKAF (I DON’T FUCKING CARE IF HISTORY SAYS FRENCH PRINCE’S DIDN’T WEAR CORONETS, YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME THAT ADAM DIDN’T HAVE SOME SORT OF CROWN)
In our school the senior pranks have to be approved by the teachers first before they can actually do them. Each year somebody asks if they can just sell cakes and muffins, which is always denied because “the cafeteria wouldn’t make any money and everyone would make a mess anyway" even though the cafeteria is always closed on the day of the prank and they still gave permission for the following things:
set off FIREWORKS IN THE HALLWAYS
to splatter the walls and bathroom mirrors with some kind of flour-chocolate milk-substance which was incredibly hard to remove
Darren Criss was always destined to make a career out of music. He studied the violin from age 5 well into his teenage years, picking up other instruments along the way, while also pursuing a love for musical theater. But he credits his own musical endeavors to the environment in which he grew up – particularly his older brother, Chuck, who brought other musical interests to the table especially when they were in high school.
“Music has always been the backbone of our relationship and our household,” Darren tells Billboard. “We both had a voracious appetite for music, but I think high school is when we started playing together and being to communicate on a level that changed everything. I think the kind of music we played is probably loud garage rock, because we were just playing in the basement.”
Once they graduated, though, the Criss brothers decided to take their own paths. Darren independently released a solo EP, Human, in July 2010, just months before debuting in his breakthrough role as dreamy choir head Blaine Anderson on Fox’s hit musical dramedy Glee, while Chuck found a home in New York City and became a founding member of indie-rock fivesome Freelance Whales.
With Glee seeing its end in 2015 and Freelance Whales’ most recent album hailing from 2012, both Criss brothers were itching to do something new musically – so they thought, why not relive the days of the brotherly collaborations? And come March 8, 2017, behold, the Criss alt-pop project Computer Games.
Her chest was heaving as she leant over a desk, her hands gripping it so tightly it hurt. She wished the pain would make everything focus, make everything clear, but it didn’t work.
Of course it wouldn’t.
Her breath came out in gasps as she collapsed into a desk’s chair. She was alone in an empty Charms classroom, alone on a late Thursday afternoon as the sun gradually sank lower in the sky. Lily stared out of one of the large windows, trying to focus on something- anything- apart from what she’d just realised.
She was in love.
She had thought it was just a simple sex thing, at first. After all, she was a teenager, and James Potter was hot. Now that he wasn’t being a git, anyway.
Then, once she’d started to want him to take her on dates and hold her hand and kiss her, she’d decided it was a simple crush. It would go away soon enough.
It was just because she’d been spending so much time with him, that was all.
Then- well, then she knew she was in trouble when her feelings grew deeper. They were the sea; bottomless and deep and wild.
She’d only thought of the L-word twenty minutes ago, sitting in a meeting with him, watching the way he kept shoving his glasses up his nose as he talked, watching the way the sun caught his eyes and his hair and Merlin, he was gorgeous.
She had caught herself before he had noticed her watching him, thought causally He can’t know I’m in love with him.
Then she’d frozen.
Was she in love with him?
The answer was easy.
Yes. Yes, she was.
She’d gotten up and ran, ran out of that damn meeting into the nearest empty classroom and sat down and tried to figure out what to do next.
That was where she was now.
Sitting in a desk too small for her, glaring at the floor, and fighting back tears. A sudden wave of anger overtook her.
She’d managed to last years without falling under his spell. Years! And now look where she was.
In love with the boy at the one point where he didn’t love her back.
Because he didn’t. He didn’t.
He was gentle and kind and loving- but he didn’t love her.
Lily picked up an ink pot that was lying on the desk and turned it over and over in her hands, furious with herself and him and pretty much the whole damn world.
It wasn’t fair.
She stood and hurtled the ink pot at the wall, hands shaking, eyes burning, thoughts racing.
It shattered loudly, ink splattering on the wall like blood, pieces of ink pot bouncing on the stone floor and towards Lily.
She didn’t move, just covered her face with her hands and wondered what exactly she was doing.
She took a deep breath and wondered if crying would make her feel better. That was what her mum always said- that crying made you feel better.
Well, Lily didn’t want to feel better. She wanted to fix this. Fix her feelings for-
The door opened violently, and James Potter fell into the room. His face was lightly flushed along his high cheekbones, and he was breathing hard, like he’d been running. His hair, although usually messy, was even messier than normal, and Lily found herself wishing that she could run her hands through it and pull him close to her-
No, she didn’t.
She wanted to keep three feet away from him and never touch him. Ever. That way she couldn’t manage to embarrass herself.
He looked up at her, and his face just lit up, eyes shining.
Ten feet. She would stay ten feet away. Just to be safe.
“Lily,” he said, relief evident in his tone, and suddenly Lily realised how it must have looked, her running out of the Head’s meeting halfway through his speech, especially now, when so many students- especially Muggle-borns like Lily- were receiving letters with bad news about their parents or siblings or friends. “Are you okay? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Okay, she was going to have to extend her minimum distance from him to fifteen feet when he looked like that. He looked…
He looked perfect. He looked like everything she had ever wanted in a boy, like every childhood fantasy her and Petunia had come up with.
“I’m fine,” Lily said hastily. “I just felt a bit faint, that’s all. I swear. Nothing’s… nothing’s happened.”
His shoulders slumped in relief, and he crossed the classroom in a few easy strides to stand next to her by her desk.
Okay, he was way closer than fifteen feet and it was driving Lily to distraction. She could smell him, quidditch broom polish and butterbeer and minty shower gel.
“Did you smash an ink pot?” James asked curiously, looking over at the mess behind her.
Lily thought fast. “Yeah, I knocked one over by accident. I tripped,” she lied, seeing the expression on his face. “Um, I should probably clean it up before a teacher gets here.”
“I’ll do that,” James said, waving a hand in her direction and moving past her to the shattered ink bottle. He brushed against her and she stiffened, not trusting herself. “You should get to the Hospital Wing. You’re obviously not well, you’re acting all jumpy.”
“I’m fine,” Lily insisted, feeling her stomach twist in guilt at the concerned tone in James’ voice. “I swear.”
“No, you aren’t.” He was busy picking up shards of ink pot, and Lily took the opportunity to admire him, admire the fluid way he moved, the way his glasses slid down his nose in the most adorable way she could imagine… he looked up at her, and she looked away, her face flushing. “You said you felt faint. You should go to Madame Pomfrey, and that’s final.”
“I’m fine,” Lily insisted, and then realised she should be helping James clean up her mess, not standing and admiring his muscles. “I swear.”
“Nope.” James stood up and pushed her away from the ink, and again Lily flushed, realising just how close they were. “You’re acting weird, Lily, and I’m worried.”
Lily shrugged. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”
“Lily-” he began, sighing, and Lily stumbled away from him, shaking her head.
Why did it have to be so hard?
Why did he have to make it so hard? She’d been hanging on by a thread these past few months, barely managing to stay friends with him. Barely managing to not grab him by the tie and kiss him senseless.
“No,” Lily said sharply. “No, James, please. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His eyes were alive with worry, and Lily hated it.
“Don’t- don’t be concerned!”
“I’m your friend,” he said slowly, stepping towards her. Broken glass crunched under his shoes.
“I can’t be friends with you,” Lily said. “I can’t. I can’t.”
His mouth was wide open, his eyes wide and hurt. “Lily-”
“I tried,” Lily said, the words spilling out of her in a flood. “I tried, Merlin, I tried. But I can’t stay friends with you when I’m in love with you, James.”
There was silence.
Lily’s heartbeat thrummed in her ears, and she blinked hard against the tears suddenly building behind her eyes.
And then- then James moved forwards in one step, so he was so close that Lily could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and gripped her face in his hands. “Did you ever think,” he breathed. “That I stopped loving you?”
Then he kissed her, slow and soft and warm. It was everything Lily had imagined it would be, everything she had ever wanted- his hands were on her waist, her hands tangled in his messy hair.
“I love you,” he breathed as they pulled apart.
She smiled and kissed him again, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Good.”