ONESHOTS - Markicest, Darkstache, & More

Yancy - Ahwm

Hey, it's been a while since I've posted on here! Why not come back with some angst 😏😂

TW: alcoholism, abuse, murder

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Yancy's pupils blew wide, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and the feel of thrashing flesh beneath his hands.

    He slammed his mother's head into the tile, watching every twitch and wrinkle of pain in her face. Tears poured from her eyes, mouth open and crying for help.

    "Yancy, please!" she sobbed. "You don't know what you're doing!"

    "Oh, don'ts I," he hissed, squeezing the air from her throat. "Youse sayin' that all the time, Ma. When will youse believe in ya own fuckin' son?"

    She struggled in his grip, shaking her head and coughing. Her nails dug into Yancy's hands, scratching down his arms, but it didn't affect him.

    "W-why—" She gasped for air, spit foaming and flying as she coughed and spluttered. "—why did you kill him?"

    "Because he was hurtin' youse, Ma," he growled, tearing his hands away. She gasped aloud, crying out when he slammed her head against the floor as he roughly stood up. He glared down at her, clenching his fists.

    "Youse never fought back, Ma," he spat. "Whenever Pop hit ya, youse did nothin.'" He stared down at her with distaste, stomping his foot on her chest. She gave a shrill, spitting out blood. "And yer doin' nothin' now, too."

    "Y-your—father—" She gave a dry heave, throat gurgling. "—he didn't know what he was doing—"

    "He drank himself silly every night, Ma," shouted Yancy. "Every noise I'd make as a kid, and he'd beats me. Beats me for bein' a child."

    Yancy shook his head, frowning down at his mother. "But not anymores."

    She shook her head, lip quivering. "Son, please—"

    "And I'll kills youse too for lettin' him hurt me."

    "Yancy, please—!"

    He stomped her head into the floor, heel first, and she screamed, scratching at his leg and writhing desperately. Yancy bared his teeth, leaning down and grabbing her by the hair. She sobbed, crying out when he tore her up by the roots, scalp bleeding.

    "Youse always tolds me to love my family, Ma," he hissed in her ear, tears pricking his eyes. His mother sobbed at his side, hanging limp under Yancy's deadly grip. "But after what'chu and Pops did to me..." He shook his head. "I'll never be one'a those familial types. Not anymores."

    He threw her into the living room where his father's body was—laid atop glass shards of beer bottles. Blood soaked the carpet, and she cried when blood soaked her hands.

    "Yancy—my baby—"

    "Youse made this happen, Mama," he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. His throat tightened, and he sobbed, leaning down and picking up a ghastly shard of glass. His mother shook her head, eyes widening as she backed away, bruised body too weakened to stand.

    "Baby, please—"

    "Youse never did anything to stop him," cried Yancy, glaring at his father's dead, bloody body. Shards crunched under his boots, crackling with broken memories and promises. He thickly swallowed, tightening his hand around the shard, relishing the way it dug into his fingers. "All youse did was watch as my own father beat the shit outta me."

    "I couldn't do anything, Yancy, I swear—I swear—"

    "You coulda done ANYTHING!" he shouted, leaning down and grabbing the front his mother's shirt. She screeched and cried and sobbed, thrashing and begging to be let go. "Youse don't really love me."

    "Of course I love you, Yancy!" she shrieked. "I'm your mother!"

    Yancy grit his teeth and shoved the shard into her neck, the muscle giving way and spurting with bright blood. He flinched as it sprayed his face, and he shut his eyes, his mother's hands sliding from his arms to her neck to clutch the gaping wound.

    Yancy took a deep breath and stepped back, wiping his face and panting, his vision closing in around the edges. He numbly made his way to his father's usual chair, sitting down and reclining, the TV's white static flickering shadows across the worn lines of his face.

    The sounds of his mother choking filled the room, and he gazed down at his father's dead body beside him, chest tightening.

    "I's would've loved ya in another lifetime," he whispered to his father's dead body, picking up a half-empty beer beside him and taking a swig. He gazed over at his mother, twitching and gagging, the blood still gushing from her neck, his eyes glazed over with numbed pain.

That night, the floor seemed to glisten with night-black blood.

Yancy took a deep breath, standing and walking over to his mother's twitching body. He stooped down, tearing the bloodied necklace from her neck and letting it glint in the dim light of TV static.

Its silver emblem stared up at him, and he wiped off the blood from its surface. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the world to slow to a halt.

Yancy gazed at the same necklace under prison lights, regret simmering in his chest, startling when his cell creaked open. Yancy hastily stowed the necklace in his pocket, meeting eyes with a newcomer who reluctantly gave a rectangular box to the prison guard. They grimaced as they were shoved into Yancy's cell.

He rose a brow, smirking at his new cellmate, who only glared.

"Well, well, well," he said, standing once the cell slammed shut and the guard left. His eyes glinted and his teeth gleamed.

"What're youse in for, toots?"

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Thought I'd give my take on how Yancy got into prison 🤷🏽‍♂️👀

Thank you so much for reading, and have a great day!

- Sh. A.